by Dianne Emley
“You two look wonderful,” he gushed. “You’re both so beautiful.”
“You look terrific too,” Lily said. “Doesn’t he look good, Iris?”
“Terrific.” Iris cleared her throat.
Les said, “This is your brother, Brian. Come and meet your sisters.”
Brian slowly walked forward and awkwardly raised his hand in a wave.
“Nice to meet you, Brian,” Lily enthused.
Iris smiled hesitantly at the boy. “Look, uhh…This is all nice and stuff, but I need to talk to you about something. That’s why I, uh, we came.”
“Why don’t you come in the house and say hi to Sonja? Your brothers and sisters will be coming home from school soon. I hope you can stay to meet them. I talk to them about you girls, especially you, Iris. I tell them how you went to college and about your career. You’re such a good example for them. Your aunts keep me up to date on what you girls have been doing.”
Iris put her hands on her hips and stared at him. “Lily has kids you’ve never even seen. They’re almost grown.” She turned to Lily. “Doesn’t that piss you off?”
Lily flinched. “We don’t need to get into all that right now.”
“When will we get into it?” Iris demanded. “Never? Just brush all that icky business about not having a father for the past twenty-five years under the table and start trading holidays like nothing happened? You host Christmas and I’ll do Easter?”
Brian gaped at Iris.
Lily looked at her apprehensively. “Look, why don’t we just tell Dad why we came?”
“Now, Iris,” Les pleaded as he shuffled his feet uneasily. “Let’s not get angry.”
“No, let’s get angry.” Iris’s words were clipped and her posture was rigid. “I think anger is very appropriate right now. I remember that about you, Dad. You always hated confrontation. I wonder if that’s why I love it.”
Lily stepped forward and began to rattle on without taking a breath. “Dad, remember when Gabriel Gaytan died? Well, Iris is all mixed up in something having to do with that and she needs your help. She might be in danger. Do you know anything about what happened that night?”
Les’s pleasant demeanor turned cool. “I’ve already told everyone everything I know and that’s all I have to say.”
Iris stared at him. “So you’re saying you won’t help me. This is the only time I’ve asked you for anything my entire life and you won’t help me.”
He looked at her. “Did the DeLaceys send you? Stay away from that family. None of them are worth a damn.”
“Is that why you stayed away from us? Because we weren’t worth a damn?”
His eyes darkened sorrowfully. He suddenly seemed older. “I can’t undo what I did. I’m sorry I left you girls, but it was for the best.”
“Best for whom?” Iris snapped. “For you?”
Lily grimaced and stared at the sky.
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Iris.”
“So you think that makes you a hero? Leaving’s not courageous. Staying and working it out is courageous.” She angrily paced back and forth. “Just do me a favor.” She whipped her index finger through the air. “Do not talk about me. Do not take pride in the things I’ve accomplished. You played no role in my success. If anything, I am what I am in spite of you. You won’t even help me now. You’re too busy trying to protect this nice little life you’ve built. You’re a selfish man, Les Thorne. A selfish, selfish man.”
Les held his open palms toward Iris. “If I could only make you understand.”
“I wish you could. I would really like to understand.” Iris began to stomp down the driveway. After a few steps, she turned. “Don’t worry, I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”
Lily turned toward her father. “I’ll call you in a few days.” She patted his arm. “She’ll calm down.” She followed Iris.
Les returned to the garage and powered on the saw.
Brian watched Iris and Lily drive away, then walked to the garage. He stood silently next to his father as he worked. Les did not look up.
“Dad?”
Les still did not look up.
Brian pulled the saw’s electrical cord from the socket.
Les finally looked at his son but still said nothing. He picked up the cord and began walking to the wall socket.
“Why won’t you help her?” Brian demanded.
Les paused, then plugged in the cord and resumed his work.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The old storefront office stood on a street corner with a hair salon on one side and a discount shoe store on the other. The carved wood letters on the door were painted in black enamel and stood out from the chipped and bubbled white paint of the door. Some of the letters had fallen off. The sign now read: EV RETT C. VANDERSTA D, M.D.
Paula wobbled as she pulled the door open, then hung on it while she recovered her balance. She drew her hands through her long, unkempt hair and ran her tongue over her lips as if thirsty.
The dingy aqua-blue waiting room was furnished with maple Early American-style furniture. The upholstered pieces had been redone in sturdy light brown Naugahyde which looked incongruous with the gently curved legs and arms. Two halved wagon wheels formed the legs of a coffee table. A tall lamp with a ceramic eagle in flight as the base was topped with a ruffled plaid lamp shade. Venetian blinds covered the windows. The airless room smelled of mold and decay. Several patients were waiting, all gray haired, some with walkers or canes within arm’s length.
Paula staggered to the sliding frosted-glass reception window and banged on it with her knuckles. She waited, her body swaying. Someone on the other side was talking on the phone. She banged on the window again.
It flew open, rattling in its frame, and a hefty woman of indeterminate age wearing a white, short-sleeved nurse’s uniform scowled at Paula. Bright red broken veins snaked across her soft pink cheeks. Her cropped hair was dyed carrot red and tightly permed in a style that had been out of fashion for fifteen years. One hand was ready to slide the window back into place and the other held a telephone receiver against her ample chest where it was virtually buried. She barked, “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
When the nurse attempted to slide the window closed again, Paula stuck her hand in the opening. “I have to see Dr. Vanderstaad.”
She regarded Paula critically. “Do you have an appointment?”
Paula churlishly wove her head. “No, I don’t have an appointment.”
The nurse leaned forward to inspect Paula’s hands and the area around her feet, one corner of her pink-lipsticked lips raised almost in a snarl. “You’re not selling something, are you?”
Paula lunged at the door to the left of the window. It was locked. The sliding glass door slid closed and something behind it snapped into place. Paula tried it. Now it was locked too. She pounded her fist on it.
“Ma’am!” the nurse shouted from behind the glass. “Are you going to calm down or do I have to notify the police?” She paused. “Ma’am?”
“I’m calm, I’m calm,” Paula insisted.
“Are you under the influence?”
Paula stood with her legs spread for balance and rubbed her head. “Under the influence.” She laughed and turned to look at the elderly patients in the waiting room to share the joke. They eyed her fearfully except for one man who didn’t seem to notice her at all. “Yeah, I’m always under the influence.”
Paula leaned her elbows against the counter, banging her head against the glass. “Look, nursey. I’m Paula DeLacey. The doctor brought me into this fucking world, okay? I have to talk to him. I’m not leaving until I talk to him. I have to…” She fainted dead away and slid to the floor.
Paula awoke lying on her back on an ancient examination table that was covered with a strip of tissue paper. A kidney-shaped bowl coated in chipped white enamel had been placed by her head, apparently by someone hopeful that Paula would use it if she felt nauseous. She picked the bowl up
and started to throw it against the floor when she noticed an old-fashioned glass-doored cabinet against the wall.
She hoisted herself off the table, unsteadily found her balance, and tried to open the cabinet door. It was locked. Through the glass she could see small sample bottles and blister packs of drugs that were stored there. She rattled the door and looked around to see if there was something she could use to jimmy the lock when she heard footsteps approaching the examination room door. She quickly limped back onto the table.
“I see you’re awake.” Dr. Vanderstaad was wearing a rumpled, button-front white coat over snagged brown-checked slacks. He was a tall man but his spine had bowed with age and his head hung at an angle with the rest of his body, requiring him to turn it sideways or raise it in order to look a person in the eye. Large brown liver spots covered his head, which was virtually bald except for a dusting of fine white hair that looked as soft as a baby’s.
He pulled a pen flashlight from his breast pocket, grasped Paula’s head, and shone it in her eyes.
The red-haired nurse entered the room carrying a silver tray lined with a white scallop-edged paper. A syringe had been placed in the middle of it.
“Nurse will give you something to relax you.”
“Nurse isn’t going to give me a goddamned thing.”
The doctor, unfazed, continued in his patronizing tone, “Now, Paula. We know what’s best.”
Paula stared at the nurse and ordered, “Get out.”
The nurse raised her heavily penciled eyebrows in response.
“Velma,” the doctor said, “let’s comply with Paula’s request.”
“Certainly, Doctor.” She turned on her rubber-soled shoes and padded from the room, the rubber squeaking against the linoleum floor.
The doctor folded his arms across his sunken chest and angled his head to eye Paula. He raised one overgrown eyebrow.
“Dr. Vanderstaad, just tell me one thing. How did my mother die?”
He moved his jaw as if he were tasting the question. “Your mother asphyxiated as a result of constriction of the trachea caused by the tightening of a rope around her neck.”
“She hanged herself. I’m not ten fucking years old.”
“I was only attempting to be clear. You seemed confused about the cause of death.”
“I’m confused all right. I’m confused why you took the situation at face value. You were her doctor. Did she talk about killing herself? Or just all of a sudden, boom, she’s swinging from a tree.”
“What are you suggesting, Paula?”
“Didn’t you think about looking at her blood to see if she’d been drugged or her head to see if she’d been hit, or did the old man convince you to help him out?”
The doctor set his jaw, making his loose jowls quiver. “Paula, I have practiced medicine for over fifty years. Fifty! It is my role as a physician to save lives, not to take them, and certainly not to assist people who do.”
“You didn’t wonder why my father called you and not the paramedics? Isn’t it because he knew you’d slap a death certificate on her without questioning anything?”
“After Junior found your mother, your father called his family physician. He did everything he was supposed to do.”
Paula hoisted herself off the table and unsteadily landed on her feet. “Thank you, Doctor. This has been very interesting.”
He seemed alarmed. “I don’t think you’re well enough to leave, Paula. I think you should rest. I’ll call Velma to give you something.”
“I’m not taking something. Is that the way you treat patients who give you problems? Give them drugs to keep them quiet? Is that what you did to my mother all those years with the old man egging you on?”
“Dolores was prescribed drugs that are commonly used to treat anxiety and depression. Your father and I decided that was the best therapy for her.”
“She was depressed, so you gave her a pill. She was anxious, so you gave her a pill. Did anyone ever think about finding out why she was anxious and depressed? Did anyone ever think about asking her what the hell was on her mind?”
An intercom on the wall buzzed. “Doctor, your next patient is waiting.”
He fumbled with the button on the device, finally holding it down so he could respond. “I’ll be there shortly.”
“I think you should come now, Doctor.”
The doctor turned to Paula. “Please stay a few minutes, Paula. When I come back, I’ll tell you something you might find interesting about your mother.”
He left the room and closed the door behind him.
In the reception area, Velma was methodically filing patient ledger cards. Bill DeLacey and Junior were crammed into the small area with her.
DeLacey was talking. “Now if you got yourself a computer, Velma, you wouldn’t have to file your patient records by hand like that.”
Velma kept working. “Bill, this is the way I’ve always run the doctor’s office and this is how it’s going to be run as long as I’m here.”
“Even Junior has bought himself a computer, haven’t you, Junior?”
Junior stood passively with his chunky arms folded across his chest. The skin on his face seemed perpetually moist.
DeLacey continued, “He’s kinda slow on it. I get a kick out of sitting there and watching him trying to figure it out.”
There were footsteps on the aged linoleum. Dr. Vanderstaad reached the reception area, his faced flushed from the short rapid walk. “Paula’s in an examination room, but I don’t think we can keep her long. I heard on the news that the police were looking for her in connection with a shooting. I thought it best if I called you first, Bill.”
“Only it’s more than just a shooting now,” DeLacey said. “That boy died of his wounds.”
Junior rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.
Vanderstaad looked nervously at DeLacey. “Oh dear. Maybe I should have called the police.”
DeLacey frowned. “No, no, Doctor. You did the right thing. We’ll see that everything’s taken care of. Why don’t you take us to her?”
They walked down the corridor and Vanderstaad opened the door to the examination room without knocking. Paula was standing against the wall next to the cabinet.
“Paula,” the doctor said. “Look who came to see how you’re doing.” He moved to the side to let DeLacey and Junior in.
“Looks like you put on a few pounds,” DeLacey said.
“Nice to see you too, Dad,” Paula said. “Hi, Junior.”
Junior was grim. “Why did you come back and start all this trouble?”
“Trouble?” Paula said. “I’m just trying to have some fun.”
“Let’s go home now, Paula,” DeLacey said.
“I would except I don’t have a home. Someone driving a red pickup truck burned it down.” She looked at Junior.
His fleshy cheeks grew pink. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Junior, shut up,” DeLacey said.
Junior exhaled loudly and stared at the ground.
“Stop bagging on him,” Paula said.
“It’s the only way he’s going to improve himself. If you’d listened to me, you wouldn’t be in the fix you’re in right now.”
“What would I be? Dead, like Mom? Or almost dead, like Junior? Or maybe I’d be like Thomas, Mr. Perfect, who never does anything wrong. Right.” she sneered.
The doctor slipped out the door and returned with a syringe. “Paula, I really think you need something to relax. Bill, maybe you can help Paula by holding her.”
Paula reached behind into the waistband of her jeans and pulled out a handgun. “You’re determined to give me that shot, aren’t you?”
“We’re only trying to help you, Paula,” DeLacey said. “I don’t know where you get that distrustful streak from.”
“Help me? You mean like you helped Angus? Just wait until he comes around, then you’ll get yours.”
“He’s dead,” DeLacey said.
&nbs
p; Paula slammed the gun on a counter, making glass canisters rattle. She rapidly blinked, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Then she swept the gun across the counter, sending the canisters flying.
The men tried to leap out of the way. The canisters hit the walls and floor, spraying glass, swabs, cotton balls, and thermometers in their liquid blue bath across the room.
Paula was unfazed. She pointed the gun at her father. “Why do you take everything I love?”
He started to respond but she interrupted. “You think you’re God or something and you can just give and take? Maybe it’s my turn to do some taking.”
She pointed the gun at Junior. He took a step backward. Then she pointed it at her father again. “Why do you love Thomas so much?”
“I guess he’s easier to love, Paula.”
“Easier to love.” She nodded. “Why is that? Because he did whatever you wanted him to do? Because he became what you wanted to be? You made me suffer because I couldn’t be who you wanted me to be. Wouldn’t let me come home after I’d been on the road. What the hell was that about? You made me pay for things that weren’t even my fault.”
She put the gun to her own head and stared defiantly at her father. After several tense seconds, she lowered the gun to her side. “Had you going, huh? Everybody get a buzz off that?” She looked at her father. “Disappointed I didn’t off myself, old man? Guess I’m not as easy to get rid of as Mom. I think I’ll stick around a little longer to make your life miserable.” She waved toward the door. “Out, single file.”
Once they were all in the corridor, Paula ran the other way. She found the back door, just where she remembered it, opened it, and stepped into an alley. She ran to the street where an old white Dodge Dart was parked. She got into the car and started the engine.
The office back door swung open and DeLacey and Junior burst out after her.
Paula threw the car into reverse and swerved down the alley, heading toward them. They lurched out of the way.
She screeched to a stop, rolled down the window, and leaned out. “It’s tit for tat time, old man. You took Angus from me. You took my house from me. Now I’m going to take something of yours. We’ll see how easy Thomas is to love after I get through with him.”