by Erin Healy
Through the peephole, she viewed her mother.
Lexi groaned inwardly and opened the door.
Alice pushed past her and entered the house.
“Lexi.”
“Mom.”
She carried a large suitcase, which she steadied against the living room wall. Lexi glanced outside to see if her cohort had joined her yet again. No sign of Grant this time, though.
Alice Grüggen had started dressing up more since she left Crag’s Nest. The LL Bean look of the town’s mountain ways had fallen beneath her. She ran away from this place wearing sneakers and khakis and had come back in wide-leg trousers and pointy-toed shoes. Today, she topped the look with a denim jacket. She’d cut her hair into a short windblown style that looked nice on her. It softened her heavily lined brown eyes.
“You’re going to need help with Molly,” she announced.
Lexi closed the door and leaned against it.
“We’re getting along fine.”
“What are you going to do when you have to go to work? And she’ll miss a few days of school until—”
“Yeah, I know. I haven’t exactly had time to figure that out, Mom.”
“So let me help you. I worry about you two. And with Gina laid up, you need me.”
“You worry too much.”
“I’m taking some time off. I’m not going to travel for a while and I have my car. I can get her to doctor’s appointments, to school.”
Everything she said was true, but Lexi didn’t care. She didn’t want to need her mother. Not now. She sighed. “Can I make you some coffee?”
“I’ve given up coffee.”
“Well, I need some.” Lexi turned into the kitchen and flipped on the light. Her eyes involuntarily went to the window. Still sparkly clean.
“What kind of food writer gives up coffee?” Lexi asked as she reached for the can of grounds on the top shelf of her cupboard.
“You have no idea how many coffee substitutes there are these days.” Alice followed her into the kitchen. “So much better for you too, without all that acid and caffeine and chemicals. There’s Teecino and Yerba Maté and several different varieties of chicory and barley . . .”
Lexi thought drinking toilet water might have been more pleasant. “I’m sure Molly will be dying to hear about them.”
“There’s no need to get snippy.”
Her mother’s defensive tone shocked Lexi. While holding a scoopful of coffee grounds she twisted her neck in Alice’s direction. She was standing near a chrome and vinyl kitchen chair with one hand resting on the back, the other hand balanced on her hip, her chin jutted forward, and her eyes brimming wet.
“I didn’t have to come here, you know,” she said. “You’ve made it clear you don’t want me around. But this isn’t about you.”
Lexi set down the coffee and looked her mother in the eye. “Mom, I’m sorry. It was really good of you to come. Molly will be ecstatic.”
Alice returned her gaze for a minute. She seemed so sad. Lexi imagined her saying, There was a time when you would have been ecstatic too.
The unspoken accusation rankled Lexi enough to test her mother.
“Molly and I go see Dad on Saturdays.”
“Go, then. Go. Don’t let me stop you.” She looked away and pulled out the chair she’d been hanging on to.
“Maybe you’d like to come.”
“I’d rather not get into this right now, Lexi.”
As she’d thought. Grade: F.
But Alice’s pained expression caused Lexi to wonder if she was too hard on her mom. She’d tried on many occasions to empathize with Alice’s decision to leave Crag’s Nest and traipse around the world writing articles about crème fraîche and bruschetta and whatever else she was willing to sample. She’d tried to imagine how she’d behave if someone killed Molly and then she’d lost her beloved husband of thirty years to mental illness. The beloved-husband part was difficult for Lexi to conjure up, but she didn’t think that was the only reason why she judged Alice for abandoning him. He was in a good facility, at least. And Alice paid for it somehow, though she refused to see him anymore.
Lexi had wondered many times if the sight of Alice might restore in her dad something of what he’d lost.
Within seconds Alice’s sadness was gone, replaced by the perky, confident self she created for the benefit of outsiders.
“Molly might want to stay here with me today,” she said.
“You two can work that out, okay? I’m glad for the help. But you and I need to clear the air about Grant before Molly wakes up.”
Alice folded her hands on the table. “Nothing’s clouding the air but your own stubbornness.”
The coffee pot gurgled in its final attempts to suck all the water out of the reservoir. Lexi poured her coffee black.
“If you’re serious about getting some quality time with Molly, you won’t push my buttons.”
“You don’t have a whole lot of choices, Lexi. You can’t afford a sitter. She’s not old enough to be left alone. You can’t take her to—”
“Mom!”
Alice looked at Lexi, eyebrows raised, defiant.
“You came into my home when I was not here, and you gave my daughter a letter that cut me down—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“If you’re going to act this way, the door is there.” Lexi pointed.
“No, I mean I don’t understand how the letter cuts you down. You said something last night about slander. That was a bit of an overstatement, don’t you think? Grant would never—”
“I’m pretty sure I know what Grant is capable of.”
“People change, Lexi.”
“People want others to think they’ve changed. Seven years ago Norman Von Ruden claimed during his trial that he’d had a conversion experience. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. It doesn’t mean I should go strike up a friendship with him.”
She’d said too much. She hoped her mother didn’t read anything into it.
Alice said, “You had a conversion experience.”
“I had nothing to gain or lose publicly from that. Not the way Norman did. All I know is that the damage is done. That goes for Grant especially.”
“But his letter was perfectly nice.”
“Nice? He left Molly and me to fend for ourselves all these years and I’m supposed to cave because he’s nice? And by the way, that letter of his was not.”
“Let’s have a look at it.”
“What?”
“Where is it? Let’s read it together and then maybe we can understand each other.”
Lexi set her coffee cup down on the counter so hard that the liquid sloshed out. She had no idea where Molly had stashed that letter. How had her mother so efficiently commandeered the conversation? Now they were on an off-road journey, far away from the main point, which was that she and Grant had subverted Lexi’s role as Molly’s mother.
Lexi couldn’t have overstated the anxiety she felt.
She rifled through the backpack Molly had left on the living room sofa. Not there. Then she scanned the library books Molly had left scattered across the floor. A piece of notebook paper with a ragged edge peeked out of a book about Pawnee Indians. She snatched it out of the pages and strode back into the kitchen, reading aloud.
“‘Dear Molly-Wolly . . .’” Lexi read the opening lines in one breath, then plopped down at the kitchen table with her mother.
“‘I expect you’re angry at me for taking off and not being in touch for so long. Maybe you don’t even remember me, and that’s okay. That’d be my fault. I owe you some explanation for not being there for you. If your mom will let me, I’d like to sit down and talk to you about that.’” She paused and re-read the words silently. They were not what she remembered. Alice watched, her chin resting on one hand.
“‘I haven’t had the courage to go to your mom about all this yet, but I will. I suppose I might look back on this as a mistake, going to you firs
t I mean. It’s just that I’m thinking your mom might not want me to see you at all, and this might be my only chance to say I’m sorry, Molly-Wolly. I’m sorry and I’m hoping maybe you can forgive me . . .’”
Scanning the letter quickly, Lexi could see that it was the same letter Molly had read aloud. It didn’t make sense. Where was the copy Lexi had read? Why were there two versions? She rubbed her forehead.
“So, tell me your objection,” her mom said.
Lexi flattened the letter on the table. “My objection is that you went behind my back.”
“I’m sorry about that. Truly, I am.” She pointed to the letter. “But Grant was right, don’t you think? You wouldn’t have let him see her before this, would you?”
“That’s not the point. Why did Grant involve you in this anyway?”
“I guess he thought it would help his odds.”
“How long have you been in touch?”
“Awhile.”
“Awhile. What does that mean? Where is he now?”
“He’s been living in Riverbend.”
“How long?”
“A week or so.”
Lexi picked at the ragged edges of the notebook paper and counted to five before speaking again.
“Let’s be clear on this, Mom. If Grant is going to meet Molly—and I haven’t decided on that yet—they’ll meet on my terms. That means they’ll meet where and when I say they can, and I will be there, and you will have nothing to do with it. Is that clear?”
“I’d be happy to make sure—”
“When I say nothing, I mean nothing. If you can’t respect that, I won’t be able to let you stay here. I won’t be able to let you and Molly hang out together.”
Alice set her lips in a line and nodded once. A curt nod.
“Your mind is whirring around up there looking for loopholes.”
She frowned. “Is not.”
“There are no loopholes, Mom.”
“A girl needs her father.”
Lexi stood and took three steps to Alice’s suitcase, then started toting it toward the front door.
“Fine, fine.” She lifted her hands off the table and looked around. “I can take the sofa while I’m here.”
Lexi returned the suitcase to its place against the wall, confident she’d made her point.
“There’s no reason you can’t take Gina’s room. She’d insist.”
“How long will Gina be out?”
“I don’t think they even know what she’s got yet. I’ll call the hospital this morning.”
“I might be here for a time after she’s home.”
Lexi took a calming breath and waited for her to explain.
“I plan to stay through Norman Von Ruden’s hearing,” she said without looking at her daughter.
Their feelings toward Norman were one of the few things they had in common any more. The thought crossed Lexi’s mind that Norman’s injuries might postpone his hearing. What then? She and Alice could possibly endure a week in this small home without having to erect a wall down the middle of the apartment. After that . . .
“Did you hear how badly he was hurt?” Lexi asked.
“No. Too bad he didn’t die.”
It seemed best not to reply to that.
“In any case,” Alice continued, “Anthony says he’s been earning Brownie points for good behavior.”
Anthony had been the prosecuting attorney in Norman’s case.
“Brownie points can’t do a convicted killer that much good. Has Anthony asked other people to testify against him?”
“Of course.”
“Will you testify?”
“Just as sure as you will!”
Lexi turned her back on her mother and topped off her coffee.
“Actually, I was thinking of writing a letter.”
“There’s no reason you can’t honor your sister by showing up at his hearing in the flesh, Lexi.”
Lexi shook her head, exhausted all over again and wrecked afresh by Ward’s demands. “Yeah, alright, Mom. You show up to honor Dad in the same way, and I’ll consider it, okay?”
{ chapter 13 }
Lexi almost didn’t go to see her father. It was the Volvo’s second trip down into Riverbend, and at the rate she was going she’d burn through her gas budget in two weeks rather than four. Then there was the fact that Molly agreed a little too readily to stay home with her grandma. If Lexi hadn’t thought Molly really needed to stay off that ankle, she wouldn’t have let it be an option.
There was also a chance Dad wouldn’t recognize her, even if she did go. Sometimes he thought she was Tara, or a complete stranger. It was hit and miss with him.
If pressed to tell the truth, though, Lexi wasn’t ready to spend the morning with her mother and daughter, two against one on the matter of a certain delinquent husband. The apartment was too small for that kind of dynamic.
So when she pushed through the glass-paneled doors into the highceilinged, sunlit common room of the Mental Health Assistance Residence, she saw her father dressed and napping in a recliner beside a tall paned window and was glad she’d come. His button-down shirt and clean-shaven face indicated a good day.
She took the loveseat opposite his recliner and weighed whether she should wake him.
Barrett Grüggen was only fifty-nine and still handsome. He didn’t look like the stereotype of a mentally ill person. He was trim and his tidy hair was still more charcoal than ash. He should have had a lot of sane years left in him. Lexi blamed Norm for stealing those away along with her sister.
Her dad was the only person besides Norm who knew about the affair. Last year she’d finally confessed it to him, because the Bible did say she should confess her sins to other people and not only to God. She hoped her confession counted on that point, because there wasn’t anyone else she could bear to know about that particular moral failure. If it had been an affair with anyone other than Norm, she might have told Gina. Or even Simone.
But Norman Von Ruden. Of all people.
Because Barrett didn’t acknowledge her confession and never brought it up, she couldn’t say exactly what he understood about it, and that was a can of worms she choose not to open, not to mention part of the reason she chose him as her priest. He wasn’t responsible to forgive her for that sin; God was—and he had, she was confident of it—and so she left the rest alone.
Barrett slept with his glasses on, even at night, the nurses told her. They were askew, so Lexi leaned over to straighten them. She cupped his cheek with her hand when she finished, the way she used to cup Molly’s when she was a dozing infant. He stirred and blinked a couple times, then lifted his head.
His eyes alighted on Lexi and brightened.
“Tara! I didn’t know you were going to drop in today.”
“Hi, Dad.”
He lowered the footrest of the recliner.
“Where’s your little sister, eh?” Lexi thought he meant Molly. “I saved the kiddie page out of the newspaper for her yesterday.” He looked around the chair as if he’d misplaced it. It would be the same comic page he’d been reading and refolding for six months now.
“She’s with Mom. I’ll take it to her, though.”
“Good. Good. I’ll find it and send it home with you. Or . . . well . . . I’ll keep it until your next visit. You’ll come by tomorrow?”
“You want to go for a walk, Dad?”
“No no no. This sunshine here’s enough for me. I went on a walk yesterday.”
“You did? How did that go?”
“Fine, just fine. Had a friend with me to talk to, and that always makes for a nicer walk.”
“Tell me about your friend. I’d like to hear it.”
“Big guy.” Dad raised his hand up over his head to demonstrate. I recalled his mentioning a linebackerish orderly who sometimes helped him in and out of bed.
“Joe?”
“Who cares about names anymore, Tara? Joe, Moe, Schmoe. I don’t remember.”
“Ok
ay. Where did you walk?”
“To the river.”
As far as she knew, the river wasn’t within walking distance of the Residence, but there was no point in saying so.
“Awfully cold to be by the river,” she said.
“Not yesterday it wasn’t. And he was big enough to block the wind. I was warm anyway. Worked up a sweat just talking.”
That made her smile.
“And what did you talk about?”
“Your little sister.” Dad gazed out the window and drew his eyebrows together. “She’s lost. I don’t know how we’ll find her.”
“She’s not lost, Dad. She’s okay. She’s with Mom, like I said.”
“But she is. Wandering around. You know, she was always a smart tack when she was a kid, smarter than you sometimes.” He nodded at her. “Don’t be offended. It’s only the truth. But then she grew up and seemed to forget so much. Like the way I forget names.”
At this point, Lexi wasn’t sure if he was talking about her or Molly. “Well, who cares about names anymore, right?”
“Oh, I do. I care. He told me she’s going to end up in jail if she doesn’t find her way home.”
“Who told you? Joe?”
“Jail.”
Lexi took a deep breath. Maybe a change of subject would help.
“I saw chicken piccata on the dinner menu when I came in.”
Dad leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, then grabbed her hands. “The jailer is after your little sister. You have to help her get home again.”
A twinge of unease poked Lexi over her heart. Dad’s glasses were still slightly crooked, but his eyes were more clear and probing than his mind. She decided to roll with this one and hope she ended upright when he was finished.
“If she’s done something wrong, maybe she should go to jail,” Lexi said. “I mean, if she’s really lost, like you said.”
“How can you say that? Who would want that for her own flesh and blood?”
“I don’t want it, Dad. Nobody wants it. But it’s just. That’s the way it works. That’s the way it should work, or else this world would be a mess.”