“Can we make a scary one?” Eliot asked James, his golden brown eyes wide with excitement. “Like a monster from Where The Wild Things Are?”
“When Halloween comes, we can carve whatever face you’d like.” James was dying to scoop the little boy into his arms and cover his face with kisses, but he settled for ruffling Eliot’s wavy soft brown hair. “I know the best pumpkin patch too! We can have a hayride and jump in a giant bin of corn kernels and you can go on a pony ride.”
Eliot nodded. “I like ponies. ’Specially the ones with spots.”
“Me too. And I’m glad to hear you’re an animal lover,” James said warmly. “Because we’re having supper at the Hickory Hill Zoo tonight.”
Cocking her head quizzically, Jane unzipped Eliot’s coat and, after removing her own, looked around for a place to put them. “I’ll just toss these on the kitchen counter. Eliot, you go with Daddy and find out what this zoo is all about.”
Eliot reached out his hand and James enfolded it with his own. Daddy! He thought. I’ll never get tired of hearing that word.
Wondering how long it would take for Eliot to start calling him by that title, James led his son into the living room, which was lit by battery-powered hurricane lanterns. James had spent his lunch hour in a bout of frenzied painting and had managed to transform the largest of his cardboard moving boxes into zoo animal chairs. There was a zebra, a lion, a giraffe, and an elephant. The heads were made out of shoe boxes and the giraffe’s neck and elephant’s trunk had been formed using part of a dryer vent. Scott and Francis, who had built the cardboard furniture while wolfing down bacon double cheeseburgers during their lunch break, had rigged all the heads with wire so they bobbed gently when touched. Given their uncanny technical skills, the twins weren’t happy until the animals were given added features. James was delighted when they showed him how to attach a battery to some narrow wires in order to turn on the small light bulbs that would create a pair of illuminated eyes inside each animal head.
“They’re not real, right?” Eliot asked, his high voice growing shriller in amazement.
“No, they’re not. And that’s probably a good thing considering our dining room table is a crocodile,” James teased.
Scott and Francis had taken a rectangular box made for storing an oversized painting from their landlady’s garage and transformed it into a green reptile with a long, spiked tail (another dryer vent cut in half) and jagged, Styrofoam cup teeth. To make the beast less threatening, the twins had painted the croc with neon pink polka-dots and a Cheshire Cat grin. James had set their plates, napkins, and cups on the table and had added another hurricane lantern in the center to enhance the safari-like atmosphere.
“Mommy!” Eliot screeched. “We’re eating pizza on a crocodile!” He swiveled around the room. “I’m going to sit on the lion’s chair!”
James served Jane and Eliot pizza on animal-shaped plates and filled paper cups covered by tiger stripes with cold chocolate milk. When Eliot asked to have his pizza cut up, James smacked himself in the forehead for not considering that a four-year-old might not want to eat pizza with his hands. Jane seemed completely unfazed, however.
“You’re supposed to be a young lion,” she admonished their son playfully. “So act like one! Rip that pizza apart with your giant lion teeth! Like this!” She tore at her slice and chewed with a satisfied growl. Giggling, Eliot copied her.
“How does a giraffe eat?” he asked James.
James sat very straight in his chair, stretched his neck out, bit off a mouthful of pizza, and did his best to chew it using only his molars, thus exaggerating the side-to-side motion of his jaw. Jane agreed that zebras chewed much like giraffes, and copied James’s absurd style of pizza eating. Soon, all three of them were laughing.
After dinner, while savoring raspberry frozen custard pops from the Custard Cottage, Eliot told his parents what he had done at preschool. He went into great detail over which kids were his best friends and which ones made him grumpy because they repeatedly knocked down his block tower. As he licked his custard, Eliot listed all the words he knew that began with the letter G and confessed to the number of marshmallows he’d consumed on the sly while supposedly pasting a marshmallow snowman onto a sheet of blue construction paper. By the time his ramble was done, everyone had finished dessert and Eliot began to yawn and rub his eyes.
“I think we’d better head home,” Jane suggested.
James nodded reluctantly. He didn’t want the evening to end. “Can I show him something first? I’ll be quick. I can see that our young zookeeper is getting tired.”
“Go ahead. I’ll clean up our plates and bring your trash bag out to my car. It’s pickup day at our place tomorrow, and since you haven’t officially moved in yet, I’m going to assume you don’t have a garbage can.” She smiled as James realized that he didn’t even know what day to put a can out—not that he had one. “It’s okay. Everyone goes through this when they move. It’s going to take a while for you to figure out the rhythm of this place.”
“At least I know who my mailman is,” he said and felt comforted by knowing that Bennett would be passing by his house five out of seven days a week.
Beckoning Eliot to follow him, James led his son into the small bedroom whose window faced the backyard. “Okay, you’ve got to lie down on the floor for the magic to happen. No, roll over. You’ve got to be on your back for this trick. Good. Now close your eyes. Ready?” James waited until Eliot nodded. He turned off the lights and settled next to his son. “You can open your eyes now.”
“Wow!” Eliot’s voice came out as a whisper. “Magic stars! How’d you do that?”
“The house just came that way,” James answered enigmatically. “Do you think you’d like to hang out in this room? I mean, would you like this to be your room?”
Eliot leaned back on his elbows and surveyed the space. Solemnly, he replied. “Yes. I like it.” He then asked, “Am I moving here, Mom?”
Jane stood in the doorway, surveying the stars. “You’re going to have two homes, Eliot. Isn’t that cool? Sometimes you’ll sleep at my house and sometimes at Daddy’s.” She glanced quickly at James. “But you and Daddy need to spend more time together before you start having sleepovers, okay?”
Her eyes met James’s and he nodded in recognition that what she was saying was both wise and true. He did need to become more familiar with his son’s habits before taking charge of him without Jane present as a chaperone. “Listen, buddy,” he touched Eliot lightly on the hand. “I’m moving into this house over the next few days, but I haven’t picked out stuff for your room yet. I don’t really know how to decorate it. Maybe if you told me the name of your favorite book, I could make this room really special for you.”
Yawning again, Eliot replied. “That’s easy. I like Curious George the best. He’s always getting in trouble.”
“Come on, my little monkey. Time to go,” Jane commanded.
Eliot gave James another of his rapid hugs and then submitted to being tightly enveloped in a coat, hat, scarf, and mittens.
“Are you free Sunday afternoon?” James asked Jane as she took Eliot’s mittened hand.
“We sure are. Let’s spend some time going over our calendars then. I figure Eliot’s going to need to stay with me during the weekdays so he can get to school on time, but you could come to our place in the evening and he can come here on weekends. You know, not overnight at first, but for the day anyway.” She drew Eliot close to her. “Why don’t I take care of supper Sunday night? I’ve actually learned how to make a few dishes, believe it or not.”
Recalling what an atrocious cook Jane had been during their marriage, James shook his head. “Pop’s wife will never speak to me again if she isn’t allowed to stock my fridge. I know it’s early on in this whole getting-to-know-each-other thing, but could Eliot’s grandparents stop by for a bit Sunday? Maybe just for dessert? They want to meet him so badly.”
“Of course!” she responded, and then
instantly lowered her voice. “But I remember your father all too well. Is he going to hurt me after … how I treated you?”
James shrugged nonchalantly. “If Pop comes at you with his fists clenched, just use Eliot as a human shield. He’d never hit his only grandchild.”
Giving him a playful punch in the arm, Jane waved goodbye and then gave their weary son a piggyback ride to the car. James watched as she buckled Eliot into his booster seat and then fired up the Volvo’s engine. Eliot placed his small hand against the glass of his window and wiggled them in farewell. The car rolled slowly down the driveway and turned onto Hickory Hill Lane.
James stood on the front porch until the bright red taillights grew as small and distant as the winter stars.
Saturday was painting day. James dressed in a ratty sweatshirt and jeans and loaded a thermos with vanilla hazelnut coffee. Carrying a portable CD player and a copy of Curious George under his arm, he used his free hand to unlock the front door to his new house. He paused for a brief moment, allowing images from his pizza dinner with Jane and Eliot to bring a smile to his face, and then made preparations to paint the kitchen. As he listened to Sugarland’s new CD and sipped coffee, he removed switch plates, filled in nail holes, and applied tape around the windows and woodwork trim. Dipping his brush into a can of white primer paint, James wondered what his friends were doing at the moment and when they’d get together in order to talk about the case. He wanted to tell them about Eliot too, but that kind of news had to be delivered in person.
He had just finished the primer coat when the doorbell rang.
“Surprise!” The supper club members shouted in greeting and filed into his house, rubbing cold hands together as they immediately began to inspect their surroundings.
Gillian strode into the center of the living room and plunked down a green hemp purse embroidered with lavender dragonflies. “Everyone stop right there! I’m going to perform a cleansing ritual called smudging that is practiced by the Native Americans of the Northwest.” She dug out an apparatus resembling a torch from her bag and lit it with a purple Bic lighter. “I’m going to allow the smoke from this cluster of sage, cedar, and sweetgrass to graze the walls in every room. I’d like the rest of you to quietly visualize James living a life of peace and happiness in this house while I purify the air.”
Murmuring to herself, Gillian spun around the room, directing a waft of torch into each corner. Bennett stared at her, in a state of bemused mystification, but Lindy stood with her eyes closed and her hands clasped, inhaling the pleasant scent of the burning herbs. James decided this might not be the best time to ask where Lucy was or if she had spilled the beans about Eliot.
Once Gillian was safely out of sight purifying the master bedroom, Bennett strolled into the kitchen and picked up a paint roller. “In addition to burnin’ bushes in your new house, we’re here to work. What color should I paint these walls, my man?”
“I can’t believe you guys!” James was touched by the offer. “It’s good enough just to see you. You don’t need to spend your day off slaving over cans of paint.”
Lindy threw her coat on the hall floor and pushed up the sleeves of her paint-speckled artist’s smock. “Many hands make light work. Lucy’ll be here by lunchtime, so let’s get something done before then. Where do you want me, James? Should I start priming the living room? Oh! Look at these adorable animals!” She pointed at the crocodile table. “Those look like the twins’ handiwork.”
Picking up his copy of Curious George, he said, “Scott and Francis are the marvelous animal creators, yes, but I’m also in need of your particular artistic talents, Lindy. I’ll tell you why in a second.”
James waited for Gillian to reappear in the living room. She had him extinguish the torch and asked him to inhale its revitalizing fragrance. Only after she’d waved the smoke over every inch of his body was he permitted to gather his three friends around his scrapbook.
They received his announcement exactly as he had expected them to: with shouts of joy, warm embraces, and dozens of questions.
“And you want me to paint his room?” Lindy exclaimed with misty eyes. “I am so honored!”
Bennett clapped James on the back. “Man oh man, you sure know how to throw one in from left field. I can’t wait to see your Mini Me. Eliot Henry. Congrats, my friend. Congrats.”
“Oh, I just adore the auras possessed by young children,” Gillian sighed rapturously. “And to know that your blood and a part of your essence is encapsulated in this child … James, I can’t wait to lay my eyes on this boy!” She looped her arm through Bennett’s. “I feel jittery already.”
“That’s it, woman,” Bennett teased her fondly. “No more tree-bark tea for you.”
“I’ll introduce all of you, I promise. But I don’t want to overwhelm the poor kid. He’s going to meet his grandparents tomorrow night. I have another reason to be happy, because Milla and my father are now officially man and wife. They had a quick wedding down at the church.” James tapped the scrapbook and then drew in his breath. “Oh no! I’ve been so wrapped up in my own affairs that I haven’t done a thing to celebrate their nuptials. I haven’t even bought them a gift! I was going to send them on a nice little honeymoon, but I don’t have the time or the money to do that now. What am I going to do?”
“I imagine your coffers are a bit bare right now,” Bennett remarked.
James nodded. “You can say that again. New carpet on Monday, furniture delivery on Tuesday, and flat broke by Wednesday.”
“We’ll brainstorm while we paint,” Gillian suggested. “The cadence of our bodies moving our brushes and rollers up and down, up and down, might just stimulate the creative centers of our minds.”
“Don’t let that woman near your CD player,” Bennett warned. “She’ll put on some yoga mumbo jumbo and we’ll all be chanting like Gregorian monks.”
The four friends finished looking through Eliot’s scrapbook and then got to work. They bantered, painted, and chatted all morning long. By noon, the kitchen and living room looked clean, fresh, and bright, and Eliot’s room had been primed and was ready for Lindy’s hand-painted designs.
“This is very cathartic,” Gillian stated as she set down her paintbrush. “Do you have a nice, serene color chosen for your bedroom? I’m certain we could get that finished today.”
James shook his head. “I hadn’t expected this painting party, but I could go buy some. I think Lindy’s going to need a few more colors for Eliot’s room. And I’d love to treat for lunch. It’s the least I can do.”
“Hello!” Lucy called out as she let herself into the house. “Lunch is served!”
Bennett moved forward to remove one of the two plastic bags from Lucy’s hands. “What have we here?”
“Meatball subs. Except for Gillian’s, of course. She’s having provolone, mozzarella, tomato, and a pesto spread on herb focaccia.”
James pushed a twenty dollar bill into Lucy’s hand. “Hi,” he said shyly as she looked down at the money.
“I’m not taking this.” She breezed past him into the kitchen and laid the bill on his counter. “I missed half of my painting shift, so the least I could do was pick up lunch.” Gazing into the living room, she smiled. “I call the zebra chair!”
“I thought you might be angry with me,” James whispered to Lucy once the food had been handed out and the rest of the supper club members were making themselves comfortable in the living room.
Lucy feigned great interest in a Benjamin Moore paint chart. “I was just shocked, that’s all. I … I’ve got to get used to thinking of you totally as a friend. And you are my friend, so don’t worry. Come in here and eat your sub. I’ve got an update on our investigation.”
After settling in the lion chair, she spread a napkin on her lap. “I ate half of my sub in the car, so let me take a few bites while it’s still warm, and then I’ll tell you about the phone calls I made to Natchez.”
James couldn’t believe how famished he felt. Is th
ere a chemical in the paint that induces hunger or is painting more of an aerobic workout than I thought? he wondered.
Without bothering to consider that the contents of his hero might be too warm to chew, he released his sandwich from its tight package of aluminum foil and bit into the end of the sub, inviting molten marinara sauce and a large piece of scalding meatball into his mouth.
“Ahhh!” He felt as though he might breathe fire. “Hot!” Lindy shoved a water bottle into his hand, and he washed down the burning food as his friends looked on in amusement.
Bennett tossed him a snack-sized bag of baked potato chips. “Better start with those, my man. Okay, Lucy, whatchya got for us?”
“Russ DuPont is Mrs. D.’s grandson,” Lucy began as she placed the remnants of her sub on the crocodile table to cool. “Russell DuPont’s mother never married. She also died at a young age from alcohol poisoning. According to the neighbors, she’d always been a wild girl. Russ often went without meals or electricity, and he missed more days of school than he attended.” She pried open her bag of potato chips and halted her narrative in order to eat one.
“That poor boy,” Gillian sighed.
Lucy agreed. “I think he’s lived a hard life. His grandmother ran out of money and was sent to a state-run home when Russ was ten years old. After his mother’s death a year later, he was placed into foster care and, if I can believe what these Natchez ladies told me, was one angry boy. He got in trouble all the time.” She raised her sub to her lips. “He’s got an extensive juvenile record. From vandalism to petty theft to selling his grandma’s prescription drugs on the street, this kid’s done it all.”
“The neighbors told you all that?” Lindy asked in disbelief. “Must be a smaller town than I thought.”
Once she’d swallowed Lucy replied, “No. I called the Sheriff’s Department and told them all about our case. They were very interested in helping me get a full picture on Russ. I guess he’s got them out of bed more than once with his criminal activities. They’re faxing me copies of his records.”
The Battered Body Page 25