by Joni Rodgers
“Go away,” Kit mumbled. “I don’t have to put up with you anymore.”
“Then why did you keep the letters?” Neeva asked.
“Why did you?” was Kit’s retort, but Neeva wasn’t listening.
“She just had to take a peek, didn’t she?”
“Oh, shut up,” Kit dragged the pillows over her head.
“She couldn’t keep a lid on it. So, he gets burned.”
“Is there something I can do for you before you GO?”
“Oh, just give it a lick and a promise.”
Neeva tipped her coffee can and dumped the lentils and beans, the millet, barley, vetches, and wheat in a seemingly endless shower, down over the worn bedroom carpet, but somehow through the sound of their falling, Kit distinguished the humming rise of the garage door.
She was standing in the middle of the room before she was truly awake, struggling for balance, grasping for her robe, pitching toward the stairs. She realized as she reached the kitchen that the robe was inside out and that’s why she couldn’t get hold of the sash, so she pulled it closed in front of her, one fist clenched at her pounding chest, the other below her distended stomach.
“Mel! Thank God!”
But Mitzi and Coo were quicker and had already surrounded him with squeals and hugs by the time she reached him.
“Hey! Heckle and Jeckle,” he boomed in his big Mel voice, “what are you guys doing out of bed?” He dropped to his knees, bear-hugging and kissing Mitzi and Cooper and looking at them as if they’d grown six inches, and kissing them again, saying over and over, “Geez, I missed you guys. Geez, I missed you so much.”
Kit stood by the table, feeling like an intruder. Mel was avoiding her eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept or shaven in the three weeks since he walked out the kitchen door. She hung back, hoping he would notice her eyes were swollen and dark-circled, too.
“Dad!” Cooper cried. “Where were you?”
“Hey, Buzz,” Mel skimmed his hand over Cooper’s fresh crew cut, smiling a little too broadly. “I had to go on up to Dallas and work for a couple weeks.”
“Mom said El Paso.” Cooper wasn’t fooled for a minute. “And she keeps crying in the bathroom.”
“Cooper ...,” Mel tried to think of what to say.
“Dad,” Coo swallowed, “are you divorcing us?”
“No! No. Geez. I was just—I had to ... to go up there and work.”
“That’s a lie!” Cooper charged, and it was all the proof he needed. “You are divorcing us!”
“I’m not divorcing you, Coop, I’m right here.” Mel pulled him into his big arms. “I’ll always be right here, right with you, Coo buddy. Only, I have to stay at another house for a while.”
“No!” Cooper was crying now.
“Yes, Coop. I have to. And it’s gonna be okay. I promise.”
“Why can’t you stay at our house, Daddy?” Mitzi asked in a small voice.
“I need to help somebody out for a while is all. Somebody whose grandma is in the hospital. And while she’s in the hospital, I’m taking care of her house for her. And I mow the lawn and water the plants and take care of the gardens. Oh, Mitzi-girl, you should see all the flowers Mrs. Garza has. And I fix things and make sure her car is running okay. But it sure is a lot of work. I sure wish I had some helpers sometimes.”
“I could help you, Daddy.” Mitzi seemed even smaller when Mel put his wide hand out to her.
“Yeah, right.” Cooper wiped a dirty palm across his cheek. “You’re not big enough, ya little squat doggy.”
“Hey now. Shhh,” Mel soothed in between them before she could start screaming. “Sure she can help. She can help me take care of Mrs. Garza’s flowers, can’t you, Mitzi-bitsy?”
“Big deal,” Cooper sulked. “You can’t pick flowers that’s growing at somebody else’s house.”
“Well, you can if it’s your job, right?” Mel pulled Mitzi into the hug along with Cooper. “That’ll be Mitzi’s special job. She can pick flowers, and we’ll put ‘em on the table for Mrs. Garza. And I was thinking maybe I should start a terrarium for Mrs. Garza. There’s lots of lizards in that garden of hers, Coo, and I bet she’d like some of those lizards in a terrarium. But I’m gonna need help catching some of those lizards.”
“Can we, Mom?” Cooper asked, and Kit nodded because she couldn’t speak. “Okay, I guess I’ll help with the lizards.”
“That would be great, Coop,” Mel grizzled them with his new beard, and they had to giggle and pull on it. “We’ll get all our work done, and then we’ll go to Checkers for lunch. Get a Checkerburger and some fries? And then maybe we could go to the movies.”
“Okay,” they said, wanting and willing to be taken in.
“Okay!” Mel stood up and clapped his hands together. “Okay, then. That’s the plan. I’ll be here first thing in the morning. I’ll be here so early, y’all won’t even notice I didn’t sleep here.”
But Kit knew with great certainty she would notice. The house had been like an echo chamber to her those last three weeks.
“Now, c’mon, you two, back to bed.”
They protested until Mel chased them up, pretending to be a monster who professed to eat the digits off any children caught out of bed after ten. When he came down from tucking them in, he pulled his raincoat out of the closet and took up the extra toolbox he always left in the garage. He tipped the empty baskets in the laundry room.
“Where’s some socks and underwear?”
“It’s all done,” Kit told him. “It’s all put away.”
He seemed to find something bitterly amusing about that. He went back upstairs and came down with a garbage bag full of clothes.
“Well,” he sighed. “My checks will keep going in the automatic deposit. I’ll use the cash machine, so you can keep the checkbook.”
“Mel, please—”
“Mrs. Garza is the grandmother of one of the day-shift mechanics at the hangar, and their caretaker quit on them so...”
“I’ve been worried out of my mind.”
“I’ve got an apartment over the garage, and there’s plenty of room for the kids to stay, so I’m going to keep them over the weekend.”
“Please sit down and talk to me,” Kit pleaded.
“I’ll bring them back Sunday afternoon.”
“I don’t know if you can ever forgive me or if I can ever make you understand—”
“Kit, we’ve got an airplane coming in at midnight.”
“—but you have to know that I love you and—”
“Do you mind if I take a quick shower here in the morning?” he asked, as if she hadn’t even spoken.
“Of course not! This is your home!”
“Right. Well, I gotta go to work.”
“Mel, please—”
“Just have them ready in the morning, all right?”
“But when are you going to sleep? You’re already exhausted.”
“I’ll handle it,” he said curtly. “I don’t need you to pretend you’re suddenly all worried about me.”
“I’m not pretending anything. I love you!”
“Oh, yeah!” he laughed the same way he did when he saw the empty laundry baskets. “Yeah, that’s great.”
“Mel, listen to me—”
“No!” With his hand he made a gesture that widened the space between them. “I’m not gonna listen, and I’m not gonna talk. Because right now, I’m so—God!—I’m so pissed off, I can’t even... I can’t even stand to look at you, and—and I’m afraid I’ll end up saying something that—” He shook his head and grasped the toolbox. “I’m going to work.”
There was an awkward moment because he almost stepped forward to peck her on the cheek out of habit, but the toolbox came unlatched, and wrenches and drill bits and sockets clanged on the kitchen floor. Kit stooped to help him gather them, but he held up his hand.
“Just leave me alone. Go back to bed or—whatever.”
Kit stood hugging her arms tightly acr
oss the front of her body as he clanked the tools into the box and slammed it shut. He opened the door but paused for a moment.
“Look—” he said, though his anger and hurt made it sound like the shame-faced admission of a great personal failing. “I love you, too, okay?”
“Okay,” Kit breathed.
“Okay,” he repeated and stepped out into the rain.
The bathroom in Attorney Poole’s office had a genuine leather toilet seat. Or at least it looked like genuine leather. Kneeling on the floor, Kiki could smell the upholstery smell, even with a wet paper towel over her face.
“Mrs. Daubert?” Attorney Poole rapped impatiently. “Are you all right?”
Kiki stood up and flushed again and rinsed her hands and opened the door.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Daubert, I know this all must be coming as somewhat of a shock to you.”
“Actually, it’s just morning sickness,” Kiki said. “I’m all right.”
“Please allow me to express the sincere condolences of everyone here at the firm. Wayne was a valued client, and his father has been a good friend of mine from the club for many years, of course.” He pushed a chair she was positive had to be real leather close to the front of his desk. “I was gratified to hear that you two were working out your differences. That makes this terrible tragedy all the more... tragic.”
“Yes,” Kiki murmured.
“Are you sure you want to continue?”
“Well,” she said uncertainly, “I’m not sure there’s any point.”
“No,” he admitted, “between the credit cards, medical and funeral expenses, and the small claims judgments against his business. And then, of course, there’s the matter of his account with our firm here...”
“Of course,” Kiki said. “The thing is ... I guess I still don’t understand how this could have happened.”
“Well, it was pretty much like I told you, Mrs. Daubert. She came in and requested the paternity test; the phlebotomist came and drew the blood. A short time later, she was seen leaving, and shortly after that, it was discovered that the respirator had been disconnected from the wall outlet.”
“And they think she did it.”
“The investigation is pointing in that direction.”
“She’s been under a lot of—of stress lately, and she truly is a good person inside. Mr. Poole, surely they won’t ... they won’t, will they?”
“The investigation is still ongoing. Hopefully, there won’t be anything beyond this very circumstantial evidence that’s already come to light.”
“Will you represent her, Attorney Poole?” Kiki leaned forward, her hands on the edge of the desk as if she were a supplicant to the great and powerful Oz. “If it happens, I mean? See, her husband—they’re separated now, and she’s not used to being on her own, and I don’t have any other money right now, but whatever’s left in Wayne’s estate, I’d gladly give it to you.”
“Oh, it’s not a question of money, Mrs. Daubert. I’m simply not a criminal attorney.”
“Criminal?” Kiki swallowed.
“If it’s discovered that she did indeed terminate your husband’s life support when the most recent tests clearly showed higher brain function— Yes, it’s likely she’ll be charged with manslaughter, possibly murder.”
“Mr. Poole, my mother-in-law is not a criminal.”
“Of course not. They’d just like to check her fingerprints. In order to clear her name, you see. So if you have any idea where she might be—”
“No,” Kiki said again, quickly producing the facial expression she used for innocence and denial. “No, I can’t imagine where she migjit be.”
“Well,” Attorney Poole smiled the fatherly smile he’d smiled at her in her mother’s living room. “I’m sure this is all a tragic error, and the investigation is just a smoke screen. In fact, you may decide to pursue a wrongful death claim against the facility, in which case—” He pondered that pleasant prospect for a moment. “Well, now that’s something I could help you with.”
“Paternity test?” Kiki wondered. “Why would she ask for a paternity test? And how could they do a paternity test without something from me? From the baby, I mean?”
“Well now, I don’t know,” Attorney Poole consulted a manila file folder. “Let’s see. Yes. It was requested by Mrs. Daubert, Sr., and results were to be conveyed to ... here it is. Results were to be conveyed to a Dr. Jane Poplin.” He closed the folder, pondering again. “You know, Mrs. Daubert, your father-in-law—well, not to be crass, but there are some considerable assets there.”
“Dr. Poplin?” Kiki echoed.
“Now, he’s been in possession of these letters from South America for some time,” Attorney Poole continued, “and they clearly refer to this inappropriate relationship. Plain evidence of her mental instability. I believe we could show there’s a liability there. So if we were to pursue him and your mother-in-law on the matter of wrongful death as well as the facility, why, we’d be in a very good position whichever way the investigation goes.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Kiki said. “I think I’m gonna be sick again.”
“Okay.” Kit checked her facial expression in the rearview mirror and started again. “There’s something we need to discuss and ... and ... okay. There’s a—a matter of some urgency. Shoot. Okay. Ander, let’s face it, you seem to be a very ... um... fruitful, a very fertile ...”
Kit ran out of road. She had to pull into the parking lot and stop the car in front of the ornate window she herself had painted with ferns and fiddleheads and the words Scandinavian Design.
C’mon, you can do this, she told herself, one down. You did one already.
And that wasn’t an easy one, either.
It was a simple plan. On a day she knew Kiki wouldn’t be there, she would just go and explain the situation to Wayne’s mother, and she would sign for the test, and Kiki would never have to be the wiser. But when Kit arrived at the nursing home, Wayne’s mother was sitting next to him on the bed, singing the same little song Kit herself had sung to Cooper on a thousand summer evenings.
“... ragtime cowboy, talk about yer cowboy, ragtime cowboy Joe ...”
She brushed her fingers up and down his atrophied arm, humming in time to the respirator’s syncopated rhythm.
“Mrs. Daubert?” Kit broached, “I don’t know if you remember me ...”
“Why, Kitten! Of course! Of course, I do. And even if I didn’t, well, my goodness, you girls look like twins. Anyone would know you’re Kalene’s sister.” Mother Daubert embraced Kit and kissed the air at the side of her cheek. “It’s so sweet of you to come. And you’re expecting! Kiki told me, and she was so delighted.”
“Mrs. Daubert,” Kit swallowed, not at all sure she was going to be able to go through with this, “that’s sort of what I—I need to talk to you about.”
Mother Daubert’s face solidified to a pleasant mask. Her soft gray eyes took on the heavy-lashed look of a porcelain doll’s. Kit tried to breathe enough to speak. She told her as gently as she could. Then, there was a dry quiet in which the respirator clicked and sighed.
“I see,” Mother Daubert nodded, taking Jane Poplin’s card with the courtesy and composure of a charity function hostess.
“So, if you could...”
“Yes,” she said, her coral pink lips quivering only slightly and only for a moment.
“Mrs. Daubert, I can’t tell you how horrible I feel about—”
“Perhaps you should go now, Kitten.”
“It’s just that Kiki has so much on her mind right now. I didn’t want her to be ... to have any unnecessary ...”
“Yes. Yes, I definitely think you should go, dear.” Mother Daubert tucked the sheet over Wayne’s atrophied arm. “They’ll be bringing his Jell-O soon. He loves to share his Jell-O with me in the afternoon.”
Kit left as quickly as possible, blinking furiously, determined to drive directly to Scandinavian Design before she lost her momentum.
In the space
of that afternoon and the two weeks since, Kit had driven past the ornate sign at least twenty times.
From the parking lot now, she could see Ander through the wide front window, chatting with a customer she recognized. They both looked up at the sound of the door chimes.
“Why, Kit!” the customer declared. “We were just talking about you!”
“Oh... Mrs. Lu. It’s nice to see you again,” Kit said, trying not to notice that Ander’s mouth was hanging open and his eyes were riveted to her stomach. Perhaps this was going to be easier to explain than she thought.
“I was so sorry to hear you aren’t working anymore because—well, as I was telling Ander—I’ve had so many compliments on the armoire with the mimosa ladies,” said Mrs. Lu.
“Oh, yes. The mimosa ladies. And the little house and orange blossoms,” Kit went on, not wanting Mrs. Lu to leave. “And it was over a—a nice black lacquer, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, very high gloss,” Mrs. Lu nodded enthusiastically. “I came in because I’ve been wanting to have some companion pieces done—a vanity and a little ottoman, perhaps, and two little night tables? But I understand you’re no longer available.”
“No. I... I’m taking some time off.”
“Well, Ander made it sound so final! I didn’t know this was just a maternity leave,” she said in a congratulatory way that made it all seem even more ironic. “When will you be back?”
“I won’t be back, Mrs. Lu.”
“Oh?” she said in a way that inflected the unspoken why not?
Kit had never considered herself particularly quick-thinking, and it pleased her, even in the moment, to know how proud Vivica would be of what happened next.
“Because, you see,” she blurted, “I’m working out of my home now. Because, well, actually, I—I just recently, I’ve gone into business for myself! And... and very recently, in fact so... I mean, I don’t even have business cards yet, but here, let me give you my number because I—I’d make you a great price and—” She dragged her checkbook out of her purse and ripped the address part off a deposit slip. “Oh, I’d be so happy to do it for you, Mrs. Lu.”
“I’m so pleased!” Mrs. Lu beamed. “Why don’t you prepare an estimate for me, and I’ll give you a call first thing tomorrow so we can discuss when and delivery and all that.”