by Alter, Judy
At dinner, talk turned to Tom Lattimore’s proposed shopping center. This was the first that Buck had heard of it, and he was immediately angry. “We can’t have that in this neighborhood. Mess up traffic something horrible, bring in outsiders, troublemakers.”
“I can’t imagine that troublemakers will shop at an upscale grocery,” I said mildly.
But he glared at me and answered, “They’ll be drawn to pick pockets, grab purses, even steal cars. It’s a petty thief ‘come and get it’ signal.”
I doubted it was that bad, but I was glad he was on our side.
Mom surprised me by asking, “What’s the plan to stop it?”
“The neighborhood association will meet next week—you should get an announcement any day—and we’ll need people to walk the neighborhood and get signatures on petitions.”
“I’ll do that,” Mom said quickly.
“Miss Cynthia, you will only do that in daylight hours,” Keisha said with an air of authority. “You ain’t goin’ out at night.”
“Evenings are when some of my neighbors are home,” Mom said. “They work all day.”
“I’ll go with you, Miss Cynthia,” Otto volunteered. I guess he had picked up Keisha’s name for Mom. “And I can walk Magnolia, or at least large parts of it. I know a lot of the merchants.”
“If you walk with me, Otto, I’ll go with you on Magnolia. We can even stop for lunch at some of the restaurants,” Mom said, and Mike threw an I-told-you-so look at me.
“I’ll walk some in the evenings,” Keisha said. “I know a handsome officer who will keep me safe.”
Buck jumped to his feet. “Hold on, he’s got more to do than escort you around the neighborhood!”
Keisha sighed. “I know that. I’ll just keep him on speed dial. I do that anyway.”
Mom’s Italian cream cake was the sensation of the evening, with everyone eating pieces far larger than they should have. I worried about the girls waking in the night with upset tummies, but there was no way I could stop them from eating the delicious concoction. I thought about talking to Mom about less rich desserts and then decided against it—she was doing what made her happy.
“Miss Cynthia,” Keisha said, affecting her best slow drawl, “you are sinful. This cake is sinful. And I love it. How about you, José?”
He raised his fork in appreciation.
Otto made a courtly bow. “Miss Cynthia, it is better than Black Forest cake and I never thought I would say anything good about Italy. You have charmed me.”
Mom smiled, almost a secretive smile, and said, “Thank you, Otto.”
Everyone left early—tomorrow was a business day. But their parting words mostly had to do with petitions. I’d call Jim Price in the morning and find out if they were ready. I promised to get them to everyone as soon as possible.
Keisha and José had brought Otto or I’m sure he would have insisted on seeing Mom home. Instead, Buck Conroy asked me, “Want me to follow your mama home?”
“I can get home by myself,” Mom said frostily.
“I’ll follow anyway. Just wait till we get McKenzie loaded.”
Mom stalked out the door and took off without waiting. I was standing in the front door and saw the green Nova across the street follow Mom without turning its lights on. Buck saw it too, and left Joanie and McKenzie standing on the curb as he raced after Bella’s car.
He was back in minutes. “She didn’t follow your mom. Saw me and turned off on back streets. At least she doesn’t know where your mom lives…yet.”
Mom, I thought, didn’t need another criminally insane person in her life. Now I had a new worry. Bella knew all about the whole family. Sooner or later, she’d figure out where Mom lived.
Dejectedly I went back inside the house. Mike had been sitting in his chair and missed the entire scene, but he sensed my mood. When he asked what was wrong, I told him about Bella’s aborted attempt to follow Mom.
“We’re getting you that handgun and signing you up for the course,” he said. “As for your mom, we can’t quarantine her…and she doesn’t have a garage, so her car is in plain sight. Maybe Keisha should move back in.”
“I can’t ask her, not with José in the picture.”
“Maybe she could stay with Claire. That’s a big house.”
He was grasping at straws in an effort to be helpful, but I knew Mom would never do that.
“We can get her a monitor to wear at home, like we got you, and tell her if she feels threatened to push the button—better safe than sorry. I’ll tell her about the green Nova and if she sees it tailing her, she’s to go straight to the police substation. It seems to me that one vengeful girl is causing us to make complicated plans—and we don’t even know if she’s dangerous.”
“Not a chance we can take. What if she changes cars?”
“Joe doesn’t think she will. Part of her strategy is to get on our nerves. She’s sort of playing chicken, showing us how close she can get without getting caught.” I was tired of talking about it and went to get the girls ready for bed.
****
The next day, after I picked Mike up at noon, he and I had a quick lunch at Nonna Tata, splitting a bowl of spaghetti puttanesca, and then I took him back to the substation. I checked in briefly with Keisha.
“Don’t know what this world’s coming to,” she muttered. “Just let me at that girl for ten minutes. She won’t bother you anymore.”
“You know you can’t do that—whatever it is you have in mind, and I don’t want to ask.”
“I’m getting me a knife in case she comes bargin’ in here some day. Don’t need a permit for that, and I know how to use it.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m going to Mom’s. I need to warn her, tell her some precautions to take, just in case.”
“And scare that poor woman to death? I best move back in there.”
“What about José?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have to stay with Miss Cynthia every night.”
“Let’s see what happens.”
Mom wasn’t home. Frustrated I sat in her driveway for a bit, but I knew I couldn’t stay. I’d checked carefully to see that Bella wasn’t following me, but she could always just cruise the neighborhood and see me there. I went back to the office. Bella felt more and more like an albatross around my neck.
Back at the office I began to fret about Mom, and I called every few minutes to see if she was back home. She wasn’t.
“You going to wear that phone out?” Keisha asked.
“I’m worried about Mom.”
“Kelly, she’s a grown lady. She can take care of herself. She’s got more spirit than you know lately. She ain’t the same woman that moved down here a year ago.”
That didn’t comfort me.
Finally, on my eighth try, Mom answered, and I immediately demanded, “Where have you been?”
“Why, Kelly, what’s the matter dear?”
“Well, I …I was just looking for you.”
“Anything important? Are the girls all right?”
“They’re fine, Mom. Where were you?” This time my question was calmer.
“Well, you know, I have your grandmother’s clock—the old-fashioned chime one she went to school by.”
Did I know? When I was a kid it sat right outside my bedroom and chimed every fifteen minutes plus tolling out the hour—drove me crazy some nights.
“Well, I just thought that nice Mr. Martin might fix it for me, so I went by his shop. My goodness he has a lot of clocks in there. So interesting. He told me about some of them, who they’d belonged to, how old they were. I was just fascinated. Then he mentioned that he lived behind his shop and only had a hot plate, so of course I had to offer to cook for him tonight—why didn’t you tell me that before, Kelly? I went to the grocery store and got steak and potatoes. He said he’d walk, but I’ll pick him up.”
“Mom, then you’ll have to drive him back to his shop late at night.”
“It won’t be that late, Ke
lly, and it doesn’t bother me to drive at night.”
It bothered me for her to drive at night, a whole lot. “Mom, I’ve got to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Kelly, dear, can’t you wait until tomorrow? I have so much to do before I pick Otto up.”
I hung up and repeated the conversation to Keisha, who laughed and laughed. I knew Mike would do the same thing. Mom was a head taller than Otto, for Pete’s sake! What was she thinking?
****
That night Mike used his walker and made it to the backyard via the ramp in front—a first. He threw the ball for the girls and Gus. As he always did, Gus caught it most of the time, but it was wonderful to watch Mike and the girls playing together again. Wonderful that is until Maggie pitched it back to him, a bit wide. He reached for it, lost his balance and fell on his bad leg.
Maggie screamed, I screamed, Em began to cry, and Gus ran over to lick Mike’s face.
“Shall I call 911?” I asked.
Mike’s face was pale, and he bit his lip as though in pain, but he said, “No. Don’t call anybody. Just let me be a minute and then see if you and the girls can get me upright again. That was a damn fool thing to do—on my part.”
Maggie wailed, “It’s all my fault. I forgot and threw the ball back to you.”
As color began to creep back into his face, Mike said, “It’s nobody’s fault, Mag. It’s just one of those things that happen. Now let’s see if we can get me up. Kelly, move the walker close where I can get a hold of it. My arms are still strong, and I can help pull myself up.”
I did, and I bit my lip in worry, but we got him to a sitting position, put his arms on the walker, and then I put my arms under his and pulled up. Maggie stood behind him and pushed on his back to be sure he didn’t fall backward. Em simply wailed. But soon he was standing.
“Can you walk?”
“Give me a minute. That was work for all of us.”
After a few nervous minutes—nervous on my part if not his—Mike took a tentative step, first on his good leg, then on the injured one. “A little sore, but I think it’s okay.”
“You’re going to the doctor tomorrow,” I said.
“No.” Firm.
“Yes.” Equally firm. “If you can issue orders about guns, I can issue orders about doctors.”
While he said, “Let’s wait until tomorrow morning and see,” Em screamed, “Gun? Who’s got a gun?”
“Mike,” I said calmly, my fingers crossed for the white lie. “His service revolver, and it’s hidden up high where you can’t get to it.”
“Ugh,” Maggie said. “Who would want to?”
Chapter Eleven
I called Mike’s orthopedic surgeon first thing the next morning—I’d already dropped Mike off at the substation and heard all his protests that he was fine. But I thought he was limping more on the bad leg. Of course I was expecting and looking for the worst.
The receptionist said the doctor would see him when he began afternoon patient hours at two o’clock and please come a little early. I called Mike, told him I’d pick him up at 12:15 for lunch—his choice of places. He chose the Grill, and I wasn’t sorry. After all, it was meatloaf day.
“You’re making way too much of this, Kelly. I took a little fall. It could happen to anybody.”
“Anybody doesn’t have a broken leg. Besides, your regular appointment is next week—it’s been eight weeks. Maybe this will substitute for that.” I stared at him. “Mike, I’ll leave the room, but please be honest with the doctor. Don’t try to bluff your way through. Tell him if, when, and where it hurts.”
He hung his head, and I knew he’d been planning on bluffing.
I sat in the waiting room, trying to read emails on my iPhone but swinging one foot in impatience and checking my watch so often I was tempted to shake it to see if it was still working. After twenty minutes, a nurse stuck her head out the door and said, “Ms. O’Connell, the doctor would like you to join them.”
When I entered, Mike looked dejected. I shook hands with Dr. McAdams and took the chair he offered.
“He’s given himself a set-back,” the doctor said. “We’ll have to send him for x-rays to make sure the pins didn’t get out of place. I didn’t realize he was back at work full time, and I’m ordering him to cut back to half days—maybe mornings, so he can do his exercises, walk, and sleep in the afternoon.”
I glanced at Mike, who did not look in my direction.
“He also asked if he could drive, but the answer is not for a while. I think in general Mike has been pushing himself too hard. He tells me it’s difficult to get comfortable at night, and he admits that there isn’t a moment in the day or night that he’s not aware of his injury…and his limitations.”
I wanted to shout, “Good for you and your honesty, Mike,” but I kept quiet.
“I’m giving him a new regimen to follow,” Dr. McAdams said, handing Mike several sheets. “You both need to realize that it will be a year before we know for sure if this surgery was a success. Mike could end up with one leg an inch shorter than the other…”
I saw Mike shudder just a bit.
“…and he’s got to be careful and slow in this recovery.”
I nodded but said nothing. I wasn’t going to be put in the position of mothering him or giving him an opportunity to ask, “Want to say I told you so?” He did neither of those things but there was a great silent gulf between us on the way home. I dropped him off and went back to the office after making sure he was inside the house.
Late that night, when we were settled in bed, Mike reached for me and began to stroke my breasts, my stomach and on down. A sharp intake of breath and then, “Mike, are you sure it’s okay?”
“Yeah, it’s the one big thing I asked the doctor about and he said as long as we were careful.”
I crawled on top of him and began nibbling at his ear lobe. I was praying the girls didn’t wake up.
****
Halloween was a bust at our house but a great success at the YMCA from all reports. Keisha went over to Mom’s and gave out treats. Mike and I stayed home, and I answered the door while he, honest to gosh, sat with his service revolver tucked down in the chair next to him.
“If something happens,” he explained, “I can’t jump up to rescue you. This is the most practical solution.”
“Is it legal? Besides, Bella won’t come trick or treating. Not her style.”
There were a few young Hispanic boys that for all I remembered could be Bella’s younger brothers. But I doubted it.
Maggie had finally relented and repeated her costume of last year as a homeless person, with black paint smeared on her face to look like dirt and her hair deliberately soiled with actual dirt, hanging in strings around her face under an old beret. She was such a pretty child that I began to wish some year she’d choose a costume that showed off her prettiness. Em of course looked like an angel in her pink tutu.
Theresa brought them home around eight, knowing full well Em’s eight-thirty bedtime, and they were laughing and full of stories of all they’d done—bobbed for apples, eaten caramel apples, played pin the tail on the donkey, done a sack race. A big part of me was jealous not to be part of the fun, and once again in my mind I blamed Sonny Adams for his reckless driving and Bella Garza for stalking me. If none of that had happened, my life would be free and unfettered as it was before Mike’s accident.
I pulled Theresa aside to ask if she sighted Bella’s car but she shook her head.
Next morning, Keisha reported all was calm at Mom’s house and Mom had really enjoyed handing out treats. Keisha had gone by to get Otto Martin, and the three of them drank wine, ate Halloween candy, and laughed a lot.
A momentary sulk: everyone had such fun except me. Can it, Kelly, you have Mike alive and almost whole. Be grateful.
****
Keisha and I were showing a house to one of Claire’s friends when Mike called my cell phone. I excused myself and left the client to Keisha’s care wh
en I went out on the porch.
“Sonny Adams was killed last night,” he said without preamble.
“Bella,” I breathed. “So she is more dangerous than we thought.”
“Probably so. They can’t find her—doesn’t seem to be on the streets. You seen her today?”
“No. Not since Sunday when she started to follow Mom home.” I hesitated because I didn’t want to hear the answer to my next question. “Was he shot?” It was almost a hopeful question. Guns apparently weren’t Bella’s style, so if he was shot it wasn’t her. After all, Sonny Adams apparently had several shady connections. His death could be completely unrelated to Rosalinda Garza.
“Stabbed. In the belly, with a kitchen knife.”
More detail than I needed.
“Conroy got a search warrant for the Garza home, but I don’t expect he’ll find Bella. Watch out. There’s always the chance that she’s gone on a tear.”
I thought I might be sick for a moment. “Poor Mrs. Garza,” I finally muttered.
‘That’s one way to look at it. Poor Sonny is another way.”
“I have less sympathy for him.”
“It’s not a case of black and white, Kelly. Sonny was no credit to the human race, but Mrs. Garza has raised some kids who aren’t either. I’ll see you at noon for lunch. Be careful.” And he hung up.
I pulled myself together and returned to my client, who was listening to Keisha rattle on about the potential of this two-story brick house and making notes at the same time on a redo—the second story was already an add-on, and I too saw ways that it could be improved. “My contractor,” I said, “could walk through with you and make suggestions. He’s pretty good. I keep him busy, though, so he couldn’t do the work.” Okay, I’d just promoted Anthony, but I thought it sounded rather grand.