She draped her arm around his shoulders. “He’s not going to kill you.”
“He’ll yell at me until I wish I was dead.”
That got a snort of laughter. “Maybe. He just wants you to try harder.”
“I try.”
She gave him a skeptical look.
“Well, I want to try. It’s just so boring.”
She nodded. “Here’s the thing, my love,” she said, bracing her forehead against his. “In order to do the things we enjoy doing, we have to do the things we hate, the things we find boring.” She touched the guitar with her free hand. “You’ve got to pass school so you can play. You know how you practice for hours on this?”
He nodded.
“Well, put a little of that dedication into your schoolwork and you’ll see improvement.”
“It won’t be enough,” he said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because he’ll still hate me.”
“Your father doesn’t hate you. He worries for you. He wants more for you.”
He met her blue eyes. “Why can’t it just be us? Why does he have to be here?”
She recoiled, her arm dropping from his shoulder. “What are you saying?”
“I wish it was just the two of us. Why does he have to be here? He hates it here. He hates me.”
“Jerome!” she said sharply. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”
He looked down at the guitar, plucking the strings.
Her fingers moved through his hair again. “Please don’t talk like that, my love. Please. Your father’s trying his hardest for us.”
“I don’t see why it can’t just be us,” he grumbled.
She kissed his temple. “Because he needs me too. Just like you, he needs me.”
Jaguar blinked and jerked himself back to the present. The pastor had finished his Bible reading and had fallen silent, staring over the crowd.
“I knew Ida personally,” Pastor Blanchard said, making Jaguar frown. His mother had never been one to attend church regularly. What did this man mean?
“Ida came to me a few years ago with a plan. She wanted to provide meals to elderly people who were homebound, unable to get out and get their own food. We started our own meal program here in Sequoia. At one point, we were providing regular meals to over forty people.”
Why hadn’t he known this? It seemed like a pretty big thing that she hadn’t told him.
“Ida was a rare woman. She accepted everyone no matter what their orientation or beliefs or ethnic background. I wish we all could be so accepting in our own lives.” He stared over the crowd and a few people murmured affirmations. Finally, he cleared his throat again. “Would anyone else like to speak about Ida?”
There followed a line of people, most of whom Jaguar had never seen before, all who rose and went to the podium, talking about something his mother had done for them. Even Jim and Minnie Dawson shared a story. Jaguar sat in awe beside his father, listening to the things his mother had done, things he’d never known about her. Henry kept his head bowed, his shoulders rounded throughout the whole thing, his hands clasped so hard it must hurt.
“One of us needs to say something,” came his low voice.
Jaguar blinked and looked over at him. “What?”
“One of us needs to talk.” He glanced up at Jaguar, then down again. “I’m no good at it, but you’ve been up in front of thousands of people. You need to do it.”
Jaguar went still. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to go up there and say things about his mother. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak. He felt a cold sweat pepper his back and his palms grew clammy. He wiped them on the suit pants and reached up, fussing with the tie.
“Please,” whispered Henry.
Pastor Blanchard returned to the podium. “Thank you, everyone. Is there anyone else who wishes to speak?”
Jaguar closed his eyes briefly, trying to get up the courage, then he rose, smoothing down the suit jacket to give himself time to think, but nothing would come to him. If he’d have known his father expected this, he would have prepared something, but he hadn’t. Drawing a deep breath, he headed for the stairs. The casket was right next to him and he laid his hand on it for a moment. He could feel the hush in the room. God, he wished he’d known he was going to have to do this because nothing would come to him now.
Pastor Blanchard gave him a kind smile and backed up as Jaguar stepped up to the podium. He looked out over the assembly and couldn’t believe how many people had come to say goodbye to his mother.
White noise filled his head and for the first time in his life, he felt a flutter of stage fright. He didn’t have anything prepared and this wasn’t like performing. He couldn’t retreat into a made-up persona. For the first time in years, he was just Jerome Jarvis, not Jaguar, not a fictional character. He could see their expectant faces, their anxious looks. They didn’t want him to fail and he couldn’t. This time he couldn’t afford not to succeed.
“When my mother was a girl, she wanted a duck for a pet,” he said, speaking off the top of his head.
A few people chuckled and nearly everyone smiled.
“I didn’t know this until recently. We were by the pond and she was watching the ducks when she told me.” He looked down at the casket, the fact that she was gone hitting him all over again. “I asked her why she’d want a duck rather than a dog or cat and she said they imprint upon you when they’re babies.” He paused, forcing himself to look up again. “Today, I’ve been sitting here.” He motioned to the pew where his father was. “And I’ve heard your stories about her, about the imprint she made on your lives, and I realize I only knew a part of her. I only knew the part that affected me.”
He looked back at the pastor. “Pastor Blanchard mentioned that my mother was accepting. That she never judged people for who or what they were.” He felt his throat tighten and he closed his eyes briefly, then exhaled. “She was that way with me too. No matter what, my mother showed me only acceptance. Not that she didn’t tell me when I was wrong. She had no problem doing that too.”
More people laughed.
“But she always told me to be myself. To do what I thought was right. To…” He gave a little laugh. “…march to my own drummer, which, obviously, I did.”
The crowd joined him in laughter and Henry looked up, watching him for the first time.
Jaguar’s eyes filled with tears and he didn’t try to hold them back. “I miss her. I miss the woman who dressed in the latest fashions, who played the violin, who taught me to have music in my soul. I miss the woman who loved to feed the ducks and saw the absolute beauty in a butterfly.” His voice choked and he cleared it. “I miss my mother.” Then he closed his eyes. His chest felt so tight, he thought he’d suffocate, but he drew a breath, then another, and the tightness eased. “I want to thank you all for the kind stories you told. I will carry them with me forever. You’ve given my father and me a rare gift.”
With that, he nodded to Pastor Blanchard and stepped away from the podium.
* * *
Hakim drove them to the cemetery. Henry didn’t say anything on the ride over, but once Hakim pulled up before the gravesite and put the taxi in park, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small silver flask. As Jaguar watched in amazement, he unscrewed the lid and threw back a swig, then he passed it to his son.
Jaguar took it without comment and brought it to his own mouth. He was surprised when tequila poured onto his taste buds. He coughed and handed it back. “Tequila?”
“My favorite. Patron. Nothing like it. It’s always been my drink of choice.”
Jaguar laughed. “Really? I didn’t know that.”
“Of course you didn’t. I didn’t want you sneaking it. I still hide it on the top shelf of my closet.”
Jaguar laughed again, watching Henry take a swig. He passed the flask back and Jaguar took another hit himself.
“This has been the worst day,” said Henry
. “And it’s about to get worse.”
Jaguar looked out at the gravesite. People were starting to arrive and the hearse had just pulled up. “Yeah, I hate this part.” He dropped his gaze to his father. “Come on. We’ll do this together.”
Hakim glanced at him through the rearview mirror, then he opened the driver’s side door and got out, hurrying around to Henry’s door and opening it. Henry put the flask back in his jacket as Jaguar opened his own door. Reaching over, Henry laid a hand on Jaguar’s forearm, stopping him.
“You did good,” he said.
Jaguar looked back at him, not sure he’d heard him correctly, but he knew not to question Henry.
“You did good speaking for your mother,” Henry clarified.
Jaguar smiled, then Henry released him. As Jaguar crossed around the front of the taxi, Hakim gave him a curious look.
“I wonder where all the paparazzi are?” he said.
Jaguar looked out at the cemetery. Except for the locals and the pastor, he didn’t see any news cameras or reporters gathered around the grave. “Maybe Sheriff Wilson stopped them at the entrance,” he said, but he didn’t remember seeing a patrol car when they entered.
“Filthy bastards,” grumbled Henry, starting toward the gravesite. “Can’t even let a family grieve in peace.”
Jaguar followed him, marveling that Henry had thought of them as a family. That had never occurred to him before.
* * *
Jaguar felt subdued when they returned to his parents’ house. The graveside service had been short, but the sight of his mother’s coffin lowering into the grave would be with him for the rest of his life. He and Hakim got his father into his recliner in the living room and Jaguar went into the kitchen to start laying out the food the neighbors had brought by earlier.
Zion found him there and she and Dottie wordlessly began setting up the coffee and baked goods they’d brought. Jaguar was grateful for that. He didn’t feel like talking at the moment. When he returned to the living room to check on his father, he found him with Hakim, talking about cars. The doorbell rang and he went to answer it, letting Jim and Minnie Dawson into the house.
Minnie kissed his cheek and Jim shook his hand, headed for the kitchen to deposit their food. After that other people began arriving and Jaguar was kept busy getting people drinks or receiving condolences. A number of people brought plants or flowers and he wasn’t sure where to put it all or what he and his father were going to do with it.
Finally Zion brought him a plate of food and Tate brought him a beer. He and Tate took seats at the picnic table in his parents’ small backyard. Jaguar looked at the food on his plate, but he suddenly didn’t have an appetite. He picked up the beer and downed half the bottle.
“This is when I’d really like a bong-hit,” he said to Tate.
Tate laughed. “I can’t help you there. Never been one for smoking pot.”
“I hear Deimos quit too?”
“Yep. Not a puff since he was a suspect.” Tate jerked his chin at the plate. “You need to eat something.”
Jaguar nodded, staring at the food, then he picked up the plastic fork and dished up a bite of potato salad. He supposed it was good, but he didn’t really want it.
“Are you going back to LA now?”
Jaguar shrugged. “I think so. I’m going to see what Pops wants to do. I mean, I don’t know if he wants to keep the house or sell it, then I’m headed back to my condo. If I’m not careful, I won’t have a career anymore.”
“Yeah, I guess you sort of need to get back at it. You’ve been incommunicado for a while now. What do you think your father’s going to do?”
Jaguar scratched the back of his head. He’d discarded the tie and jacket, rolling up his white shirt sleeves to his forearms. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it. That’s not really our thing.” He took another bite. “Talking, I mean.”
“Yeah, same thing with my father.”
“Difficult, huh?”
Tate took a sip of beer. “You might say that. My father has a very particular belief about male versus female roles and when I gave up being a cop, it was a personal insult to his sense of masculinity. Somehow my decision put his manhood into question.”
Jaguar smiled, holding up his beer. “From one failure to another,” he said and they clinked bottles. Before he could say anything else, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He’d put it on silent for the service, but he could feel it vibrating against his thigh. He dug it out and looked at the display.
Pam Rosen. Nancy Osborn’s sister.
He frowned and thumbed it on, holding it to his ear. “Pam?”
“They’re all over the house, trying to take pictures though the curtains. I can’t even get out of the driveway and they won’t stop banging on the door.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
Across the table, Tate went still.
“The damn news people. They’re all over the house. They even got into the backyard. They won’t leave me alone!” He could hear the panic in her voice. “The kids are terrified.”
“Okay, Pam, I’m on my way. Can you send me your address?”
“This is your fault!” she said, almost sobbing. “This isn’t what I wanted!”
“Pam, please, send me your address. I’m on my way.”
“Hurry!” she said and hung up.
Jaguar climbed out of the seat. “The paparazzi showed up at Nancy’s sister’s house.” His phone buzzed with a text message and he looked down, seeing the address. “I’ve got to get over there.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Tate, “and I’ll call Sheriff Wilson to meet us there with all the patrols he can muster.”
“Thank you,” said Jaguar headed into the house. He found Hakim still talking with his father, arguing over some sports team that Jaguar had never heard of before. Hakim looked up as Jaguar hunkered beside his father’s chair. “I have to go over to Pam Rosen’s house. The paparazzi showed up there. That’s why they weren’t at the gravesite.”
“Why did they go there?” asked Henry.
“I don’t know, but I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, Pops. Leave everything and I’ll clean up when I get back.”
Henry grabbed his forearm. “You shouldn’t go over there alone.”
“I’ll drive him,” said Hakim, setting his beer on the coffee table and rising.
“And Tate’s going too. He’s calling the sheriff for help.”
Henry nodded distractedly and released his arm. “Be careful,” he said and Jaguar realized that was another thing he’d never heard his father say before.
CHAPTER 10
By the time Hakim drove up in front of the small ranch style home on the outskirts of Sequoia, Sheriff Wilson and Sam Murphy had arrived. They’d forced the paparazzi off Pam’s front yard and they gathered in the street, milling around. Jaguar wasn’t sure where these people had all come from. Besides the Sequette and a few local television stations, he didn’t think Sequoia had this many journalists.
Tate was at his car door before he could get up his courage. He knew his daughter was in that house – a daughter he’d never seen before. He wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing her like this, under these circumstances.
Tate had chosen to drive his own truck over, since neither of them were sure how long they might be. He pulled open the door and motioned Jaguar to climb out. As soon as he did so, all cameras turned in his direction and he felt his stomach lurch upward. Good thing he hadn’t eaten much.
Reporters started toward him, but Vasquez and another patrol officer stopped them. Still, the paparazzi pelted him with questions as Tate led him up the walkway to the door. Sheriff Wilson waited on the porch steps next to Sam Murphy and Jaguar could feel Sam’s disapproving look rake over him.
As soon as he neared the door, it flew open and Pam stood on the other side. With Tate on his left side and Wilson and Murphy at his back, he stepped through into a dark family room with 70’s paneling an
d shag carpeting on the floor.
Pam moved to the middle of the room, her arms crossed around her waist. She wore an oversized sweater, pajama bottoms, and her hair was in a messy ponytail. Her nose was red and her eyes were bloodshot.
Wilson closed the door behind him. “We’ll keep them out on the street until they get bored and leave,” he told Pam. “I wish I could tell them to get lost, but First Amendment and all that.” He held out his hands in a gesture of futility, then tucked his thumbs into his belt again.
“I’m just glad you’re here now,” said Pam, her voice rough as if she’d been crying.
Jaguar glanced around the room. A little girl, about five, clung to Pam’s leg, her dark eyes staring up at him with fright. This couldn’t be Sophia because Nancy had said her daughter had Jaguar’s pale blue eyes. Behind Pam and her daughter were two little boys, watching the people in the family room with a mixture of fear and interest.
Wilson turned to Murphy and muttered something about a bear, then Sam Murphy went to the front door and left. Jaguar took another look around, but he saw no other children. He felt a tightening in his gut. Where was Sophia?
“What happened? Why did they show up here?” he asked Pam.
She gave him a withering look. “Because Nancy died this morning.”
He recoiled and Wilson made a sighing sound. Then Jaguar stepped closer to Pam. “I’m sorry, Pam.”
“They want to know what her last words were, how she died, whether she made any other confessions.” She gave a hitching sob and laid her hand on the little girl’s back. “They’ve been shouting things at me for hours. Terrible things. Like did I also want to kill people.”
“Pam…”
“No!” She jabbed a finger at him. “This is your fault! All of this is your fault!”
Jaguar wasn’t sure how, but he wasn’t going to argue. She was distraught and had a reason to be. At that moment, he caught motion from the corner of his eye. He glanced over to the archway that led to a small dining room. A little girl peeked around the corner. He could see a glorious head of brown hair and one startling blue eye.
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