Uncharted Fate

by Racette, Cynthia

  Mallory swallowed, visibly humiliated. By the look on her face, Anna was afraid her daughter might vomit right in Detective Thomas' office. "Yessir."

  "So you promise to stay away from Terry and her friends, then?"

  Mallory nodded. "Yessir, I promise."

  "Good. Will you wait out in the reception area while I talk with your mother for a minute, please?"

  As Mallory stiffly rose and walked out the door, Anna turned back to the officer.

  "Could I talk to you for a moment as one parent to another?" he asked.

  "Certainly."

  "I know what you’re going through, Mrs. Lamoreaux. My wife left without a word three years ago, and my son experienced a really rough time after she was gone. He’s sixteen and only now coping with her desertion. I know what it’s like having the rug suddenly pulled out from under you."

  "I'm sure you do. It isn't easy coping with something like that, whether it's desertion or death. I realized it was you who came to the house that morning. My brain was pretty fried dealing with Mike's death but you were very kind. Thank you."

  "It's the worst part of my job and I detest doing it."

  Shivering, Anna gave him a half-smile. "I’ve been having an awful time with her. She’s so terribly bitter."

  He nodded. "But she’s a good girl underneath. I can tell. I see all kinds of kids in here, and I’ve gotten to be a pretty good judge. Her friend, now—I knew when we picked her up before Christmas she’d be back before long. I don’t think we’ll see your daughter again."

  "I hope not. I’ll keep a closer watch on her."

  "Good." His smile widened. "You know, I think I’ve seen you somewhere recently."

  "I’ve been working as a waitress at Betty’s Diner."

  His finger pointed at her in triumph. "That’s it. I stop there sometimes for a meal when I’m on duty."

  "I’ve seen policemen in there once in a while. But you don’t wear a uniform."

  "No, I don't. I noticed you but you didn't have a reason to notice me. Maybe I’ll see you in there again someday. Good luck with your daughter. I hope she’ll be all right now."

  "I hope so." Anna took a deep breath. "Maybe your pep talk will help."

  "Yeah." He frowned. "I hate to see a good kid start to go bad. To me, preventing it from happening, at any expense, is like saving a life. Mallory’s is well worth saving." He stood and extended his hand to her. "I think you’d better get your daughter home. She didn’t look too great. I think this has upset her."

  "I hope it scared the hell out of her."

  "So do I. Good night, now. See you at Betty’s."

  Anna shook his hand and smiled into his warm brown eyes. "Thank you for being so helpful with Mallory. See you."

  She turned and went out to the waiting area to find Mallory hunched in the red chair, clutching her stomach. Helping her up, she led her daughter out the door. "Come on, babe. Let’s get you home before you mess up their floor."

  Back home, Rose left with a quick glance at Mallory after Anna told her she’d call her in the morning. Once Mallory got rid of most of the source of her discomfort in the bathroom toilet, Anna helped her on with her jammie pants and tee shirt, and put her to bed. With a dull moan, Mallory started to roll over to face the wall.

  Anna stopped her. "No, honey. Not yet. We’ve got to talk."

  "No." Mallory shook her head weakly. "I can’t. It was awful. I don’t even want to think about it ever again."

  "Do you mean you’ve learned your lesson?"

  "Like a small child?" Mallory’s fists clenched on the bedspread. "Don't worry. Your little girl has learned her lesson from the big, bad policeman."

  "He had some insightful things to say and you should think about them, especially what he said about staying away from Terry."

  "I'm not going anywhere near Terry. And I will think about everything, but not tonight. I feel too awful right now."

  "Okay, but be sure you do. You were nearly arrested tonight. If you had been, it would have changed the course of the rest of your life. So no, Mallory, this isn't child stuff. Not by a long shot."

  "But I didn't get arrested, okay? You don't have to worry about everybody in church and the neighborhood getting wind of just how awful your daughter is."

  "There’s no need to get sarcastic, Eliza Mallory. You committed a crime. It doesn't get much more serious than this."

  "I know." She pouted, looking like a spoiled three-year-old. "Terry dared me to do it."

  "That’s no excuse whatsoever for doing what you did. If she dared you to jump off a cliff, would you do it?" Anna frowned. Now I sound like my own mother.

  "I’m not going ‘shopping’ with her again." Mallory simulated quote marks with her fingers. "I’m not stupid."

  "I told you to watch your sarcastic mouth." Anna pointed her forefinger in Mallory’s face for emphasis. "You never would have talked to your father like this."

  "But Dad isn’t here, is he?" Mallory asked, sitting up.

  "No, he isn’t. And as much as I’d like to metamorphose sometimes, I can’t become him. I can’t be both your mother and your father, and you’ve got to stop expecting me to be."

  "I don’t expect you to be him!" Mallory suddenly screamed, shaking. "You never could be!"

  Anna stood up with gruff abruptness and left without another word. She couldn’t take any more from Mallory, but didn’t want to punish her further after what the girl had been through tonight. Her father’s death came at such an unfortunate age for her. She was undergoing so many changes within herself. She couldn’t cope with those terrible external changes. Maybe as she got older, she’d be able to grieve more naturally.

  Let it happen. Oh please, God, let it happen.

  On Sunday, Anna paid her stack of bills. She didn’t know how Mike used to manage it, paying every bill on the day it came. She hated it, writing check after check, watching her balance drop, bit by bit. Her week's paycheck from the diner, which she’d deposited yesterday, paid the electric bill and the telephone bill and food, but practically nothing else.

  The house payment took out a huge chunk in one fell swoop. Hopefully, it was one of the last she would have to make. She could see the new sign on the front lawn from her seat at the dining room table. It was hard to decide whether to be relieved the financial burden would soon be lifted, or feel sadness because she was going to lose the house she and Mike picked out together. Both, probably. The only thing she was sure of right now is that it was killing her, all this waiting.

  On Monday, the dryer quit with an ear-splitting clatter on her last load and she was forced to drape jeans all over the kitchen chairs. A repairman would cost too much money, and she'd no idea what made it stop. It smelled funny, kind of a burned, electric-y smell and she didn’t dare touch it. Before the next washday, she’d buy a clothesline and string it between two trees or something.

  On Tuesday, when she got back to work, Anna found Lucy skimming across the floor with three platters of eggs, bacon, and toast balanced in her skinny fingers. The day went much smoother with her there and Anna told her in no uncertain terms how happy she was to have her back.

  Mark came in for his soup and coffee at lunchtime. They were somewhat busy, however Anna found time to stop and talk to him.

  His hair was shorter, but uneven and pretty nasty looking. "Get your head caught in the lawnmower?" she joked, leaning her elbows on the counter in front of him.

  "No," he said with a rueful smile. "Steph thought maybe having a haircut would improve my chances at interviews. Too bad that our scissors are really dull and she’s an exceptionally terrible barber. I think it looks worse now than it did before."

  Anna looked at it with a critical eye and decided not to tell him the truth. "It is shorter. How’s the job hunting
going?"

  "Zilch." He broke another packet of crackers into his split-pea soup. "I hope something opens up soon. It’s going to be fall before we know it." He glanced up and his gaze wandered around the diner, dropping again to his soup. "I wish I could bring the whole family in here for some of this soup. It tastes delicious. Steph would love it. I feel guilty sitting here without them eating it." He wiped some moistness from the corner of his eye with silent furtiveness, and snuffled, picking up his spoon with a great show of enthusiasm.

  Anna put her hand on his frayed cuff. "You shouldn’t feel guilty. You have to stay strong and healthy in case a job turns up."

  "Sure." He sniffed again.

  "I mean it. You could get a construction job or a job in your field tomorrow, and you need to be fit enough to handle it."

  He screwed up his face. "My head tells me you’re right, but my heart still feels guilty."

  "Let me give you something to help tide you over."

  "No. I wasn’t begging. The last time was different. You didn’t want that money. I don’t take charity or government welfare."

  "If your family is starving, I don’t know if you can afford the luxury of pride."

  "We’re not starving yet. Yesterday I got a couple of loaves of bread from the day-old bakery and a big jar of brand-x peanut butter, so we’ll have enough to eat for a while. It’s not fancy, but it’s food."

  She shook her head. "Why don’t you go on welfare just until you find a job? Temporary assistance you can stop when you get a job."

  "I said no." His spoon shook in his fingers. "I want to take care of my own."

  She didn’t try again to convince him. After all, she'd felt the same way when faced with the same decision.

  "Steph convinced me to sign up for food stamps this winter. I didn’t like it. But it does at least make the money we have go farther—for food, anyway. We’re two months behind on the rent and I haven’t paid my share of the heating bill since June. The landlord could cut off our electricity at any time. I don’t know why he hasn’t."

  "I’m sure he understands your situation." Anna was worried about him. He seemed more fatalistic than last time. Of course, she didn't know him that well.

  "He must, otherwise we’d have been out on the street by now. How long can I keep taking advantage of his generosity?"

  "As long as it takes."

  He dropped his head into his hands and Anna could see the tears running between his fingers. She felt bad. She’d meant to give him some encouragement and only succeeded in making him feel worse. A glance around the restaurant told her most of the crowd had cleared out, and no one was paying any attention to the scene at the counter.

  Both her hands on his forearms, she leaned forward to whisper to him. "Things will turn out okay. You can never tell when something will happen to open things up for you. Don’t give up."

  "All I want to do is whatever it takes to raise my family," he said, his voice breaking.

  "I know. Your family is important to you. They're lucky to have you in these days of parental neglect and one-parent homes. It’s wonderful you're there for them." She squeezed his arm.

  He pulled a ragged, rumpled clump of tissues from his pocket and mopped his eyes, and blew his nose.

  "I’d like to meet them someday," Anna added.

  "I’d like you to meet them." His smile was watery. "Not many of our old friends come over any more. They feel uneasy. You didn’t know me when I had a good job so you haven’t seen the change. Come over sometime. Steph would enjoy the company."

  "Give me your address and I’ll stop by if I get a chance."

  He told her the address of a big, old apartment building on a seedy side street not far from the diner. Appearing somewhat better, he finished up his soup, now probably cold, and got up to leave.

  "Don’t give up now," Anna told him, walking him to the door. "Keep looking." She handed him a package of Tootsie Roll Pops and teething biscuits for the baby and said, "These are for your little girls."

  "Don't worry about me. I’ll never give up. I’ll get a job somehow." And he left.

  Anna paid for the candy and waited for Betty to finish serving roast beef sandwiches to a couple in Anna’s station. She followed her boss over to the orders window where Harry could be seen grilling two hamburgers. "I’ll take over again now. Thanks for covering for me. I didn’t intend to get all involved with him."

  "No problem. I saw you were tied up. He needed to talk to someone, even though it was painful for him. I think he felt better after he got some of it off his chest. He’s a nice kid who’s gotten some tough breaks."

  "Even if he doesn’t like charity, I’m going to go to the store after work and buy some groceries to be sent to his apartment—some fruit, some vegetables, maybe a couple of pounds of hamburger and hot dogs."

  Betty reached into her pocket and pulled out two fives. "Here. This’ll help."

  "Thanks." She gave Betty’s hand an affectionate squeeze.

  Chapter 8

  About mid-afternoon, Detective Thomas strolled in, dressed in jeans and a polo pullover instead of the blue suit he’d worn on Friday night. He sat on a stool in front of Anna. "Good afternoon."

  "Nice to see you again, Detective Thomas."

  He frowned. "Being called ‘Detective Thomas’ always makes me feel so formal. Call me Jeff."

  "Okay, Jeff."

  "I know your name is Anna. From the other night." His smile was warm.

  "I see." She smiled back. "And do you know my age, my height and weight, and the color of my eyes from my driver's license, too?"

  "I didn't see your driver's license but I got eyes and I can guess. Let’s see." He leaned on the counter and peered at her. "Thirty-three or thirty-four, five foot—ah—five or so, and if you think I'm going to try to guess your weight, think again. I'm not stupid. I will venture to say, though, that you have a very nice figure. The eyes I knew about already. Blue."

  She felt a bit of shock. "My daughter told you about my blue eyes?"

  "No." He grinned. "I noticed that myself."

  "Oh. Uh—may I get you a cup of coffee or something?"

  "Yep."

  "Which? The coffee or the something?"

  He pondered. "The coffee."

  She poured a cup for him and one for herself, stepping around the counter to the table in the corner. "I’ll join you. I’m due for a break." They sat down and she looked at him in curiosity. "How come you stopped by? You don’t look like you’re on duty."

  "I’m not yet. I came in early to check on something at the station, and decided to stop by and see you. I’m on three to eleven today and I knew you’d be gone before dinnertime. I wanted to ask you how your daughter’s doing. How is she?"

  Anna shook her head in distress. "Not great. We had some words when we got back from the station. She’s been hostile ever since."

  "Oh? I’m surprised. I thought she looked pretty chastened when she left."

  Stirring her coffee aimlessly, Anna frowned. "Maybe she was when we left there, but as soon as I started to talk to her, the old wall came up. I can’t seem to get through to her at all anymore. All we do is argue, no matter how much I try to keep things on an even keel. She treats me as if I’m her enemy."

  "She’s a troubled young girl. Her problems are very real."

  "Yes. And I understand. She can’t handle her grief, which is why I try to restrain myself from fighting back. I don’t always do a good job at it, but I try."

  "Good. At least it keeps you from making a bad situation worse. If everything blows up badly someday, you could lose her altogether. She’s already lost her father, and I don’t think she could handle losing you, too, in spite of the fact she sometimes acts as if she’d like to get rid of you. She doesn’t have enough maturity
to curb her words, so you have to try."

  "I know. And I really am trying. It’s hard, though. She goads me."

  He reached over and patted her hand. "Of course she goads you. You're her mother. It's in the job description. Don't worry. She’ll be okay after enough time has passed." His brown eyes searched hers. "But we haven’t talked about you—I’m worried about how all this is affecting you. You miss your husband, too, and you have your own grief to deal with. How are you holding up?"

  She smiled wanly. "I’m holding up okay, I guess. There are bad moments. Sometimes, when I hear a noise in the house, I start to turn and call to him to ask what he’s doing. Or I expect to hear his car in the driveway at five thirty, or feel him next to me when I wake up." Her eyes misted over.

  He squeezed her hand. "I know how hard it is. Your whole life has been turned upside down. When my wife left, I went through many of those same things you're going through now. I made out easier, though, because our marriage was on the rocks long before she left. And I knew, even though she was gone, she was at least alive somewhere. It must be hell to have a happy marriage and have your spouse simply snatched from you because of a maniac who panics in the middle of a robbery."

  Her eyes dropped. "Sometimes it’s pretty awful. I keep thinking about the man who rammed him and I can’t help hating him. I’m learning to cope, though—most of the time."

  He nodded. "Smith’s trial has been set for next January. I don’t know if you knew."

  "No, I didn’t. Why is it so far away?"

  He shrugged one shoulder. "The usual story—the courts are jammed."

  She made herself stop thinking about the man who killed her husband and stood up. "I’d better get back to work."

  Jeff stood as well. "Yeah, I’ve got to go, too." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. "I have weekends off this month. Would you consider letting me take you to dinner Saturday night?"