by LS Hawker
Why had he never been that ambitious about jobs?
Brady returned, paper cone in hand, with about thimbleful’s worth of water in it. She threw it back and swallowed.
“You can make it up to me,” Nessa said to the quaking locksmith. “If he approaches you again after I change the locks, I want you to text me. Tell him you’ll give him the new keys, set up a meeting, then tell me. This is really important. John’s a crack addict. He wants to hurt me and my son, my three-year-old boy. I don’t know if you know anything about addicts, but they don’t care about anything but rock. The drugs rot away their brains so that they lose their connection to the people they once loved. It’s like the rabies virus. It just wants what it wants and to propagate itself without regard to its host. That’s what’s going on here. Will you do that for me?”
Brady sniffled and wiped his eyes and nose and nodded.
“I will,” he said. “I’m really sorry. I honestly thought he was just trying to get his stuff. I didn’t know.”
“Well,” Nessa said, “now you know.” She tried to stand again, and this time succeeded. She got in the Pacifica and headed for home.
The temporary photo of Daltrey with X’s over his eyes bubbled up in her brain. He Will Die scrawled across it. John had meant what he’d said—he’d rather see Daltrey dead than with her.
She wept as she drove, thinking about everything that was lost. The only man she’d ever loved, the only one to whom she’d bared her soul and then some, had not only not loved her enough to remain drug-free, but was also now trying to drive her crazy or get her killed. Or drive her to addiction again. How had she been so thoroughly fooled?
A little at a time, John was going to tell everything he knew, like skinning her alive, one inch at a time. Which meant that sometime soon he was going to out her to the cops.
She needed to tell the police that John was alive, and that he was behind all the incidents she’d reported. But that would have to wait until tomorrow, since she knew that Detective Treloar didn’t work weekends, and she had no intention of getting stuck with Detective Dickhead.
When she returned home, she was shocked to find Marlon on the top rungs of her collapsible aluminum ladder, leaned against her house.
He wore shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, a tool belt around his waist, and he was covered in sweat in the hot late morning. He was bolting something to the back of her house.
“There you are,” he called down.
“What are you doing here?” Nessa said, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight, and was suddenly horrified at what she must look like after just a few hours of sleep, her puffy, tear-smeared face, her hair a greasy rat’s nest.
Thank you, Joyce Gereben, for this lovely maternal legacy you’ve bestowed upon me. What did it matter how she looked? Marlon was her sponsor, not her . . . whatever . . .
He appeared as uncomfortable as she felt, perched up there, screwdriver in hand, looking almost as if he’d been caught egging her house.
“Listen,” he said. “I just couldn’t let another day go by without getting you some security out here. I went ahead and bought a system for you, and I hope you’re not offended—it’s not that I don’t think you’re a capable human being, can’t take care of yourself. In fact, I think you’re one of the most competent people I’ve ever met, not to mention ballsy, but—”
“Can you come down here? I need to tell you what happened this morning. Where are Isabeau and Daltrey?”
“Inside,” he said, tightening a bolt. “Give me just a sec.”
“What are those?” Nessa asked, pointing.
“Video cameras,” he said, “so every area of the house will be covered. I also got a keyless computer entry system for you; Isabeau is putting that together. This has just gotten so insane. We can’t let it happen again.”
Nessa bit back an apologetic reply and instead said, “Thank you.”
Marlon came down the ladder and onto the covered deck, where he dropped wearily into a patio chair. Isabeau came out the back door carrying an instruction sheet.
“So let me tell you about your new security system,” she said.
Nessa held up a hand and said, “First let me tell you what I just found out.”
Isabeau and Nessa both sat, then Marlon and Isabeau listened with open mouths and wide eyes as she told them about Brady the locksmith.
“So the person who’s been behind all this is—”
“John,” Marlon said in an awed voice.
Nessa nodded, starting to cry again. Isabeau rose and squatted by Nessa’s chair, wrapping her arms around her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“What am I going to do?” Nessa said.
“Well, first thing we’re going to do is flame that fucking locksmith on Yelp,” Marlon said.
This was so unexpected that Nessa burst into a howling laugh fueled by hysteria and anguish.
Marlon looked pleased. “And then you have to go to the police,” he said. “You have to tell them.”
“But I promised the kid I wouldn’t get him in trouble.”
“Without him, the cops will not believe you,” Marlon said.
“John must be watching the house,” Nessa said. “Brady’s coming back out here tomorrow to install new locks again so John’ll approach him again to get the keys.”
Isabeau and Marlon glanced at each other, confused.
“And then what?” Isabeau said.
“I’m going to tell the cops I have reason to believe that John’s still alive,” Nessa said, “and that he’s responsible for all this. But I want to catch him myself.”
“That is ludicrous,” Marlon said.
Nessa couldn’t explain that she was trying to keep the police at arm’s length while still getting their help—but on her terms. She couldn’t have them fingerprint her, or they’d find out who she really was, and there would be dire consequences. She would lose Daltrey. But she couldn’t tell these people any of this. John, however, knew everything. And she would not let him destroy her. She would do anything to stop him. Anything.
“Just—please,” Nessa said. “I want to do this my way. With these new video cameras, we’ll be able to catch him in the act, right? Then I can take the video to the cops so they won’t think I’m any crazier than they already do.”
Marlon and Isabeau glanced at each other again.
“And my in-laws are taking Daltrey for a while, so I can concentrate on tracking John down, and Daltrey will be safe.”
“You don’t suppose they’re helping John?” Marlon said. “Maybe the three of them have set this whole thing up?”
“Oh, no,” Nessa said. “They’ve been putting up with John’s bullshit for more years than I have, and I guarantee you that they would never do anything to hurt Daltrey.”
This was the only thing she was sure of.
“Well,” Marlon said slowly. “This new system should keep John—and any other potential rapists—out, regardless of the key situation.”
“You’re the boss, boss,” Isabeau said.
“You better keep me in the loop,” Marlon said. “Because I will go to the police and out this locksmith kid if anything goes wrong.”
“John is mostly interested in hurting me emotionally, financially, reputationally.”
“That’s not a word,” Marlon said.
“Hurting me physically is just a bonus,” Nessa said.
Isabeau looked from Marlon to Nessa and then down at the instruction sheet she’d been holding the whole time. “So let’s find out more about the new security system.”
Nessa could tell she was excited to share.
Isabeau read from the instructions. “ ‘Encrypted locking technology is keyless and codeless—all you need is your smartphone and the app. Will automatically loc
k your door behind you when you leave. Compatible with most standard cylinder dead bolts, including Lock-tite, and blah, blah, blah. Your regular key will still work if you don’t have your phone.’ ”
Marlon seemed reassured by what he was hearing. “It was the highest-rated system I could find,” he said.
Isabeau continued reading. “ ‘Instant invites let you give custom access to friends and family.’ ” She smiled widely at Nessa and pointed a thumb at herself.
Friends and family. Is that what these two were now? Nessa found herself choked up at all this work Isabeau and Marlon were doing for her.
“I had no idea you had any real skills,” Nessa said to her sponsor, frowning to cover up her uneasiness at being the object of such affection.
Marlon stood, obviously ready to get back to work. “We all have our secrets.”
Monday, June 20
BRADY THE LOCKSMITH was only too happy to come out on Sunday to replace the locks. He was obsequious and contrite and she actually felt kind of sorry for him.
“Now remember,” she said. “You call me the second he tries to buy keys from you. Understand?”
Brady swore he would do so.
Before Nessa’s in-laws arrived, she looked at the video camera footage to see if John had lurked around the house the night before. She read the directions of how to play the video, then played it at accelerated speed, figuring she’d notice an intruder’s appearance.
It was difficult to keep watching, since nothing happened.
When she was done looking at video, Nessa called Lauren to tell her they wouldn’t be able to go to the splash park the next day because Daltrey’s grandparents were taking him to Kansas City. Lauren was disappointed, of course, but at least Nessa didn’t have to lie to her.
Nessa sat outside to intercept her in-laws before Daltrey saw them. At exactly eight A.M., Linda and Tony Donati drove up and got out of their car. They were in their late sixties and dressed like tourists.
Linda gave Nessa perfunctory air kisses, and Tony hugged her, avoiding her eyes.
“Before I let Daltrey know you’re here,” Nessa said, “I need to tell you what’s been going on.”
Linda and Tony looked uneasily at each other.
“All right,” Linda said.
Nessa told them about the online harassment, the abandoned truck, the poisoned dog, everything. With each addition to the list, Tony and Linda seemed to shrink, to fold under the weight of what their son had done. The final blow, the story of the almost-rape, made Linda cover her mouth with her hands.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you all this,” Nessa said, “but that’s why I need you to get Daltrey away from here. I’ve installed a security system at the house, but I want my son safe.”
Tony was nodding, staring at the ground, his hands in his Bermuda shorts pockets. Linda smoothed her hair and straightened.
“We’ll keep him as long as you need us to,” she said, a quaver in her voice.
“Thank you,” Nessa said. “Now let’s go get Daltrey.”
They went inside, and Linda wiped her teary eyes.
“Where are you, darling boy?” she called out. “Where’s my grandson?”
Daltrey came toddling in, all smiles, fat arms held out to his grandma.
“Hello, Daltrey,” she said in a loud slow voice usually reserved for the elderly and the IQ-challenged. “Grandma and Grandpa are here. Are you ready to go? Are you ready to go to Worlds of Fun? Can you say Worlds of Fun?”
Tony turned from the TV and, on seeing his grandson, began to cry, his mouth covered with his big meaty hand. To Nessa, he said, “He looks so much like his daddy. So much.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Then he picked Daltrey up and squeezed him.
Daltrey put his hands on either side of his grandpa’s face, which made Tony cry harder. Nessa teared up, watching this. If Tony could get his hands on John right now, he’d break him in half.
Linda, on the other hand, turned her pink-lipsticked face toward Nessa, a big fake smile on, her eyebrows high on her forehead, breaking the harmonious spell of the earlier confab in the yard. “Have you started talking yet, sweetheart? Has Mama taught you how to talk?”
This was her way of interrogating Nessa—by asking Daltrey things he could not possibly answer. But now, Nessa was actually grateful for Linda’s habit. Nessa’s irritation helped things to seem normal, if only for a moment.
Nessa ground her teeth under her forced smile. “He’s all packed and ready to go.”
“Did you have a bath last night?” Linda said to Daltrey, her manicured hand on his head. “Did you have a bath?”
“Yes, Linda, he had a bath. And yes, before you ask him, I washed all his clothes before putting them in his suitcase.”
“Did she?” Linda said to Daltrey. “Did Mama wash your clothes? I’ll bet she didn’t iron them!” She poked him in the tummy like the Pillsbury Doughboy, and like that corporate mascot, he giggled.
The sooner they got out of here, the better. It would be many years before Daltrey felt the tension between them. Hopefully Linda would be dead long before then.
“Can I offer you some coffee?” Nessa asked, praying they’d say no.
“No,” Linda said, “Grandma and Grandpa and big-boy Daltrey need to get on the road! It’s two hours to Kansas City the way Grandpa drives! We’ve got to go. Do you need to tinkle, Daltrey?”
He shook his head.
“You’d better try,” she said. “We don’t want to have to stop, do we, Dolly?”
Nessa clenched her teeth again and said, quietly, “Please don’t call him that.”
“For God’s sake, Linda,” Tony said, his irritation drying his tears.
“Don’t call you what?” Linda said to Daltrey. “I was just calling you by a cute little old nickname!”
“Linda,” Tony said. “His name is Daltrey. Not Dolly.”
“Of course it is! All right, go on. Go tinkle.”
Tony squeezed him again before putting him down. Daltrey ran to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
Linda pulled a lined piece of paper from her purse and handed it to Nessa. “Here’s where we’ll be staying and the phone number.” She pointed to a neatly printed address. “And this is our itinerary. We’re going to the Royals game on Monday against the Cardinals, and then we’ll go to the amusement park on Tuesday. The toy and miniature museum on Wednesday and we’ll have dinner on the Plaza. Then we’ll take him back to Russell with us. What a treat!”
Tony put his arm around Nessa. “You want us to keep him until the end of the month? Can you spare him that long?”
Ten days. Nessa wasn’t sure. “Why don’t we play it by ear? Let’s say until the thirtieth, but I may just have to come down and get him before then.”
He nodded and kissed the top of her head. “I understand, sweetheart.”
Daltrey reappeared, and Linda bent at the waist to address him. “Did you wash your hands? You need to wash your hands after you go potty. Otherwise, you’ll be sharing germs with everyone. And you don’t want to share your germs, do you?”
Daltrey held up his hands for inspection, and she kissed them. Daltrey signed, “Wash,” but Linda turned away from him. Her in-laws were not interested in learning ASL to communicate with their grandson.
“That’s just encouraging you not to talk,” Linda had once said to Daltrey, who was two at the time. “They just don’t want you to talk . . . at . . . all!”
Daltrey held his arms up to Nessa, and she scooped him up and buried her face in his velvety neck, kissing him and making him squeal. “I love you, Daltrey.”
He put both hands on either cheek and pressed his forehead to hers, his long-lashed eyes boring into her. Then he held up his little hand in the shorthand ILY sign. She mirror
ed it with her right hand. Then she kissed and hugged him and set him on the floor.
“You be good, little man,” she said, and he looked over his shoulder with a “Duh” expression that made her laugh.
“Have fun, you all,” she said to her in-laws, and hugged them both. “Thank you so much for doing this. It’s been a tough couple of weeks.”
Linda surprised her by laying her hand on Nessa’s cheek and giving her the most sincerely sympathetic look she’d ever given Nessa.
“I know it has, honey,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Then she hugged Nessa tight, and Nessa began to cry again.
After they left, Nessa went into the kitchen to get coffee, and Isabeau wandered in, still wearing shortie pajamas, her hair disheveled.
“Why didn’t you come down to meet the grandparents?” Nessa said, smiling.
“I heard them,” Isabeau said, pulling juice out of the refrigerator. “That awful voice the old lady uses when she’s talking to Daltrey just made me want to spew!”
“Yeah, me too. But they’re not that bad,” Nessa said. “They’re just weird and neurotic. But so am I. Neurotic, I mean.”
“Well, you’re a better woman than I,” Isabeau said.
Nessa wondered what kind of grandparent her own mother would have been. While her in-laws drove her crazy, at least they weren’t like Joyce.
Thinking about her mother, Nessa was again struck by the similarities between John and Joyce—how far he was willing to go to punish her for punishing him. When he felt wronged, he would hold on to his indignation like a precious treasure, clasped tightly to his chest, glaring out at Nessa with wounded eyes, daring her to ask him what was wrong. Just like her mother.
If she did ask, her mother would say, “Nothing. I’m fine.”
So would John, just like that. And then he’d lift his chin, with that hurt but brave posture like her mother’s.