Relative Danger

by June Shaw

  “Kat seems to be doing all right in school. As usual.” His breathing appeared shallow. “She’ll graduate. And then go off to college…” His gaze shifted toward the far wall. He resembled a man who was lost.

  I touched his hand, the realization striking like a blow to my chest. His daughter, just like his wife, would soon leave him. And then he would be all alone. “You’re really going to miss her,” I said.

  He swallowed hard, a small sound coming from his throat. “I will miss her.”

  “I could stay in town a while.”

  He made a sad laugh. “I’m a grown man. I don’t need my mother staying around to take care of me.”

  Yes, maybe you do. But I could see his point. Having a mom hovering might make him feel less of a man. But I might possibly help. As the time neared for Kat’s graduation, I’d have to feel out the situation.

  This was certainly no time to intensify his worry. He had to know that a custodian died at Kat’s school, but he didn’t seem to have an inkling of how that death was affecting her. I couldn’t tell him everything, couldn’t make myself discuss the possibility that she might not graduate. I squeezed my boy’s hands. “She’ll do fine. So will you.”

  Uncertainty gripped Roger’s face. His eyes looked haunted. I kissed his cheek and said, “Can I do anything to help?”

  His lips made a shaky, sad smile. “Kat will be leaving home soon. What can you do about that?”

  Both of us slowly got to our feet. I hugged Roger and he draped his arms across my back. My eyes burned. With a final squeeze, I went for the door. “You don’t need to tell Kat I was here,” I said.

  Roger kept his semblance of a dazed person. I heard the door lock click behind me.

  My chest felt like a heavy weight was in it while I drove. Besides trying to get over the loss of Nancy, Roger had been experiencing this extra grief. He dwelled on knowing he’d soon lose his daughter. I knew of a possible threat to Kat but hadn’t been able to tell him. What kind of mother and grandma was I?

  Headlights heading toward me all blurred. I swiped a hand across my eyes. They wet my fingers.

  I wished the police would tell me what they knew or thought. I returned to the condo and let a long, hot shower sting me. Needing consolation, I powdered with a fluffy mitt and draped on a lightweight granny gown. I sat on the edge of the bed, held up the fabric, and admired the tiny yellow flowers on a white background, and tried to recall when I’d last worn the thing. The months while I’d been shedding my old self, I hadn’t put it on. Instead I chose to wear nylons and silks. Especially during my tenure with Gil. I shoved away his image and the picture of what was surely his car, parked in darkness near his girlfriend’s.

  I sighed. This gown brought me comfort. It had attracted my focus in the closet, drawing me to it as though to an old friend. Bereft of spirit, I stretched beneath the bedcovers. I reached under the sheet, drew the gown’s bottom down to my ankles, and curled to my side, willing my mind to shut down. Sleep, I said, using self-talk. Don’t think of problems. Only positives.

  When I couldn’t do that, I urged my mind to blank out. No pictures. No faces. No threats. But someone had just warned me again. My mail truck. And now cousin Stevie. The image of Roger’s face creased in misery came, and I willed it away, blanketing my mind with a black wall.

  I awoke to glowing numerals on the clock near my bed. It was almost two a.m. Stevie would be getting ready to leave for her nighttime workout. I hustled up, grabbed my cell phone, and called her.

  “Cealie!” she screamed, answering. “It worked!”

  “What worked?” My mind only focused at this hour because of the heaviness weighing on it. Stevie was the only person I knew who purposely woke up in the middle of the night. She’d jump up from sleep, toss on workout clothes, and drive across town. After an hour and a half at the gym, she’d crawl back into bed for a final three hours of deep slumber.

  “My message worked,” she said.

  “Yes, I received it. Oh my God, Stevie, I was afraid of that.” My heart thump-thumped as I relived the fearful threat that she’d brought to my attention. I was in extreme danger. So was Kat.

  Her laughter sputtered. Stevie’s annoying laugh sounded as if she were choking. I used to think I’d have to pull off the Heimlich.

  “What are you laughing at?” I asked.

  “I’m talking about the warning. You know, your message.” It dawned on me that I hadn’t noticed when she’d sent it. But a threat was a threat. She snorted. Stevie sounded like she was holding her breath between cackles.

  “What!” I shouted.

  “Oh Cealie, I knew that would get your attention. That’s why I made it up.”

  “You did what?”

  “I don’t know why you’re mad. I don’t even know where you are. But I miss you, favorite cousin. I just wanted you to get in touch with me.”

  “Stevie, I can’t believe you!”

  “I’m sorry. But please come over to visit. I have this big prob—”

  I’d give her a problem, I promised myself, slamming my phone shut and tossing it down like a hot coal. My ears burned from fury. Fire might’ve come from my nostrils. My dear relative had made a fool of me. She’d percolated my emotions so that I’d feared for my granddaughter’s life. And all had been done just for kicks. To get my attention.

  She had my attention, all right. As far as I was concerned, Stevie needed lots more problems, and as soon as I could come up with a few catastrophic ones, I’d send them her way. What she’d done was unforgivable. Making me fear for Kat?

  I stomped from the bedroom, flicking on every light. Sleep wouldn’t return during the final hours before daylight. “Minnie,” I cried in the kitchen, “you see why I try to avoid most of my relatives? They just get you in an uproar!” I nibbled on cheese and crackers, telling Minnie all that bugged me, especially my cousin. I still wondered about the advisability of Kat showing up for the commencement ceremony, but I was too irate to consider the reasons.

  Negative talk might not be healthy for Minnie, but what were friends for, if not to listen? Minnie was a good listener. Daylight broke through the curtains by the time I was done with pouring out misery, and Minnie looked none the worse for it. I showered and then in my undies, did some big stretches. The exercise helped rid me of worry. Stretching loosened the last tightness in my muscles from the Hula Hoop and playing Twister.

  I tossed on pretty clothes—a fuchsia linen dress and pantyhose without a control top—and made plans to have my son and his daughter for a meal. Of course, not on my cooking. And the restaurant we’d go to would not be Gil’s. First I needed to convince Kat to talk to me. I’d try to go through Roger. But it was still too early to call their house.

  From the pantry I grabbed the box holding my New Balance walking shoes. I put them on and went out, finding a misty morning that promised sunshine. I was the only person wearing a dress and stockings during my brisk stroll, but I wasn’t bothered. My mind was clearing of murder. Most of the school people I had thought of last night couldn’t be killers. I was certain of that now. They were ordinary people: teachers who got angry at teens and teens who acted up to challenge adults’ authority. At the schools I’d attended while growing up, there had always been a few vocal teachers who criticized many students, and always a few students who attended, it seemed, only to give their teachers misery. That situation probably still occurred at every school.

  My cousin’s silly warning washed from my brain, and I pumped up my mind with positive thoughts, deciding I was an all-right parent and grandmother, at least as good as I knew how to be.

  I smiled at a barking dog that led the way for his master, a pear-shaped man in navy jogging clothes emerging from around shrubs at the corner. Leaves drifted to the sidewalk ahead of me, sprinkling my path. I inhaled sweet fresh air and loosened my hands from their clenched position, letting my arms swing free, while my pace slackened.

  At the corner I spun around, reminding myself that
exercise was one of the many things I chose to do or not. Now I selected not—at least not so much that I’d work up a sweat.

  The sound of a fast-moving vehicle coming up behind made me aware that hair grew on the back of my neck. I sprinted forward and glanced over my shoulder.

  Exactly where I’d just placed my foot to turn around, a truck sped across the curb.

  That truck had run a red light. And almost hit me.

  I stopped, my body shaking like a six-pointer on the Richter scale. How close I’d just come to being run down. Accidental? Sprouting goose flesh told me maybe not.

  I rushed back to where I had been. The black truck’s rear bumper barreled around the far corner. The truck appeared mid-size, fairly new. Had I seen that truck in Sidmore High’s parking lot? I struggled to envision all those vehicles from school jumbled in clumps.

  Unable to remember any one truck, I jogged back to the condo. The driver probably only missed the edge of the road, I told myself, stilling my jittery hands to throw the lock inside the door. Maybe the driver fell asleep. The hour was still so early.

  Had that driver even seen the red light? Or was he, or she, color-blind?

  I leaned against the door, waiting for my heartbeats to slow. Suppose someone had been lurking, knowing where I was. That person could have waited for me to come out. Where had I given this address? Only to the school board and the auto repair shops. But students had definitely noticed what I drove. The avocado mail truck had been parked out front of the condo like an ugly neon sign advertising Cealie’s here. Anybody from school could have recognized that vehicle. And now, the showy white Mustang convertible was parked out there.

  “Dammit, Stevie,” I blurted. She had given me those fearful ideas. No one was trying to harm me. I was back in the condo, priding myself on my healthy duckwalk, pleased that I hadn’t worked my body nearly as hard as I used to. I mentally patted my back.

  A chill skittered along it. Was it possibly that someone from school was coming after me? Yes. But I would go after them first. I needed to locate that black truck.

  I grabbed the phone book. I had to find something. Hernandez, Marisa. On Holiday Drive. I jotted down her address. Breathing quicker, I flipped through pages, searching for more teachers. My shoulders fell. Not one other adult name that I knew from Sidmore High.

  Changing my shoes, I took off in the Mustang. Maybe I’d see that black truck. After all, I was in the suburbs, not the city.

  The streets slept during this early Sunday hour. I was usually asleep until after the sun rose, and now was surprised to see how vacant an area filled with moderate dwellings and businesses could become. Cars, trucks, and SUVs sat in driveways. Garage doors were all shut. No motion came from lawns or structures. I wondered about the people living inside. Most homes would hold hardworking parents and children who toiled at school. Some would house singles. A few—I wondered how many—might shelter killers.

  “None,” I told myself, willing it to be true. I careened around a corner, knowing that what I’d said was a lie. The world did harbor killers. I saw their faces on the evening news. Behind these shut draperies I passed were people sharing a hearty breakfast while plotting their attacks?

  I scanned streets, searching for a late-model black truck.

  Finding none, I stopped at a convenience store, bought a map showing this area, and a sweet roll and milk. I then sat in a booth with breakfast and scanned the map. Holiday Drive was only five blocks away.

  I found Marisa Hernandez’s street and saw bikes and plastic toys lying on some lawns. Most vehicles had been tucked into garages of unassuming brick houses, the majority of them one-story. I didn’t see a truck like the one that nipped the corner I’d just walked across.

  I shook my head, trying to make that picture leave. But fear stuck to me. Murderers might be living in these homes. And one might attend Kat’s school.

  I located Marisa’s house. Attractive white brick, burgundy shutters, freshly mowed lawn. A closed garage. I didn’t really suspect her, I told myself. After all, she was Kat’s friend. But why would some people believe she was a killer? Even teachers in the lounge seemed to think so.

  Grant Labruzzo also used to live down this street, Abby Jeansonne told me.

  I drove down Holiday, hoping to find his name on a mailbox, hoping I could discern something by the proximity of his and Marisa’s houses.

  Chapter 18

  I circled blocks throughout the subdivision, peering at mailboxes that displayed last names. I didn’t see Labruzzo. Didn’t see a black truck. I made another pass in front of Marisa’s house. Still no sign of her or whatever she drove.

  I left the residential area and wove through streets with little traffic, nearing a business section. The police station was close. Maybe I should tell Detective Dantin about what happened.

  And what did happen? I considered. A black truck ran a red light and rolled over the corner of a sidewalk. A grin sneaked to my face. I sometimes made last-minute decisions while driving, took sharp turns and clipped a few corners myself.

  Besides, tomorrow the detectives would question John Winston at school. Then he’d get more furious with Kat. And she’d get more furious with me and probably never want to see me. No way could I involve the police again.

  I veered away from the station, sadness cloaking me. I wanted to help Kat, but each of my efforts only gave her more problems. A flashing indicator light on the car ahead made me realize I was creeping down the street just like the string of vehicles I followed. I would return to Marisa’s subdivision. Maybe I should leave Kat’s situation alone, but I couldn’t. The traffic ahead of me appeared to be turning beyond a row of tall hedges. The road must be blocked. I signaled for a turn and followed the others, determining how I’d get back to Marisa’s street from here.

  “Silly, Cealie,” I said with a laugh, noticing that I’d pulled into a church parking lot. Foolish me, a lamb trailing its leader. I headed toward the lot’s exit. A second thought made me slow. My purse held my computer disk. Maybe I could pay someone in an office here to print out my instructions for the basics of how to raise a cactus. I circled the lot, saw lots of vehicles but no office. The only structure was a tall yellow warehouse with a marquee: All-Believers’ Church. Enter All Who Believe. We Especially Invite Those Who Don’t.

  All-Believers. This was Grant Labruzzo’s church. I hadn’t thought to look for it in the phone book, but now here I was. And maybe I fit into their sign’s last category. I parked beside a rusty minivan, determining that at the moment I almost didn’t believe in people, even myself. I hadn’t found Labruzzo’s house, but maybe I could learn more about him in here.

  “Welcome, Sister!” a man’s voice boomed when I entered the vast structure. A small person with suspenders, he had little sprouts of white hair on his head and a tremendous smile lighting his face. He caught me in an embrace.

  “It’s nice to see you,” I said on a tinny breath once he let me go. Another greeter caught me. The barrel-like woman squeezed away the last air remaining in my lungs, and I tumbled into a nearby pew. Any other well-wishers would make me need emergency oxygen.

  The large number of people who chatted in the refurbished building that smelled of incense surprised me. The varnished pews appeared new. Thick dark wooden beams ran up the walls and across the ceiling. The concrete floor chilled my feet. In front of all the pews stood a stage, the only thing on it a high-backed chair covered with royal blue velvet.

  I tightened my shoulders, feeling out of place. My parents had brought me to church, but after I grew up and left them, I knew their choice hadn’t been mine. In adulthood I perused other religions but neglected getting attached to any.

  Voices swelled in the church cavity, filled with faces with tremendous smiles. “Good to see you, Sister,” a youthful female voice said from my right. A teenage girl in a plain brown dress with an apron top clasped my hand. Her skin looked fresh with not a trace of makeup.

  “All of you are so swe
et,” I said, taken with these people who seemed to honestly care. And Millie in the teachers’ lounge had complained that churchgoers here were all crazy. Little did she know. Grant Labruzzo had probably been as caring as these people.

  “This is my mother,” the girl said, indicating a gnarled lady seated at her side. The lady looked much too old to be her parent.

  “Happy to meet you,” I said, stretching my hand out and flashing my largest smile.

  Mamma’s raisin face didn’t leave its study of the pew in front of us.

  The teen whispered, “She can’t see or hear you or speak.”

  “Ah.” I folded my arm back.

  “She’s here to get the spirit,” the girl said, her voice having to rise with the upsweep of surrounding voices.

  “I hope Mamma gets it,” I said. Cheerful men, women, and children made me want that spirit, too. Babies asleep on some shoulders enticed me to want to hold them. I asked the teen, “Did you happen to know Grant Labruzzo? I believe he came here.”

  The girl’s eyes glazed. “Brother Labruzzo.”

  Other voices dropped off. The girl peered toward the front, her countenance taking on a glow. I glanced forward, as all alleluia broke out.

  “Alleluia. Alleluia, alleluia, brothers and sisters!” a preacher called out as he erupted from a door near the stage.

  “Amen! Alleluia!” the congregation shouted. I said a quiet alleluia, wanting to replace my doldrums with these people’s contagious joy. I was ready to hear their message. I especially liked seeing wholesome-looking teens in positive action.

  “God loves you,” Preacher called. Like a Broadway dancer, the agile man swooped down the center aisle, pumping his arms from beneath folds of his coral-pink gown. “He loves you.” Preacher stopped, his wrist cocked, his outstretched finger appearing to count every person in the warehouse. His statements drew more alleluias and many yeses. His finger-pointing toward the faithful made everyone start hopping. Preacher’s fingertip found my area. Nearby bouncing bodies drew me out of reverie. Caught up in the energy, I felt special.