Lifeline

by Gerry Boyle

  “She’s pooping.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I’ll wait, then.”

  “Okay. I think she can come soon. I already knocked on the door. She said she was coming.”

  We stood there for a moment and looked at each other.

  Roxanne was right. I didn’t know what to say. I half turned and was starting to signal for Roxanne to come up when I heard a door bang inside.

  “Adrianna, honey. I told you not to open that door. Close it and come in now, honey. You don’t need to—”

  Marcia appeared behind Adrianna. Her eyes opened wide.

  “Get in here,” she gasped, yanking the little girl by the shoulder. Adrianna disappeared from view. Marcia faced me, her face hard and taut and furious.

  “What are you doing here? What were you talking to her for?”

  “She answered the door. I had to talk to her. She told me you’d be here in a minute.”

  “You son of a bitch, you have no right to talk to her. What gives you—don’t you get it? Stay away from us, McMorrow. You are not a part of our life.”

  “Well, we were just chatting—”

  “About what?” Marcia shot back. “What did she say to you?”

  “Well, she said—”

  Adrianna appeared at Marcia’s thigh.

  “Aunt Marcia, I need a drink. I don’t want that cranberry stuff, ’cause it tastes like—”

  “Just a minute. Just go. Honey, just go and play. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  The little girl vanished again.

  “What did she say to you?” Marcia demanded. “What did she say?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “She said she remembered me. She said her mother was in heaven, that you said she would get to see her someday. Or something like that. She said—”

  “Did you ask her about that night?”

  “Did I ask her?”

  “About that night?”

  “No, I didn’t really ask her anything.”

  “Don’t you know how painful this is to a child?” Marcia said through the door. “A child her age. Can’t you understand that? My God—”

  “Yeah, I understand that. But I need to talk to you. You don’t think so, but I really was very fond of your sister. I know you blame me for what happened, and I blame myself, too. God, I do, but I wasn’t there that night. I didn’t do it. Somebody did, and—”

  “And they’ve got him. And they’re going to send him to prison, and we’re going to get on with our lives. Mine and hers and my husband’s. You’ve got nothing to do with this. So go before I—”

  “Aunt Marcia, I really need a drink. And that cranberry tastes—”

  I glimpsed the head of blonde curls.

  “Honey, not now. Just go. Go watch TV.”

  “I don’t want to watch TV. I want to go out back and play.”

  “So go,” Marcia sputtered.

  The curly head disappeared. I heard a door hiss open, thought I felt a puff of cool air.

  “Fine,” I said, moving between Marcia and the car. “But just let me talk to you once. I feel responsible. And I’ll feel even more responsible if something happens to that little girl or to you because I didn’t get five minutes to talk to you. That’s all I need. Goddamn it, I liked your sister. I thought she was trying very hard. Really. She had bad luck, and she was overcoming it.”

  I paused. Marcia hesitated.

  “Five minutes. It’s for you and Adrianna. How can you not give her that? Why would you not give her that? I’m not a monster.”

  She looked at me, then pushed the door open. I went in.

  Marcia was dressed in khaki shorts and sandals and a dark blue sweater. She was wearing makeup, but underneath it she looked thinner, with hollow cheeks like someone who had been ill.

  I stood five feet inside the door, beside an end table. There was an eight-by-ten color photo of Adrianna on the table and a much smaller, older photograph of Donna behind it.

  “Five minutes, McMorrow,” Marcia said from the middle of the room, her arms folded across her chest. “The clock’s ticking.”

  My cue.

  “It’s like this,” I began. “There’s a warrant out for Jeff for Donna’s murder. They haven’t found him yet, but they’re looking for him.”

  “So?”

  “But I talked to him. Have you seen him since this happened?”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Marcia said, wrapping her arms around herself tighter. “What are we gonna do? Chat about old times?”

  “No, I guess . . . I guess you wouldn’t. But, I don’t know, I thought maybe he would’ve tried to call or contact you somehow.”

  “Yeah, that son of a bitch called. And I hung up on him. My husband hung up on him. You know what he did one time? He called and asked for Adrianna. I couldn’t believe it. Like I’m gonna say, ‘Sure. Hang on while I go get a four-year-old.”

  “Well, I—”

  “I’ve got one reason for living right now, McMorrow. And that’s that little girl. Nobody hurts Adrianna. Nobody. You get to her over my dead body. Nobody is going to hurt that little girl. And I hope that son of a bitch dies in prison. I hope he gets what he gave Donna. Times ten.”

  I waited for her to pause to take a breath.

  “But I don’t think he did it,” I said.

  Marcia gave a little gasp, as if she’d just felt a spasm of pain.

  “You’ve got to be—”

  “No, I’m serious. I don’t think he did it. I talked to him and he told me he didn’t do it. What he said was that Donna was okay when he left. She was drinking and upset, but she was standing by the counter. That’s what he said, and I believe him. I really do. I’m sorry, I guess.”

  As I spoke, Marcia shook her head slightly and bit her lip. She gave a little sigh of disgust.

  “So? I mean, who gives a shit what you think, McMorrow? I don’t care if you think the moon is made of green cheese. I mean, who the hell are you?”

  “I’m somebody who needs to know what happened.”

  “So read it in the paper. Leave us the hell alone.”

  “But don’t you understand? They get Jeff for this and he didn’t do it, and that leaves somebody who did. Walking around.”

  Marcia looked at me passively, as if suddenly bored.

  “And not only do I want to know who did it, and want them caught, but I don’t want the person who did it coming back to get you or Adrianna. Where was Adrianna when it happened? What if she saw something? What if whoever killed Donna decides to get rid of all the witnesses? Are you going to follow five feet behind that little girl the rest of her life? Are you—”

  “Adrianna is my responsibility, McMorrow, not yours. You’ve done enough to ruin her life, so why don’t you take your asinine bullshit and stick it where the sun don’t shine. And leave us the hell alone.”

  Marcia turned to her left and backed up a couple of steps, craning to see out the window. “So why don’t you just—”

  She stopped.

  “No,” Marcia said, and she bolted into the next room. I followed and could hear her saying, “Oh, my God, oh, my God,” over and over.

  She tumbled down a short flight of steps and slammed open a sliding-glass door. It was still shaking as I came through it and saw Roxanne leaning over the short wire fence around the play yard.

  She was smiling.

  She was talking to Adrianna.

  On a full run, Marcia grabbed the girl under the armpits and swung her up on her hip, like a Cossack taking a prisoner on horseback.

  “Hey,” Roxanne called out. “Careful with her.”

  But Marcia had both arms wrapped around Adrianna, and she swung around and ran back toward me. The girl’s shirt was pulled up, exposing a narrow, pale back.

  I could hear her starting to cry, a high-pitched, gasping whimper.

  “Are you nuts?” I said, and I started to step aside, but Marcia stumbled and lurched toward me and they both looked as if they were going to fall, so I rea
ched out to grab them.

  “Let go of me,” Marcia shouted into my shirt, and then we were all falling and I could see Roxanne jumping over the fence and she was shouting too.

  “Get up—he’s coming!” Roxanne was yelling. “Get up! He’s got a knife! He’s got a knife!”

  Adrianna was screaming. Marcia scrambled to her feet, holding the girl by one arm and looking toward the field. I saw her eyes lock with fear and I rolled over and looked and saw Tanner running through the grass, the knife in his hand plain as day at fifty yards.

  29

  He was slogging through the high grass, the knife held low.

  “Get her inside,” I said, and I shoved Marcia and Adrianna toward the door. Roxanne followed, two steps behind them, and I looked at Tanner and then around the play yard for some sort of weapon.

  Everything was small and safe and plastic.

  “You tell ’em,” Tanner was calling. “I got witnesses. You tell ’em.”

  He was thirty yards away and closing. I looked in the sandbox, around the yard, and finally picked up a pink plastic tricycle and held it in front of me.

  Tanner was close and I could see his eyes and mouth open, panting, and the long blade of the knife jabbing the air.

  “You’ll tell ’em, you bitch. I’m gonna rip your guts out, you lying bitch,” he said.

  He said it over and over, and then there was a roar and Clair’s truck slammed around the corner, ripping ruts in the lawn and sliding to a halt twenty feet to my right. The driver’s door exploded open and Clair was out and his rifle was raised to his shoulder and he was shouting, “Drop the knife! Drop the knife!” Tanner slowed, almost stopped, and looked at Clair. Then he broke into a trot again and was almost to the fence.

  The rifle boomed and Tanner stopped. I heard the clack of the bolt and then Clair’s voice.

  “Drop the knife or the next one puts you down,” he said.

  His voice was chillingly calm. Tanner hesitated. He looked at me and then back at Clair.

  “Friggin’ A, man,” he said. “Gimme a break, will ya?”

  He looked at me. Flipped the knife onto the grass.

  “She’s got to tell you,” Tanner said. “I didn’t kill nobody. They can’t do this to me. When I left, she was fine. She’s got to tell you. I’ll friggin’ kill her for this.”

  I put my tricycle down and hopped the fence and walked toward Tanner.

  “Were you planning on riding that thing to safety, or what?” Clair said, walking slowly toward Tanner, the rifle still leveled.

  “Only if you didn’t show up,” I said.

  “I was watching the road. I didn’t expect Ranger Rick here to come out of the woods.”

  He motioned to Tanner, who was standing there, sweaty and disheveled.

  “On your belly on the ground,” Clair said. “Hands behind your neck.”

  Tanner looked at him dully.

  “I didn’t kill nobody,” he said.

  “You’re gonna be on the receiving end if you’re not down there when I count three. One, two—”

  Tanner flopped down heavily, his knife sheath empty on his belt. I picked up the knife and held it in front of me. Clair handed me the rifle, too, and then whipped off his belt. He bent down over Tanner, lifted his boots up over his buttocks, wrenched his arms down, first one, then the other. The belt snaked around and between wrists and ankles, and then Clair cinched it tight.

  “Where’d you learn to do that?” I said, looking at Tanner, hog-tied.

  “Cub Scouts,” he said.

  “But can you start a fire with a magnifying glass?”

  “As long as I have matches.”

  Tanner grunted and tried to roll over on his side but couldn’t.

  “I didn’t kill nobody,” he said again.

  “Not for lack of trying,” I said.

  I looked at him, then handed the rifle back to Clair.

  “I’ll go in and call the cops,” I said.

  I hopped the fence and went to the door. It was ajar, and I slid it open and went in and up the stairs. The house was oddly quiet, and I wondered if they’d all gone out the front. I walked into the living room, but no one was there. I pushed the bathroom door open and there was no one there, either. I held Tanner’s knife tighter, the blade along my thigh.

  The bedrooms in the house were to the left of the living room. I crossed the room and started down the short hallway. Both doors were open. From the one on the right, I heard the sound of a throat clearing. I walked to the door and looked.

  Roxanne was sitting on the bed, alone. I followed her eyes to the corner to the right of the door and stopped.

  Marcia was standing against the wall, next to a bureau. She had a revolver in her hand and Adrianna in front of her legs.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We got him. I just have to call the police.”

  Marcia didn’t move. The gun was pointed at Roxanne, whose face was still, her legs crossed. Slowly, the gun moved, until it was pointing at me.

  “It’s not okay, McMorrow,” Marcia said. “It’s not okay at all.”

  I glanced at Roxanne. There was something strange about her expression, something almost sympathetic.

  “But we’ve got him. Clair’s got him tied up. Why . . . What’s with the gun?”

  Marcia smiled wistfully. Adrianna looked from me to Roxanne, her eyes stretched wide, her mouth clamped shut.

  “What’s with the gun?” Marcia said. “I don’t know what’s with the gun. I really don’t know.”

  But she didn’t put it down, and the barrel still pointed at my chest.

  “You want to tell him?” Marcia said. “You know, I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Roxanne.”

  “Well, Roxanne, you tell him. And then I’ll decide what to do. I’ll decide what to do.”

  I looked at Roxanne.

  “I talked to Adrianna,” she said. “Outside. Just for a few minutes. That’s a pretty name, Adrianna.”

  The little girl smiled.

  “I think you’re a pretty lady,” she said.

  “Thanks. Your mother was pretty too, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah, but she’s in heaven. Do you stay pretty in heaven?”

  “I think so,” Roxanne said softly.

  I looked up and saw that Marcia had begun to cry. The tears were running down her cheeks, like streams during spring runoff. The gun slowly dropped until it pointed limply at the floor.

  “Adrianna, do you know Jack?” Roxanne said. “Do you remember him?”

  “Yeah. Jack in the Beanstalk. Mommy’s friend.”

  Marcia suddenly broke in, tears still running down her face.

  “Adrianna, can you tell Jack about the night Mommy went to heaven?”

  “You won’t get mad?”

  “No,” Marcia said. “‘You can tell him. Just like you told this nice lady, Roxanne.”

  “My mommy’s sleeping up there, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And she’s happy, and she isn’t crying anymore?” Adrianna said.

  She looked up at Marcia.

  “No, she isn’t crying,” her aunt said.

  “Can I have some chips?”

  “Sure, honey,” Marcia said softly. “In a minute. But tell Mr. McMorrow about that night, could you, hon? When Auntie Marcia came over. Tell us what happened.”

  Adrianna looked up at her for reassurance.

  “It’s okay, babe,” Marcia said.

  “Mommy was having whiskey,” Adrianna said, her tiny voice giving the word an odd resonance.

  “And she was laying on the couch. And then Jeff came and they made me go to bed.”

  “So did you go to sleep?”

  “No.”

  “And what did you hear?”

  “Them fightin’.”

  “Was Jeff hitting your mommy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And what else?”

  “Yelling,” Adrianna said. “At each other. He was ca
lling Mommy bad names.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Daddy called. My real daddy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “How do you know that?” Marcia said.

  “Because he said he wanted to say good night to me.”

  “Did your mommy let him say good night to you?”

  “No, she said he didn’t really want to say good night, he was just playing games.”

  “What kind of games?”

  “I don’t know,” Adrianna said.

  Marcia stroked the little girl’s curls.

  “So then what happened?”

  “What?”

  “What happened after that?”

  “Jeff and Mommy started fighting some more.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “Yelling, and he was hitting her.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “ ’Cause I could hear it. The hitting sound. I think they were tummy hits. ’Cause they sound different from face hits. And Mommy was crying. She was saying, ‘No, don’t hit me.’ ”

  “And then what?”

  “Then Jeff kept hitting her, and then he left.”

  “What did your mommy do?” Marcia asked.

  “She didn’t do anything.”

  “Where was she?”

  “She was crying.”

  “Where?”

  “On the couch. But then she went to bed.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I got up.”

  “Why?”

  “ ’Cause Mommy had a bad cough. From drinking her whiskey.”

  “And she was in her bed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I went to climb in with her, but she was coughing. Yucky-sounding coughs.”

  Marcia took a deep breath.

  “So what did you do?”

  “I went and got a bag for her to do throw-ups in.”

  “That was nice of you. What kind of bag was it?”

  “A bag from the kitchen.”

  “A paper bag?” Marcia said slowly.

  “No, I couldn’t find one of those kind, so I got a plastic one from the drawer. The bag drawer.”

  “And what did you do with it?”

  “I put it so Mommy could do her throw-ups.”

  “Where did you put it?”

  “On Mommy’s face. So she could do her throw-ups.”

  “Did she do her throw-ups?”