by Sharon Sala
“Is it work?” Mattie asked.
Ben hesitated, but he knew better than to lie to her.
“Yes.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No, no, Mom, nothing like that. I’m sorry if I worried you.”
“I’ve just never seen you so distracted. Do you want to talk about it?”
He looked at her and almost smiled.
“I think I’d better,” he said. “Especially since I’ve more or less involved you in the problem.”
Mattie grinned. “As long as it has nothing to do with a bake sale, we’re in business.”
He laughed aloud. It was an old family joke, dating back to a time when he’d volunteered her baking prowess for a bake sale his Cub Scout pack was having, and at the time, Mattie had had one arm in a sling and the other in a cast.
“No bake sales,” he said. “I promise.”
“Then talk to me,” she said.
Ben took a breath. How to explain? There was only one way—from the beginning.
“It started two weeks ago, with a shooting in Oakcliff. A man was murdered, and a woman was shot and left for dead.”
He glanced at his mother, aware that this could get touchy, because she had miscarried and lost the only child she would ever carry. The fact that they’d adopted him when he was only days old rarely crossed his mind. But if China was to stay here, this had to be said. His mother needed to know what she was going through.
“The woman was pregnant. The baby died.”
“Oh, Ben,” Mattie said, and then leaned over and took him by the hands. “It’s all right, sweetie. I’m not that fragile, you know. Losing your father was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to bear, and I survived that. Keep talking.”
“Okay, but remember, you asked for it.”
She nodded. “So, this case… it’s one of yours?”
“Yes.”
“The woman who was shot… will she live?”
“For a while it was touch and go, but she’s doing great now. In fact, that’s part of what’s been bothering me. The day she was shot, she’d just been evicted from her home. Long story short, her boyfriend dumped her, stole all her money and left her flat. She’s now the only witness to a murder that is becoming a bigger mess with each passing day, and in a few days she’s going to be released, but with nowhere to go. I need to keep her safe.” Then he added, “I care what happens to her, Mom, and I’m about to ask a very big favor of you.”
Mattie could see what was coming. “Is she nice… you know… decent?”
“As far as we can tell, she’s an innocent. She’s distrusting of men, but Mom, she’s so tiny… I guess fragile is a better word. And she’s beautiful, only the oddest thing about that is, I don’t think she knows it.”
Mattie knew her son. She’d never heard him speak of a woman in this way. The last thing she wanted was to see Ben get mixed up with someone sordid. In her opinion, the best way to oversee the situation was to be in the middle of it. Ben might be smitten, but she would reserve judgment until she’d seen for herself.
“Bring her to me,” Mattie said.
“You’ll have to put up with Dave being around, too,” he warned.
Mattie felt herself flushing. “Oh, Ben, he makes me nervous,” she muttered. “Always fiddling around, trying to help me do stuff. I’ve been taking care of myself for years. I don’t need him to do anything for me.”
“She’s a witness to a crime, Mom. The guard is necessary. Dave Lambert is a retired cop. He’s nearby. He’s volunteered. If China comes, he has to be part of the deal.”
“China? Surely that’s not her real name?” Mattie asked, envisioning some tawdry stage name for a stripper act.
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am, it is. China Brown. Her mother, Mae, is deceased, or you could take the name business up with her.”
Mattie frowned. “I didn’t mean there was something wrong with it. It’s just different, that’s all.”
“And so is she,” Ben said. “So it’s all right? I can tell her you said it’s okay?”
“I’ll tell her myself tomorrow. What hospital is she in?”
“Parkland.”
“I’ll call her room. We’ll talk.”
Ben’s grin spread. “Come here to me,” he said, and held out his arms, giving her a hug when she scooted nearer. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’ll see for yourself. She’s about the least dangerous woman you’ll ever meet.” Then his mood shifted, and his smile slipped. “I buried her baby today before I drove to the ranch. There was no one there but me and a preacher I didn’t know. Help her, Mom, because I damn sure don’t know how.”
In that moment, Mattie felt a connection with the woman she had yet to meet.
“It will be all right, son,” she said softly. “Time heals a lot. Maybe we’ll heal each other. Who knows?”
Nine
“Bobby Lee! Bobby Lee! We’ll vote for you!”
Bobby Lee smiled and waved at the trio of giggling women across the street from the television station as he and Ainsley Been got out of his car. WFAL Channel 7 was doing a special interview on him and his recent announcement to run for president, and he was running late.
“I’ll hold you to that,” he called out as he entered the station.
A harried producer was waiting for him at the door.
“Senator Wakefield, thank goodness! You’re on in five minutes,” he said, and began miking Bobby Lee as they walked.
“Well, now,” Bobby Lee said. “And here I thought I was late.” Then he added. “This is my campaign manager, Ainsley Been.”
The producer nodded a quick hello and then hustled the men into the studio, where Ronnie Boyle, the evening anchorman, was winding up the national news.
“Just have a seat,” the producer said quietly.
Ainsley Been handed the producer a sheet of paper. “This is a list of questions the senator will respond to.”
“You’re restricting us as to what we can discuss?”
Bobby Lee frowned at Ainsley, then patted the young man on the back.
“Hell no, boy! I’m an open book. You just tell Boyle to ask away, you hear?”
“Thank you,” he said. “Now step this way. We need to get you seated.”
Ainsley started to argue, but Bobby Lee shook his head, then strode onto the set, taking a chair as if it were a throne and he the reigning king.
Granted, there weren’t any real time bombs in Bobby Lee’s past—except possibly his mother, and most everyone in Texas knew Mona Wakefield, or at least knew of her and accepted her as the colorful character she was. Bobby Lee’s past was his ticket to stardom. His war record, his football prowess, his dedication to government from an early age—he was a man’s man in every sense of the word, yet wealthy, unattached and handsome enough to set every woman’s heart aflutter. However, it could not be forgotten that the senator was no longer just a Texas boy made good. He had moved into the national arena, and it remained to be seen how Mona Wakefield would fare.
Normally Connie Marx would have been doing the interview, but since her suspension from the network, her coanchor, Ronnie Boyle, was sitting in as host on the guest segment of the broadcast.
“Good evening, Senator,” Boyle said, and shook Bobby Lee’s hand as he took a seat opposite his guest.
Bobby Lee nodded and smiled.
“You’re on in two,” someone said.
Boyle nodded without taking his eyes from Bobby Lee.
“Are you comfortable, Senator Wakefield?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Bobby Lee said.
Boyle nodded again and began readjusting his mike, then glanced down in his lap to refer to some notes he was holding.
Again nerves twitched in the pit of Ainsley’s belly, but he told himself to stay calm. After all, what the hell could happen?
In the background, someone began counting down the time.
“Five… four… three… two…”
Ronnie Boyle looked up and smiled straig
ht into the camera.
“Welcome back. We have a special guest in the studio this evening. One of Texas’s finest, our very own Senator Bobby Lee Wakefield.” Boyle turned his smile to Bobby Lee. “Senator, you recently announced your candidacy for president of the United States. What was it that led you to the decision to run?”
Bobby Lee leaned forward just a fraction, giving the impression that he was imparting confidential information. The expression on his face was warm but serious.
On the sidelines, Ainsley breathed a sigh of relief. He should have known better than to worry. When it came to the media, Bobby Lee was a consummate professional.
“Well now, Ronnie… you don’t mind if I call you Ronnie, do you?” Bobby Lee asked.
“Of course not,” Boyle said. “We’re all among friends here.”
“That’s what I want to hear,” Bobby Lee said, and began to talk.
On the other side of the city, Mona sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed, her gaze fixed on the television screen. She was listening to her son with an absent air. Most of her attention was focused on what he was wearing and how he looked. After a couple of moments, she began to relax. He looked just fine, and that Boyle fellow didn’t know it yet, but Bobby Lee was guiding the interview right where he wanted it to go.
Minutes passed as Mona’s mind wandered to the future and a much more momentous occasion than a local television interview. She leaned back against the headboard of her bed and closed her eyes, picturing her son standing on the steps of the White House and taking the oath of office while she stood at his side. She would wear white—no, maybe she would wear red. It would show up better on national TV. And she would wear a hat. She looked good in hats, and it was cold in the capital in January.
Then her thoughts refocused on the show, and she glanced back at the screen just in time to hear Boyle changing the subject from national platforms to local politics.
“Senator, I’m sure you’re aware of the recent death of Tashi Yamamoto. There’s a rumor that the company he owned here in Dallas will fold. If it does, a lot of your constituents will be out of a job. Do you have any information that might alleviate the worry for all those families?”
Bobby Lee tilted his head sideways just a bit, giving himself a thoughtful appearance. He knew it made him look good. He’d practiced just that very pose for years to get it right.
“That was a tragedy, for sure,” Bobby Lee said. “Unfortunately, I’ve not been contacted directly regarding any decisions from Mr. Yamamoto’s company, but my sympathies go out to his family, and to the people who might be affected by the company’s closing.” Then he looked straight into Boyle’s eyes, well aware that the camera would make it appear as if he were talking to the viewers themselves. “This is proof of how violence in this country affects us all, even indirectly. If I’m elected president, I intend to do everything in my power to change this country’s thinking on capital punishment. Too many repeat offenders are released back into our society.”
Boyle glanced ruefully at the producer, who was indicating that time was up, then skillfully wrapped up the interview. When it was over, Bobby Lee stood and took off his mike, dropping it into the chair in which he’d been sitting.
“Fine job, Mr. Boyle,” he said, and shook the man’s hand.
Ronnie Boyle nodded and smiled. “You made it easy.”
Bobby Lee smiled. He never tired of having his ego stroked.
“We covered a lot of bases in five minutes,” Boyle said.
“There’s a lot going on in this country.”
“You’re right about that,” Boyle said. “Especially here in Dallas.”
Bobby Lee looked confused. “Are you referring to Yamamoto’s death?”
“That and the Finelli scandal.”
Bobby Lee’s expression blanked. “Yes, well, I have another appointment in a few minutes. I must be going.”
Boyle followed him off the set. “How do you think Dallas is going to come out of the mess?” he asked, and then lowered his voice a bit as he continued. “I mean, after all, this thing goes all the way to the top of the city’s business and social ladder.”
Bobby Lee’s heart began to pound. He’d heard all about the police interrogations and the pictures they’d found in the murdered man’s apartment. He’d lost sleep wondering if his mother would show up in any of them, then wondering how many people he would have to buy off to make sure the pictures disappeared if she did.
“Yes, I suppose it does, although I’d rather not comment.” He grabbed Boyle’s hand and gave it a vigorous shake. “Thank you again, son, for a fine interview.” Then he looked at Ainsley. “Have the driver bring the car around. We’re through here.”
He walked away without looking back, leaving Ronnie Boyle to wonder why the senator’s jovial manner had so suddenly disappeared.
***
The television on the wall was on, but the sound had been muted. A plate of congealing chicken and noodles was on the table near China’s bed. The bowl of Jell-O was half-eaten and most of her milk was gone. She’d eaten because they’d insisted, not because she was hungry. Her appetite for everything except revenge was gone. Ever since Ben English had challenged her to get well, she’d focused all her energies on doing that very thing, and for one reason only. She wanted the woman who’d shot her to pay. Maybe then she would learn how to live with some measure of peace.
As she lay there, someone suddenly laughed aloud outside her door, and the sound hurt her heart. It seemed obscene that the world still turned when hers had all but stopped. She felt caught in a vacuum without any way out. Everything seemed pointless and frightening. During rounds this evening, Dr. Pope had told her that if she continued to progress, she would be released the day after tomorrow. The idea of moving beyond the safety of this small room and the guard at her door was horrifying. What if the moment she stepped outside the hospital door the killer shot her again? It could happen easily enough, and the killer certainly had good reason to want her dead. After all, she was the only person who could identify her.
“Oh, God, help me get through this,” China whispered, and turned her face to the wall.
Within moments, the phone beside her bed began to ring. Her heart jerked with fright. Who could be calling her? No one even knew she was here. And then she thought of Ben. She hadn’t seen him since the day before yesterday. Maybe he was calling to check on her. Wincing as she extended her arm, she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.
“Hello?”
Mattie English took a deep breath. The soft, broken sound of the word was not what she’d been expecting.
“Is this China Brown?”
Suddenly the face of the woman who’d shot her flashed before her eyes. What if it was her? Frightened, China hung up, then pulled the covers up to her chin, as if the simple act would keep her safe.
A few seconds later the phone rang again, shattering her nerves and sending her into a panic. She opened her mouth to scream for help, but nothing came out. All she could do was lie there in fear. On the fifth ring, a nurse entered.
“Honey, your phone’s ringing off the wall. Can’t you reach it?”
Without waiting for China to speak, she picked up the receiver.
“Miss Brown’s room. May I help you?”
China was holding her breath when the nurse handed her the phone.
“It’s Mattie English. Says she’s Detective English’s mother. Do you want to talk to her?”
“Oh, my God,” China muttered, and started to shake. She’d forgotten that Ben’s mother was going to call. She’d hung up on Ben’s mother. She reached for the phone.
“Hello?”
Mattie started talking before China could hang up again. “I should have identified myself. I know you’ve been through a terrible ordeal, but I’m told you’re making wonderful progress.”
“Yes, ma’am,” China said.
“Ben tells me you’re going to be released soon.”
&n
bsp; “Yes, ma’am.”
Some of Mattie’s doubts began to slip. Ma’am. At least the girl had been raised to respect her elders.
“The reason I’m calling is to second the offer Ben made to have you come stay with me for a while—at least until an arrest can be made.”
China hesitated. “He said something to me about it, but it’s such an imposition for you, having a complete stranger in your home.”
Mattie smiled to herself and relaxed even more.
“Oh, honey, these days I’m lonesome more than I care to remember. It will be good to have another voice in this house besides my own.”
Tears unexpectedly filled China’s eyes. It had been so long since she’d felt welcome anywhere that the empathy got to her.
“I suppose Ben told you I had nowhere else to go.”
When the girl’s voice began to shake, Mattie’s empathy changed to sympathy.
“Yes, he did, and he told me the reasons why. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said softly.
Tears spilled down China’s face. All she could do was nod, even though she knew Mattie could not see her.
When Mattie thought she heard a choked sob, her last bit of reserve disappeared.
“You go ahead and cry all you want to,” she said. “I know the pain of what you’re going through. I miscarried my only baby two months before he was due and I wanted to die. I think I tried to die.” Her voice shook with remembered pain. “But the damnedest thing happened.”
“What?” Mattie managed to ask, intrigued in spite of herself.
“First, I discovered that it’s impossible to die from holding your own breath.”
China almost smiled.
“And,” Mattie continued, “I’d worked too hard on the nursery to take it all down. I wanted to be a mother more than anything on this earth, so my husband and I adopted a baby boy. It took a couple of years, but my Ben was worth the wait.”
“Ben is adopted?”
Mattie smiled. Even though China’s voice was still shaking, she could hear true interest in the question.
“Yes. Turned out pretty well, considering how much my husband and I spoiled him, don’t you think?”
China closed her eyes, trying to picture the big man she knew as a baby someone hadn’t wanted. The image hurt her heart.