“I slaved over this meal so you git your ass out here and eat it.” He shuffled away, shouting into the room. He was leaving. In a few minutes he’d drink another glass of whiskey and he’d forget.
Suddenly the heavy plate, something her mother had stolen from the last diner where she’d worked, crashed against the wall. Sylvia saw two slabs of the plate hit the floor amid the mush of canned tuna fish, white bread, and mayonnaise.
The crusty feet lurched across the room and he was on his knees, reaching under the sofa.
Sylvia screamed. She and her sister scrunched as far back as possible but his meaty fist stabbed after them. His hand closed around Sylvia’s arm.
“No!” She cried and fought but her skinny little girl’s body was no match for him, even if he was on his knees. Her sister clamped onto Sylvia’s ankle as their father yanked her from safety.
“You little shit! I made you supper and you’re goddamned gonna eat it!” He pulled her with him as he stood up, dangling her by her arm, wrenching it from the socket.
She screamed again. And again. And kept screaming as his fist full of the tuna he’d scooped off the floor rammed into her face.
Suddenly he dropped her. She hit the floor on her tailbone and scuttled like a crab to the corner.
Margery hit him again in the arm with her small fist.
Her father clamped his hand on Margery’s shoulder and drew his arm back.
“No. Oh, please.” She couldn’t say anything else as she watched her father slam his fists into her sister’s face.
Sylvia jumped up from her desk to halt the images. She’d successfully blocked them from her mind for decades. With all this stress, they were coming back.
The door of the lab squeaked open and Petal peeked in.
Sylvia motioned her in. She wanted to scream at Petal for taking so long to get here. “Hurry. You’re letting out the heat.”
Petal slunk in like a stray dog, a mess of hair atop a rag basket. She rubbed her hands against the cold. “It feels like a front is coming in.”
What did Sylvia care about the weather in Boulder tonight?
She stomped around the map table to a wall of filing cabinets. “I don’t know why you’ve been dragging your feet. We need to have the tower positioned to refract the ELF wave. Let’s get that done tonight.”
Petal showed all the reaction of an office chair.
Sylvia’s hand shook when she raised it to push her hair from her forehead. “Why are you standing there? You haven’t given me the angle of refraction. Why not? Are you too busy making friends with Nora Abbott?”
Petal flushed and stared at the floor in front of Sylvia. “It’s Mother. She’s been ill and I’ve been trying to get Medicaid figured out. They say her treatments aren’t covered.”
Such mundane matters. Sylvia opened a file drawer and slammed it closed. “Are you blackmailing me into giving you money?”
Petal’s voice cracked. “No! It’s the truth. She’s sick.”
“Tell you what, if all goes well here I’ll give you a bonus and you can help your mother out.”
Petal’s eyes glimmered with gratitude. “Thank you.”
So Eduardo had sent Juan to watch her. Would he order Juan to kill her if she didn’t deliver? Sylvia paced around the opposite side of the map table and stopped at her desk chair. “I need that angle measurement tonight. I don’t care if you stay here all night. The beam will go out tomorrow.”
Instead of running to her desk to start working, Petal gazed at her from under the disaster on top of her head. “I can help you. But the coordinates you’ve given me don’t make sense. Why Ecuador? I thought we needed to measure the soil and air temperatures in sector 43. That’s where the field crew is monitoring beetle kill.”
She wanted to slap Petal. Of course she didn’t do it. She inhaled and composed herself. Sylvia chuckled to show she was a good sport. “You give me the details I ask for and I’ll do the strategic thinking.”
Why had she let herself get so upset? She’d handled the situation, as she always did. Petal should have delivered the refractory angle earlier, but Sylvia hadn’t stayed on top of her flakey assistant. All Sylvia had to do was be a good manager. After Petal provided the corrections, Sylvia would adjust the tower’s angle and she’d send the beam tomorrow night.
Sylvia waited until Petal hunched over her computer, then she left her office and hurried through the kitchen. She paused at a sink window to survey the Trust parking lot.
Petal’s silly bike leaned against the front steps and Sylvia’s Ferrari sat close to the front door.
A Lincoln Town Car sat at the side of the road, just across the wood bridge.
twenty-five
Nora opened her eyes to the dark bedroom. She should get up and head to work. But she rolled onto her back and stretched, enjoying one extra moment to think about last night. Because as soon as her feet hit the floor she’d grab hold of reality and force Cole out of her thoughts. She knew better than to spend time with him. It was sort of like going to the Humane Society and saying you were only going to look. Pretty soon, your heart mutinied and you ended up with a pet.
Abigail would say Nora should take a risk on love. But Nora already had her fragile heart and ego out there with this new job. And the whole suddenly-you-have-a-Hopi-father thing she needed to examine.
After a year of isolation, she needed to pace herself on total life immersion.
Nora threw back the covers and planted her feet on the rug. She showered and dressed as stealthily as possible so as not to wake Abigail. She didn’t want to discuss her dinner with Cole and she definitely didn’t want to get into daddy issues.
“I will be nice to Abigail,” she said to herself in the mirror. “And maybe I’ll work on not talking to myself.”
Nora tiptoed out of her bedroom and down the hall. She whispered to Abbey and grabbed her coat and a plastic bag and slipped out to take him for his morning routine.
Fifteen minutes later, she snuck back inside and slid his leash over a hook.
“Good morning!” Abigail chirped from the kitchen.
Drat. “Morning.” The smell of fresh brewed coffee hung in the air.
Abigail set a mug on the counter bar. She wore a white robe with embroidered pink roses on the lapels and pink slippers. “I made coffee. It’s that hazelnut kind with the nonfat creamer.”
Don’t tell her you hate flavored coffee. Keep your mouth shut about artificial creamers. “I’m kind of in a hurry to get to work. Thanks anyway.”
“Oh nonsense.” Abigail filled her own cup. “I want you to sit down and tell me everything about last night.”
Nora pulled her messenger bag from the coat hooks. “Dinner was delicious. Thanks.”
Abigail patted the table to invite Nora. “You hit it off with Cole, didn’t you? You two are perfect for each other.”
“Yeah. I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t be silly. Come over here and have a cup of coffee.”
Don’t do it. Walk out the door. Really, DO NOT DO IT. “Can you leave me alone? Please just back off.”
Abigail’s face fell.
Damn it. What happened to that resolve to be nice to Abigail? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. The best thing I can do is to go to work.”
“Oh, honey. You didn’t hurt my feelings.” That martyr tone always guilted Nora. “I’m only concerned for you.”
“I really should get to work.”
“It’s not even six o’clock.”
“I have a lot to do.”
Abigail set her coffee on the table, and reached for Nora’s bag. She hung it up. “I’m serious, dear. We need to talk about your father.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Ready or not—”
A soft thump on the front door stopped Abi
gail. They stared at the door. The noise came again but this time it sounded like a light tapping.
Nora walked past Abigail and unlocked the door.
“Wait!” Abigail whispered. “It’s not safe. We need a weapon.”
Nora rolled her eyes as Abigail searched for something dangerous. She opened the door.
Petal huddled on the welcome mat, shrouded with layers of wraps, probably from some sweatshop-less, free-trade market. Heavy hiking socks covered feet stuffed in her Chaco sandals. Her breath puffed from a cloud of dreds.
“Come in.” Nora reached out, pulled her inside and shut the door. “What are you doing here, and so early?”
Petal shivered by the entryway. “I don’t know where else to go.”
Blurgh. Nora didn’t need any more trouble. If she had any brains in her head, she’d shove Petal back outside and slam the door. Instead, she helped unwrap the first layer, a blanket it seemed, from Petal’s shoulders and draped it on the coat hooks.
Abigail grasped Petal’s frozen fingers. “Why, you’re an ice cube. Let me get you some coffee.”
Petal curled up in the same couch corner she’d sat in before.
Nora sat beside her. “What’s going on?”
Petal’s puffy eyes implored Abigail. “I can’t go home. Darla is everywhere.”
Abigail pushed dreds back from Petal’s face. “I know, honey. It hurts.”
Petal hiccupped. “I open a cupboard and see the coffee mug I bought her with the happy face on it. I tried to move on, but when I reached for the tea it was the special blend of coconut and white tea she loved.”
Abigail nodded. “I know.”
“So I went to lie down and the pillows smell like her.”
Nora wanted to help but Petal’s words brought sharp images slicing through her. The empty spot next to her in bed after Scott died. Cleaning out his closet, touching his bike gloves, knowing his fingers would never fill them again.
Abigail patted Petal’s hand. “It’s okay. You can stay here today. I’ll bet you haven’t slept. We can make you a bed on the couch.”
Sure, Abigail invited Petal to camp out on Nora’s sofa, but when Scott died, she’d insisted they go shopping. Petal could whimper and cry; Nora’d had to get on with life.
“Thank you so much, Abigail.” Petal turned hopeful eyes to Nora. “You don’t mind, do you? It won’t be for long. Maybe just until after the funeral today?”
In the olden days—seventy-two hours ago—Nora’s small apartment felt like a quiet haven she shared with Abbey. They took walks and Nora read or watched TV or searched for jobs while Abbey napped in his warm bed. Suddenly her apartment was transformed into a circus with Abigail as ringmaster.
“Sure. Let me round up some sheets.” That was another problem. Nora owned the sheets on her bed and a second set on the guest room bed. She never imagined she’d need more than that. Maybe she could take the top sheet from her own bed. She mulled over the unacceptable possibilities on the short walk down the hall. At least she had a sleeping bag Petal could use. Nora pulled open the flimsy linen closet door to retrieve the sleeping bag she stored on the bottom shelf.
Abigail kept cheerful patter going in the living room. No doubt distracting Petal from her grief. Either that or numbing her into a false calm.
What?
Nora faced two shelves of new housewares. A set of sheets bordered with delicate eyelet embroidery and several fluffy pink towels stacked neatly next to an electric roaster pan and—what was that? A fondue pot?
“Mother?”
Abigail’s chatter stopped. “Yes, Nora.”
“Could you come here, please?”
Abigail swept down the short hall in her robe and slippers.
Nora indicated the closet. “What is all this and where did it come from?”
Abigail checked the closet. “Oh, that. Honey, a woman needs to have things to feather her nest. If you don’t have beauty and comfort to surround you, you’ll feel prickly.”
“I hate pink. I’ve always hated pink. I like my home the way it is.”
“You say that now, but you’ll be surprised at how much comfort a little luxury and a well-supplied home can give you.”
The evil Abigail troll climbed behind Nora’s eyes, pulled herself on her little trampoline, and jumped, throwing her body against the inside of Nora’s forehead. “I don’t want towels and china with matching stemware. I’d rather strap on my backpack, whistle for Abbey, and go to the mountains.”
Abigail raised her eyebrows. “You won’t be able to do that forever. You aren’t getting younger.”
Nora bit back a retort. “And what is this?” She pointed to the roaster pan.
“You don’t have one, do you?” Abigail sounded concerned.
“Why would I have something that would feed a dormitory? It’s only me and Abbey here.”
Abigail placed her hands on her hips. “You have no vision for the future. Every woman should have an electric roaster. Someday you’ll have children and they’ll bring their baseball team over for sloppy joes or you’ll need to supply chili for the gymnastics fundraiser, and then you’ll thank me.”
“How do you even know these words? When did you ever cook for my friends or volunteer at any of my functions?”
Abigail sucked in her lips and held her breath as if holding back tears. “There you go again, heaping blame on me for not being the perfect mother. I tried, Nora. I was a single mother focusing all my energy on keeping food on the table and clothes on your back.”
“What alternative universe did you live in?” Nora managed not the fling the towels from the shelves. “We lived in a four-thousand-square-foot house with a crystal chandelier in the entryway. You hosted catered cocktail parties on a regular basis.”
Fire lit Abigail’s eyes. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t have the luxury of going to college and business school. When I married your father we had no money and I worked at a department store. When I married Berle, my job was being his wife. You enjoyed the nice things and a wonderful education because I kept Berle happy.”
Nora exploded. “I don’t know anything about your life with my father. You told me he abandoned me!”
Abigail grew still. “Now we’re getting to the real problem. You hate me for protecting you.”
Nora pulled the thousand-thread count sheets from the closet and marched down the hallway. “I don’t hate you.”
Abigail jerked the pillow from the closet and followed her. “There you go, running away from the truth like you always do.”
The hallway wasn’t long enough. Nora had to pull up or she’d be in the living room with Petal. “Stop trying to run my life.”
Abigail stood too close. “Someone has to because you’re creating a disaster.”
“And now we’re talking about Cole again, right?”
“If you weren’t so stubborn you’d see I’m right.”
“If you weren’t so controlling you’d see I can manage my own life.”
They walked into the living room to find Petal dissolved in tears. She curled into the couch, head in her arms, sobbing silently.
Abigail hurried to sit next to Petal and gathered her in her arms. “Now, now. It’s going to be okay.”
“I can’t do it.” Petal choked out the words.
“Do what, honey?”
Nora deposited the sheets on the couch and stood above Abigail and Petal. Hard fingers of sympathy squeezed her heart; she knew what it felt like when someone close was murdered. She wished she could lift Petal’s pain and toss it into the chilly morning. But part of her, a large part, wanted Petal to take her drama and all the memories it stirred up and find another friend. Nora had only known Petal a few days; why did she have to hold the unraveling ball of nerves together?
Nora sat on the arm of the couch and patted Petal
’s back. Why, indeed? The least she could do was let Petal cry.
“The funeral,” Petal squeaked.
“What about the funeral?” Abigail had to draw every word from Petal.
“It’s later this morning. I can’t go.”
“Of course you can go, dear.”
Petal pushed herself up and swiped a sleeve across her nose again. “Whoever killed Darla will be there.”
Abigail gave Nora a helpless expression. “You don’t know that.”
Tears continued to run down Petal’s face. “If they killed Darla they might kill me.”
“Oh, posh.” It appeared Abigail would only cotton to so much drama, even from Petal. “No one wants to hurt you.”
Petal sobbed again and dropped her head onto Abigail’s lap.
Abigail patted Petal’s shoulders. “I think you’re being paranoid but if you’d like, Nora and I will go to the funeral with you.”
Funeral? No way. Nora didn’t do funerals any more. Heather’s funeral following so closely after Scott’s had cured Nora from going to another funeral. Ever. She hadn’t even known Darla. Abigail could go. She could hold Petal’s hand and feel needed and like a hero for rescuing an unfortunate waif.
Not Nora. Uh-uh. Nope.
twenty-six
Cold, dry air sent shivers down Nora’s arms and raised goose bumps on her legs as she hurried along the sidewalk with Petal and Abigail. The church occupied a whole city block just south of the Pearl Street Mall in downtown Boulder. Because snow threatened, they’d parked in a covered public garage several blocks away and now suffered the winds of the cold front as they hurried toward the church. The heavy clouds snuffed out sight of the Flatirons. Nora could have used a sunny day and mountain view to balance the dread of the funeral.
Despite the foul weather, cyclists buzzed by on the streets and an occasional runner dodged them. Students bundled in ski coats and Uggs hurried by with their heads down.
In the cozy warmth of her apartment, her mother’s disapproval of pants versus a dress didn’t seem important. Today, she should have worn the slacks and let Abigail stew. Abigail appeared regal in her appropriate black pencil skirt, pumps, and wool coat. At least Nora wore boots and a long skirt against the gusts coming off the mountains.
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