“Things were good. It was the first time I could remember that we didn’t use food stamps. Maybe it was the only time…
“But Janine started acting weird. Like if I came up behind her and she didn’t hear me coming, she would really jump. And she cried a lot—I didn’t know what was wrong with her. Why was she crying when we had our new Fat Daddy buying us all those things?”
On the other end of the phone, Ihbraham sighed, and Mary Lou knew he’d guessed where this story was going.
“I remember being terrified that Mama would get tired of Lyle and we’d have to hit the road again. I told Janine that if she did, I was going to beg Lyle to let me stay here. I could keep his kitchen clean and do his laundry. And she got real angry at me. I didn’t understand why, and she finally told me that if I really wanted to stay here, I’d have to suck on my Fat Daddy’s thing, because that’s what she had to do, every night after Mama went to work. That was the real reason he let us live here.
“I was shocked,” Mary Lou told him. “I mean, I grew up knowing all there was to know about sex. Mama got drunk and brought men home and wasn’t very good at remembering to close the bedroom door. And sometimes there wasn’t even a separate bedroom.”
She looked down at Haley, who was sleeping on her lap. How could her mother have done that? How could her mother not have loved her and Janine as fiercely as she loved this little girl? But Mary Lou knew that it wasn’t that her mother had loved her any less. But rather that she’d loved alcohol more.
“I knew what Janine was saying was something that some men liked. And I also knew that some men liked little girls—enough of my mother’s parade of boyfriends had waggled their things at us, starting back when we were real small. But once they did, and once we told Mama, she kicked them out on their butts faster than you could blink.
“And I have to confess, there was a time or two when Janine and I told stories that weren’t true—like, Mama, he touched my booby!—just to get rid of a boyfriend that we didn’t want hanging around.
“Well, when Janine told me this about Lyle, I went running to Mama. And I told her what Janine had told me, only Janine, she denied it. Flat out. She said I was making things up, that I was mad because Lyle bought Janine a new sweater and he didn’t get one for me. And Mama believed her. I got sent to bed without supper for telling stories.
“Janine kept telling me, too, that she’d made it all up, but I knew she hadn’t. I knew. So I pretended to go to bed early, and I hid in her closet. And sure enough, after Mama left for work, Lyle came into Janine’s room. And sure enough…”
That image of Janine and Lyle was still crystal clear in her head, even after all these years. And it still made her sick. It still made her want to cry.
“What did you do?” Ihbraham asked gently. “Poor little one, only ten—what could you do? You had already told your mother. Who else was there to tell?”
“Well, hell, I told her again,” Mary Lou said. “I went screaming out of that closet. Scared the shit out of Lyle—too bad I didn’t give him a heart attack—and ran all the way to the Shamrock Café, where Mama worked. I told her what I’d seen.
“Only Lyle had called ahead with some story about a big fight I was having with Janine. Mama marched me back home and locked me in my room. I was scared to death—I didn’t want her leaving me there with him—but Janine just wouldn’t tell the truth. I remember I was crying and saying, ‘Tell her! Tell her!’ She told me later that she was tired of always moving, and she figured this wasn’t so bad—she could live with this.”
Ihbraham sighed again.
“So there I was, locked in my room,” Mary Lou continued. “I locked the door from my side, too, and I even pushed my dresser in front of it like I’d seen people do in the movies. And sure enough, Lyle came rattling my doorknob, talking about punishment, about how I was going to have to pay, about how he could do whatever he damn pleased and no one—no one—would ever believe me. He told me what he was going to do to me when he got that door unlocked, about what he was going to do to me every night from that night on.” She paused. “I won’t repeat it here, but I remember it. Every god-awful word.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ihbraham said.
“I would kill a man who said those things to Haley,” Mary Lou told him.
“I know,” he said. “And I would help.”
“He tried to get into my room, but Janine hit him,” she told him. “Over the head. With the biggest, heaviest cooking pot she could find. In the movies that usually knocks a person out. But all it did was piss Lyle off. I could hear him beating the crap out of her on the other side of that door. He beat her, and he raped her, and I was sure he was going to kill her. So I did the only thing I could do. I went out the window, and I jumped off the roof. I broke my wrist in the fall—Lord Jesus, did that hurt—but I ran for Mama anyway, screaming bloody murder.
“Well, I guess third time’s a charm, because this time she did believe me. And she grabbed this man who was the bouncer at the bar, and we all ran home. And one look at Janine…Well, there was no denying what had happened.
“And that was that,” she said. “The end of our childhood. We moved out, of course. Moved back to Alabama. My mother pretty much quit on us after that—her drinking got crazy out of control. I think the guilt really ate her up inside. I did all the cooking and cleaning, because Janine had a whole lot of healing to do—she’s still struggling, even now.”
They were both silent for a moment.
“I would have killed him,” Mary Lou said again. “A man who hurt my baby? He would not have seen another sunrise.”
She watched Haley’s eyes move slightly beneath her closed lids as she dreamed, a smile on her perfect little face.
“I would have killed him,” Mary Lou said. “But my mother—all she did was try to drink her own self to death. I will not be like her. I will not.”
At least not tonight.
TEN
JOAN WAS WAITING out in front of the hotel when Mike Muldoon pulled up in his truck.
“That was fast,” she said as she climbed in.
“I don’t live too far from here.”
His hair was still wet from his shower and his cheeks were freshly shaved, making him look even younger than usual. He’d worn his uniform, as she’d asked, and he looked sharp and wrinkle-proof and completely awake despite the ungodly hour.
The cab of his truck smelled like freshly roasted coffee. There were two Starbucks cups in the holder that pulled out from the dash. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Please say that one of those is for me.”
He smiled. “One of those is for you.”
“Have I told you yet this morning how much I love you?” she said as she fastened her seat belt and reached for the nearest cup.
“There’s cream and sugar and a couple of scones in the bag.”
Joan laughed. “Scones?”
“You seem the scone type.” It was early enough that the streets were empty of traffic, and he did a smooth U-turn right there, heading back toward the causeway.
“The scone type?” The coffee was heated to near nuclear temperatures and burned all the way down. It was lovely.
“You know. A caffeine addict who can’t drive past a Starbucks without stopping,” he said. “You go in there often enough, sooner or later you’re bound to buy a biscotti or a scone. I figured scone.”
“We can’t see each other anymore,” Joan told him, taking another long sip. “The mystery has completely gone out of our relationship.”
He had a really lovely laugh. And the way his eyes crinkled at the corners was lovely, too. And his teeth. Definitely straight and white and very lovely. In fact, the sunlight was sparkling in a lovely way off the gleaming and equally lovely hood of his truck. This entire morning had a lovely rating of about five million.
Except, of course, for the fact that she’d woken up at 4:30 A.M. because it was really 7:30 back in the real world. Which was decadently late for her.
&nb
sp; She couldn’t go back to sleep—not after last night’s phone call from Gramps telling her that her brother Donny was wearing his foil-covered hat again.
As long as she was awake, she might as well get this visit over with.
“So where to?” Mike Muldoon drove like a young man. Like he loved driving his truck as only a still-young man could, carelessly caressing the wheel and the stick shift with his big, graceful hands, elbow resting on the open window. It was very different from the desperate way some men loved their sports cars when they hit middle age.
“I’m not sure how to get there from here,” she admitted. “I have the address, but—”
“There’s a city map in the pocket on your door,” Mike told her, slowing down. “What’s the street?”
“Westway Drive.” There were a lot of maps in that pocket, including what looked like a detailed terrain map of Afghanistan. “This would probably be easier if I put down the coffee, huh?”
But he’d already sped up again. “Don’t bother. I know where Westway is. Lieutenant Starrett lives over on Westway.”
“Starrett…Mr. Texas, right?”
“Right.” He shot her a look. “So what’s my nickname today?”
Uh-oh. Joan played it dumb. “Your what?”
“Starrett’s Mr. Texas. What are you calling me? Am I still Junior?”
At this moment, she thought of him as the apple in the Garden of Eden, perfect and shiny and treacherously tempting. But no way in hell would she ever tell him that.
“No more Junior,” she said. “I think of you as ‘Mike the adorable SEAL who brings me coffee even when I so rudely wake him up at four forty-five A.M. on a morning when he doesn’t have to get up until eight.’”
He nodded. “It takes a little bit longer to say than Junior, but I definitely like it better.” He glanced at her again. “Adorable, huh?” He cleared his throat. “You think?”
He was driving, so he couldn’t hold her gaze. Still, Joan was grateful for the opportunity provided by the bag of scones. She dug into it. “You know damn well that you’re adorable in every possible way, little brother. You want one of these?”
“Yeah.” She put one into his outstretched hand and their fingers touched. “Thanks,” he said. “Sis. Actually, when I think of myself, I think math geek. Not so much adorable.”
Joan had to laugh at that. “No, no, no,” she said. “Math geeks don’t become Navy SEALs. They become accountants.”
“I hate to break it to you, Joan, but when I was a kid, not only was I a math geek, but I was an overweight math geek.”
“Really?” Now, wasn’t that interesting? It certainly explained Muldoon’s lack of strutting and posturing. Other good-looking men often came into a room and struck a pose. They had warped expectations based on years of being treated as special because of their glorious looks.
Not so, Muldoon. He seemed completely surprised and taken aback by the attention he received. And his shy, geewhiz thing wasn’t part of an act. It was the real deal.
“I think you were probably just in your larval stage,” she told him. “Fledgling,” she corrected herself. “Fledgling is a much nicer word.”
“Larval is more visually appropriate.”
“Then larval it is. But from the looks of things, the metamorphosis was successful, my dear. The math geek is now most definitely an adorable Navy SEAL.”
“The math geek is actually still a math geek who happens to excel at survival skills and military strategies and PT.” He’d finished his scone and now held out his hand. “I think there’re napkins in the bag,” he said. “One of the problems of wearing white pants—it’s all over the instant you forget and wipe your hands on your legs. After a tragic pizza incident, I started carrying a spare pair here in my truck. Sometimes I think I should carry two.”
Joan found a napkin and handed it to him.
“This is all way above and beyond the call of duty, you know,” she said. “I purposely called your cell phone this morning instead of your home phone because I thought it would be off and I’d be able to leave voice mail. You really didn’t have to volunteer to come out here with me.”
“I know.” He was signaling for a left turn, his eyes on the road. “I wanted to.”
“You wanted to come on an emergency red-alert visit to my crazy-as-a-fruitcake older brother at the crack of dawn? Yeah, that’s what I would do with my free time. Sleep is over-rated, anyway.”
“This isn’t the crack of dawn,” he told her as he took the turn. “This is halfway through the morning for me. Besides, I went to bed early last night.”
“Still…”
“I’m happy to help,” he said very firmly in what she was rapidly learning to recognize as his officer’s voice—no room for argument.
“Well, thank you, just the same,” she said. God, she had to tell him about Donny, so he’d know what to expect. But where to start? With the aluminum-foil-covered hat or the alien-repelling oils that her brother sprayed on his windowsills?
But before she could begin, he glanced at her. “Do you…” He cleared his throat. “Do you know, uh, many people in San Diego?”
His question was posed ultra casually, the way people asked extremely important questions when they didn’t want anyone to know how important the question was to them. Except, of course, they overcompensated in the casual department, and everyone knew anyway.
“Just my grandparents and my brother,” she reported.
He nodded, but she could tell from looking that it was not the answer he’d wanted.
“So. Um.” Here came another oh-so-casual question. Joan couldn’t wait to hear it. “What did you do last night?” he asked.
What the…? Why on earth did he want to know that? Joan watched him as she answered. “Not much. I took that phone call—which was a total waste of time—watched a little CNN…I got to bed pretty early, too.” Again, this was not the information he was hoping for. She could see that in his eyes. “Why?” she asked. She didn’t believe in casual questions. She always preferred those that were point-blank.
He glanced at her again. “I was just…you know…making sure you were comfortable—that you have everything you need.”
She snorted. “Please. Don’t insult my intelligence. Clearly there’s something you want to know. Why don’t you just spit it out instead of gingerly fishing for information? Which, by the way, you suck at doing. Your version of gingerly is the equivalent of fishing by throwing a grenade into a pond.”
He laughed. “Well, jeez. Let me know what you really think, Joan. Don’t hold back.”
“That’s right,” she said. “Don’t hold back. That’s what I’m trying to say to you. What are you trying to find out, Michael?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head in disgust. At her or at himself? Maybe at both of them.
“Just ask,” she urged him. “We’re friends, right? You can ask me anything. Well, almost anything.”
“I called, and you weren’t in your room,” he admitted. “It’s not that big a deal. I was just…I had a really bizarre evening. Mrs. Tucker followed me into the grocery store—”
“She did?” Joan turned to sit sideways in her seat. “Oh, my God, you have to tell me everything!”
“I snuck out the delivery door—”
“You didn’t!” This was just too good.
“After that, I stopped at the Bug for a beer and found this sailor, this kid, completely skunked and trying to pick a fight with a retired Ranger and his two very large friends in the parking lot. The Ranger had been in ’Nam—he could’ve eaten this kid for breakfast. What number Westway?”
“Four twelve,” she told him. “What did you do?”
He pulled up in front of a little white house. Her mother’s house. Donny’s now. Joan didn’t give it more than a quick glance. But even that was enough to make the beautiful morning significantly less terrific.
“After negotiating a peaceful solution to World War Three, I tried calling
you. You weren’t there, so I went home.” He turned off the truck.
“You should have left a message, or called on my cell,” Joan told him. “Although apparently there was some kind of satellite malfunction last night, so you might not have been able to get through. But I was out of my room for twenty minutes, I swear. I went to get a soda from the vending machine, and halfway there figured what the hell, I could use something with a little more teeth. So I went down to the hotel bar and met some corporate someone from Des Moines who was all lit up because his daughter just had his first grandchild, like an hour earlier. He was so cute. But I only talked to him for fifteen minutes, tops. I must have just missed your call, poor baby.”
He smiled. “It would’ve been nice to have a shoulder to cry on. But I survived.”
“Tell me about Laurel. What did she say? I knew she was after your ass.”
Muldoon laughed. “She didn’t say anything. I saw her and ran. It was very undignified. Maybe I was imagining the whole thing, but I kind of freaked, since I’d seen her just a few minutes earlier, behind me at the gas station.”
“She’s stalking you!”
“I doubt it. And if she was, I think she might’ve gotten the hint when I ran away.” He grinned. “Screaming in terror.”
“Well, hey,” Joan said. “Good morning to you. Your visit to the twilight zone isn’t over yet. As if yesterday evening wasn’t crazy enough, you’re about to enter a world where hostile aliens from outer space lurk in every shadow, and apparently wearing aluminum foil on your head keeps those aliens from being able to read your mind. Don’t move too fast or make any loud noises when we get inside, all right? And don’t be shocked by anything I say. My goal is to get my brother back on his meds, and sometimes it helps if I play along. He’ll probably say some crazy things, and it’s not important to convince him that he’s wrong. It’s not important to be right. I have to repeat that to myself over and over whenever I see him, because—believe it or not—I have this tendency to always want to be right.”
Into the Night Page 17