Ryan asked, “What was that all about?”
“My apologies,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “I’ve had a pretty tough week. As I’m sure you’re aware.”
“I honestly don’t have any idea how your week was.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
She watched his expression, searching for signs of deception. The fact that he had even shown up, she realized, said much about that. Why would he have even bothered to come if he’d known her apartment had been ransacked and the money stolen?
She tried another tack. “Your sister is definitely an interesting person.”
“My sister?”
“You two seem very different.”
“You… talked to my sister?”
She checked his eyes this time. He seemed genuinely unaware. “We talked while you were away on your business trip. At least your mother said it was a business trip.”
“You talked to my mother, too?”
“Just on the phone. I tricked her, actually. She didn’t know who I was.”
“So you met Sarah separately?”
“Yeah. I went down to see her. Don’t you Duffys talk to each other?”
“Evidently not.”
The waitress brought Ryan his coffee, gave Amy a half-smile, then disappeared.
Amy asked, “So, how was your so-called business trip?”
“Interesting.”
“What a word. Interesting. Sex is interesting. The Holocaust is interesting.” She glanced at the game on the television set. “Baseball is interesting. In fact, the walk back to your car after the game can be very interesting.”
“What in the world are you talking about now?”
She searched again. Either he really knew nothing, or he was an extremely talented actor. “Nothing,” she said. “I assume your business trip had something to do with our talk last Friday. Can you prove to me that the money came from a legitimate source?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“We agreed that if you couldn’t prove it was legitimate, I’d go to the police.”
“That’s not in either of our interests.”
Amy leaned forward, bluffing. “I’m not fooling around, Ryan. If you can’t prove to me that it’s legitimate, I have to turn this money over to the police.”
“I believe you. I swear I do.”
She played it cool. He really doesn’t know I no longer have the money. “I hope you aren’t just stalling.”
“I’m not. What I’m trying to do here isn’t easy. And to be honest, I’m sensing a lot of hostility from you that wasn’t there last week, and it isn’t making this any easier.”
“Okay,” she said, backing off a bit. “What is it you’re trying to say?”
He lowered his eyes, unable to meet hers. “I have a feeling this whole thing is leading to something that is very personal to both of us.”
She withdrew, confused. She had come here expecting a confrontation. Instead, he was soft-spoken, considerate, seemingly honest. The circumstances were horrible, but maybe the nice guy she remembered from the Green Parrot was the real Ryan after all. He’s definitely cute. “Personal?” she said, flustered.
“Yes.”
It sounded as if he was about to ask her on a date. “You mean — you and me?”
He looked lost, then embarrassed. “Oh, no. I wasn’t suggesting — you know.”
“No, of course not. That would be… inappropriate. Don’t you think?”
“Highly.”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
They shared an anxious glance. Amy seemed troubled by the way that exchange had just gone. Ryan seemed troubled by what he was about to say.
“What is it?” asked Amy.
“I hate to go into this, but I have to.”
Her anxiety only heightened. “Go on.”
“Maybe it’s just my nature, but I can’t help but ask, why did this money bring you and me together?”
What was he getting at — destiny? “I don’t know.”
“From my standpoint, the more I look into the money, the more I learn about my father. So I’m just wondering if you might learn something, too. About somebody in your own family. Maybe there’s a relative you have always wondered about. Somebody you’d like to know more about.”
Her thoughts immediately turned toward her mother. “Maybe.”
“This might be your chance. That’s all I’m saying.”
Her eyes narrowed. This was suddenly headed in a direction she had never anticipated. Ryan had hit her most sensitive nerve. “If you know something about my mother, say it.”
“So, there is something you’d like to know about your mother?”
“Please, don’t taunt me.”
He hesitated, unsure of how far to take this.
“Before I say anything more, Amy, I’d like to know something. Just answer this one question, okay? My dad was sixty-two years old when he died. How old is your mother?”
“My mother is dead.”
“I’m sorry. How old would she have been if she were alive today?”
She thought for a split second. “Sixty-one.”
“When did she die?”
“You said you had just one question.”
“Sorry. This could be important for both of us. Just tell me, when did she die?”
“Long time ago. When I was eight.”
“Did she ever live in Boulder?”
That was way too close to home. “What’s going on here? What does all this suddenly have to do with my mother?”
Ryan blinked nervously.
Her eyes turned soulful. She wasn’t sure what he knew — or if he was just pushing her buttons. But after twenty years of wondering, she couldn’t let an opportunity pass. “If you know something about my mother, I have a right to know.”
His voice dropped. “Was your mother ever involved in a rape?”
“How do you mean, ‘involved’?”
“I mean, was she ever the victim?”
Stunned silence. “Are you saying my mother was raped?”
His throat tightened. “It’s possible. A long time ago. When she was a teenager.”
“That far back? How would you know about it?”
He said nothing. Amy’s tone sharpened. “How would you know?”
Ryan was struggling. “It’s like I said. We’re both learning some things here.”
Her hands began to tremble. Her voice quaked. “Are you telling me that your father raped my mother? That’s why he sent me the money?”
“I-” He couldn’t say it. He could hardly think it, sitting right across from the daughter.
Her face reddened. A flood of emotions took over — rage toward the Duffys, disgust with the way she had earlier flirted with Ryan. “Oh, my God.”
“Look, Amy.”
“ Don’t even say my name.” She slid out of the booth.
“Where are you going?”
“Away. Far away from you and your whole godforsaken family.” She hurried from the table, nearly running from the bar.
“Wait, please!”
She heard his pleas but just kept going. A tear ran down her cheek as she burst through the double entrance doors. She turned at the sidewalk and headed the wrong way, any way at all, just to get away. More tears followed. Tears for her mother.
Great tears of sorrow for a rape that may have led to suicide.
39
Ryan didn’t follow her out. Numbness took over, shutting out the sounds of a bustling bar. Amy’s outrage had deepened his sense of shame. Until tonight, he’d focused mainly on the way a father’s crime shaped the feelings of a son. Only now did he come to grips with the real victims.
It seemed repulsive now, the subtle way in which he had been taken with Amy the first time he had laid eyes on her. The son of a rapist attracted to the victim’s daughter. Ironically, back at that first meeting in the Green Parrot, they had even talked about children who were dest
ined to be like their parents. He wondered if something in his subconscious was fueling the demons inside him, flooding his mind with loathsome thoughts of his father raping her mother, thoughts of the son raping the daughter. Was there something genetically wrong with him? Or was this situation simply too weird for any man?
He wondered how and where it had happened. The backseat of a car? Somebody’s house? Had his father used a weapon, some other form of coercion? Dad was a strong man. He was no lush, but he did drink more than most, especially at parties. Even so, Ryan had never seen him in a fistfight, never seen him abuse anyone, physically or verbally. He seemed happy with the man he was.
Seemed happy. Now that he was gone, it was looking more like an act. Dad had been happiest in group settings, making friends laugh, singing loudest at the piano. People loved him the way an audience loved a performer. Put him in a crowded room, and Frank Duffy would never shut up. Keep the topic light, and he was even great on the telephone. But face-to-face in a serious conversation, he wasn’t much of a talker. On reflection, Ryan had gotten very few glimpses into his father’s true feelings. Over the years, however, those little windows had stuck with him. Like the talk they’d had nearly two decades ago, on his parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.
His father had been in a funk all day, working on the house, repairing some outdoor wiring under the roof easements. Ryan had always thought of his parents as happily married. On this momentous occasion, however, Dad wasn’t exactly acting as if he would have done it all over again. Ryan caught up with him outside, standing twenty feet up on the ladder directly beneath the exposed wires. Ryan was on the ground, looking up.
“Dad, what are you doing up there?”
“Fixing this floodlight.”
“That’s not what I meant. Don’t you think you should spend the day with Mom?”
He fumbled for his wire clippers, saying nothing.
“Dad, you’re hurting Mom’s feelings.”
He paused. It was the most serious pause Ryan had ever seen in his father. Ryan was just eighteen years old and ready for college, trying to decide what to do about Liz, his high school sweetheart. Maybe his dad had sensed it was about time for some advice.
His father pointed at the wires dangling over his head. “See these?” he said from atop the ladder. “One of them’s hot. Could even kill a man.”
“Dad, be careful. Let me shut off the circuit breaker.”
“Ah, don’t worry. Let’s just see what happens if I grab one.”
“Dad, no!”
He grabbed it. “Nothing,” he said, releasing it.
“But what do you think will happen if I grab this other one?”
“Dad, stop playing around.”
“What will happen, Ryan? What did I used to tell you, back when you wanted to be an electrician like your dad, rather than a college boy?”
“Dad, please just come down.”
He smiled devilishly — then grabbed the wire.
“Dad!”
His father laughed. Nothing happened.
“Damn it! You scared the crap out of me. You said it was live.”
“It is. But I’m standing on a fiberglass ladder. I’m not grounded. If you’re not grounded, you can grab all the live wires you want. Understand what I’m saying?”
“Yeah, I get your point.”
“Make sure you do, son. That Liz is a nice girl. But think ahead. Think twenty-five years ahead. Once you’re grounded, that’s it. No more wires.”
Twenty years later, the analogy seemed just as crude — women as hot wires. But it was about as deep as Frank Duffy ever got. And now, with the rape come to light, it told Ryan much about the way his father felt about his own life choices, the decision to marry right out of high school and devote himself to one woman. It shed light on an even earlier conversation, when he and Ryan were admiring the mountains in the distance, when he’d told Ryan it wasn’t his fault they were stuck in Piedmont Springs. His mother was the one with roots so deep she would never move away. Five generations of family history in Piedmont Springs. Because of that, they were all trapped here.
It was a grim excuse for living where they lived, as if his dad had banished himself to life on the plains. A man with one woman in an isolated world, where temptations were few. It was a sentence of sorts. A self-inflicted punishment for one who had eluded formal judgment.
In the abstract, it seemed like a crazy notion. But now that Ryan was older and had made mistakes himself, he could relate. A real man had no tougher judge than himself. Like father, like son. But with one important distinction.
Ryan knew his father’s sin. His father would never know Ryan’s.
The waitress brought the bill. He paid quickly, then walked to the back of the bar near the rest rooms and stopped at the pay phones. He dialed Norm at home, getting right to Amy.
“How’d it go?” asked Norm.
“Better than expected. At least she didn’t throw her scalding hot coffee in my face.”
“That bad?”
“That bad.”
“You want to talk about it?”
A young woman smiled at him on her way to the rest room. Ryan looked away. “Not right this second. Maybe in the morning. I think I’m going to spend the night at your place again, if that’s all right.”
“Sure. I’ll wait up.”
“See you in a few,” he said, then hung up the phone.
From the doughnut shop across the street, she watched as Ryan Duffy emerged from the Half-way Cafe. She wore blue jeans, a baggy Denver Broncos sweatshirt, and a shoulder-length blonde wig instead of the long black one. Her look was more like that of a college student than the businesswoman she’d played at the hotel in Panama City. It was unlikely that she’d be recognized. Still, she took pains not to flaunt her attractive face, peering over the top of the magazine.
Her eyes followed Ryan as he headed down the sidewalk and crossed the street. She rose from a table by the window, prepared to move in. She stopped in the doorway. The dark sedan at the corner was suddenly coming to life. The engine started. The lights went on. It slowly pulled away from the curb. She had first noticed it when Ryan had gone inside. For a good twenty minutes, the driver had just sat there. Now she knew why — the way it sprang into action the minute Ryan had passed.
Only a cop would be so obvious about a tail. Son of a bitch.
She stepped onto the sidewalk and headed the other way. She wasn’t sure who had tipped off the police, Ryan or Amy. It didn’t matter.
Whoever it was, they would both regret it.
Amy’s old truck took her from Denver back to Boulder in record time. There was no real urgency. No one was chasing her. It was as if something horrible about her mother had been spilled back in Denver. Amy just couldn’t get away fast enough.
She parked haphazardly in the last available space outside her apartment and hurried upstairs. For a split second she was thinking how good it felt to be home, but she quickly realized it was a home she no longer recognized. It had never been luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but she and Gram had worked hard to make it pretty. The Bokhara rug they had saved for. The pink sky and stars she’d hand-painted in Taylor’s bedroom. Antiques from the flea market, decorative things Gram had collected over the years. All their extra little touches had been trashed in the break-in. Now it looked like the cheap subsidized apartment it really was, with junky rental furniture that belonged in a ghetto.
Amy stopped outside her door to collect herself. She thought of Taylor inside, sleeping like an angel. She was an angel. So stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside. Gram was sitting at a card table chair watching a Thursday night sitcom. They had no replacement couch yet. Amy walked to the TV and shut it off.
Gram looked startled. “I thought it was Taylor who had the limit on television time.”
“Is she asleep?”
“Yes. About thirty minutes now.”
<
br /> “Good.” She pulled up another chair and faced her grandmother. “I have to ask you something. It’s important.”
Gram looked at her with concern. “Have you been crying, dear?”
“I’m okay. Gram, you have to be completely straight with me. Do you promise?”
“Yes, of course. What is it?”
“This may sound like it’s out of left field. But I have to know. Was my mother ever raped?”
Gram seemed to sway in her chair, overwhelmed. “What makes you think she was?”
“No, Gram. That’s not being straight with me. I can’t have questions answered with questions. Let’s try it again. Was my mother ever raped?”
“I’m not being evasive. I just-”
“Straight. Yes or no.”
“I don’t know. How would I know? You keep asking me like I should know. I don’t. I swear I don’t.”
Amy fell back in her folding chair. It was like hitting a brick wall. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so accusatory. If anyone would know, I just thought it would be you.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t. It’s horrible if it’s true. But why is it suddenly important?”
She scoffed, as if the answer should have been obvious. “Because I’ve been wondering all my life why Mom would kill herself. This doesn’t explain everything, but it’s the only promising lead I’ve ever come across.”
“Where did it come from?”
“I talked to Ryan Duffy again. I think that’s why they sent me the money. I think his father raped my mother.”
Gram turned philosophical. “The price of easing a dying man’s conscience.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“I wish I could help,” said Gram.
“So do I. The people who definitely would know are all gone. Mom’s dead twenty years now. Grandma and Grandpa have been dead even longer. I don’t know if Dad would have known or not. I guess I was hoping you’d heard something from someone.”
Gram shook her head. “You and I are close, dear. We tell each other everything. But don’t let that give you a false impression of the relationship I had with your mother. It wasn’t a bad relationship. But basically, I was her mother-in-law.”
“I understand.”
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