I woke at five and saw light glinting in her eyes. When she smiled, I could tell that it hurt. “Don’t,” I said, and leaned closer. A tear welled out of one eye. “Don’t be sad.”
She shook her head, the smallest movement. Her voice broke. “I’m not sad. I thought I was alone.”
“No.”
“I was crying because I was scared.” She went rigid under the sheets. “I’ve never been scared to be alone.”
“Grace…”
“I’m scared, Adam.”
I stood and put my arms around her. She smelled of antiseptic, hospital detergent, and fear. Muscles clenched in her back, long hard straps; and her arms had strength that surprised me. She was so small under the sheet.
“I’m okay,” she finally said.
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
I sat back down. “Can I get you anything?”
“Just talk to me.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
She moved her head on the pillow. “Just the sense of somebody stepping out from behind a tree; and something swinging at my face-a board, a club, something wooden. I remember falling through some bushes then being on the ground. A shape standing over me. Some kind of mask. The wood coming down again.” She lifted her arms as if protecting her face, and I saw matching contusions on her forearms. Defensive wounds.
“Do you remember anything else?”
“A little bit of being carried home, of Dolf’s face in the porch light, his voice. Being cold. A few minutes at the hospital. Seeing you there.”
Her voice trailed away, and I knew where her mind had gone. “Tell me something good, Adam.”
“It’s over,” I said, and she shook her head.
“That’s just the absence of bad.”
What could I tell her? What good had I seen since my return?
“I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
“Tell me something else. Anything.”
I hesitated. “I saw a deer yesterday morning.”
“Is that a good thing?”
The deer had been in my head all day. White ones were rare, exceptionally so. What were the odds of seeing two? Or of seeing the same one twice?
“I don’t know,” I said.
“I used to see a huge one,” Grace said. “It was after the trial. I’d see him at night, on the lawn outside of my window.”
“Was it white?” I asked.
“White?”
“Never mind.” I was suddenly at a loss, back in time. “Thanks for coming to the trial,” I said. She’d been there every day, a sunburned child in faded clothes. At first, my father had refused her the right to be there. Not proper, he’d said. And so she’d walked. Thirteen miles. After that, he’d surrendered.
“How could I not be there?” More tears. “Tell me something else good,” she said.
I searched for something to give her. “You’re all grown up,” I finally said. “You’re beautiful.”
“Not that it matters,” she said blackly, and I knew that she was thinking of what had happened between us at the river, after she’d run from the dock. I could still hear her words: I’m not as young as you think I am.
“You took me by surprise,” I said. “That’s all.”
“Boys are so stupid,” she said.
“I’m a grown man, Grace.”
“And I’m not a child.” Her voice was sharp, as if she’d cut me with it if she could.
“I just didn’t know.”
She rolled onto her side, showed me her back. And I saw it again, saw how badly I’d handled it.
She was barely into the trees before I knew that I had to go after her. She owned a corner of my soul that I’d learned to shy from; a locked place. Why? Because I’d left her. Knowing how it would hurt, I’d gone to a distant place and sent letters.
Empty words.
But I was here now. She was hurting now.
So I ran after her. For a few hard seconds she continued to fly, and the soles of her feet winked brown and pink, then dark red as the trail dipped and she hit damp clay. When she stopped, it was sudden. The bank dropped away beside her, and for an instant it looked like she might take to the river, like she might step left and drop away. But she did not, and the hunted-animal look faded from her eyes in seconds.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“For you to not hate me.”
“Fine. I don’t hate you.”
“I want you to mean it.”
She laughed and it cut, so that when she turned to leave, my hand settled on her shoulder. It was hard and hot, and she stopped when I touched her. She froze, then spun back to me, pressed into me like she could own me. Her hands found the back of my head and she kissed me hard, rocked her body against mine. Her bathing suit was still wet, and the water trapped in it had warmed; I felt it soaking into me.
I took her shoulders, pushed her back. Her face was full of defiance and of something else.
“I’m not as young as you think I am,” she said.
I was undone yet again. “It’s not age,” I told her.
“I knew that you’d come back. If I loved you enough, you’d come back.”
“You don’t love me, Grace. Not like that.”
“I’ve loved you my whole life. All I needed was the courage to tell you. Well, I’m not scared anymore. I’m not scared of anything.”
“Grace-”
Her hands settled on my belt.
“I can show you, Adam.”
I grabbed her hands, grabbed hard and pulled them away. It was all wrong. The words she’d said, the look growing on her face as my rejection sank into her. She tried one more time and I stopped her. She stumbled back. I watched her features collapse. She flung up a hand, then turned and ran, her feet flashing red, as if she was running over broken glass.
Her voice was small. It barely made it over her shoulder. “Did you tell anybody?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
“You think I’m a silly girl.”
“Grace, I love you more than anyone else in the world. What does it matter what shape the love is?”
“I think I’m ready to be alone now,” she said.
“Don’t make it like this, Grace.”
“I’m tired. Come see me later.”
I stood, and thought of embracing her again; but she was locked up. So I patted her on the arm, on a place unmarred by contusions, bandages, or needles placed under her skin.
“Get some rest,” I told her, and she closed her eyes. But when I looked back in from the hallway, I saw that she was staring at the ceiling, and that her hands were clenched on the washed-out sheets.
I walked into the diffuse light of another dawn. I had no car, but there was a breakfast joint not too far away. It opened at six, and a couple of cars pulled around back after I’d been waiting a few minutes for the place to open. A metal door slammed against the cinderblock wall, someone kicked a bottle that clattered over concrete. Lights came on and sausage fingers flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN.
I took a booth by the window and waited for the smell of coffee. The waitress came over after a minute, and the ready smile slid off of her face.
She remembered me.
She took my order, and I kept my eyes on the plaid sleeve of her polyester shirt. It was easier for both of us that way. The old man with the fat fingers recognized me, too. They spoke in whispers by the cash register, and it was clear to me that accused was the same as convicted, even after five years.
The place filled up as I ate: blue-collar, white-collar, a little bit of everything. Most of them knew who I was. None of them spoke to me, and I wondered how much of that came from mixed feelings over my father’s stubbornness and how much came from the belief that I was some kind of monster. I turned on my cell phone, and saw that I had missed three calls from Robin.
The waitress shuffled over and stopped as far away as she could without being obvious. “Anything else?” she asked. I told her no. “Your check,” she said, and put it on the table’s edge. She used her middle finger to push it toward me.
“Thanks,” I said, pretending that I’d not just been flipped off.
“Anytime.”
I sat longer, sipping the last of the coffee, and watched a police cruiser pull up to the curb. George Tallman climbed out of it. He dropped some change into a newspaper machine, then looked up and saw me through the glass. I gave him a wave. He nodded back, then made a call from his cell phone. When he came into the restaurant, he slipped into my booth and put his paper on the table. He held out his hand and I shook it.
“Who’d you call?” I asked.
“Your dad. He asked me to keep an eye out.” He raised an arm to get the waitress’s attention. He ordered a massive breakfast and gestured at my empty coffee cup. “More?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“And more coffee,” he told the waitress, who rolled her eyes.
I studied him there in his uniform, a navy jumpsuit with lots of gold trim and jangling metal; then I looked out the window, saw the big dog sitting upright in the backseat of his car.
“Are you on the canine unit, too?” I asked.
He grinned. “The kids love the dog. Sometimes I take him with me.”
The breakfast came.
“So, you and my dad get along pretty well?” I asked.
George cut his pancakes into neat squares, and laid his knife and fork carefully on the dry edge of the plate. “You know my story, Adam. I come from nothing. Deadbeat dad. On-and-off mom. I’ll never have money or position, but Mr. Chase has never looked down on me or acted like I wasn’t good enough for his daughter. I’d do anything for your father. Guess you should know that up front.”
“And Miriam?” I asked.
“People think I’m into Miriam for the money.”
“There’s always the money,” I said.
“We can’t pick who we love.”
“So, you do love her then?”
“I’ve loved her since high school, maybe longer. I would do anything for Miriam.” His eyes filled with sudden conviction. “And she needs me. Nobody has ever needed me before.”
“I’m glad that it’s all good.”
“It’s not all good, don’t misunderstand me. Miriam is… well, she’s a fragile woman, but like good china, you know. Fragile, beautiful.” He lifted his heavy hands from the table, held his fingers as if he was holding teacups by tiny handles. “I have to be gentle.” He lowered the pretend cups to the table and lifted his hands, fingers spread. He smiled. “But I enjoy that.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Your stepmother was slow to approve.” His voice dropped, so that I almost missed his next words. “She thinks I’m a worker bee.”
“What?”
“She told Miriam that you date the worker bees, you don’t marry them.” I sipped my coffee and George picked up his fork. He looked as if he was waiting for something. “So do I have your approval?” he asked.
I put down the coffee. “Are you serious?” He nodded and I felt sorry for him. “I’m not entitled to an opinion, George. I’ve been gone a long time. I left under suspicion. You’re a cop for God’s sake.”
“Miriam is glad to have you back.”
I was already shaking my head. “You have no idea how Miriam feels about me.”
“Then let’s just say that she’s conflicted.”
“It’s not the same thing,” I said, and George looked uncomfortable.
“I’ve always looked up to you, Adam. Your approval would mean a lot to me.”
“Then God bless you both.”
He held out his hand again and I shook it; his face was beaming. “Thank you, Adam.” He went back to his breakfast, and I watched the food disappear.
“Any word on Zebulon Faith?” I asked.
“He’s gone to ground, looks like. But he’ll turn up. People are looking for him.”
“And what about Danny?” I asked. “What do you think about that?”
“A hell of a place to end up, but I’m not surprised.”
“Why not?”
George wiped syrup off his chin and leaned back. “You and Danny were tight, okay, so don’t get pissed or anything.”
“You were friends, too.”
He shook his head. “Early on, maybe. But Danny got cocky after you left. Suddenly, all the women wanted him. Nobody was as cool as he was. He was easy to dislike. Things changed even more when I became a cop.” He looked out the window, pursed his lips. “Danny said I was a joke. He told Miriam that she shouldn’t date a joke.”
“Guess he remembered a different George Tallman.”
“Fuck him, then. That’s what I say.”
“He’s dead, George. Why don’t you tell me why that fact doesn’t surprise you?”
“Danny liked the ladies. The ladies liked him. Single ones and married ones. Probably some pissed off husbands that would like to take a chunk out of Danny. And Danny was a gambler. Not Wednesday night poker, either. I mean the real deal. Bookies. Borrowed money. He’s run the gamut. But you should probably talk to your brother about that.”
“Jamie?”
George’s mouth tightened in distaste. “Yeah. Jamie.”
“Why? Jamie is over his gambling problem. He licked it years ago.”
George hesitated. “Maybe you’d better ask him.”
“You won’t tell me?”
“Look, I don’t know what happened with Jamie before you left. I had nothing to do with that. All I know is what I see now. Jamie wants to be the same kind of player Danny was. Problem is, he’s half as charming and twice as bad at cards. So, yeah, he gambles. Heavily, from what I’ve heard. But I don’t need to add to our problems. Talk to him about it if you want, but don’t mention my name.”
A rusted-out pickup pulled into the lot and disgorged three men in dirt-rimed boots and greasy farm caps. They sat at the counter and fingered dog-eared menus. One of them stared at me and made a face like he was about to spit on the floor.
“I take it that you and Robin don’t exactly get along,” I said.
George shook his head and blinked. “I know you guys have a history, but I don’t like mincing words, so I’m just going to say it. She’s way too intense. Supercop, you know.”
“And she doesn’t like you?”
“I’m easy, Adam. I like the uniform. I like working with kids and riding around with the dog. I’m a happy guy. Alexander is all about the bust.”
I pretended that I wasn’t bothered. “She’s changed,” I said.
“No shit.”
Everyone at the counter was staring at me now, the whole group of them, like they wanted to kick my ass. I understood; the boy had been well liked. I gestured and George followed the motion. “You seeing this?” I asked.
He studied the group, and I was impressed by the force of his personality, the cop in him. He stared them down until they looked away. His face softened when he looked back. “People are idiots,” he said.
I heard a horn outside, and saw one of the farm trucks pull to a stop in the lot. It was Jamie. He honked again.
“Your ride,” George said.
“Guess he’s not coming in.” I stood and dropped some bills on the table. “Good seeing you, George.”
George gestured at Jamie. “Remember what I said. I don’t need any more problems with your brother. We’re going to be family soon.”
“No worries.”
“Thanks.”
I started to turn, stopped. “One question, George.”
“Yeah?”
“These bookies you’re talking about. They heavy hitters? I mean, heavy enough to kill somebody over an unpaid debt?”
He wiped his mouth. “I imagine that would depend on the size of the debt.”
I left, and didn’t look back. Outside, the day had spread into another towering sky, a vault of blue so vast and still that it seemed unreal. In the truck, Jamie looked pale and swollen, with circles that spread beneath his eyes. A beer bottle was wedged between his massive legs. He saw me looking.
“I’m not drinking early, if you’re wondering. I’m still up from last night.”
“Want me to drive?”
“Sure. What the hell.”
We switched places. I moved the seat up an inch and another empty bottle rolled under my feet. I tossed it into the back. Jamie rubbed a hand over his face and looked at himself in the visor mirror. “Jesus. I look like crap.”
“You okay?”
He eyed George through the window. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. I put the truck in drive and pulled into thin traffic. I felt him looking at me.
“Go ahead,” I said.
“What?”
“You can ask me.”
His voice rose. “What the hell, Adam? What did the cops want with you?”
“I guess that’s been the topic of conversation around the house.”
“No shit, bro. It’s not like anybody’s forgotten the last time the cops took you away. Dad’s been telling everyone to calm down, but it hasn’t been easy. I’ll tell you that for nothing. Everybody’s unsettled.”
I’d known it was coming, so I explained without losing my temper. Jamie looked doubtful.
“What did you and Grace talk about that was so damned secret?”
“That’s none of your business, either,” I said. I glanced sideways. He was cross-armed and angry. “Is this why you’ve been up all night drinking?” I asked. “You wondering about your brother again? Having doubts?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Danny, mostly,” Jamie said. “He was good people, you know. I thought he was still down in Florida, beaching it for a while. And all the time he was in that hole.” He drained the beer.
“Don’t lie to me, Jamie.”
“I’m not lying,” he said, but that was false, too. I let it go.
“Danny got into a fight with his girlfriend and hit her,” I said. “That’s why he was in Florida. Do you know anything about that? Who the girl was?”
“No idea. He had a bunch of them.”
“What about his gambling?” I asked, studying him now. “Do you think that could have had something to do with it? Maybe he owed the wrong people.”
Jamie looked uncomfortable. “You know about that, huh?”
“How bad was it?”
“Pretty bad at times, but not always. You know how it can be. Up one day, down the next.” He laughed, but it sounded nervous. “Things turn fast. But he could handle it. Tried not to spread himself too thin.”
“Any idea who took his bets?”
“Why would I know anything about that?” Defensive.
I wanted to push, but eased off. We drove in silence. I turned out of town, crossed over a creek, and opened up on the empty roads. The truck shook beneath us, and I could tell that my questions had upset him. He sank lower, his jaw twisted, and when he spoke, he did not look at me.
“I didn’t mean it, you know.”
“Mean what?”
“When I said I’d fuck her. I didn’t mean it.”
He was talking about Grace.
“What about your telescope on the third floor?” I asked.
He shook his head. “She said that? Damn! Miriam caught me once looking at Grace with binoculars. Just once, okay. And shit. That’s not a crime. She’s hot. I was just looking.” He twitched, like something just occurred to him. “Do the cops know about that?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure they’ll talk to Grace. As far as I can tell, she has no reason to do you any favors.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. You’ve said that once or twice.”
“Pull the truck over,” Jamie said.
“What?”
“Pull the fucking truck over.”
I slowed down, pulled onto the dirt shoulder, put the truck in park. I killed the engine.
Jamie rose in his seat, turned to face me. “Do we need to go?” he asked.
“What?”
“Do we need to step out of this car and go a few rounds? Because I’m thinking that maybe we do.”
I leveled a gaze at him. “You’re drunk,” I said.
“I’ve had your back for five years. People bad-mouth you, say you’re a goddamn killer, and I tell them to shut the hell up. I’ve been on your side. That’s a brother thing. Now, I don’t need this calm thing you’re doing. I don’t buy it. You’ve been dancing around me since you got in this truck. Just say it. Whatever it is. You think I had something to do with Grace? Huh? Or with Danny? You want to come back here like nothing ever happened, like nothing’s changed? You want to run the farm again? Is that it? Just say it.”
He was defensive, and I knew why. The gambling was nothing new-it had happened before-and my questions about Danny had upset him. Sometimes I hated being right.
“How much did you lose?” It was a guess, but a good one. He froze, and I knew. “Dad had to cover you again, didn’t he? How much this time?”
He slumped again, suddenly frightened and young. He’d gotten into a hole once his last year of high school. He’d hooked up with a bookmaker in Charlotte and gone heavy on a round of NFL playoff games. The engine ticked as it cooled. “A little over thirty thousand,” he said.
“A little over?”
“Okay. Fifty thousand.”
“Jesus, Jamie.”
He sunk lower, all animosity gone.
“Football again?”
“I thought the Panthers were going to break out. I kept doubling down. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
“And Dad covered it.”
“It was three years ago, Adam.” He help up a hand. “I haven’t gambled since.”
“But Danny has?”
Jamie nodded.
“You still want to go a few rounds?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then don’t fuck with me, Jamie. You’re not the only one that had a bad night.”
I started the truck, pulled back onto the road. “I want the name of his bookie,” I said.
Jamie’s voice was small. “There’s more than one.”
“I want them all.”
“I’ll find them. They’re written down somewhere.”
We drove in silence for a mile, until a convenience store appeared ahead of us. “Can you pull in here?” Jamie asked. I stopped at the store. “Give me a minute.”
Jamie went inside. He came back out with a six-pack.