Cheated By Death (22 page)

“It’s the quality of life that counts,” she
countered.

“Could you compare a man with crippling
emphysema to a severely retarded child with catastrophic birth
defects?”

Her eyes blazed. “It’s not the same
thing.”

“It is,” I insisted.

“Look, I almost killed my baby. If I had my
way, no one else would ever make that mistake.”

“But it should be their decision. Not
yours.”

She shook her head, unwilling to listen.

I tried again. “Your baby was born healthy.
What if she wasn’t? What if you’d known before she was born that
something went terribly wrong. That her life would be filled with
misery.”

“I would thank God every day for sending her
to me. It would be my test,” she said, her voice rising.

“Your test? For what?”

“This is a circular argument,” Emily said,
looking away. “You’re not going to change your mind, and I’m not
going to change mine.”

I nodded tiredly. “I guess we’re both
stubborn.”

Her answering smile looked strained.
“Yes.”

“Then let’s drop the subject.”

“I agree.” She pushed her soup bowl away.
“I’m sorry, Jeff, but I don’t think we can ever really be
friends.”

“Why, because we disagree?”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” What’s more, I
really was.

Emily grabbed her coat and struggled into the
sleeves. “Thanks for lunch.” She hadn’t eaten a bite. She picked up
her hat and purse and was gone.

15

Lights were already on in the kitchen of the
big house, and Richard’s car was in the garage when Brenda and I
arrived home. I parked my Chevy, and Brenda and I paused at the
back door. She looked like a child about to be scolded.

“You better go in first,” I said.

“He’ll be upset.”

I opened the storm door. “Don’t
anticipate.”

Holly barked, prancing around as Brenda made
a fuss of her. Richard sat at the kitchen table, reading the
newspaper. He looked up as we entered the kitchen. “You’re late,”
he said as she bent to kiss him.

“We had a little trouble today,” she
said.

“Trouble?” he asked.

I walked into the circle of light over the
table. “Hey, Rich.”

His eyes widened at the sight of my bruised,
swollen face. He shoved the paper aside. “What in God’s name
happened to you?”

“Would you believe I walked into a door?”

“No. Who hit you?”

Brenda took off her jacket. “Willie.”

“What the hell—?” he exploded.

“It was a sucker punch,” I admitted.

He exhaled loudly. “Somebody better tell me
what happened—”

“—Or there’ll be hell to pay,” Brenda
finished.

“Is it too late to put ice on it?” I
asked.

“‘Fraid so,” Brenda said.

“How’s your head? Have you had any problems?”
Richard asked as he sat me in a chair, tilted my head back to get a
better look at my eye. I felt like a kid again, with him playing
doctor.

“Yeah, but it feels more like a sinus
headache. I took a couple of decongestants.”

“When did this happen?”

“This morning,” I answered.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“What for? So you could stew about it all
day?”

He sat down again, glaring at both of us.
Brenda folded her coat over her arm and headed for the closet to
hang it.

“What did Willie want?” Richard asked.

“To talk to Brenda.”

“About what?”

“We never got that far. I went to the cops.
There’s a warrant out for his arrest.”

Brenda returned, her face pinched with worry.
“I thought about it all day, Jeffy. I want you to drop the
charges.”

“Are you crazy?” Richard exploded.

“Believe me, I know what the man’s capable
of. And that could be a lot worse than letting him go free.”

“Brenda, with Jeff’s history of head
injuries, that one punch could have killed him—that’s murder.”

“He’d only be charged with manslaughter,” I
countered. “That’s five to seven years in Attica. And thanks for
reminding me how close to death I am every day.” I cleared my
throat. “No, I won’t drop the charges,” I told Brenda.

“But, Jeffy—”

“Once Willie’s in custody they’ll get his
fingerprints and compare them to anything they find on the letters
you received. If it rules him out as a suspect, I can always drop
the charges later.”

“But what if it just makes him angrier?”

“An aggravated assault charge should make him
think twice about bothering you again.”

“He never paid for what he did to you,”
Richard added. “It’s about time he did.”

“That was years ago,” she countered.

“But it still haunts you.”

Brenda ignored him, opened the refrigerator
and studied its contents like it was the most interesting part of
her day. Moments later she closed the door. “I forgot to get
something out to thaw.”

“How about pasta?” I suggested. She nodded,
and headed for the butler’s pantry.

The silence in that kitchen was icy.

“So, how was
your
day?” I asked
Richard.

He got up from his chair and headed for the
liquor cabinet. “Bad.” He took down a bottle of single malt scotch,
found a glass, dumped in some ice from the freezer, then poured.
“The only bright spot was a call from Patty.”

Anger shot through me. “What did
she
want?”

“To thank me for going to the funeral
yesterday.”

Every muscle in my body tensed.

Richard frowned. “Jeff, will you stop judging
her? She’s not Shelley. You don’t even know her. Hell, I’ve spent
more time with her than you have. She’s a funny, sweet, nice
person. Give her a break.”

I didn’t want to give her a break. I wanted
to hate her. And why? Because she’d said something stupid and
thoughtless. Like I’ve never been guilty of the same. But not only
that. I hated the way she fawned over Richard. That simpering
expression on a face that looked too much like my dead wife. And
there were too many other things about her that bugged me, but I
couldn’t put them into words.

I pushed back my chair, stood. “I gotta
go.”

Brenda came back with a box of penné pasta in
her hand. “You’re not staying?”

“I’ve got things to do,” I said.

Richard leaned against the counter, sipped
his scotch, and didn’t say a thing. His condescending attitude was
like a slap in the face—a side of him I’d never seen.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Brenda.”

“Tomorrow’s my last day,” she reminded me.
“You can go back to sleeping in next week.” She crossed to the
cupboard, and took out a large pot. She obviously hadn’t heard the
last part of Richard’s and my conversation. “What are you and
Maggie doing for dinner on Saturday? Do you want to join us?” she
asked.

“I’m working all weekend.”

“Oh. Well, maybe we can do something during
the week.”

“Will you be here for the security guys
tomorrow morning?” Richard asked, his tone defying me to say
‘no.’

I met his steady gaze. “Yes.”

Brenda turned, looked at us, puzzled. “You
guys are suddenly cranky. Did I miss something?”

Richard straightened. “No. Everything’s fine.
Right, Jeff?”

I forced a smile. “Sure. I’ll see you
tomorrow.” I headed for the door, glad to escape.

I must’ve paced my apartment for ten or
fifteen minutes, risking the nap on my rug. Why were Richard and I
sniping at each other like kids? After years of being estranged,
we’d finally forged a friendship. In a matter of hours, Patty had
ruined what had taken months to build.

God, I
hated
her.

But I wasn’t the world’s best judge of
character. Richard had that sterling trait sewn up, too. Although
he didn’t know what Patty had said about Brenda. Or was I giving
that slip of the tongue too much weight?

He and Maggie thought I should give my sister
a break. Was I just being stupid—seeing things in her words and
actions that simply weren’t there?

My last boss at the insurance company had
said I was a good worker, but not a team player. Minutes later, I
was heading for the unemployment line. Was that the basis of all my
life’s problems?

And why was I torturing myself for Patty’s
faults?

Because I felt guilty. For using Emily, for
not anticipating Willie’s right hook. For all the problems in the
world.

I never wanted to see Patty again. But she
had information I wanted—no, needed.

I grasped the phone, punched in her
number.

“Hello?”

“Patty, it’s Jeff.”

“Oh. Hi.” She wasn’t overjoyed. “I was going
to call you. I’m going through some of Dad’s things. I thought you
might like to have something of his.”

“Well, I—” Caught off-guard, I didn’t know
what to say. The old man didn’t have anything of value. Did she
mean his watch or something? “Sure. That would be nice.”

“Can you come over now? We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do.”

Silence.

“See you in a while.” She hung up.

The light outside Patty’s front door blazed,
illuminating the house numbers as I pulled up the drive. I got out
of the car and pulled up the collar of my jacket. Stars shone
weakly through the haze of city light. I knocked.

Moments later, Patty threw open the door.
“You got here quick. I—oh my god, what happened to your face?”

I brushed past her into the house. “Nothing.
Just a fight.”

“Looks like you lost.”

“I did.”

She closed the door. “Did it happen at the
bar?”

“No. Can we drop it?”

The corners of her mouth twisted with
irritation.

“Are you okay?” I asked, more out of courtesy
than a desire to know her emotional state.

“The place feels empty with Dad gone. I
really can’t stand being here alone.”

She hadn’t waited long to erase his presence,
either. Stacks of cardboard cartons filled the living room. I
followed her into my father’s cleaned-out bedroom, which now
resembled a cheap motel room. How many years had he slept there?
The walls still vibrated with his aura, something she was totally
unaware of.

“What’ll you do with the house?”

“Sell it. I don’t want to deal with the
upkeep. I’ll be lucky to get enough for a down payment on a
condo.”

The silence dragged as she sorted through a
pile of clothes. I searched for more small talk.

“What happened with that guy who crashed Aunt
Ruby’s?”

“Ray? He’s harmless. Everything’s
straightened out now,” she said.

That was the end of that topic. I cleared my
throat. “I was hoping you could answer some questions. You seem to
know a lot about—” I still found it hard to say the word, “Dad’s
life before he met your mother.”

“He didn’t say much. But I know he was very
bitter toward Richard’s grandparents.”

“So was my mother. She never told me why they
broke up. Neither did Dad.”

“It was the kidnap plot, of course,” she
said, folding a sweater and putting it into a carton.

Bingo!

“Kidnap plot?” I asked innocently, yet every
muscle in my body had gone taut.

“Your mother wanted to grab Richard and go to
Canada.”

“My
mother
?” I blurted.

She nodded. “Dad said she had mental
problems. Richard was a teenager, but she kept thinking of him as a
baby. She wasn’t rational.”

Why did her words hold such a ring of
truth?

“Dad couldn’t leave the business,” she
continued conversationally. “He was just starting to make a go of
it.”

“So instead he left my mother?”

She nodded, calmly folding a shirt and
putting it in the box. The story held no emotion for her—it was
tearing me apart.

“Why didn’t he take me with him?”

“I suppose because he loved her.” Her eyes
softened at my puzzled expression. “She’d already lost one child.
He couldn’t very well take you from her, too. But I know he
regretted not having you come live with us when your mother died.
He did it to spare my mother. I was glad, too. I liked being an
only child.”

I’ll bet.

Patty opened a drawer and grabbed something.
“Here.” She placed a gold ring in my palm. “It’s Dad’s wedding band
from his first marriage. I figured you might want it.”

I turned away, let my fingers close over the
ring, waiting for a burst of emotion, but there was none. My father
hadn’t worn it in years. It meant nothing to him. My wedding band
from Shelley also sat in a drawer, but every time I looked at it my
anger still swelled.

“Richard sure is a sweetheart,” Patty said.
“Having him for a brother must be great.”

“Yeah.”

And having me for a brother wasn’t.

“Doesn’t Richard like white women?” she
asked, keeping her tone neutral.

“What?” I asked, startled.

“Does he prefer black women?”

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I
only met one of his other—” How should I put it? “—girlfriends. I
don’t think race has anything to do with it. He loves her. She’s a
helluva woman.”

Patty seemed disappointed by my answer.

“Why are you so interested in Richard?”

“I’m just being friendly.” She sounded
defensive.

“Yeah, well, he and Brenda are very happy. I
wouldn’t want anything—or anybody—to try and come between
them.”

Her eyes were defiant. “Hey, I don’t need to
go after married men. I’ve got plenty of guys interested in
me.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She glared at me, and then turned to clear
out another dresser drawer, shoving socks and underwear into a
large plastic trash bag.

The silence lengthened.

The cat lurked in the hallway and I broke the
quiet. “What’ll you do about Herschel?”

“Have him put to sleep.” Her voice was
icy.

“The old man wouldn’t want that.”