Grave Secret (8 page)

“I think she was showing sensitivity about hurting your feelings or making you feel different. I think Victoria kind of holds you in awe.” Tolliver sounded a little chiding, which maybe I deserved. After all, if Victoria had been trying to spare my feelings, I shouldn’t disparage her efforts.

“It just seems strange she wouldn’t want to come right to the source.” By which I was hinting that I thought Victoria had wanted reasons to talk to Tolliver, rather than that she was genuinely interested in my little problem.

“Maybe she had both things in mind,” Tolliver said, admitting and giving due credence to my suspicion. “But I don’t think she’s ever been very interested in me. It was you. I think Victoria has a kind of mystical streak. I think your ability feeds into that.”

“Like seeing the Virgin Mary on a piece of toast, or something?”

“Something.”

“Hah.” I turned that over in my head. “Then she should come to a cemetery with us, if she’s so interested. See firsthand. She’s been a lot of help to us over the years. I wouldn’t mind.”

It was Tolliver’s turn to be surprised. “Okay, I’ll tell her. I’m sure she’d really get into that.”

He rubbed his chin against the top of my head. I stroked my thumb across one of his flat nipples. He made a little noise of pleasure. I told myself I should get up to shower, since we had to go soon to meet the girls, but I put it off for a few more minutes. We had time. I tried to imagine taking Victoria Flores with us when we went to a cemetery. It would have to be when we didn’t have a job set up, when I was visiting to . . . okay, I know this sounds very strange, but if I haven’t had a job in a while, I go to a cemetery to keep in shape. With my strange ability.

Having Victoria there would feel funny, but I didn’t think her presence would bother me. “So, she has computer skills, I guess, since most private eyes have to these days,” I said.

“We still talking about Victoria? Yeah, I think so,” Tolliver said. “She’s mentioned a tech guy who works with her part-time.”

I lay there thinking, while Tolliver got up and showered and dressed.

Victoria Flores had suddenly become a lot more interesting to me.

I wondered if she’d find the missing baby, the baby we weren’t even sure existed. Whether or not Mariah Parish had borne a living child shouldn’t make a bit of difference to me, but I found myself rooting for the Joyces to track down the baby. I suspected that child might not be their grandfather’s offspring. On second thought, if the girls had been so ready to believe Richard Joyce had fathered a child with his caregiver, maybe the baby had been his. But Lizzie and Katie hadn’t been looking in the direction I’d been looking when I told them what had killed Mariah Parish. I’d been looking at their brother and Lizzie’s boyfriend, and they’d looked mighty damn worried. About what, I didn’t know, and I might never find out. But I hoped Victoria would.

Maybe they’d both had sex with Rich’s caregiver. Maybe one of them had impregnated her. Or maybe they were guilty of helping to bury the baby or put the baby up for adoption.

Whatever the brother—Drexell, his name was—had done, I realized it was no concern of mine, and that the search for the whereabouts of baby Parish was not up to me and not in my area of expertise . . . unless the baby was dead. I thought of proposing I help Victoria look for a dead child. But infants were the hardest. They had so little voice. They registered more strongly when they were buried with their parents.

I abandoned thought of the possible child, possibly dead, in the scramble to get ready to pick up the living children that we were kin to. Both girls ran out to our car when we pulled into the Gorham driveway. They seemed happy, looking forward to the afternoon.

“I got an A on my spelling test last week,” Gracie said. Tolliver told her how good that was, and I smiled. But as I looked into the backseat at her, I noticed Mariella was silent and looked a little dampened.

“What’s up, Mariella?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said, which was obviously untrue.

Gracie said, “Mariella has to stay after school and do extra work tomorrow.”

“Why, Mariella?” I made my voice matter-of-fact.

“The principal said I caused trouble in class.” Mariella wasn’t looking at me.

“Did you?”

“It was that Lindsay.”

“Lindsay is a bully,” Gracie said. “We’re not supposed to let people bully us, right? That’s bad.” Gracie looked self-consciously righteous.

I wanted Gracie to butt out. “We’ll talk about it later,” I said, and I thought Mariella relaxed a little bit. I wasn’t used to problems like this; I wasn’t used to children. But I recalled that at Mariella’s age, this would have been an all-consuming issue.

When we got to the skating rink, Tolliver gave me a questioning look, and I inclined my head toward Gracie. “Come on, Gracie, let’s go get our skates,” he said, and she hopped out happily and held his hand as they walked to the door.

Mariella got out, too, and we walked more slowly behind them.

“So, tell me,” I prompted.

As I’d expected, it wasn’t a huge thing. Lindsay had said something ugly to Mariella about being adopted because her dad was in jail. Mariella had punched Lindsay in the stomach, which from my point of view was the correct and proper response. From the school’s perspective, apparently Mariella should have begun crying and gone to her teacher to complain. I liked Mariella’s reaction better. This led me to a dilemma. Did I go with my gut, or support the school’s position? If I’d been a real parent, I might have known the right answer. As it was, I took a deep breath and began to fumble my way through.

“That was really ugly of Lindsay,” I said. “You can’t help what your birth dad did.”

Mariella nodded, her jaw set in a very familiar way. The image of Matthew, I couldn’t help but notice.

“That’s what I said to the principal,” Mariella told me. “That’s what Mom told me to say. I guess that’s what I should have said to Lindsay. She just made me feel so bad.”

I thought the better of Iona for preparing Mariella for the cruelty of other children. “I probably would have hit Lindsay, too, in your situation,” I said. “On the other hand, every time you hit someone you’re going to get into trouble.”

“So hitting is wrong?”

“It’s not the best way to solve a problem,” I hedged. “What could you have done instead?” That seemed appropriately touchy-feely.

“I could have told the teacher,” Mariella said. “But then I’d have to talk to her about my birth dad, and she’d get that funny look on her face.”

“True.” Hmmm.

“I could have walked away, but then Lindsay would have done it again.”

“Also true.” Mariella was more insightful than I’d ever imagined.

And she was really enjoying talking to someone who didn’t tell her God would solve her problems.

“I could have . . . I can’t think of anything else.” My sister waited for my reaction.

“Neither can I. I guess you had an impulse, and you acted on it, and it didn’t turn out well for you. What happened to Lindsay?”

“She lost four recesses,” Mariella said. “For being a bully.”

“So that was good, right?”

“Yeah. But it would have been better if she’d kept her mouth shut in the first place.”

Whoa. Little warrior woman. “You’re right about that. It’s not your fault that your birth dad used drugs. You know that. But there are some kids who don’t understand what it’s like to have parents who do bad things. Those kids are lucky, but they can’t seem to get that it’s nothing you want to talk about. They just know it’ll make you feel bad. So when they want you to feel bad, that’s the first thing they’re going to throw at you.” I took a deep breath. “We went through that, too, Mariella. Tolliver and me. When you were really little. Everyone at the school knew how crappy our parents were.”

“Even the teachers?”

“Maybe not the teachers. I don’t know how much they guessed. But the other kids, they all knew. Some of them bought drugs at our trailer.”

“So they said mean stuff to you?”

“Yeah, some of them. Others thought we were doing the same bad stuff your mom and dad were. Drugs and stuff.”

“Sex stuff?”

“That, too. But the kids who thought we were the same as our folks? Those were the kids that didn’t really know us. We had friends who knew better.” Not too many, but a few.

“So, did you date?”

Whoa! She wasn’t even having periods yet. Right? I almost panicked. “Yes, I dated. And I never went out with a boy who thought I was going to have sex with him right away. The more careful you are, the more reputation you get for being the other way, being very . . .”

“Holding out,” Mariella said knowledgeably.

“Not even that,” I said. “Because if you say ‘holding out,’ that means you’re going to give it up someday, that you’re just waiting for some boy to say the right thing to unlock your legs. You can’t even let that be a
possibility
.” I knew Iona would explode if she could hear this conversation. But that was why my sister was having it with me, not Iona.

“But then no one will date you.”

This was simply awful. “Then to heck with them,” I said, recalling just in time to rein in my language. “You don’t need to go out with a guy who’s sure you’re going to give him sex if he goes out with you long enough.”

“Why are they gonna go out with you, then?” she said, looking baffled.

That was nothing compared to the way I felt. “A boy should go out with you because he likes your company,” I said. “Because you laugh at the same things, or you’re interested in the same things.” At least, that was the theory. Was it ever that way in practice? And it shouldn’t even be arising at Mariella’s age, which was what? Twelve?

“So he should be your friend.”

“Yes. He should be your friend.”

“Is Tolliver your friend?”

“Yes, he’s my best friend.”

“But you’re, you know . . .”

She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words, and I could only be thankful for that.

“That’s kind of our business,” I said. “When it’s the real thing, it means so much you don’t want to talk about it with other people.”

“Oh.” Mariella looked thoughtful. I hoped she was. I hoped I hadn’t just committed a colossal blunder. I’d told her not to have sex with the boys she was going to date. Then I hadn’t contradicted her assumption that Tolliver and I were doing that very thing. I felt totally inadequate.

I was so glad to see Tolliver and Gracie waiting for us, I found myself hurrying toward them. Tolliver gave me a funny look, but Gracie was simply impatient.

“Let’s get our skates!” she said. “I want to skate!”

After we’d all put on our skates and Tolliver and I’d helped the girls out onto the rink floor, then seen that they were okay when they stuck to the wall railing, we skated off to do a round by ourselves. We held hands and went slowly at first, because it had been a good eight years since either of us had skated. There’d been a rink within walking distance of the trailer, and since it hadn’t cost too much at the time, we’d spent hours there.

We enjoyed a few rounds together, and then we went back to our sisters, who were already arguing about who was doing the best. Tolliver took Mariella and I took Gracie, and we got them away from the wall and went around with them, slowly and carefully. I couldn’t stop Gracie from falling once, and another time she took me down with her, but she was improving by the time we called it quits. Mariella, who’d played basketball at one of the after-school clubs for kids, had fared a lot better, and she was inclined to brag about it until Tolliver cut her short.

We were coming off the floor, laughing, when I realized someone was watching us: a gray-haired man about five foot eleven, pumped up and muscular. My eyes passed over him once, and then came back to his face. I knew him. I looked right into his dark eyes.

“Hello, Dad,” Tolliver said.

OUR
sisters shrunk closer to us, their eyes fixed on their biological father with—at least on Gracie’s part—a mixture of loathing and longing. Mariella seemed more hostile. Her little hands had clenched into fists.

He wasn’t
my
father. My feelings were relatively unmixed. “Matthew,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

He’d been looking at Tolliver and Mariella, his eyes avid. He glanced at me briefly, without affection. Gracie shrunk behind me. “I wanted to see my kids,” he said. “All of them.”

There was a long moment of silence. I digested the fact that his voice was clear: no slurring, coherent. Maybe he wasn’t using, as he’d told Mark; though I knew it was only a matter of time before he reverted to his old ways.

“But we don’t want to see you,” Tolliver said, keeping his voice carefully hushed. We drew aside, to get out of the way of other skaters. “We didn’t answer the feelers you put out through Mark. I didn’t answer your letters. I’m willing to bet Iona hasn’t given you permission to see the girls, and she’s their legal mom now. Hank’s their legal dad.”