Innocent Little Crimes (7 page)

Melodie laughed. “Nice going, Jonny.”

“Who’s driving, anyhow?” he said. “You wanna
drive?”

“I don’t like driving, you know that.”

“Well, if you’re going to complain about my
driving, then it’s your turn.” He pulled the Ford abruptly to the
edge of the highway and cut the engine. Then he threw the keys in
her lap. She sat there, unmoving.

“I’m not driving, Jonny.”

“Then you can walk. Or apologize.”

She looked appraisingly at his face, then
tossed the keys into his lap.

“I’ll walk,” she said, then got out of the
car. Rain began to splatter the highway. He watched her in the rear
view mirror as she opened the trunk and got out her suitcase. He
rolled down the window and stuck his head out.

“Hey, come on. You’re not going really walk,
are you? The ferry’s another fifteen miles.”

She picked up her bag and started heading the
opposite direction.

“Hey, Mel, what’s your problem, anyway?”

“I don’t have the problem, hot pants. You do.
You’re pathetic, you know?”

“Mel, you get back in this car!”

“I’m going back to L.A., Jonny. You can keep
your Pacific Knockwurst. Like maybe you could keep it zipped up in
your pants.”

Jonathan, furious, watched her trudge along
the shoulder of the highway hefting her small suitcase. The air
smelled of steaming asphalt and dust as more rain saturated the
highway.

He craned his neck out the window. “Go to
hell, you tramp!”

She didn’t bother to look back. He gunned the
engine and screeched back into the lane, making an illegal
U turn, almost sideswiping a motor home.

“Ungrateful slut.”

Chapter 9

Millie pushed the curtains aside and stared
out the window.

Dick tossed a pair of socks at the suitcase
that lay open on their bed. His aim was off and the socks tumbled
onto the floor. “How many times are you going to check the weather?
Turn on CNN, already!” Millie scooped up the socks and placed them
neatly in the bag. Then she rearranged everything, refolding and
smoothing out their clothes.

“You’re so compulsive,” he said. “Why can’t
you throw your stuff in and leave it alone?”

Millie shrugged. “I don’t like wrinkles.”

She stepped back and let Dick finish packing.
She hadn’t had much to pack for herself. Two sweat suits, two good
black sweaters and one black flair skirt—all too tight. She had
refused to buy new clothes until she lost weight, as if that
“threat” could make a dent in her eating habits.

“The storm looks bad, honey. Have you called
the ferries? Maybe we should have caught the earlier one.”

“Look,” Dick said, turning to face his
wife, “we’re going whether the ferries are running or not — whether
we have to
swim
to that
island, comprende?” Dick wiped the sweat off his brow and smoothed
his hair over his bald spot. No matter how cold the weather, he
always worked up a sweat. He patted his pocket, no doubt looking
for his Rolaids. Millie sulked.

The doorbell rang. “Your mother’s here,” she
said.

Dick’s eyes lit up. He snapped the latches on
the suitcase and bounded down the stairs. Millie heard the sappy
words of appreciation her husband lavished on his mother as he let
her in. Millie came downstairs to Ida’s familiar ritual—puffing up
pillows, straightening pictures, wiping counters. When the girls
ran in to greet their grandmother, she gave each of them a
perfunctory, empty kiss. It amazed Millie what a changed man Dick
became around his mother—so gracious and accommodating, eager to
make her comfortable. He treated her like a queen, but Ida paid
little attention.

Dick went over details, informing his mother
of the girls’ ballet and piano lessons, Debby’s diet, and
instructions for answering the phone. He told her to let the
machine pick up, no matter what. His mother scrutinized his face
with a scowl, but Millie knew she wouldn’t ask questions.

Millie was grateful the girls had some family
nearby, for what it was worth. She knew she fell short of Ida’s
criteria for a daughter-in-law, even though her objections were
never voiced. But Ida Ferrol knew how to make her feel unwelcome
with just a look and a grunt.

While Dick was a local boy from Tacoma,
Millie came from Brussels, Wisconsin, flat farmland she had gladly
left behind. Her father argued with her decision to move to
Washington; girls didn’t go to college, just married and raised
children. Like most of their neighbors in the county, her family
made cheese. The thought of staying with her brothers and sisters
curdling milk all day repulsed her. Yet, with a big family she had
never been lonely. Now, working full-time at Gottschalks, she could
no longer afford visits home. And her busy family had only once
made the trip west, when the girls were very small. So Millie had
to settle for Ida and her monthly, clockwork-like visits.

While Dick carried Ida’s bag up to the guest
bedroom, Millie fussed over the girls. Dick came down and noticed
her face streaming with tears. Debby and Sally clutched their
mother.

“Jeez, we’re only going for three days.
What’s with all the tears?”

Millie wiped her eyes and gave her girls a
smile.

“Oh, I’m gonna miss my honey-bunnies.” She
stroked their cheeks. “Be good for grandma.”

Dick scowled. “Millie, the girls are nearly
grown. Why do you always talk to them like they’re babies? Okay,
enough already. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The girls hugged their father and went
outside to play. Ida came downstairs and started cleaning the
kitchen. Millie’s stomach churned. As hard as she tried, she could
never get the house clean enough for her mother-in-law—or organize
the perpetual clutter. Knick-knacks jammed the shelves, stuffed
animals and toys draped the furniture. Walking from room to room
was an obstacle nightmare. Millie gave up long ago trying to get
the girls to clean up after themselves; they always forgot and she
hated to nag them. Holding down a full-time job exhausted her. On
top of that, Dick never lifted a hand to help, and he was the
sloppiest of all. Millie wondered if he deliberately added to her
workload.

All these years she’d hoped he’d get a
real job. She knew his work with the city council was important. He
had been the impetus behind many great projects the town
implemented—the recycling program, the food bank, the new community
center. He also managed her money, made sure all the bills were
paid, let her know when they were spending too much. But it irked
her that he controlled how she spent
her
money.

And now—all this intrigue. She’d heard
rumors, bad ones, and when she tried to talk to Dick about them, he
shut her out. Critical talk often plagued the city council, and she
mostly ignored it. But now— hints of recall, misuse of funds,
possible trials. She cringed when she drove past the municipal
buildings with all those picketers holding signs. One even said:
“Send Dick Ferrol to jail!” She’d never been this scared before.
The life she carefully built in Olympia could be falling to pieces
and Dick would never tell her.

Millie pulled her husband aside, out of
earshot from Ida, who was washing dishes in the kitchen.

“Honey, we need to talk. Please tell me
what’s going on downtown. Gwen told me this morning—”

“Gwen? She makes a career out of gossiping.
There’s nothing to worry about. It’ll all clear up soon.”

“I’m worried about you. You’re a wreck.
Climbing the walls and snapping at me and the kids. I’m afraid
you’re going to have a stroke.”

“Millie, you’re so neurotic. It’s just
political baloney—you should be used to it by now.”

Millie took Dick’s arm and drew him close.
“When we get back from this reunion, let’s take a real vacation.
Away from everything, away from the kids. Let it all blow over,
whatever this is.”

Dick pulled out from her entangling arms.
“Listen to you talk. You can’t even bear to leave the girls for
three days—your whole world falls apart. Besides, running away
isn’t going to solve this mess. It’s going to get a lot worse
before it gets better.”

“Then why are we going to this stupid reunion
anyway, right in the middle of all this trouble?” She put her hand
to her head and squinted.

“Don’t tell me—another migraine, right?” He
didn’t bother to hide his disgust. “Go take your Advil.”

“It never works.”

“You always get a migraine when the going
gets tough.”

Millie looked at Dick’s flushed face. She
heard the girls laughing in the yard and the sound of water running
in the kitchen sink. She felt faint.

“I’ll go wait in the car,” she said, leaving
Dick standing in the hall.

Chapter 10

“Look what the rain dragged in,” Della said
as Jon sprinted up the ramp to catch up with them. She let her eyes
drift over his expensive wet coat and shoes, then backed away.

Davis threw an arm around Jon. “Just in time.
Hey, good to see you, Jon. You here alone?”

Jon shook the water out of his curly black
hair. He walked alongside Davis as they boarded the boat. Della
trailed behind, just within earshot.

“
Yeah, hey—what a crappy time of year
for a trip to Washington, huh? Let’s get upstairs. They must have a
bar and I desperately need a drink.” He turned his head. “Hi
Della.” He made no attempt to mask the irony in his voice. “Looking
good, Della.”

Della glared at him.

As Jon appraised her with his eyes,
Della read his amusement. She could hear him thinking,
I told you you’d never amount to anything.
No doubt still fuming from the time she showed up two hours
late on the set—the one time he gave her a break. But, how dare he
fire her on the spot and embarrass her in front of the whole
cast?

Della stopped.“Listen, idiot. I didn’t come
here to continue a fight from fifteen years ago, so shove it,
okay?” With that, she turned and hurried up to the heated waiting
room and found a seat by the window.

She stared at snow-capped Mount Baker, pasted
against the steel-gray backdrop of sky, and watched it shrink in
size as the ferry plied west. She felt sick all over. Just what she
needed—seeing Davis in love with someone else. Three fun-filled
days and nights with Mr. God of Hollywood, the big-shot director.
And Lila wasn’t likely to be thrilled with her, either. Nobody from
Evergreen really cared about her. The guys had all wanted to screw
her in college and the girls had been either jealous or
intimidated. But a friend? She never had one. She buried her head
in her hands and tried to cry.

Cynthia slid into the booth beside her.
“Here, thought you might want this.”

Della looked up as Cynthia handed her a cup
of hot tea. “Seasick?”

“No, just sick of life. Thanks.”

“Do you want company? If you’d rather be
alone . . .”

“No, that’s okay.” She sipped the tea and
wiped her face with the back of her hand. “So, where’d you and
Davis meet?”

“At a party. Actually, I didn’t like him much
at first—he was a real flirt. But, it turns out our fathers did
business together. Banking, investing—it’s a pretty small circle in
Marin. We even went to the same high school, although Davis was
years ahead of me. We kept running into each other.” She smiled,
lost in some memory. “He finally he convinced me his affections
were serious.”

Della’s attention wandered. Her head throbbed
and her eyelids grew heavy. She lit another cigarette. “So, what do
you do—work and all that?” Della wished Cynthia would stop talking
about Davis.

“Well, I chair three organizations. One for
the regional MS chapter, two are educational awareness programs for
teens—pregnancy, drugs. I help with fund-raising, pledges, stuff
like that. It’s hard work, but rewarding. I get restless sitting
around the house.”

Poor baby
.
Even dressed in casual clothes, Cynthia oozed money, probably lived
off a trust fund. A rush of bitterness coursed through Della. She
focused her attention on Davis and Jonathan across the room as
Cynthia rambled on about her teen center.

“Well, you made out, Davis.” Jon nodded at
Cynthia. “Nothing like the fame-hungry actresses I have to deal
with all the time.”

Jon could tell Davis had his act
together. The classy clothes, his own business. Everything about
Davis spelled success. Yet, here
he
was, the only one who actually went to Hollywood out of their
entire drama group and made a career. So why was he envious of
Davis, who spent his days behind a desk pushing pencils?

All those bitter feelings from college rushed
back at him—the struggling to get “there,” wherever “there” was.
Always feeling like he had to prove so much. Prove to his pals that
he was someone to admire, to envy. Prove to his parents that he
could make a better life than theirs. That he wasn’t destined to
make lox platters till the day he died. Davis always had it so
easy. He always had money behind him, the lazy bastard. Always got
people to do what he wanted by flashing that gleaming set of
perfectly straight teeth.

Jon forced a smile as he listened to Davis
rave about Cynthia. How she needed protection, that she’d had a
sheltered childhood and was an innocent in the real, harsh world.
How she was sensitive and self-sacrificing and some such crap and
how lucky he was to have found her.

“Yeah, that’s how I felt about my first wife.
Then it turned out the innocent stuff was a ploy. Not only did she
have a lover on the side, but she was siphoning off my money
without my knowing it. When we got divorced, thousands just
disappeared into thin air. Poof! So, don’t sit too easy.”