Authors: Barbara Delinsky
“Why not?”
“Three guesses. The first two don’t count.”
“Why
not?
” When Richie didn’t answer, he said, “I’m new to town. Make like I don’t know a thing.”
“She doesn’t like my father,” the boy enunciated slowly, “because she doesn’t turn him on.”
“So what does that have to do with her not trusting you?”
“Come on, man. I’m the guy’s son. Use your imagination.”
“I’m law and order, black and white. I got no imagination. Tell me what you being Nestor’s son has to do with her not trusting you.”
“Shit.” He looked away.
“Spit it out, Richie.”
“She thinks I’m
like him.
Duhhhh.”
Brian wondered if he was, if his lashing out stemmed from the angst of sexual confusion. But he wasn’t touching on that, not until he had something more going with the boy. “If Mrs. Hammelman thinks that, why did she leave you with her child?”
“She probably figured I was safe with a girl. Where are we going? This isn’t the way into town.”
“I feel like taking a drive.” He dropped one of his hands from the wheel. “Relax a little, y’know.”
“You better take me back. They’ll be wondering where I am.”
Brian pointed to the radio. “They know where you are. They can reach us if they want. This way we can talk. We won’t be able to, back at the station.”
“We won’t have to,” he grumbled. “I’ll be out in five minutes.”
“Not if I can help it. Kidnapping’s a serious charge.”
“I did not kidnap Sara.”
“Then there’s always driving to endanger, or flight with intent to escape arrest. There’s my chief, probably getting to the hospital right about now, with injuries that may be life threatening, and then there’s the matter of vandalism, just a little, enough to annoy, and I wouldn’t dismiss the kidnap business so fast. Mrs. Hammelman was worried enough to call the cops, and your mother let her.”
“My mother was scared. She knew if she went home without me, my father would be mad. He likes to know where I am.”
“Is he rigid about it?”
Richie snorted his confirmation.
“I suppose,” Brian reasoned, “that that’s a small price to pay for living such an easy life. You go to school when and if you want. You lift a little Vitamin C from the drugstore, tool around in Daddy’s Lotus, spray paint cars, toss eggs, take off with a three-year-old and joyride at breakneck speeds, and you never get punished.”
“Shows how much
you
know,” Richie mumbled.
“You break laws, but you count on your name getting you off.”
Richie turned on him. “So punish me. Lock me up. Fuckin’
do
it already.”
“Nah. I think I’ll take you home.”
“Charge me with something! Put me away! You said it yourself, you’re the new guy in town. You don’t owe my father jack shit. Go ahead. Charge me. Get me the fuck
outta
here.”
Brian eased the Jeep to the side of the road. It was a quiet street, beautiful, with the sun setting the snow on fire. If there were houses, they were hidden behind trees. There wasn’t another car in sight.
Leaving one loose hand on the wheel, he turned quietly to Richie. “That sounded like a plea.”
Richie faced the windshield.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“What it’s like, living at home? Why your mother goes out all the time, why your big brother never comes back?”
Richie shrank in his seat.
More gently, Brian said, “You don’t have to confront him, y’know. I can understand why that would be tough.”
“No, you can’t,” Richie spat, but there were tears in his eyes. “You can’t understand what it’s like having a father who does—who does—who does things like that.” He looked away.
“To you?” Brian asked quietly.
Richie didn’t deny it.
Brian felt sick. “I’ll bet it’s been going on since your brother left.”
“He knew it would, but he left anyway. He didn’t care about me. He was only thinking of himself.”
“Does your mother know?”
He hesitated again. Then, as though there was so much bitterness he couldn’t hold it in, he blurted, “She
has
to. But she looks the other way. She has a good thing going, and she knows it. She’s not giving it up for me.” He turned adamant eyes on Brian. “I’m not like him. I
hate
it.”
“So what will you do? Go off to college like your brother did, and never come back?”
“I wish I could,” he cried with an hysterical edge, “but he wants to keep me around. He says he’s sending me to college here!”
“And you’d rather go to jail.” It explained his attempts to get arrested, or, at the very least, noticed by the police.
“I’d rather
anything.
”
Brian knew enough not to touch the boy, though he wanted to, in reassurance, in acceptance, in understanding of his pain. The kid was crying for help, loud and clear. Granted, his voice was off-key. “You don’t want jail, Richie. That’d be worse than your father. But those don’t have to be your choices. I can give you others.”
“No, you can’t. My father controls everyone in Grannick. He does what he wants and gets away with it.”
“He won’t get away with pedophilia.”
“You don’t
understand.
They’ll never
charge
him with that.
I
sure won’t accuse him. He’ll kill me if I do.”
“There are ways to handle it. Quiet ways. Private ways.”
But Richie was shaking his head. “He’ll
kill
me.”
“He’ll never know you said anything.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Brian held out his arms. “Do you see a wire? I’m not recording anything. That’s one of the reasons we’re driving around. What’s said here is between you and me. If anything goes farther, it’s because you take it there. You call the shots.”
The boy still looked doubtful, but there was an element of tentativeness that hadn’t been there moments before.
Brian pressed his advantage. “Look, Richie, your father’s preferences are no secret in town. The police have known them for years. If we were to talk with him as your parent about our concern for you, about the shoplifting and the vandalism and the joyriding—without saying anything about what he does at home—if we were to recommend that you stay with your brother, or another relative somewhere else for a while, he’d buy it.”
Richie was glum. “He wants me here.”
“He doesn’t want a scandal.”
“There won’t be one. His money keeps people quiet.”
“Yeah, and that’s what he wants. He wants people to keep quiet about his preferences. His beneficence is hush money. Think about it, Richie. Sure, Grannick wants the money, but your father wants his privacy just as much. He pays big bucks for it, which should tell you how bad he wants it. He can threaten us about what he’ll do if you’re sent out of town, but we can threaten right back about what
we’
ll do if you aren’t.”
Richie was quiet. He stared out the window. He chewed on his cheek. He looked at Brian. “Would that work?”
“I’d put money on it. He isn’t invulnerable. Few men in his situation are.”
“What if I went away and he followed me?”
“Did he follow your brother?”
“No.”
“He isn’t a fool. He has a successful business to run and a reputation to uphold. Trust me. He won’t do anything to risk disclosure of what he’s been doing. Being gay is one thing. Being a child abuser is something else entirely.”
Richie was staring at the windshield again, again looking close to tears. “I didn’t mean for anything to happen to Chief Davies.”
“I know.”
“I stopped as soon as I saw him flip. Will he be all right?”
“I don’t know. Want to take a ride to the hospital with me?”
There was a pause, a darting look to see if Brian was serious, then an appreciative, “Yeah.”
Kay was midway through her last class of the day when the principal appeared and sent her to the phone. It was Emily, saying that John had been in an accident and was hurt, which was a totally absurd concept. He was the halest, hardiest man Kay knew, not to mention the safest driver.
“Surgery?” she repeated in echo of Emily.
“There’s possible internal bleeding, and damage to his legs.”
Kay couldn’t picture it. “What kind of damage?”
“Broken bones, whatever, I don’t know the details, Kay, you’ll be the better one to ask the doctors.”
“
John?
But how did it happen?”
“He was in a high-speed chase. The cruiser hit a tree.”
Kay flinched, but the image she conjured came from Hollywood, not real life. “He’s never been in an accident before. How come you’re there?”
“I was with Brian when it happened. We got to the scene just as the ambulance arrived.”
“They took him in an
ambulance?
” It did follow that if he had been hurt badly enough to require surgery, an ambulance would have been involved, but she couldn’t picture John on a
stretcher,
much less an operating table.
“Want me to come for you, Kay?”
Something of Emily’s urgency finally got through. “No. I’ll drive there myself. I’m leaving right now.” And she did, thinking all the while that injuries in the line of duty happened to cops in other towns, bigger towns. Many a time John had marched with police contingents in funerals around the state, but the cops who died were never from Grannick. Grannick was a sleepy town. It was a peaceful town. High-speed chases were little more than macho rushes of adrenaline on deserted country roads.
She was still skeptical when she pulled up at the hospital, but the atmosphere of the place couldn’t be ignored. Even then, it took the concern on Emily’s face—such real concern—to drive the message home.
Emily guided her to a waiting room. “They promised they’d come tell us as soon as there’s word.”
Kay lowered herself to a pink vinyl sofa. As if validating everything she had been thinking about small, sleepy towns, she and Emily had the room to themselves.
“Tell me the truth, Emily. Are we talking life and death?”
“No. No, no. Not unless he reacts badly to the anesthesia.”
“Why the rush to surgery then? Was he shot?”
“There were no guns involved.”
“Did he hit the other car?”
“No. Only the tree. There was ice on the shoulder of the road from yesterday’s snow. He hit a bend and skidded making the turn.”
Kay took that in with a chill. “Was he conscious in the ambulance?”
“Yes. He was talking to me.”
“What was he saying?”
Emily smiled wryly. “He was swearing mostly. He couldn’t believe he’d wrecked the cruiser.”
That was the first thing Kay had heard that sounded at all like the man, which made things just that little bit more real. “How bad are his legs?”
“He has multiple fractures in both.”
“Both? My God, how will he walk?”
“He won’t, for a while.”
“How will he get around?”
“He won’t, for a while.”
“I can’t picture it.” Absolutely not. “How long did they say he’d be in surgery?”
“They didn’t.”
She tried to analyze the meaning of that, then, when she couldn’t, tried to organize her thoughts. “Maybe I should call Marilee. No. That’s silly. She’ll only worry. I’ll wait until I know more. Until he’s awake. Until I talk with the doctor. Afterward.” She was frightened. John had never been disabled in any way, shape, or form. “I feel like I’m talking about a stranger.”
Emily took her hand. “He’ll be all right.”
“I know. It’s just,” she tried to articulate it, “John is so—perfect—physically. Everything works. He doesn’t have allergies, doesn’t have high blood pressure. He’s never sick.” She was feeling shaky. “I’m not prepared for this.”
“I’ll help all I can, you know that. John is as close to a brother as I’ve ever had.”
But he was Kay’s husband, and he was going to need her. Prepared or not, she had to be there for him.
It was nearly seven before he was wheeled into his room. Kay was already there.
She had sent Emily home, assuring her that she would be fine, insisting that she had done enough for the Davies for one day. The truth was that, much as she loved Emily, much as she appreciated the concern of members of the department who came by in a steady flow, she needed time alone with her thoughts—to accept that John was hurt, to rejoice that he would recover, to deal with the sour aftertaste a brush with mortality had left.
Besides, she wanted to be the one John saw when he woke up.
She waited, heart pounding, eyes wide on poles, bottles, tubes, and casts, while the attendants finished arranging him to their satisfaction. Then she approached the bed. His eyes were shut, one swollen, with stitches above it. His gray hair was mussed, his skin ashen, his lips pale and dry.
She touched his arm with the back of her hand. He stirred. One eye came open, poorly focused. She positioned herself in its range. “Hi,” she said softly.
His voice was scratchy. “Kay?”
“Uh-huh. How do you feel?”
“Lousy.”
“That’s about how you look,” she said because humor seemed the best approach. “You’ve got a good shiner.”
“Huh.” He closed his eyes.
Kay studied the casts on his legs. They were suspended on slings, and looked to weigh a ton. The doctor had explained that the elevation was temporary, but that John would be bedridden for a time. One broken leg was manageable; two complicated things.
“Kay?”
“Right here.” She leaned closer.
“What happened to the boy?”
She smiled, feeling oddly calmed. She might have known that his mind would be back at the scene of the accident, piecing together events. There was normalcy in that. “He’s fine. He feels awful about what happened. Brian brought him by before.”
“Gotta get him out of that house.”
“Brian’s working on it.”
He tried to raise his head and look at his legs, but with only one good eye and a neck like rubber, he couldn’t make it. Kay caught his head when it wobbled and eased it back to the pillow. “You have to rest. Lie still.”
“What about my legs?”