Truth-Stained Lies (13 page)

H
olly left Juliet watching the post office at four, her boys in the backseat, munching on fries and playing video games. Holly was shaky as she drove up to the Haughton house. She hoped Warren hadn’t forgotten that she was coming. She went to the door, rang the bell, and remembered that she was supposed to have brought a toy for Jackson. She never thought to do the right thing. Her sister was the one known for her compassion and caring. Holly was always distracted by her own dramas.

Anxiety twisted in her chest as she heard footsteps. The door came open, and she heard Jackson crying from deep within the house. Warren peered out. “Holly, it’s not a good time after all.”

“Really? Because I was looking forward to seeing Jackson. Is he all right?”

“He’s a little upset right now.”

She looked past Warren, but couldn’t see the boy in the darkness of the house. “Maybe I could calm him down.” Not waiting for an invitation, she pushed past Warren into the house.

“Holly, I told you no!”

“Jackson?” she called. “Honey, are you all right?”

She heard the crying cease for a second, then footsteps as Jackson ran toward her. “Aunt Holly!”

His eyes were swollen as if he’d cried for hours, and mucus crusted under his nose. He hiccupped sobs as he came to her. She stooped down and gathered him into her arms. “I want my daddy!” he said. “Where is my daddy?”

Holly clung to him, wishing she could bring Jay to him. “Daddy’s still helping the police, honey.”

“Uncle Warren said he was in jail. He said they’re never letting him out!”

Shocked, she stared up at Warren. “Why would you tell him that?”

“Because it’s true,” Warren said. “He was crying for his daddy. He needed to understand why he couldn’t come.”

What else had he told him? Had he said that the police thought Jay killed Jackson’s mother? Was Jackson having to sort that out too? Rage burned on her face, but she tried to bite it back for Jackson’s sake.

She took the child into the living room. Mrs. Haughton hobbled in from the kitchen, leaning on her cane and rolling her oxygen canister in front of her. She looked startled to see her. “Holly!”

Holly didn’t care how sick the woman was; it was no excuse for cruelty. “Why have you let Warren fill Jackson’s mind with things about his dad? What good can come of that?”

The old woman didn’t answer. Holly sat down on the
couch and pulled Jackson onto her lap, and he buried his face into her chest and wept like an orphan. “I want to go home,” he cried. “I don’t feel good. My stomach hurts.”

She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, rocking back and forth. “Honey, Daddy’s gonna come back and get you. You just might have to wait a few days.”

“He’s not in jail, is he, Aunt Holly? Uncle Warren lied.”

Warren dropped into a recliner, his lips compressed in anger. Holly speared him with a savage look. “He’s just talking to the police, trying to help find the person who hurt Mommy.” A Kleenex box sat on the coffee table, and she grabbed one and wiped his nose.

“I want to go back to Aunt Juliet’s,” Jackson said, hiccupping sobs. “I want to play with Abe and Zach and swim and sleep over.”

As Mrs. Haughton lowered to the other end of the couch, Holly gave her a beseeching look. Mrs. Haughton turned to look at Warren, as if it were his call. “He’s staying here,” Warren insisted. “We’ll get through this.”

“But why?” Holly asked. “When he’s clearly so upset, why would you make him stay?”

“We do want him to be happy,” Mrs. Haughton said, stroking Jackson’s back with a shaky hand. “But he’s just having a rough spell. We all are. It’s understandable.”

Holly looked at her closely. Her face looked gray, her lips, blue. Her face was as wrinkled as a discarded grocery sack. The woman was clearly declining. The house smelled musty, medicinal, and the only light was that from the windows. What must it be like for a young child to be trapped here — grieving for his parents while his grandmother’s life beat out of her?

“I think you need to leave now, Holly,” Warren said.

Holly wouldn’t let Jackson go. “I can’t leave him like this.”

Warren stood up, tried to take Jackson from her. Jackson screamed an octave higher.

Holly tried to shift gears.
Flatter him
, she thought.
Do something!
She racked her brain as Jackson clung to her. “Warren, I’ve always liked you,” she forced herself to say. “You’re a great guy, and I know you’re grieving. Don’t leave me with the impression that that’s not true.”

“I don’t really care what your impression is of me,” he said over the boy’s cries. “My sister is dead. We’re keeping Jackson here.”

She wanted to put her hands over Jackson’s ears. Why couldn’t Warren be more sensitive to him?

“That’s enough!” Warren wrestled Jackson from her. “Time to go, Holly.”

Mrs. Haughton looked as troubled as Holly. “Warren, you don’t have to be rude.”

“Yes, I do,” he said. “This is ridiculous. She came over here to stir him up.”

“You said I could come! He was already stirred up,” Holly said. “He was crying when I got here. I heard him.”

“Of course he cries. He would cry if he was with Jay.” Still holding the fighting boy, he stalked to the front door, threw it open. “‘Bye, Holly.”

“Warren, please.”

“Leave!” he shouted.

Reluctantly, Holly stepped through the door, turned back to say something, but he slammed the door in her face.

She could hear Jackson’s wails through the door, and her heart shattered. How could a person willingly let a child suffer like that? How could he plant words in his mind that he shouldn’t hear, words that would keep him up all night?

She went back to her taxi, sat behind the wheel, trying to pull herself together before she pulled out onto the street. She couldn’t tell Juliet what she’d found. It would break her heart, steep her in despondency. But Cathy could do something. She needed to know.

She could work harder to get him back with his aunt. Jay had to have some say in this matter. She pulled a Kleenex out of her console, wiped her face, blew her nose, and took a few deep breaths as she drove to Cathy’s house.

Ironic that she had such empathy for her nephew, when she had so little for her own child. She wondered if the abortion would hurt her baby, if he or she would have silent cries, if he would kick against the needle or whatever it was they used to pull it out of her womb.

Nausea roiled up in her and she pulled over to the side of the road, vomited on the street. What kind of person was she? Was she just like Warren, putting her own needs ahead of her child’s?

She closed the door, drank from her water bottle, trying to rinse the taste out of her mouth. Her hand went back to her stomach, to the little life that was growing there, the little trusting life who had no clue that its mother was considering snuffing out its future.

But she couldn’t think about that now.

Her phone rang. The agency. She hoped they wouldn’t realize she’d been crying. “Yeah, whatcha got?”

“Pickup at the airport. They’re short on cabs today. Need you to head over there.”

She drew in a deep breath. “Will do. I’m on my way.” There was no time to dwell on her sorrow now. She had to make a living. Rent was due next week and she barely had enough to make it.

Pulling herself together, she headed to the airport and
picked up a man who had a small carry-on bag. “Oceanside Rest Home,” he said.

“Oceanside,” Holly repeated. Wasn’t that where Juliet said their father was living now? “Do you have an address?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“No problem. I have a phone book. I’ll look it up.” She found the address, then headed that way.

“I haven’t seen my mother in a few months,” he said.

Holly wished he wouldn’t talk. She wasn’t in the mood to be chatty. “Really? I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”

“Yes, I’m sure she will.” Holly turned up the radio, hoping he’d take the cue to sit in silence. But he didn’t.

“You don’t look like a cab driver,” he said. “How long have you been driving a taxi?”

“About a year,” she said, embarrassed. “But I moonlight as a private eye.”

“No way,” he said, amused and clearly impressed.

Pride swelled within her. How long since she’d felt any sense of self-worth? It felt good.

When they reached the nursing home, she told him the fare and waited as he paid. She sat, watching, as he walked in.

Her father was just inside that building. She hadn’t seen him more than a couple of times in over ten years. Curiosity worked at her.

What did he look like now? Would she even recognize him?

She pulled into a parking space and decided to go in. Juliet said he had Alzheimer’s, that he didn’t even recognize the daughter he knew best. He certainly wouldn’t know Holly.

She went inside, looked around. There was a window behind which a woman sat at a desk. She leaned in. “Hi. My
father is here, but I’ve never visited him before. Could you tell me what room he’s in? Ralph Cramer?”

The woman looked him up among the hundreds of other names, then directed her to the Alzheimer’s wing. Holly went through the double doors. The hallway was clear except for a nurse’s aide coming toward her.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m looking for Ralph Cramer.”

The woman tipped her head toward the dining room. “He’s in there, eating.”

Holly stepped into the doorway, scanned the faces of all the elderly women, and settled on two men at a table across the room. An aide was feeding them.

“Don’t you see him?” the woman asked.

Tears sprang to Holly’s eyes again. “Um … no. I’m not sure which one he is.”

“You don’t know your dad?”

Holly couldn’t look her in the eye. “No. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Oh, let me show you.” She pointed. “He’s the one on the right. Nice man. Real sweet.”

Holly smiled. That was good to know.

“Go on in. He may not know you, but he’ll be glad to have company.”

Fear stalled her. “I … I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just stand here … I really just wanted to see him.”

The nurse’s aide probably thought horrible things about her, but even that wasn’t enough to make Holly approach him. She just stood there, staring across the room at the man who had left her when she was a child.

Mashed potatoes dribbled on his chin. The aide who was feeding him was rushing him. She looked bored as she shoved mixed spoonfuls into the men’s mouths. They chewed too slowly, obviously irritating her.

Suddenly, Holly’s fear was overshadowed by her sense of injustice. She crossed the room and took her father’s spoon out of the woman’s hand. “I’ll take it from here with him.”

The woman sat up straighter. “Who are you?”

“I’m his daughter,” she said, pulling out a chair. She plopped down and looked at her dad’s face with misty eyes. “Daddy, it’s me. Holly.”

He looked at her, and for a moment, she thought he would say,
Holly! I’ve been thinking about you. My little girl!

But of course he didn’t. He regarded her with the same indifference as he’d looked at the aide. Holly scooped some meatloaf onto the spoon, gently put it into his mouth. He chewed slowly.

She waited, allowing him to take his time. The aide finished feeding the other man, a little gentler now.

Holly stared at her father, trying to make him see her. “Is it good?”

He smiled and nodded, then opened his mouth for another bite. She gave him some peas. She was actually good at this. Who would have thought?

After a few more bites, he put his hand up. “I don’t care for any more, thank you.”

She set the spoon down. “Okay.”

He sat back in his chair, his eyes glazing over. Why had she come here? What did she expect from him? He could do nothing for her. He couldn’t restore any of what he’d taken from her. He couldn’t help her now in her pregnancy. He wasn’t going to be a jolly grandfather to her child. And he could do nothing for Jackson or Jay.

Still, it comforted her to see him.

She got to her feet, touched his shoulder. “I’ll go now, but maybe I’ll come see you again.”

He nodded politely, then turned away.

Holly hurried out of the building to the safety of her taxi.

C
athy fell into bed after hours on the phone with the people on Jay’s list — friends and former boyfriends of Annalee. She had gotten a good bit of information about Annalee’s most recent boyfriend, confirming the fact that he had a new girlfriend and was no longer interested in Annalee. His alibi had already been checked out, proving he was a dead end in the case.

At four, the phone rang, startling Cathy awake. She shook herself out of her quicksand grog and picked the phone up.

“Hello?” She heard coughing on the other end, wheezing.

“Hello?” she said again.

“Cathy.” It sounded like Mrs. Haughton’s voice, raspy, wheezy.

“Mrs. Haughton?” she said. “Are you okay?”

More coughing, then finally the woman found her voice. “Cathy, it’s Jackson.”

Cathy sat up in bed, turned on her lamp. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“They’re taking him to the hospital. He’s sick.”

Cathy jumped out of bed. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He must have a stomach virus. He’s been having diarrhea, vomiting, and now there’s blood …”

Cathy’s heart jolted. “Blood? You mean, in his stools?”

“He’s very weak. He didn’t even make it to the bathroom. Just soiled the bed. That’s when I realized how bad it was.” She started to cough again.

Cathy ran around the room, grabbing her clothes. “Mrs. Haughton, have you called an ambulance?”

“Yes. They’re here right now. They’re taking him to Bay Medical.”

Cathy grabbed her purse. “We’ll be at the hospital when he gets there.” Not stopping to brush her teeth or her hair, she hurried out to her car. She pressed speed dial and called Juliet.

Her sister answered after three rings. Cathy filled her in, and she could hear her sister’s terror as she said, “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Call Holly.”

Cathy woke up Holly too, then debated whether to tell Michael. Why would she call him? He wasn’t in their family, and didn’t even know Jackson that well. But she needed him. She clicked on his speed dial number, and waited as it rang several times. Finally, he picked up. “Hey … Do you know what time it is?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry. I debated whether to call you, and I don’t expect you to do anything except pray, but …”

Instantly more alert, he said, “Cathy, what is it?”

“They’re taking Jackson to the hospital. Mrs. Haughton said he’s really sick. Diarrhea, vomiting, blood. It sounds really bad.”

“Cathy, I’m coming.”

“No, don’t. There’s nothing you can do. I just wanted to tell you so you’d pray.”

“I’ll pray and come. Cathy, it’s gonna be all right.”

She wiped the tear rolling down her face. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes. They’ll get him on a drip, get him rehydrated, figure out why there’s blood …”

“But he’s all alone. His parents … One dead, one in jail.”

“He’s not alone. He has all of you.”

When he hung up, she held the phone for a moment, letting his voice linger in her head. Michael always reassured her, even when he knew things were going off the rails. He would pray as he drove.

She should do the same.

More tears flooded her eyes as she tried. “God, I know you and I haven’t been on very good terms lately.” But that was wrong, wasn’t it? God hadn’t changed. She was the one who’d changed. “Okay,
I
haven’t been on good terms with
you
. My fault. I know that. Ever since the stuff with Joe being ripped out of my life … and Michael losing his career over something so minor … I’ve held an even bigger grudge than I already had.”

She opened her console and tore a tissue out of the box there. “It just feels like you don’t listen to me. That you don’t hear. But I’m begging you to hear now!”

It began to rain, big drops splatting on her windshield. She turned on her windshield wipers, watched them wipe the blur away.

“He’s only five. He’s lost his mother, and Jay’s in jail … Can’t you do something? Can’t you heal him? Can’t you do a miracle so Jay can be with him?”

Lightning flashed, and thunder quickly followed. Was that God, letting her know he’d heard? Or was it just the storm?

The truth was, she missed her faith. She missed finding meaning in her trials. She missed the sense that God had her back.

But too much had happened.

She hadn’t really had that solid a faith since she was thirteen. If her father had only known the havoc he’d wrought in his children when he chose his appetites over his family. Would it have mattered?

She had held a grudge, not just against the people of God who acted so ungodly, but against the God who allowed a faithful family to be uprooted and cast out.

She never abandoned her
belief
in God. She knew he was there. But was he benevolent? Did he care about her pain?

Joe’s murder during her plans for her wedding seemed like more of the same. Another slap-down. How dare she embrace joy? Didn’t she know better?

Michael, sensing her failing faith, had tried to bolster it up. But he should be just as angry as she. He’d lost a brother and had his reputation and calling taken from him. He was bitter about many things, but not about God. He still prayed constantly. Still went to church. Still reminded her that God loved her and was watching.

She reached the hospital, drove around until she saw the emergency room and the ambulance entrance. She went inside and asked if Jackson had been brought in yet. When they told her it would be a little while, she went back out, pacing in front of the doors that flew open each time she
passed them, waiting for the ambulance that would bring her nephew.

Within a few minutes, she saw Holly’s cab, and both her sisters got out. They ran toward her and all three embraced. It was clear they’d both shed eye-swelling tears on the way over. As they let each other go, they saw flashing red lights at the edge of the parking lot. The ambulance was pulling in, but no siren screamed of its urgency.

As the ambulance driver’s door opened, the light came on. Through the back window, Cathy saw Warren sitting next to Jackson on the gurney. Jackson’s eyes were closed and he had an oxygen mask on. The EMT got out, and Cathy approached him. “We’re Jackson’s aunts. How is he?”

“He’s a sick little boy.” He opened the back doors.

Warren shot the sisters a look as they approached the van. “Move back,” he yelled.

They stepped back as the paramedics rolled the gurney out. Cathy moved closer then, trying to see Jackson’s face. It was dark, but in the dim light from the ER doors, she could see that he looked as pale as death.

The hospital’s glass doors flew open and the paramedics rolled Jackson inside, Warren still beside him. The women followed.

“Cathy!”

She turned at Michael’s voice. He was hurrying in behind them.

“Is he all right?”

“No.” In the light, she saw Jackson’s face. Gray circles under his eyes. He was asleep or unconscious. He looked so tiny lying there with an IV in his arm and an oxygen mask covering half his face. So helpless.

Michael hugged her, and she clung for a moment too long. The emergency room seemed busy, even for this time
of morning, and the woman at the front desk seemed in no hurry to help the boy. “We have to wait until we can clear a room,” she said, as if Jackson had come in with a sore throat. Cathy waited for the paramedics to tell the woman that this was an urgent matter, but they only went to the desk, leaving Jackson parked in the hallway, and began filling out paperwork.

“This is ridiculous!” Cathy said, her voice rising. “This is an emergency. Somebody has to help him.”

Finally a nurse appeared. “You can come this way,” she said, and pushed the gurney up the hall. Cathy and the others followed as the paramedics gave the nurse a rundown of Jackson’s condition. They stood in the examining room while the nurses worked his clothes off, got him into a gown, took his blood, and typed things into the computer. Jackson never came awake.

All the while, Warren leaned against the wall, the only one in the situation who seemed unruffled. When the doctor came in, he asked the group to leave the room during his examination.

As they all moved toward the hallway, Juliet said, “I’m staying with him here.”

“There’s no need,” Warren said. “I’ll stay.”

“No. He needs me and I’m staying!”

“Juliet, I have the custody order.”

“Your mother has the custody order. Not you. She’s not here.”

“Well, she can’t stay, so I am.”

“Fine, then it’ll be the two of us.”

He bristled. “If you want to make a scene and wake up Jackson, then we’ll get security involved.”

Cathy stared at him, unable to believe how callous he was. “You don’t care about him at all, do you?”

“I care so much that I’m not going to leave his side. End of story. He’s my sister’s son, and I’m not leaving him.”

“Can you, for once, think about what’s best for Jackson?”

“I think
I’m
best for Jackson,” Warren said.

“Clearly, you’re not!” Juliet cried. “What did you feed him? He could have food poisoning. Salmonella causes bloody stools.”

“He didn’t even eat supper. We couldn’t get him to take a bite. He was already feeling bad. For lunch we had McDonalds, but I ate what he had. I don’t think it’s food poisoning. It’s a virus, and he would have gotten sick no matter who he was staying with. He was probably exposed at school. He’ll be fine.”

The defensiveness in his tone irked Cathy.

“Could we pray?” Juliet said suddenly, the corners of her mouth trembling. “Everybody, let’s just hold hands and pray.”

Warren held back for a moment, then reluctantly took Juliet’s and Holly’s hands and bowed his head while Juliet prayed.