What Strange Creatures (13 page)

My desk phone rang. It was a call from outside the building.

When I picked up, I was surprised to hear my friend Tish’s voice.

“Theresa. Has Jeff called you today?” She sounded frantic.

“No. Why?”

“I think he’s in some kind of trouble. My brother was there a little while ago, replacing the dishwasher on the first floor. Four police officers are there. They’re searching Jeff’s apartment, his car.”

I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice steady. “Are they still there?”

“I don’t know. Hughie had to go to work after that. He called me from his cell. He called me ’cuz he thought you’d want to know. After this I’m calling my dad and telling him you’ll need some time. So you don’t need to ask. You can just leave if you need to.”

“Oh. Uh, thank you, Tish. But do you think I should go over there if Jeff hasn’t asked me to?”

There was a long pause on Tish’s end. “Uh, Theresa?”

“Yes?”

“Whatever you decide to do right now, it sounds like you might need to get Jeff a lawyer. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Do you know who you would call? If you needed to?”

“No. Maybe I’ll call my divorce lawyer and ask her for a recommendation. Would that be a good way to do it?”

“I don’t know. Probably. Yeah, start with that. And keep your cell phone on, will you? I’ll call and check in.”

After I hung up, I grabbed my keys and jacket. As I stood up, I stared out the window at the wick of the giant fake Whitlock’s candle. For two seconds I willed it to burn for me. It didn’t. I pushed in my chair and crept wordlessly out of the office.

While I was parking next to Jeff’s place, one of the stoner undergrads from the second-floor apartment came out to greet me.

“Your brother saw you drive in.” He flipped his slick black bangs out of his eyes. “He’s up in my apartment watching TV. You can come up if you want.”

The kid seemed rather blasé about the fact that Jeff’s apartment and car were being searched by a bunch of police officers. I tried to convince myself that maybe he knew better than I did. Maybe it was no big deal to have four uniformed law officers rummaging through your shit. Maybe this sort of thing happened to stoners all the time.

Jeff was wearing the same sweater he’d had on yesterday—the thin gray one with the holes at the elbows—and watching CNN. A dusty blonde with smart glasses was grilling a chinless congressman. Wayne was curled up next to Jeff, dozing.

“Jeff?” I said, waiting for him to look at me.

“Why aren’t you at work?” he asked, staring at the television.

“I’m gonna . . . uh, leave you guys so you can talk,” the stoner piped up. “I’ve got a paper to finish this afternoon.”

“Good luck with it,” I said, hoping that would encourage him to leave the room.

“I’ll be out of here as soon as they’re finished,” Jeff told him.

“Take your time, man. This really sucks.”

“I heard you might need some help,” I said, sitting on the edge of the couch as the kid slipped down the hall.

“I appreciate that, Theresa. I really do. But this is happening. I don’t think there’s much you can do.” Jeff paused and turned up the television. “Actually, why don’t you take my phone?”

“Why?”

“Just take it. I think they’re looking for any excuse to arrest me.”

“Why would they do that? They don’t have any . . .”

Jeff finally met my gaze. I’d never seen him look so awful. His eyes were so red and puffy they looked sore, and he had some sort of white ointment or toothpaste mushed into the stubble on his chin.

“
Take
it. And keep calling the first number I’ve been calling. That’s the person who sent Kim the weird text that day. I’ve been thinking if I can figure out who that was, I could figure out what she was—”

I heard a door slam outside. Jeff started at the sound of it.

“Do you think they’re gonna want your phone?”

“Eventually, maybe. Yeah. But for now just take it and get that number out of it.”

“He’s upstairs, in the second apartment!” I heard someone shout outside. I slipped the phone into my purse.

“What’re you watching?” I tried to sound casual.

“The news, Theresa,” Jeff mumbled.

“What’s the news?”

“Do you really want to know? You who haven’t voted since 2004?”

“That election was very scarring for me,” I answered. “All that time I spent watching debates, hearings on Iraq—wasted. If I don’t get involved like that again, I won’t be disappointed so badly again.”

Jeff rolled his eyes.

“It happens to be true,” I said. “I can’t handle it.”

He smiled weakly. We both knew we were only half in this conversation, killing time till the cops were done. And it had been foolish of me, in this moment, to remind my brother how little I can handle.

“That’s never stopped you with relationships,” he said anyway. “Why, then, do you let it stop you when it comes to responsible citizenship?”

“That’s not fair,” I said. “Because—”

Heavy footsteps in the stairwell interrupted my answer.

“Because?” Jeff asked me, his eyes wide and frantic.

I’d forgotten what I was going to say. “Because . . . attention to relationships is, like . . . uh, responsible participation in your own life?”

There was a sharp knock on the door. They didn’t wait for an answer. Stoner emerged from his bedroom as the first policeman entered the apartment.

“Hello, Officer,” said the stoner, in that slow, faux-polite way stoners have.

The first officer had a giant paunch, the second had the beefiest upper body I’d ever seen.

“Where’s Jeff?” asked Officer Pec. His chest seemed to bulge at the pronunciation of my brother’s name.

Then he caught sight of my brother, who had just stood up.

“Jeff Battle,” said Officer Paunch. “You are under arrest. For the murder of Kimberly Graber.”

Officer Pec grabbed Jeff’s wrists. Jeff didn’t resist. But he said, “Why? Why now? What makes you think—”

“You have the right to remain silent. . . .”

I picked up one of the remotes on the couch and hit the power button. It didn’t do anything. It must have been an old remote, or had old batteries, or else it was the DVD remote. The officer finished reading Jeff his rights. A commercial came on. A red cartoon bear was struggling to wipe his behind. A red mama bear was offering him a superior toilet paper. I grabbed another remote, hit the power button over and over again, then hurled the remote at the television.

“Ma’am?” one of the officers said. “I’m going to have to ask you not to—”

“I’m just trying to get the TV off!” My heart was racing, and I was struggling not to scream the words. Wayne began to howl.

I slipped past the police officer and hit the power button on the actual television.

“It’s okay, Theresa,” Jeff was saying. They were leading him to the stairs.

“I’m getting you a lawyer,” I said to him. Meanwhile the stoner stood there gaping at me. “Remember you don’t have to talk to them till after you speak to your lawyer.”

The smaller officer held Jeff’s thin wrists against the back of his sweater.

“Where are you taking him?” I asked Officer Paunch, who was bending down to grip Wayne by the collar.

“The station, ma’am,” he replied.

“Here in town?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll follow you there,” I called down to Jeff. He and the other officers were already almost all the way at the base of the stairs. I don’t know if he heard me.

“Do you mind if I come back for the dog in a little while?” I asked stoner dude.

He shrugged. “No problem.”

We both stared out the window, watching the officers guide Jeff into a cruiser.

“Man, this really sucks for you guys,” the kid said.

“But we’re used to disappointment,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said, then tore down the stairs to my car.

I didn’t realize that my heading to the station after Jeff would do him no good. They wouldn’t let me see him. His arraignment would probably be the following day, I was told, and I could see him after that. He had been arrested on account of some “evidence of his involvement.” I sat at the police station for three hours, but they didn’t tell me anything more. Once I’d finally given up for the day, I circled back to the stoner’s place for Wayne.

Soon after I arrived home, Tish showed up with her three-year-old daughter, Penelope.

“I came to see if you were okay,” Tish said, handing me a greasy bag from our Mexican place. “And I thought you might not want to cook.”

“I’m not okay,” I admitted, putting the bag directly into the fridge.

“Did they appoint Jeff an attorney for the arraignment?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’ll be looking for a different one in the meantime. My divorce lawyer gave me some good tips. There’s this guy Gregson who I think would be good.”

“I’m hungry, Mama,” said Penelope.

“You just had a snack, honey.”

“I don’t think it was enough.” Penelope put her finger to her lips in a gesture of thoughtfulness. “I think I’m still a little hungry.”

Tish and I both gazed at Penelope for a moment. I think she could sense that we were both too tired to negotiate with her. Penelope picks up on a lot of things. Penelope, truth be told, sort of wigs me out. I’ve never mentioned it to Tish and never would, but her oval face and her haircut remind me of the
Shining
twins.

“I think you had enough, hon,” Tish told Penelope. “And you can let Mama talk to Theresa for a few minutes.”

“Can I watch TV?”

Tish turned to me. “Do you mind?”

“No,” I said. I turned on the TV and flipped around the channels till I found a cartoon.

Penelope put out her hand—for the remote, I think. I pretended not to notice.

“Have you called your mom?” Tish asked. “Does she know Jeff was arrested?”

“I haven’t called her yet.”

“Theresa, you need to,” she said gently.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Tish was here for me or for Jeff. She’d always had a weird little crush on him—ever since we were kids. It was only after her divorce that she’d become more obvious about it. A murder charge might finally make short work of that, though.

“I know, I know,” I said. “I just need to take an Advil first, or something. I think I’m getting a migraine. Hearing my mother screaming won’t help that.”

“And I’d imagine your parents could help pay for the lawyer. Now, regarding work—I’ve told my dad not to expect you for the next couple of days at least. So you can tend to this.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I studied Tish’s face. Her black hair was stylishly cut, as always, but she looked almost haggard these days. It seemed she got thinner and thinner since she’d become a mother. Penelope hadn’t let her sleep through the night till she was two. And even after that there always seemed to be some worry about Penelope that kept Tish in stress mode: Penelope biting, Penelope telling other kids her dad was a priest, Penelope putting valuable objects in the toilet. I knew it was small of me, but sometimes I missed the plumper, more carefree Tish.

“
Who
was arrested?” Penelope asked.

“Mama and Theresa are talking,” Tish said. “It’s a private conversation. Now, have you called your dad?”

“I’m not sure how to get a hold of him. His boat is in Sardinia right now, I think. Or somewhere around there. I never pay attention to his itineraries anymore. All I remember was him saying Sardinia. I’ll have to call the cruise line and figure out how to get in touch with him.”

“Did he rob a bank?” Penelope demanded. “Are the police gonna shoot him?”

“Nobody robbed a bank, Penelope.” Tish turned to me again. “Do you want me to help with that?”

“Or did he set somebody on fire?” Penelope grinned at her mother. “Were they screaming?”

Tish shook her head and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling for a moment.

“I’m not going to acknowledge that, I don’t think,” she whispered to me.

“Tough call,” I whispered back, shrugging. “No. No, you don’t need to stay.”

My mother repeated,
What are you talking about?
for about ten minutes.

Then she went ballistic and put her fiancé, Ned, on the phone so I could explain everything again to him. Then they had to hang up so she could freak out all over again.

Ten minutes later she called back for the details.

“Where’s your father?” my mother demanded when I was finished.

“He’s in Sardinia.”

“Naturally. Sardinia. Where is that?”

“It’s in the Mediterranean.”

“Oh my God. Poor Jeff. We’ve gotta get him out of there. Have they set a bail?”

“They do that at the arraignment,” I said for the third time. “Tomorrow.”

“I’m flying up.”

“You won’t make it in time for the arraignment.”

“So what? I’m flying up as soon as I can. I knew this Kim was going to be trouble. I knew it was going to end in heartbreak.”

This declaration shouldn’t have annoyed me, but it did. “Mom, she
died.
”

“Yes, I understand that, Theresa. It’s still heartbreak, isn’t it?”

“I’m pretty tired,” I said. “Let’s talk first thing tomorrow.”

“I might be on my way by then. Ned is looking for flights now.”

“Even better,” I said.

“This mailbox is full and cannot accept any messages at this time. Good-bye.”

Before bed I tried the number on Jeff’s phone, as he’d asked me to do. Still a full, unidentified mailbox. And I hated that bitchy way she said
“Good-bye.”
With that crisp tone, she may as well have said,
“Your brother’s in jail and all you’re doing is calling this dead-end number? You’re worthless. Good-bye!”

I was too depressed to brush my teeth or put on pajamas. I crawled into my bed in my work clothes and tried to put myself to sleep thinking of my hypothetical kid.

He’s exactly Penelope’s age.

Because as it happens, Tish and I got pregnant around the same time—back when I was married. When I went in for my first appointment at nine weeks, there was already an audible heartbeat. I remember feeling close to this little being right away—and terribly excited that it wouldn’t be only Brendan and me anymore. I also remember that when I found out was right around when Michael Jackson died. It seemed weird to me that my child would grow up in a Michael Jackson–less universe. How would I ever explain Michael Jackson to him? How could you explain him to anyone who had not experienced him historically? Maybe I thought about such things to block out more consequential parenting anxieties. In any case I lay awake at night going over my long-winded explanation in my head:
He was very talented from a young age. He was very famous. Probably more famous than anyone should be, before they’re old enough to decide for themselves if they want it. . . .