“So I can have it and Dad’s laptop if I marry Randy,” I said. “Right?”
“No,” he said. “The laptop will be stored inside the box, sealed and in my possession.”
“Does Randy know what’s in it?”
“I couldn’t say. I just know that your father instructed him to remove the box and his laptop from the home and deliver them to my office for safekeeping.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say. Why couldn’t I speak? Why couldn’t I be like Detective Deirdre Walsh and demand what I wanted? I grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled.
“I’m certain your dad had a good reason for not giving you access to these things. Best not to think about it.”
My dad was still controlling everything from beyond the grave.
“But—-”
“You always trusted his judgment in the past, didn’t you?” Mr. Dooley’s sharp tone startled me. Then he softened it again, but I didn’t believe anything he said anymore. “There’s no question in my mind that marrying Randy is the right thing. I was reading the other day that arranged marriages are actually some of the most successful. In the old days, they happened all the—-”
I turned and ran out the door. Randy was sitting in his truck and saw me come out. He got out of the truck and opened the passenger--side door for me. I got in and buckled up. I was light--headed and almost giddy as I sat staring out the window, marveling at how often and how quickly I’d gone from excitement to total despair and back again over these last two days. How I’d been committed to killing myself. Until I saw my mother’s face.
“Everything all right, gal?” Randy said.
“Yes.”
Randy kept the country music turned up on the drive back, for which I was grateful. All I could think about was my mother’s face against my skin, and how I wanted to be home alone to think about it.
Before I knew it, we were in front of my house. Randy put the truck in park.
“I’m gonna be coming by every day to make sure you’re okay,” he said.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Dooley and me, we discussed it and we decided I do. Now that your daddy’s gone and you’re all alone in this house, you need someone to protect you.”
“I got the dogs.”
“You can’t be too careful.” I wasn’t sure whether this was a helpful warning or a threat. “What with your grief and all, you probably aren’t thinking too straight. Just let me and Dooley figure out what’s best for you.”
Figure out what’s best for you. Because that’s what men did. What lawyers and dads and husbands did for girls. Decided what was best for us. Because we can’t think straight. Because we’re confused. Because we don’t understand.
“So I’ll be by later. Maybe you’ll ask me inside for a beer.”
This time he didn’t pretend to lock me in. He let me go, because he’d be back later.
I shut the door of the truck and squatted down to hug the dogs, who licked my face and danced around me. They were overjoyed I was giving them affection, which I’d never done when Dad was alive. But these guys kept me safe. I went inside the house and let them in before dead--bolting the door.
I reached inside my bra and peeled the photo off my chest. My sweat had leeched some of the color off the print and my mom’s face was now imprinted on my skin, which gave me an inexplicable rush of gladness. Mom’s picture didn’t seem to be damaged. I stood staring at it, scouring the image for clues. Her ears were double--pierced. There was a tiny scar on her left cheek. She wore a silver chain with a tiny square silver box around her neck. Staring at her, I was suddenly overcome with the feeling—-the certainty—-that my mother was still alive.
I set the picture on the kitchen table to dry out.
The only thing in life that mattered now was to get that box, the laptop, and the envelope from Dooley’s office and then get the hell out of Saw Pole.
I DON'T REMEMBER when I realized I wasn’t supposed to ask Dad about Mom. I was pretty little though. We were in Kansas and I asked him if he knew the words to a song she used to sing called—-I think—-“Dig Down Deep.” He acted as if I’d said an obscene word or something. He was completely surprised and a little offended. It was like he’d forgotten all about her and figured I had too.
“No.”
He said it in a tone that let me know I’d better not ask anymore, or I was going to get a paddling. I kind of wondered if maybe I’d made her up, if I’d imagined a beautiful, happy, laughing, smiling mother to balance out this stern, irritable, paranoid dad I was left with.