A Matter of Trust

Chapter 12





Mia’s first thought as she turned down her street was that there was a burglar on her roof. Her heart sped up, even as her rational mind reminded her that there was no access to the house from the roof.

It wasn’t a burglar. It was her dad. Her sixty-seven-year-old dad. Who had about as much business being on her roof in the gathering darkness as a burglar.

She parked next to his black pickup and got out. He didn’t seem to have heard her arrival. He was on his knees, chiseling off lumps of emerald moss and tossing them over his shoulder. One almost hit her.

Mia cupped her hands around her mouth. “Dad! What are you doing on the roof?”

“What?” He turned toward her, and his right foot slid down several inches. Silhouetted against the expanse of gray shingles, he looked smaller than she remembered.

“Dad! Be careful! You should come down!”

“I’m almost done. Go inside and check on Brooke.” He turned back and levered up another green lump.

Check on Brooke? Where was Gabe? Biting back her questions, Mia walked past the ladder and into the house.

Downstairs was deserted and quiet. In a sudden panic, she ran upstairs. No sign of Gabe, but Brooke was in her room, surrounded by approximately three thousand pieces of molded plastic, most of them pink. A pink Barbie car. A pink-and-white xylophone. A Hello Kitty radio. A pink-and-purple shopping cart tipped on its side.

Brooke had a doll in each hand. Mia knew that her daughter called them the mother and daddy dolls, although one was really some sort of Transformer and the other a Barbie. The Transformer loomed over Barbie. In a gruff voice Brooke said, “I’ve had a hard day. All I’m asking for is a little peace and quiet.”

Anything Mia had been thinking of saying evaporated at Scott’s words, channeled by a four-year-old.

Brooke turned toward her, her blue eyes unreadable.

Mia found her voice. “What’re you doing, honey?”

“Just playing.”

“With the mommy and daddy dolls?”

Brooke shot her a look that wouldn’t have been out of place on Scott’s face. She turned and regarded the Transformer for a moment, then looked back up at Mia with a wary expression.

“Will he ever come back alive again?”

Mia’s heart seemed to stop beating. “Do you mean Daddy, honey?”

Brooke didn’t answer, just kept watching her face.

“No, honey, I’m sorry,” Mia said slowly. “He won’t.”

Brooke blew air through pursed lips. “I knew that.” Her tone was almost sarcastic.

Mia dropped to her knees and tried to gather up her daughter, but Brooke wriggled away.

“I want to keep playing.”

Downstairs, the front door closed and her dad called up to her. Mia got to her feet and went down.

“I got your mail.” He handed her a stack, which she put on the entryway table. Gabe’s skateboard was underneath it, instead of in the hall closet. How many times had she asked him to put it away? Lately she might as well be talking to herself.

“Dad, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be up on the roof like that.”

“Are you saying your old man’s an old man?”

Yes.

“Of course not, Dad, but the roof has a pretty steep pitch. I can hire someone who specializes in that kind of thing and has special tools and safety gear.” To avoid an argument, Mia switched topics. “Where’s Gabe?”

“Oh, I told him he could go out with his friends after practice. You’ve got him watching Brooke every day—a boy needs time to be on his own.”

And what if something had happened to Brooke while her dad was on the roof? “It’s not like I have a lot of choices, Dad.”

His mouth turned down at the corners. “Oh, Mia, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Mia blinked. When had her dad ever apologized?

“Don’t worry about it.” She looked past him to the kitchen, where saucepans covered most of the counter. Her kitchen used to smell like chocolate chip cookies and long-simmering stews. Now there were whole weeks when it smelled like delivery pizza and takeout Chinese. “Did you cook dinner?”

“I tried. I’ll have to admit it was more heating things up. Brooke seemed to like it, though. I can fix you a plate.” He headed for the kitchen.

“Now you’re waiting on me?” Mia tried to make a joke of it. “Who are you and what have you done with my dad?”

His face lit up. “I’m glad you noticed. I am different. God is working in me.”

She wanted to roll her eyes. God was working in her father? All his recent talk about God and church was just her dad trying to find something to do now that he was retired. Without a job at the center of his life, he was lost.

Her dad had dedicated most of his waking hours to his job as a manager at a packaging company. His retirement funds had been invested solely in company stock. When the company went bankrupt a year after he retired, the company CEO got jail time and her dad had been left with nothing but Social Security.

Six months ago he had started going to church. Church! Mia couldn’t have been more surprised if he had taken up belly dancing. Now he plopped some broccoli in bright yellow cheese sauce onto a plate. “If you wanted, you could come with me to church sometime.”

“I don’t know.” Was Peter getting the same sales pitch? Somehow she doubted it. Her brother had even less patience than she did. Mia had joined Scott’s church when they married, but over time their attendance had dwindled to Easter and Christmas.

“I think the kids would enjoy it. They’ve got special classes for different ages.” He mounded some mac and cheese on her plate. It was slightly more orange than the broccoli’s cheese sauce.

When Mia and Peter were little, their mom would get them up and dressed in stiff clothes and take them to church—while their dad, more often than not, slept in. He had said it was the one morning he could get a little peace.

Mia tried to be polite. “I’ll think about it.” She pushed aside dirty plates and sat down.

“I used to think that if there was a God, He was way off in heaven someplace.” Her dad opened the dishwasher and slid in a dirty dish. “But now I know that God really cares about each of us. Not just in some global way, but down to what we eat and wear. Jesus said that He counted each sparrow.”

Then where had God been when someone shot Colleen? When Scott lost control of his car?

Mia took a deep breath. “I appreciate that you feel that way, Dad, but can we not talk about it right now? I have had the most awful twenty-four hours.”

“Really?” His forehead creased in concern. “What happened?”

In between bites Mia told him about her phone call with Colleen, how she had gone to her, and how she and Charlie had raced back to the house, sure that something terrible was happening to the kids. “Brooke was having what must have been the worst nightmare I’ve ever seen. She was screaming and fighting, but I couldn’t get her to wake up. It was awful.”

Her dad nodded. “You used to sleepwalk.” He fit a smeared glass onto the top rack of the dishwasher. “And a couple of times you did that whole screaming with your eyes open thing too.”

“Are you sure? I don’t remember that.”

Smiling, he reached past her to grab the dirty plates from the table. “You never did then either. We’d try to talk to you about it, and it was like it had never happened.”

Mia’s anxiety about Brooke receded a little. “Now Frank wants me to head up the investigation into Colleen’s death. I’m really torn.” She forked up another clump of broccoli and waited for her dad to tell her what to do. He had never been shy about sharing his opinions.

“I know you’ll make the right decision.” He cleared the last few dishes and then looked at his watch. “I probably should be getting back. The dog will be wondering where I am. Tell Gabe I’ll see him at his game on Friday.”

Just as he got to the door, Brooke scampered down the stairs and crashed into his legs. She wrapped her arms around his knees. “You know what, Grandpa? We should have a sleepover party!”

Mia’s dad smiled down at her, his face lighting up. “Not tonight, honey bun. But maybe sometime.”

Had her dad ever smiled at her like that when she was little? Mia let him out the front door and then picked up the stack of mail to sort through while she ate the rest of her meal.

Two minutes after he left, tires squealed up outside, followed by a fusillade of honks and shouts. Since when did Gabe have friends who were old enough to drive?

He slouched into the kitchen carrying a white plastic bag. Mia looked closer at his clothes. His black T-shirt had something silk-screened on the front.

No. Hadn’t she talked to him about not wearing that shirt to school?

It was a drawing of a kitten. Printed in block letters above it were the words I hate everyone. Mia knew it was supposed to be ironic, but it did not offer the best impression to the students and teachers who were just getting to know her son.

“Gabe! Don’t tell me you wore that to school today.” This must be why he had come down bare chested to breakfast and then insisted on riding his skateboard.

He just shrugged and grinned.

She didn’t have the energy to be angry. “From now on, I don’t want you wearing that to school.” She held out her hand. “Since your grandpa made dinner, you can give me back the money I gave you for pizza.”

He shrugged. “I spent it. Sorry.”

“On what?”

“Protein powder. I had to use part of my allowance too.” From the bag he pulled out a blue canister and set it on the counter. “But if I drink this twice a day, it will help me get bigger.”

“Bigger? You’re nearly eye to eye with me now.”

“Most guys on the team are way bigger than me. Not just taller, but heavier. I need more muscle. You can’t play football if you’re skinny.”

She was too tired to argue. Later she would have to Google the stuff to make sure it wasn’t dangerous.

Gabe went into the family room, where she heard him greet Brooke and then turn on the TV. It was the first time Mia had been alone all day, if she didn’t count being in her car. She dished up the last of the macaroni and cheese and sorted the rest of the mail. Redbook for her, Outdoors for Scott (she had to figure out how to cancel it), political mailings, pleas from charities, and then something that looked like a bill, addressed to Scott. The return address was their local post office. She slid her finger under the flap.

It was a bill for a post office box. But why had Scott had a PO box?

Scott’s keys were upstairs on their dresser, nestled in the silver dish where he had put his change and keys every night. Hadn’t she seen a small, unfamiliar key on it?

Still chewing, Mia went upstairs and grabbed his keys. Yes. A small brass key engraved with the number 306. That matched the box number mentioned in the letter. What could be in it? Their post office lobby was open around the clock, even when the counter service was closed.

She stuck her head into the family room. “Gabe, I need you to keep an eye on Brooke for a second. I have to run an errand.” He started to mutter, but she kept going.

Mia told herself she wouldn’t think about what she might find, but still her imagination immediately conjured up images of scented letters from a woman. Maybe even several women.

Five minutes later she was standing in a hallway-sized space lit by fluorescent lights and lined on both sides by little metal boxes. They reminded her of the mausoleum niches the funeral director had shown her after Scott died.

She fit the key in the lock and turned it. Her eyes widened. The box was stuffed full. She pinched a dozen envelopes and tugged until they finally came loose, spilling everything on the floor. Leaning over, she gathered them up. Some envelopes were stamped “Third notice” and “Urgent!” in red letters.

A sudden surge of vertigo made it hard to straighten up without staggering. Bills. All bills. No wonder Scott had been keeping the existence of this post office box a secret.

Mia was going to lose everything.