To Love and to Perish

TWENTY-THREE


I HAD SPAGHETTI SAUCE and pasta bubbling on the stove around seven o’clock, expecting Danny and Ray to walk through the door at any moment after Danny’s visit with Mr. Phillips. As I ran a knife through a loaf of Italian bread, the phone rang. Hoping to hear Ray’s voice, I tucked the phone under my chin and kept on slicing.

It was Erica. “We’re going to the funeral.”

“What funeral?”

“Wayne Engles.’”

I nicked my finger with the knife. A drop of blood blossomed on its tip. I grabbed a paper towel to wrap around it. “Why?”

“Maury and I found his body. We feel responsible for him. Maury’s going to bring a huge bouquet of roses. It’s good karma to see him to rest.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What’s wrong with roses?”

“Nothing.” Except Maury’s obsession with them, that is. I’d thought it only extended itself to presents for women, but apparently in his book, roses were appropriate for every occasion. “It’s not the roses. Wayne Engle was murdered, Erica, most likely by someone he knows well. His killer might be at the funeral. You and Maury don’t need to be rubbing elbows with a killer.”

“We’ll be rubbing elbows with the same people you and Cory met. Maybe a few more. You two are safe enough. I’m sure we will be, too.”

I couldn’t think of a response to that. Instead, I tried a diversionary tactic. “How do you know when his funeral is anyway? Maybe it’s for family only.”

“It’s Wednesday morning at ten. The medical examiner released his body today, and his office released a statement regarding the funeral. It’s open to anyone. He didn’t have any immediate family. Isn’t that sad?”

He had a godson, Matthew Gleason, who might be a suspect in his murder. I refrained from sharing that information with Erica. It would be just like her to go to the funeral and sidle up to him first.

“Besides, isn’t Ray going to attend? He was the first one to respond to the scene.”

I really didn’t want to get into the fact that Ray wasn’t assigned to the case. “Erica, I just don’t think you guys should go.”

“Mom does. And last time I listened to you instead of her, and look what happened.”

Mom trumped me again. Pretty good for a ghost, not that I believed in ghosts. “Okay, well, keep your eyes open.” And your mouth shut. Not likely, knowing Erica.

“I will. I’m planning to get the names of everyone who attends.”

She hung up before I could ask her how she intended to do that. Did I really want to know?

I went toward the guest bathroom, looking for a bandage to cover the prick in my finger. The front door opened as I passed through the living room. Danny burst through it, tossed his fleece on a wall hook, and slouched past me with his backpack in hand.

“Hi, Danny. How was your day?”

He grunted. His bedroom door closed in my face.

Ray came in and stopped when he saw me in the middle of the room. “Where’s Danny?”

“In his room.”

“Tell him to get out here and set the table. He needs to learn what it means to have responsibility and work for a living.” Ray passed me and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open and close, then the top pop off a beer bottle.

I decided to continue into the bath and bandage my finger, hoping they’d both settle down with some breathing room. When I returned to the kitchen, Ray occupied one of the breakfast bar stools, his elbows on the bar, head cupped in his hands. His beer sat untouched in front of him.

I rubbed my hand over his back. For years, I’d rubbed this man’s back almost every night. He was obviously upset and didn’t know what to do. “What happened when Danny saw his father?”

Ray lifted his head from his hands and took a long pull on his beer. “I don’t know. He won’t tell me.”

“Oh.” I massaged his shoulders with both hands, feeling the knots of tension.

“He did ask me if we would pay his father’s bail.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I asked him if his father put him up to asking me for the money.”

“And?”

“He said ‘no.’ Then he told me he hated me.”

“Who hates you? Mr. Phillips?”

“Danny.”

I let go of Ray’s shoulders and headed over to stir the pots on the stove. “You’ve heard that before. We both have. He doesn’t mean it.”

Erica used to tell me all the time that she hated me, especially after I’d driven off one of the guys she rutted with on the couch or after I’d refused to give her money. No parent ever got through a kid’s life without hearing it at least once or twice. Ray’s brother said it to him a million times. I’d have thought he’d be insulated from the sting of the words by now. Ray must care more about Danny than Sean. Of course, Sean was his younger brother, not his child. Their mother made all the final decisions for Sean.

Ray slid off the stool. “I’m going to get changed. Tell Danny to set the table.”

I resented being ordered about, as I was sure Danny would, too. Ray always got very drill sergeant-like when upset. It was his defense mechanism, but I didn’t welcome or enjoy it. I liked to make my own decisions. But I’d overlook his behavior for now.

Danny didn’t reply when I knocked on his door. I opened it and entered his room anyway. He lay on the bed, hands clasped behind his head.

I sat on the edge of his bed. “How’s your dad?”

“Okay.”

“Did you talk for a long time?”

“Not really. He said Catherine Thomas is his lawyer. He said to thank you for calling her.”

“No problem. She was happy to do it.”

“My dad’s sharing a cell with Brennan in the regular jail.”

Then they’d been moved out of holding cells after their arraignments and into the mass population, which consisted of many others from all over awaiting trial.

“Is that a problem?” I knew it might be. Danny had parroted Mr. Phillips’ prejudices when he came to live with us. Cory had to win Danny’s friendship. Everyone loved Cory, but Brennan and Mr. Phillips in the same cell might be awkward at best.

“No. He knows Cory and Brennan are my friends. Brennan knows he’s my dad, too.”

I nodded. “What else did your dad say?”

“He said Brennan talks in his sleep. He has nightmares and wakes up screaming.”

“How awful. Does your dad understand anything he says?”

“Yeah, he talks about a baby and the deer and his dad and he screams a girl’s name, Monica. Isn’t that the girl who died in the car crash?”

“Yes, it is.” I didn’t know what to make of Brennan’s dream. Could his hidden memories be coming back to him in his sleep? Perhaps our theory about Monica, Wayne Engle, and Matthew was correct. The deer were new. Maybe one had ventured into the road in front of them, causing the crash? It was hard to go very far on the country roads around here without seeing deer. I wondered if the reunion had been out in the countryside near Albany. Surely the crash had been if it took so long for another car to come by and find them. “Anything else?”

“My dad told Brennan what he says in his sleep. He said Brennan doesn’t remember, but he can tell Brennan knows he wakes up screaming and all sweaty and feeling scared.”

“That’s too bad. He’s under a lot of pressure right now. It probably affects his sleep.” I wondered if Brennan needed a psychiatrist and if he’d gotten any counseling after the crash all those years ago. Killing a woman, especially one he cared about, and seriously injuring another, even if by accident, was a heavy burden to carry through life. It seemed like it was all coming to rain on him now.

“Yeah.” Danny didn’t seem to want to talk about it any further.

“Listen, can you set the table? Dinner’s almost ready. We’re having spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Okay.” Danny rolled off the bed and followed me into the kitchen where Ray had finished slicing the loaf of bread. He put it on the table and watched as Danny pulled dishes from the cupboard for the table. His intent gaze made Danny uncomfortable. I could tell by the way he kept his eyes averted from Ray. When everything was set, I dished up the spaghetti and placed it on the table along with a tossed salad.

Ray and Danny ate in silence. I tried to start a conversation a couple times, but they kept their answers to a minimum, effectively dissuading me from trying again. My bread felt like chalk in my mouth; the spaghetti repulsed me. The only thing I felt like cutting with my knife was the tension in the room.

After dinner, Ray made Danny wash the dishes. When Danny clattered the pots in the sink rebelliously, Ray lit into him, lecturing him on attitude, which only made Danny’s mood just that much worse. By eight o’clock, Danny had disappeared into his room and closed the door. I hoped he was doing his homework but chose not to ask.

Tuesday morning was a repeat of Monday night. No conversation at the table. Danny scraped his dishes loudly, expressing his underlying hostility toward Ray, who responded defensively with more lectures, which only made Danny slam the door on the way out of the house. I couldn’t wait to escape to work, where I shared my troubles with Cory, including what Danny learned from his father.

I felt better. But Cory exhibited some strain of his own later in the day.

“Have you seen my metric wrench set?”

My fingers stopped moving over the adding machine keys long enough for me to look Cory in the eye, conveying the ridiculousness of the question. I never touched his stuff. “No.”

He cast his gaze about my office as though he didn’t believe me. Absurd. I even had my own screwdriver to take plates on and off cars. We had a division of labor, and my labor never required his tools.

“I can’t find them and I need them to finish Mrs. Mooney’s Volkswagen. Dammit.” Cory never swore. As a matter of fact, he’d tried to help me break the habit I’d learned at the feet of the master, my father, a very sweet man with a potty mouth.

“They have to be here.” I got up to help him search for the wrenches.

Two minutes later I found the set in the bathroom. When I handed them to Cory and told him, he scrunched his brow, “Did I go in there? I went to … I had to … oh, crap.”

“TMI, Cory. TMI.”

He blushed. “That’s not what I meant.”

I laughed. “I know. Take a break. Come in the office and have a cup of coffee.”

He poured fresh coffee into his travel mug from the pot we kept going all day in the showroom. It was for him primarily, since I didn’t drink coffee and Asdale Auto Imports attracted very few walk-in customers. I wished I’d stopped to pick up donuts on the way into work, but it had been his turn. He’d forgotten, another sign he wasn’t himself.

“What’s bothering you, Cory? Are you worried about Brennan and his nightmares?”

He sighed. “Not exactly. But I’ve been thinking about what you told me this morning. I keep replaying our conversation with Catherine yesterday, about how Matthew looks like Monica Gleason. And now you told me Brennan has nightmares about a baby. You know, I couldn’t take my eyes off Matthew Gleason the day we met him. There’s something about him …”

I waited for Cory to continue. When he gazed at the ceiling instead, I prompted him along. “I noticed you stared at him, twice. What is it about him?”

“The way he holds his head. His smile. His mannerisms. His voice.”

“What about them?”

Cory set his coffee on the desk and leaned in. “He reminds me of Brennan.”

I felt my jaw go slack. “Brennan?”

Cory nodded. “I think Brennan is Matthew’s father.”