“Never had a reason to.” Mona crushed out the remains of her cigarette, emptying the last ribbon of smoke from her lungs. Her chair scraped against the floor and she left the room.
I kicked the door with my bare foot. Had I expected anything more from her? She never waited up because she was never here.
A moment later, Mona returned, carrying a stack of clean towels and a hairbrush.
“Sit down.” She pulled out a chair and gestured with the brush, filling me with déjà vu. Gena had given me the same command a few hours ago. Now her ruined dress clung cold to my skin, and I’d lost her damn shoes. She was going to kill me. The thought was so absurd I choked on hysterical laughter. Gena wouldn’t have a chance to kill me. I’d be behind bars for the rest of my life.
I dropped wearily into the chair. My raw nerves jumped when a towel snapped next to my ear and wrapped around my bare shoulders, followed by the pull of a brush through my hair. She was careful not to touch me. Even so, I tensed, waiting for my mother to scream, to find a long bloody strand, for the towel to turn pink. But the brush kept up its rhythm. It was the same kind of brush she’d used when I was a girl and caught on the tangles with every stroke, but she expertly worked it through. It eased the blistering pain in my head. My heavy lids closed, fatigue consuming me.
Mona worked in silence to the crush of rain against the roof, to the soft pitter-patter of water dripping from my hem to the linoleum floor. The seconds ticked away. I wasn’t sure how many I had left.
“You said Dad had a record. I want to know what it was.”
She was quiet, the only sound the rustle of the brush. “Once you know something about a person, you can’t unknow it.”
“I already know about the fake IDs in his wallet. I know he had phony credit cards and used different names. But I want to know who he was. Not those other people he was pretending to be. I want to know why he left.”
The brush paused and I heard the snap of her lighter. The soft suck of air into her lungs. She tapped out her ash and set her cigarette in the tray, careful to push it away from me. “I don’t suppose if I tell you, it’ll be enough to keep you from making the same mistake I made.”
I wasn’t sure of the answer. Whose mistakes was I really making? Hers or his? “What was he like?” I asked.
She thought for a moment, and I thought I heard her smile. “We were sixteen when we met. He was sweep-youoff-your-feet handsome. And smooth. Charmed the pants right off me. I’d only known him a month when I followed him right out of my parents’ house.” She pulled at the memories with deep long strokes. “It was a nice house. Safe,” she said. “I don’t remember my parents ever locking the door.” She sounded younger, softer, the raspy edge almost gone. “Then why’d you leave?”
I felt her shake her head. Heard the distant, less critical voice of retrospect. Different from the sharp jabs she usually threw at his name. “Don’t know what it was about David, except that he could hold your hand and know exactly what you were feeling.”
I’d been listening before, but now I prickled under the brush.
“He was always holding me, back then . . . in the beginning. Before we grew up and things got hard.”
“What do you mean? How’d things get hard?”
She was quiet for a moment, as if she was giving me time to change my mind. Giving me one last chance not to know. I sat on the edge of my chair, hungry for her answer.
“Your father was charismatic,” she finally said. “He had a way with people. He always nailed the interviews, but could never hold a job. Floated from one to another, but he was always grifting. Finding ways to play off people’s emotions. It was like he could see right through them. They trusted him. Some days his ability to read people paid off big. Others, well . . . That’s what got him in trouble.” She brushed while she talked. I felt her shake her head. “I kept telling him he was in over his head, that it was only a matter of time before he took advantage of the wrong people, but he didn’t listen. He was hooked on the rush. Drunk on the money. He couldn’t see the lives he was destroying.
“One day, the police came to the door with a warrant. He was using some guy’s company as a front to launder money. The guy was loaded. Big house on the golf course in Belle Green. David met him at a poker game one night. Said as soon as they shook hands, he knew they’d get along.
“Before I know it, they’re thick as thieves . . . organized gambling rings, extortion, laundering. Until they got caught. That was the last time I saw your father. He left me a note, took the car across the state line into the city, and caught the first plane to who-the-hell-knows. Never came home.