“Well I just thought I’d let you know.” I turned and stepped off the stoop, unsure of how to say good-bye. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Walker.” As I walked past the little boy in the front yard, I pointed and turned back. “Is this Deon or Dice?”
The mother didn’t respond, but Tanisha answered. “Dice.”
That’s too bad, I thought.
As I pulled into the driveway at the Judge’s house, I called Schmitty and filled him in on the conversation. Then I slowly extricated myself from the car. It had been a hard day, and my body wasn’t happy. I walked around to the back of the house. My mother was in the kitchen working on a late dinner. She was washing and chopping vegetables. Everything smelled like garlic.
I took in the aromas. “Now that’s a nice way to come home.”
She picked up a handful of onions and carrots and tossed them into the Dutch oven on the stove. The vegetables sighed as they hit the hot oil. “Do my best.”
“Sammy in the library with the Judge?”
“Always.” My mother set the timer and then picked a bowl off the counter. She emptied the chopped green and yellow zucchini within it into the Dutch oven with the onions and carrots. She stirred it a few times, lowered the temperature, and turned back to me. “Long day?”
I nodded as I walked over to the refrigerator. I removed a beer and opened it. Then I started to pull out a barstool from underneath the kitchen island, but thought better of it. I remained standing and watched my mother fuss over the vegetables. “That boy I was looking for was found, but not in a good way.”
“What do you mean?” My mother turned. She saw the expression on my face. “Oh.” She nodded. “Understood.”
“Probably nine or ten bodies buried near Castlewood State Park.” I took a sip of beer. “One of the bodies was the boy I was looking for. Not quite sure what I’m supposed to do now.”
“Up to you.”
My mother often said stuff like that. It was both maddening and reassuring at the same time. She picked up a big salt shaker and added some salt to the vegetables, then turned the heat down even further to let them sweat. “I think you did a wonderful thing, helping that little girl out, but you probably have other cases.”
I laughed. “Unfortunately, I don’t, really.” I put my beer down and started picking at the label, thinking about money and the fading hope that I was going to be able to afford an air conditioner. “Sammy say anything about school?”
My mother shook her head.
Then I asked, “Talk to Dad?”
“I did.” My mom set down her wooden spoon and walked over to me. “He’s wondering what you’re going to do.”
I shrugged. “Lincoln’s the politician, not me. I don’t need a pity job.”
“Your father didn’t choose you to follow him out of pity.” My mom put her hand on my shoulder. “He made the decision because he respects you, and, as I recall, you once fancied yourself a politician.”
“Things change.”
My mother shook her head. “Not as much as you think.”
“Lincoln is furious.”
She nodded. “Feels betrayed. Thinks you may have known all along.”
“Hope you corrected him.”
“I tried.” My mother pursed her lips. “But you know Lincoln. He and Buster had some big plans, even thinking about the Senate after being a congressman for a few terms.”
“Well,” I said, “he’s got every right to be mad.”
My mother started to speak, but the timer went off. She walked back over to the oven, and peeked at the garlic chicken roasting inside. “You know that I’m not the pretty little housewife that keeps her opinions to herself and lets the men think all the big thoughts.”
I smiled. “Never were.”
“But I do know it’s your father’s decision, not mine.” My mother lifted the chicken out of the oven and set it on top of the stove. The smell of garlic in the room became stronger. “Love both you and Lincoln. You’re both wonderful. You’re both different, and that’s fine.”
Then my mother turned to me. She looked me directly in the eye. “But you need to seriously think about this. You have a lot to offer, and you’ve got a daughter in there that believes you can do or be anything.” She paused. “Wouldn’t it be nice to serve our community, fight the good fight, and pay the bills?”
She came back to me and put her hand on my cheek. “Just think about it. That’s all. Think hard about it. Lincoln will be fine. There will be other opportunities.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I heard a car pull up and park in the alley as I tucked Sammy into bed. “Good night.” I wanted to lean over and kiss her on the forehead, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. Even after a fresh round of pills, the pain wasn’t fully dulled. “Anything else you need to talk to me about?”
Sammy shook her head. “Nope.”
“OK.” I took her hand and gave it a squeeze, then started for the door. As I turned out the light, Sammy said that she loved me.
I stopped. “Love you, too, sweetheart.”
“Glad you’re moving a little better today.”
“A little bit,” I lied, but I was really thinking about what I couldn’t tell her about my day, where I’d been and what I’d seen. A grove of bodies with no explanation.
I held the railing and walked carefully down the steps to the door of the carriage house, and I peeked through the small window beside it. Annie was waiting on the darkened doorstep, scrolling through her e-mails and texts on her cell phone. Never a wasted minute for the mayor.
I set aside my annoyance and opened the door. She came inside, and as I leaned in to kiss her, she moved away, walking past me.
“OK,” I said. “Guess there’s no time for that lovey-dovey stuff tonight.”
“Got that right.” I followed her through the small entryway and into the kitchen, where she opened the refrigerator and found a bottle of beer. “Want one?”
“Already had a couple with dinner, so I’m fine.” I studied her from just inside the room. “You, on the other hand, don’t seem so fine.”
“No.” Annie opened a drawer, found the bottle opener, and removed the cap. “Not fine.” She looked at me and then away. In the light of the kitchen, I could now see that she’d been crying.
“Tell me about it.” I walked over to the little kitchen table and sat. At first Annie didn’t follow, but eventually she collected herself enough to be within a few feet of me.
She settled into the chair across from me and closed her eyes. There was a silence that seemed like forever, and then she looked me in the eye and asked a question. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Right now?” I shrugged. “Trying to figure out where you’re coming from. Not a kiss. Not a hello. Not even a ‘How’s your day?’ You call me, wanting to meet up. I say OK. You don’t follow up. I hear nothing, so . . . now you’re here, obviously mad.”