Hush (18 page)

"That might not be a bad idea."

She unbuttoned her shirt cuffs, then rolled
up her sleeves.

What now?

On her upturned wrists were more scars.
"These weren't done by the Madonna Murderer," she stated without
emotion. "They were done by me."

She rolled her sleeves back down, looking as
if she'd just finished with a sinkful of dirty dishes. "I spent two
years in a Canadian mental institution. Do you know what kept me
going, what made me decide that I wanted to live? Knowing he was
still out there somewhere, hibernating but ready to strike again. I
educated myself. I learned what I had to learn so that I could find
the madman. Don't take that away from me."

"For some reason, your updated resume is
failing to impress me. None of what you've told me fits the job
description. Let me get this straight. Are you threatening to kill
yourself if I pull you from the case?"

"Don't be absurd. If you pull me from the
case I'll go to the press, tell them who I am, then sit and wait
for the Madonna Murderer to show up. And when he does, I'll kill
him.

"Any interest in going for a drive?"

The voice at the other end of the line
belonged to Max Irving. It was Sunday morning, and Ivy, who had
stayed up half the night mulling over the case, was still in
bed.

"A drive?" she asked, trying to sound wide
awake, trying to pull her head together.

"Ethan and I are going for a drive north of
Chicago. I thought you might like to come with us. Get out of your
apartment for a while."

Her answer came without hesitation. "I'd love
to."

It had been two days since she'd revealed her
true identity to Max, and although on the surface things between
them hadn't changed, she was aware of an undercurrent of mutual
respect that hadn't existed before.

"We'll pick you up in an hour," Max said.

"I'll wait for you in front."

After hanging up, Ivy turned on the
television, going directly to the weather channel. A cool front had
moved in overnight, and the daytime temperatures weren't supposed
to get above the high seventies. She took a bath and got dressed,
putting on a pair of jeans and a black top with
three-quarter-length sleeves. On her feet she wore jogging
shoes.

Max arrived on time. Introductions were made,
and Ivy's breath was taken away by Max's son. He was beautiful,
with blond hair and Scandinavian features, high cheekbones and blue
eyes. He looked nothing like Max, who was as dark as Ethan was
light.

"Hi," he said, getting out of the front seat
of Max's two-door car. He was reserved but polite.

"I'll get in back," she said insistently.

Max, who stood near the driver's door, shot
his son a look, and Ivy could see her position in the car had
already been discussed.

"That's okay," Ethan told her, sliding in.
"I'd rather sit in back."

She didn't want to start out by making an
issue of where she should sit, so she got into the passenger seat,
quickly finding her seat belt and adjusting it.

It was one of those perfect days, a day with
a cloudless sky and air that was clear and remarkably
pollution-free.

They drove north on Sheridan Road, following
the Lake Michigan shoreline.

"Is this too windy?" Ivy asked, looking at
Ethan over her shoulder. She had her window cracked a couple of
inches.

He pulled off his headphones, and she
repeated her question. He shook his head. From his attitude, she
discerned that he didn't consider her a pain in the ass—he just
didn't consider her at all.

"What are you listening to?" she asked.

"Neil Young."

"Ah, another Canadian. Canada is known for
its good musicians too," she said, shooting a glance in Max's
direction in a teasing reference to their first meeting. For Max,
he looked relaxed, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

"Do you know a lot about Canada?" Ethan
asked, showing a little more interest in her.

"I live in Ontario," she said. "In a little
town called St. Sebastian." She told him about the university where
she taught. "It's a beautiful campus, lots of stone buildings."

"I saw Neil Young in concert. He opened for
Pearl Jam."

"I saw Neil Young in concert too. Years and
years ago."

"Have you ever been to Toronto?" he
asked.

"Several times. It's only ninety miles from
my house. A beautiful city, but I hate the traffic."

"Is it worse than Chicago?"

"Much."

"Have you been to the Hockey Hall of
Fame?"

She smiled. "No, but I've heard of it. I've
seen things about it on the news."

"Ethan and I are planning to go there
sometime," Max said, keeping his eyes on the road.

Ethan didn't reply. Instead, he dropped back
in the seat and replaced his headphones.

They stopped and bought sandwiches and
drinks, taking them to a park near the Grosse Point Lighthouse.
Once there, they found a picnic table overlooking the lake.

When they were finished eating, Max got a
Frisbee out of the trunk and tossed it to Ethan. He caught it, but
didn't toss it back.

"Come on," Max said. "You used to love to
play Frisbee."

"I used to shit my diapers too, but I don't
do that anymore."

Max laughed. "Throw it to me."

Ethan threw it.

Max caught it, then tossed it to Ivy, who was
unprepared and missed.

Laughing, she got to her feet and ran after
the Frisbee, picked it up and threw it to Ethan.

They played for about fifteen minutes.

After that, they toured the lighthouse, then
walked along the beach.

"Remember the time we came here with Grandma
and Grandpa Irving?" Ethan asked his dad.

In the last hour, a transformation had come
over him. He was smiling and laughing and having fun. "Grandma
waded out in the water, then she saw the SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK sign
that said the water had a high level of bacteria in it. She was out
in half a second, running all weird. Running toward the car,
yelling at grandpa to quick, get the baby wipes. There were all
these people around—a lot more than today—and it looked like, you
know, like she'd shit her pants."

Max was laughing too, but now he apparently
had to try to rein it in. He'd let Ethan get away with the shitting
his diapers comment, but now, when Ethan's grandmother was
involved, Max must have felt compelled to play parent. "You
shouldn't talk about your grandmother like that."

"You know it was true. You know that's what
everybody was thinking. Grandma thought it was funny too. Remember?
She's probably still telling her buddies in Florida about it."

"She's your grandmother," Max reminded
him.

"I know—"

Suddenly Ethan's expression changed. "Don't
you mean your mother?" His smile vanished, and the light in his
eyes was extinguished. He swung around and walked purposely down
the shoreline, away from Max and Ivy.

"This parent thing is tough," Max said, "but
I didn't think I could let that one go by."

"He's a nice kid," Ivy said. "I'm not just
saying that. Some kids I know are absolute brats, and I have to he
and tell their parents that they're charming, because who wants to
hear that their kid is spoiled and obnoxious? Like you said,
parenting is tough. There are no solid answers."

"We don't get along like we used to," Max
said with regret in his voice. "I know that's the way it is with
teenagers, but it's hard to deal with. I'll be glad when he
outgrows this phase."

"Often there's a basis for teenage angst.
Teenagers have a tendency to overreact, and when something does
bother them, they don't verbalize it. Even among themselves, teens
rarely talk about real issues."

"He's gotten touchy lately about the fact
that he's adopted."

Ethan was adopted? That explained why father
and son looked nothing alike.

Max told her about Ethan's mother, and about
how he'd come to adopt Ethan. It would have taken a lot of guts to
do what Max had done.

"I keep wondering if we should get a dog,"
Max said, watching Ethan in the distance. "We used to have one, but
it died last year. Old age. He was just a couple years younger than
Ethan. I keep thinking we'll get a new one, that a dog would be
good for Ethan, but neither of us is home enough to give a puppy
the kind of care it requires. Maybe when this case is over. But
then I think in another two years Ethan will be gone to college, so
maybe we shouldn't get a dog at all.”

"What does Ethan think about it?"

Max thought a moment. "I don't know."

"Are you sure you two live in the same
house?"

"I didn't ask you along so you could
psychoanalyze my relationship with my son." He was beginning to
sound more irritated with her than with Ethan.

"You aren't annoyed because Ethan and I were
carrying on a conversation, are you?"

"I have to admit you displayed an uncanny
skill for targeting in on his obsession. It was almost scary."

"Are you talking about music?"

"Dangle music in front of him and you can
lead him anywhere. For a minute, I thought we were going to get
into one of those who-I've-seen-in-concert scenarios."

"Do you like music?"

"I used to. When I was young. Then I got too
busy for it."

"So do you look on music as something
frivolous?"

He thought about that a moment. "Maybe
so."

"Music is art, and art is an integral part of
the human experience."

He stopped and stared at her in a threatening
way. "Does everything always have to turn into something deep?
Can't it simply be that I don't like music?"

"Doesn't it seem strange that the very thing
you trivialize is the very thing Ethan is crazy about?"

"You're reading too much into it."

On the way back to Chicago, Ethan was quiet.
Ivy turned to look at him and saw he was asleep—or at least he
appeared to be asleep, his head tipped back, eyes closed.

Half an hour later, he said, "Pull over. I
have to throw up."

"There's no shoulder," Max said, sounding
amazingly calm.

"I have to puke!"

There was no window in the backseat so Ivy
quickly rolled down the passenger-side window. Ethan leaned
forward, stuck his head out, and threw up. A car roared past, its
windshield wipers going, horn blaring to finally fade into the
distance.

The road widened and Max was finally able to
pull to the side. As soon as the car stopped, Ethan bailed out,
followed by Max and Ivy.

"Get away," Ethan said, swinging his arm
behind him. "Nobody needs to watch me."

Max and Ivy looked at each other, then got
back in the car.

A few minutes later, Ethan walked over to the
car and got in, collapsing in the backseat, his face pale, his
shirt removed and clutched in his hands.

"You okay?" Max asked.

"Yeah. Let's go."

"Do you think it was the sandwich?" Ivy
asked. "I don't feel sick. Do you?" That question was directed to
Max.

"It's car sickness," Ethan said, sounding
embarrassed. "Let's just go. I just wanna get home."

"Why didn't you tell me you get carsick?" she
asked, while at the same time Max said, "I thought you'd outgrown
that."

"Apparently not," was Ethan's dry
comment.

"You have to ride in the front seat," Ivy
said, opening her door.

"I'm okay now."

"Please." Then to Max, "Max, he has to ride
in the front."

"Jesus," Ethan said. "If it'll make you
happy."

They quickly switched places, with Ivy
settling in back, behind Max.

When they arrived at her apartment, it was
almost ten o'clock.

"I'm sorry you got sick," Ivy said as she got
out of the car.

Ethan smiled. "That was pretty funny stuff
though," he said, surprising her with direct eye contact. "I puked
on that car's windshield."

Ivy nodded, smiling at the memory. "Funny
stuff."

"Do you like her?" Ethan asked his father as
they pulled away.

"She's my partner," Max said, for lack of a
better definition.

"Is that all?"

"That's all."

Max hadn't done a whole lot of dating over
the years. He'd mainly done a lot of running away from the women
who pursued him. There had been a defense attorney he'd seen for
two years. Another was Ethan's pediatrician, who had pursued him so
relentlessly that he'd given up and gone out with her. Both women
were smart and charming—but highly stressed. The mix hadn't been
right. In both cases, it had produced a clash of two highly
stressed individuals, with the catalyst for those stresses being
such polar opposites that the relationships never had a chance.

"Why'd you ask her along today?" Ethan
asked.

"She doesn't know anybody in Chicago and
doesn't have a car, so I thought she might like to get out."

"Okay," Ethan said, not sounding
convinced.

"I assure you, the only thing she'd want to
do with me is use me for target practice. And by the way, I am your
father, and that makes my mother your grandmother."

Ethan crossed his arms over his chest.
"Whatever."

Max's strategy had always been to avoid
confrontational issues, but Ivy's earlier comments came back to
him, and he found himself saying, "Why are you pushing me away? Why
are you deliberately trying to alienate yourself?"

"I don't want to talk about this."

"I do."

"Are you saying I have to discuss it? Is that
an order? A command? Will you ground me longer, continue to not let
me drive, if I don't talk to you?"

So much for Ivy's advice, Max thought,
wishing he hadn't brought up the subject of Ethan's attitude.
Interrogating cold-blooded killers was easier than arguing with his
son.