Daddy's Girl (8 page)

T
he country sky was ice blue and so cold that even the sun was keeping its distance. The Saunders house was the only one on this winding road, and it was surrounded by an expanse of frosted white snow, broken only by dark, barren trees, their branches heavy with snow. Nat parked her red Volvo down the street from the house, finding a space only at the end of a long row of salt-sprayed parked cars. She twisted off the ignition and eyed Angus, sitting in the passenger seat.

“It looks like she has a houseful,” Nat said, stating the obvious. “I wonder if it makes sense to do this now.”

“The mother asked you to come today.” Angus flashed her an encouraging smile. “You’ll do fine.”

“Thanks, Coach.” Nat reached behind the seat for her purse, and they got out of the car. There were no sidewalks, so they walked in the street, which had been recently plowed. Snow sat piled along the side of the road in powdery triangles, clean as spooned sugar. Nat held her camelhair coat closed at her neck, missing her serviceable wool toggle, which she’d left at the prison. Angus shoved his hands in his jeans, with only his sweater and his beard to keep him warm.

They made their way up the street, their breath frosty, their shoes crunching road salt and ice. Nat’s stomach tensed as they approached the house, a modest white rancher with forest green trim and a tan garage door. The driveway, on the left side of the house, was parked up with an older Honda and a Toyota SUV, and in the side yard, a snow-covered metal swing set waited for summer. Nat took the lead as they walked up the side of the driveway. She could hear noise as they got closer to the house.

“Don’t worry,” Angus said as they reached the white metal door, its screens replaced with storm windows, and Nat knocked. A minute later, the door was opened by a young woman with strawberry blond hair, wearing a black knit top and jeans. Her gaze shifted from Nat to Angus; she was plainly frowning at their wounds. In other circumstances, Nat would have gone with “trick or treat.”

“I’m Nat Greco, and this is my colleague, Angus Holt.”

“Oh, jeez, of course. Nice to meet you,” the woman said, chastened. She extended a hand to them both. “Jennifer Paradis. Please, come in.” She stood aside, opening the door wide and motioning them through. “My mom’s expecting you, too. She’s in the kitchen.”

Nat thanked her and they followed her into a warm, paneled living room crammed with people. Men stood talking, holding clear plastic glasses, and women gathered together, balancing paper plates that sagged under roast beef sandwiches on hamburger buns and thick squares of casserole. An oversized projection TV played
SpongeBob SquarePants
on mute, though a bunch of kids watched it anyway, sitting rapt in a circle. Two little girls sprawled nearby on the brown shag rug, their legs splayed carelessly as they crayoned in coloring books. Nat and Angus made their way through the crowd, and heads turned as they passed. Angus’s ponytail and big bruise drew more than a few stares, but the mourners smiled at Nat as if they knew her.

“They’re all C.O.s,” Angus murmured under his breath, and Nat saw a balding man waving from near the TV. He threaded his way to her and shook her hand.

“I heard you tried to save Ron. He was a good friend of mine, and I thank you for your efforts. We all do.”

“You’re welcome.” Nat’s voice caught, with surprise. They walked on and entered a small eat-in kitchen filled with the delicious aroma of baked ham. Pyrex dishes of scalloped potatoes, macaroni and cheese, spinach lasagna, sliced eye roast, and other comfort foods covered every surface, though they did little to comfort at times like these.

“Mom, she’s here,” Jennifer said, and an older woman in red reading glasses, a black cardigan, and black stretch pants looked up from the double sink, where she’d been draining a can of Acme pineapple slices.

“Ms. Greco, my goodness, excuse me.” She set down the can and tugged at a beaded lorgnette, so that her glasses tumbled from her nose and to her soft chest. She dried her hands hastily on a thin dishcloth and took Nat’s hand in hers, clasping it. “I’m Clare Cracy, Barb’s mother. Thank you so much for coming, and for what you did for Ron.”

“You’re welcome, and my deepest condolences.” Nat introduced Angus again, as one little boy chased another into the kitchen, yelling for his Game Boy. Jennifer took off after them.

“My grandchildren have a lot of energy. We feed them too well.” Mrs. Cracy smiled, then looked again at Nat and Angus. “Goodness, the two of you are the walking wounded.”

“We’re fine.” Nat was feeling tense again. “Is your daughter around?”

“Barb’s upstairs resting, but she wants to see you.”

“If she’s not up to it, I could come back another time.”

“No, she’s waiting for you. Come with me.” Mrs. Cracy faced Angus, gesturing to the food. “I’ll come right back and fix you a ham sandwich. It’s honey baked.”

“I’ve eaten, thanks.” Angus winked at Nat. “I’ll wait for you here.”

Mrs. Cracy led the way from the kitchen and back through the crowd, and Nat felt every pair of eyes on her as she climbed the shag-carpeted stairs and disappeared from their view, into the darkness of a second-floor hallway. Leading her, Mrs. Cracy said, “We keep the lights off because Barb gets migraines when she’s under stress. It’s the second door, up ahead.”

“Poor thing. How terrible.”

“She’s had them since she was a little girl. Light is a big no-no. No caffeine or chocolate, either.” Mrs. Cracy continued down the hall, and Nat almost bumped into her when the older woman stopped short and opened a door. “Barb, honey?” she whispered. Over Mrs. Cracy’s shoulder, Nat could see that the bedroom looked unusually dark, with blackout shades drawn almost all the way down, flanked by white sheers.

“Yeah, Ma?” a weak voice said.

“She’s here. How’re you?”

“Good, so far. It’s holding off. Let her come in. Are the kids okay?”

“They’re fine. That Game Boy is worth every penny.”

“Can I see her? She’s there?”

“Right here.” Mrs. Cracy put a gentle hand on Nat’s elbow and guided her forward.

“Hi, Barb. I’m Nat Greco.” She entered the bedroom, feeling completely intrusive.

“Come on in. I’m the Princess of Darkness.” Barb Saunders propped herself up on two pillows on a king-size bed, in a formless gray sweatsuit. She finger-raked her short light hair in the darkness. “Mom, you can go. Thanks.”

“You need more water, honey?”

“Got plenty.” Barb motioned to Nat. “Please, come in. I’d turn on a lamp but I get migraines. I’m trying to hold one off.”

“I’m so sorry.” Nat entered the room, hovering by the bed as the door closed softly behind her. The bedroom was simply furnished, with an oak chest of drawers on the left wall and a long mirror above it. Photos and a brown jewelry box sat on the dresser, a man’s white T-shirt spilled from a plastic hamper onto the shaggy rug, and a child’s plastic helicopter lay on its side nearby. A roll of toilet paper sat on the bed and wads of it dotted the floral bedspread. Nat didn’t want to think about how long Barb Saunders had been crying. She said, “I hate to bother you today. So soon.”

“No, please. You’re the only one I wanted to see. As soon as I heard about you, I was praying you’d call.” Barb gathered the toilet paper balls and patted the bed beside her. “Would you mind sitting here? My head hurts too much to sit up.”

“This is fine. Don’t bother yourself.” Nat perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed. In the dim light she could see the roundish face of a pretty woman, with puffy eyes, maybe blue, and a small, upturned nose that also looked slightly swollen. Her mouth was a Cupid’s bow, drawn with grief at the corners. “I’m so sorry about your loss.”

“Thanks. Oh…boy.” Barb’s hand went to her forehead, and Nat could see her wincing in the dark, her forehead buckling in apparent pain.

“Are you okay?”

“Hold on. Are you wearing perfume?”

“Yes.” Nat didn’t have to think. She always wore perfume. Today, her Sarah Jessica Parker.

“Oh no.” Barb held her forehead again and eased back onto the pillows.

“What. What is it?”

“Smells like that, they help bring it on.”

“Your migraine? Oh, no! I’m so sorry.” Nat jumped up instantly, backing away. “Maybe this isn’t the best time. I can come back.”

“But I want…to talk to you. I just want to hear how…it was for him, at the end. You were with him, right? At the end? I mean…the very end?”

“Yes, I was with him.” Nat felt stricken, standing off from the bed. Could she do one damn thing right? “Listen, I think I should come back.”

Barb let out a low moan, in frustration and pain. “I waited too long to take the Imitrex, and now it’s not working.”

“This is too much of a strain. Let’s not do this now. Let me come back another day. Whenever you want me to. I want to talk to you, too.”

“Tomorrow’s the viewing, then the funeral. But how about the day after that?”

“Sure, fine.” Nat would find the time. She’d be here. The toy helicopter. The widow in pain. Saunders’s undershirt still in the hamper. It all hurt, and she hadn’t even known the poor man. She backed toward the bedroom door. “I’ll come back. It’s no problem.”

“Get my mom, would you?”

“Sure thing. See you.” Nat opened the bedroom door and hurried into the hall.

Relieved, and dismayed, that she had to go.

N
at and Angus threaded their way to the front door to leave, having gotten Mrs. Cracy upstairs to tend to Barb. The crowd in the living room had grown, and Nat had almost reached the door when she spotted a familiar man among them. At first she couldn’t place him, then she flashed on the same face in a different place and time. His brown hair in disarray. His eyes stricken with fear and shock. It was the C.O. who had come out of the room where Saunders and the inmate lay dead.

Nat willed the crowded living room back into focus. The C.O. was short but brawny, dressed in a blue flannel shirt worn under a black down vest, and he stood near the door with an Asian woman. His wavy brown hair looked as if it had been combed with water, his brown eyes were bracketed by crow’s-feet, and he had a faint red bump on his right cheek, near his eye. Angus must have seen him first, because he was already making his way to him. The C.O. started to shake his hand, but Angus wrapped him in a bear hug that only caused the man to stiffen. The crowd craned their necks.

“Natalie, meet Joe Graf.” Angus looked around to Nat, his eyes bright. “This man has a right hook you wouldn’t believe. He dropped Buford. I mean
dropped
him.”

Nat introduced herself. “I owe you, too, Mr. Graf. Thanks so much for getting me out of there yesterday. I don’t know what would have happened without you.”

“I was only doin’ my job.” Graf barely smiled, his mouth a tight line, as if he were self-conscious about his teeth. He turned to the petite Asian woman beside him who had a sorrowful expression. “This is my wife, Jai-Wen.”

“Pleased to meet you. Sorry it had to be on such a sad day.” Nat shook her hand, and the woman murmured a hello in accented English.

Graf shook his head. “I got Ron the job, you know. We worked together eleven years.”

“He is our best man.” Jai-Wen’s eyes shone with a film of fresh tears. She had a tiny black brush of a ponytail and wore a burgundy coat with her jeans and white snow boots. “I can’t believe he gone. Me and Barb always worry that something happen to Joe and Ron, and all the husband.”

“Let’s take this outside,” Graf said abruptly. “I need a smoke anyways.”

“Great, sure,” Angus said, as they said goodbye to Jai-Wen and went outside. They hit the cold air and closed the door behind them. Nat walked down the steps to the snowy front walk, and Angus shoved his hands in his pockets again.

“Cold enough for ya?” Graf reached inside his coat and pulled out a pack of Winstons with a green Bic lighter inside.

“Ten degrees colder than in the city.” Angus shifted his feet.

“Always that way.” Graf shook a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, blowing a cone of acrid smoke. “Everybody wants to know what happened yesterday. Lotta people ’round here work at the prison. It affects everybody.”

“I’m sure,” Angus said. “I never thought there’d be a riot there, or what happened to Natalie. I’m lucky you came when you did. I’m bigger than Buford, but I couldn’t take him. I tell you, that dude is
strong
.”

“He lifts, is why. Always in the weight room.”

“Tell me about it.” Angus didn’t smile. “I knew he was trouble from the jump. What I don’t understand is how he got in my class. He and Donnell, they were never in before. Machik is supposed to send me all the applications and he didn’t send me theirs.”

“Have to talk to him ’bout that.” Graf took another drag, sucking deeply.

Nat wanted to change the subject. “Joe, I want you to know that I wish I could have done more for Ron, and I’m sorry.”

“He was just doin’ his job, that’s what gets me. That’s what’s unfair.” Graf shook his head, coughing out a puff of smoke. “Nothin’ shoulda gone wrong. We were bringin’ Upchurch into the office to write him up for weed. Then the siren went off.”

Nat remembered, shuddering. The siren. The lockdown. Buford.

“Next thing I know, he pulls a shoe shank, a piece of metal they get outta shoes, and he stabs Ron in the chest.” Graf’s eyes narrowed to slits against the smoke and sun. “Upchurch was a troublemaker, but I never figured him for a killer. Then he tries to stab me, and we fought, and I was able to turn it on him.”

“I’m very sorry,” Nat said, shaken.

Graf kept his head down, smoking and saying nothing, and Nat and Angus exchanged quick glances. Suddenly Nat wished she smoked, too. It would get her through this conversation, but then she’d have to die.

Graf cleared his throat and finally raised his head, his flat lips unsmiling. “Heard you did CPR, Ms. Greco.”

“Please, call me Nat. I did. I tried CPR, but there was nothing I could do.”

“That your scarf they found on him?”

“Yes. I used it to stop the blood, but it didn’t help.”

“You tried that, too?” Graf managed a shaky smile. “What’d you think you were doing?”

Nat blinked, surprised at the hostility edging his tone. “God knows. Staunching the blood flow. I learned it in camp.”

“Camp?”

“Summer camp.” Nat knew how stupid it sounded, but it was true.

“You were with him a long time. I looked behind me, but you weren’t there. When I figured out what you were doin’, it gave me a little hope.” Graf dropped his head, blowing another cone of smoke, and Nat watched it curl up and disappear like a ghost in the cold wind.

“I tried for a long time. He was too far gone.”

“I never woulda lef’ him if I’d known he was alive.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Nat realized that Graf must be feeling the same guilt she did. Asking an identical array of what-ifs. “It doesn’t matter if I tried to save him or you did. Just know that everything was done to save him, and it didn’t work.”

“Talk is that I lef’ him to die, but I didn’t. I thought he was dead.”

“Of course you didn’t. I mean, he was dead.”

“Nobody thinks you’d do that, Joe,” Angus added. “You’re a hero. You saved us both.”

Graf snorted, smoke puffing from his nostrils. “That isn’t the way some people see it.”

Angus frowned. “What do you mean?”

“No offense, professor, but I got you two out and lef’ behind one of my own.”

“No, that’s not true,” Nat interjected. “He was dead, and I came and got you and begged you to go get Angus. You
had
to go. I mean, I was desperate. If you hadn’t gone, Angus would be dead, too.”

“That’s what I figured.” Graf nodded, squinting hard. “I mean, Ron
looked
dead. The wound was to the heart, direct, which is why I went out. I was kinda in shock when I saw you. You were screamin’ that you needed the help, so I went. I didn’t think to look back, like you did. I didn’t think to listen for his heart. I shoulda.”

“I didn’t, either,” Nat said, trying to make him feel better. She had unwittingly made a fool of Graf, in trying to save Saunders.

“People sayin’ he wasn’t dead. That he begged you to help him. Not to let him die.”

Nat stiffened. Had he heard something? Had the paramedic told him? “No, he didn’t. I only went to him because he moaned, but that’s it. He didn’t say anything to me.”

Angus looked over, and his blue eyes telegraphed,
Good girl.

“Didn’t think so,” Graf said flatly, and Angus put a comforting hand on the C.O.’s shoulder.

“Don’t work her over, Joe. It’s good she was there with him. She tried to save his life.”

“Yeah, right. It’s good she did what she could.” Graf eyed Nat through the smoke. “Sorry. I do thank you, as Ron’s best friend, for what you did to save his life.”

Nat smiled, relieved. “You’re welcome.”

“Hope you didn’t try to save the nigger that killed him, too.”

Whoa
. Nat paled, caught unaware.

“There’s no call for that,” Angus said quickly, but Graf’s head snapped around to him.

“What do you know about it, professor? What do you know?” Graf pointed at Angus, the half cigarette burning between his fingers. “You come in once a week, kissin’ their ass, talkin’ about their rights. You don’t have to take their shit. What do you really
know
?”

Angus put up his hands grimly. “Don’t shoot, Joe. I’m not what’s bothering you today.”

“You are, too! What about
Ron’s rights
? Huh? What about
his
rights?” Suddenly Graf threw his lit cigarette at Angus, who dodged it reflexively. Nat jumped, and the butt fell to the ground.

Angus pointed a stiff finger at Graf. “I’ll cut you a break, Joe, because you’re having a bad day. Next time, I won’t.”

“I’ll hold my breath,” Graf shot back, but by then Angus had taken Nat by the arm and was hustling her down the driveway toward the street.

When they were out of earshot, Angus asked, “You okay?”

No
. “Yes.”

“I didn’t see
that
coming.”

“Me neither. Maybe he didn’t mean it. He’s obviously upset.”

“No, he’s obviously a racist. By the way, how’d it go with the widow?”

“Sort of okay.” Nat didn’t elaborate. She was too busy running away.

“Good. You mind if we make a stop? It’s not far.”

“Where?”

“It’s not a date,” Angus said with a tense smile, and they hurried to the Volvo, where he answered her question.