Shame (20 page)

“So you stayed in San Diego just because of this feeling?”

“Yes. And I suppose there was a little part of me that kept hoping, without any real hope, that my sailor boy would come back to me. There was another Lakota winkte who fell in love with a military man and lived with him for almost twenty years as his wife. The couple even adopted two children. No one ever suspected the winkte was biologically a male.”

“Didn’t that winkte live a lie?”

“The world didn’t, and doesn’t, understand.”

“That sounds hypocritical. You lectured me that keeping my secrets was all wrong, and yet you sound proud that this winkte fooled the world. Is that what you would have done with your sailor, tried to pass for a woman?”

“I don’t know. I only know there’s a difference between making choices out of love and out of fear.”

“That’s a convenient distinction.”

“No, it’s not. I came to terms with what I am. I was willing to go through that pain to come out on the other side. You still haven’t done that.”

F
ROM HER HOTEL
room Elizabeth had called her service. What she had imagined would be no more than five minutes of messages had turned into an hour’s worth and counting. She was the media’s flavor of the day. Everyone wanted her comments on the new Shame murders, or if not everyone, at least forty-six of her first forty-nine callers. She wrote down yet another name and number on a page filled with people to call back and imagined her publicist probably had a list twice as long.

“...Jeremy Levett. You might remember we had you on our show,
Good Morning, Omaha,
when you were promoting your last book....”

The unspoken message was, “We scratched your back, now it’s time for you to scratch ours.” They had publicized her books in the past and would in the future, but for that they expected their piece of her now.

“We’d like to do an on-air spot tomorrow. Call me at my home number, would you? Look forward to talking....”

She wasn’t listening closely. Virtually all the messages were the same. She probably should have been working and listening at the same time, but she hadn’t wanted to delve any further into her old Gray Parker files. Sifting through one box had roiled her insides enough. The other five unopened boxes could wait.
Her avoidance wasn’t helping, though. Gray Parker’s ghost kept materializing in her mind.

“You want children?”

Gray was leaning against the bars, thumbs in his orange prison jumpsuit. Somehow, even in handcuffs and wearing orange, he still managed to look sexy.

“Yes.”

“The way you’re going, you won’t have any.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because being on the go has already become a way of life for you, and it’ll only get worse. You’re not the kind to marry out of convenience or have a baby by accident. And the appeal of a white picket fence and all things domestic won’t seem exciting enough for you until it’s too late.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

He didn’t answer directly; he rarely did. “I arrived in the town of Eden with a crick in my neck from looking back at San Antonio and wondering if a few of my minor peccadilloes were following me.”

“Were they?”

“Nope. You know my record. For the longest time it was clean as the driven snow.”

“What did you do in San Antonio?”

“Practiced a few of my future dance steps. Stopped short, though.”

“So you ended up in Eden.”

“It seemed as good a place as any to get lost for a spell.”

“And that’s where you met and married Clara Wallace.”

“‘I’m in the family way.’ That’s what she told me. Couldn’t even say she was pregnant. Ever read Nietzsche? You should. Clara was what he’d call a pale criminal. She could do the deed but couldn’t face up to the consequences.”

“Yet you married her.”

“She couldn’t stand the shame of her baby not having his daddy’s name. I tried to tell her that neither she nor the baby would want my name. I said she’d regret it more than anything, but she insisted, so I went through with the charade.”

“You never divorced her.”

“That’s right.”

“And she still loves you.”

“More’s the pity.”

“Over the years there were times when you visited her.”

“Usually when John Law was on my tail.”

“Usually, but not always.”

He shrugged. “Short stops on my merry-go-round. Round and round, you know, or you will know, less’n you get off it now. There’s no law that says you have to do that next book.”

“What next book?”

“The one your publisher is already waving in front of your nose. I’m all but dead, they’re telling you, even if they’re not saying it that way. Time to commit to your next book, they’re saying. Strike while the old iron’s hot.”

She hadn’t said a word of this to him and felt defensive. “Nothing’s been formalized....”

“And after that there will be the next book, and the next book. Face it, lady, you’re going to be like me.”

“How so?”

“You’re going to choose death over life.”

The memory was so vivid that at first she didn’t take notice of the new caller. He was speaking in a hoarse whisper, making it difficult for her to hear, but when he identified himself she suddenly became alert.

“...people are nearby, so it’s hard to talk. This is Caleb. We need to meet. I’ve got information that can prove I’m innocent, but I need your help.”

He had made the call from an outdoor pay phone. Elizabeth could hear the sounds of passing traffic, both four-wheeled and
two-legged. Caleb stopped whispering at the loud approach of what sounded like some adolescent males; either he didn’t want to compete with them or he was afraid of being overheard. After they passed he continued, his whisper that much more staccato and desperate.

“We have to meet. According to the paper, the
Constellation
is coming into port today at one o’clock. It’ll be docking at the NAS North Island in Coronado.”

He stopped talking, interrupted by the long blast of a car horn.

“Get there early if you can. Park at the lot nearest the ship on Colorado Street and Quay. If I don’t see you there, let’s meet at the front gate at the stern of the ship. If something prevents my showing up, like too many police or shore patrol, I’ll make other arrangements for us to meet later.”

Caleb stopped talking, but she could still hear the background noise and his heavy breathing. He was apparently loath to hang up. “I know everything looks bad,” he whispered, “but don’t give up on me. You’re my only hope.”

It felt like a New Year’s countdown, thought Elizabeth. The only things missing were the champagne and party favors, though the Navy League was handing out complimentary coffee and doughnuts. The navy band added to the festivities. John Philip Sousa was big on their playlist.

Before coming on base, Elizabeth had made a call to NAS North Island’s Public Relations Office. She had made up a story about using the homecoming as “flavor” in a forthcoming book, and the PR people had offered to roll out the red carpet.

Thousands of San Diegans were on hand to greet the aircraft carrier. Maybe Caleb had been to a homecoming before and had known what kind of a zoo the naval base would be today, thought Elizabeth. But if Caleb had wanted anonymity, why hadn’t he picked a public spot like the zoo or Sea World? She thought it
strange that a wanted man would place himself in potential jeopardy. That is, if he was here. She looked around again. Still no sign of him.

An officious master chief had met her outside the base. She had followed his car through the huge complex, and he had seen to it that she got a VIP parking spot. The chief had introduced her to several officers with lots of gold braid and probably would have stayed at her side had Elizabeth not requested some “quiet time to take in impressions.” She had last seen the chief hovering around the camera crews from the local television stations.

Though she had a media pass, Elizabeth stayed among the crowds at the mobbed landing area. She expected that Caleb would be in the waiting crowd if he was here, but still, he would have to single her out among so many. Several tugs were bringing the
Constellation
into the pier, making the crowd grow ever more vocal. The aircraft carrier dwarfed the much smaller vessels. Something that large, Elizabeth thought, shouldn’t be able to float. She had vacationed on islands that were smaller. She scanned the PR packet that had been given to her, and found the dimensions of the ship. The
Constellation
was 1,046 by 265 by 37 feet. More than three football fields long. So large that 5,500 personnel called it home for months at a time. From a distance she could see the sailors and officers stretched along the ship’s railing and deck, long lines of white.

The docking was a laborious process, the proper positioning of the leviathan no quick matter. Elizabeth spent some of her wait sketching the outlying area in her pad. San Diego Bay was calm, although a few sailboats were finding enough of a breeze to push them along. To the right, she could see the expanse of Coronado Bridge. The
Constellation
was blocking her view of San Diego’s downtown, but she’d had peeks of it across the water. This was her first visit to San Diego, and so far the weather was as good as everyone had always said it was. It had been seventy degrees
when she arrived, was seventy degrees today, and the weather forecast was for seventy degrees tomorrow. For three hundred days of San Diego’s year, that’s where the mercury hovered, give or take two degrees. The natives took the weather for granted. Elizabeth had seen T-shirts with the writing, “Another Boring Day in Paradise.”

Murder in Short Sleeves,
thought Elizabeth, thinking of a potential title for her book. She took in the physical sights around her not so much for her own pleasure as for how they would play out as a scene. More and more often, that was how she looked at the world, and less and less often did she recognize or regret it.

Another announcement came over the PA. Mothers with new babies that the fathers had never seen were directed to go to the VIP tent. Another announcement came after that. All pregnant women to go to a different VIP tent. There were plenty of those. The
Constellation
had been deployed at sea for more than six months. A long line of pregnant young women stepped forward, all about seven months into term.

Gray had said she probably wouldn’t have any children. Bastard. Too many of his predictions had come true. Like him, she’d spent most of her adult life going from place to place. For all practical purposes, her home was a PO Box. A friend had once given her an embroidered sampler that read, “Home Is Where Your Laptop Is.” She’d yet to settle in one place long enough to hang it.

Nearby, a balloon popped. The sound was getting all too common. That, and the crying of little children whose balloons had escaped their hands.

Mooring lines had now secured the
Constellation.
For want of anything else to do, Elizabeth counted the lines. There were twenty-four of them. The crowd was getting more restive, reacting with more enthusiasm to everything. When the
Constellation
’s foghorn sounded, everyone burst into wild cheers. Blue and white pavilions were set up everywhere, providing information
and refreshments and a sense of community. The thousands waiting, of all colors and nationalities, seemed to be part of an extended family.

The favorite game for those waiting was Find Your Sailor. There was so much ship-to-shore waving and whistling and shouting that her ears hurt. Excited conversations were going on all around Elizabeth, though many weren’t in English. She heard Spanish and what she assumed was Tagalog, as well as several languages unknown to her. Those waiting were holding flowers, balloons, and posters. It was a military exercise, but also an exercise in “I Love You.” That’s what most of the messages said, although one teenage boy had a unique way of advertising it. His poster read, “Dad, I Love You. How About a Raise in My Allowance?”

That’s what I should have done, Elizabeth thought. Advertised my appearance to Caleb.

The long docking process was finally completed, and those waiting were allowed to go forward along the pier. Elizabeth was swept along with the crowd. She could almost believe that she was waiting for her man to disembark. Amid the jostling and movement she turned her head, looking for Caleb. He still wasn’t to be seen.

A piercing whistle drew her out of her reverie. The whistle captured the attention not only of Elizabeth but of most of those on the dock. The whistler, waving from on deck of the aircraft carrier, was no slouch in the shouting department either.

“Corinne!” a sailor yelled. “Hey, Corinne!”

Standing near Elizabeth was the apparent object of the sailor’s attentions, a young woman waving so vigorously that she was shaking from her fingers to her toes. “Right here, sweet stuff!” she said, somehow matching his volume.

“You’re looking
good
, Corinne!”

The crowd laughed at the sailor’s exuberance. Corinne preened for him, tilting her head back and running her hand through her braided black hair.