The God Patent (36 page)

So Ryan lied. But his lies couldn’t keep Katarina out of a juvenile holding cell at the county jail. He sat in a plastic chair under fluorescent lights staring at the tile floor. He tried not to listen to the sob stories every person on his side of the counter told the police sergeant. He tried not to watch the gangbangers swagger in and argue the innocence of a comrade. And he ducked every time that door in back opened and another DUI, another hooker, another criminal was shepherded in for processing. Mostly he prayed for Katarina. Prayed that she knew he was out here, prayed that she would be all right, prayed that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

About an hour before dawn, Officer Dorsey, the cop who had carried the clipboard the night before, pushed another covey of handcuffed teenagers through the back door. Ryan jumped to the counter. “Please release Katarina to me. I’m her father.”

But Dorsey worked the kids into the bowels of the jail without looking at Ryan.

A few minutes later, Officer Dorsey pulled a chair next to Ryan and told him that Katarina was being transferred to juvenile detention and that he knew Ryan wasn’t her father. He asked if Katarina’s mother had been located. Ryan shook his head. “What can I do?”

The cop’s voice was steady and clear. “You have to find her mother. Otherwise the child will be remanded to juvenile hall. A week in juvenile hall is not an experience you want Katarina to have. If the mother doesn’t appear, then a public guardian will be appointed.” The cop stood and put the chair back. “Find her mother.”

Ryan stood. The muscles in his back were taut. He walked into the cold darkness. The moon had set, and the stars couldn’t
muster enough light to give him a shadow. The freeway was empty and Petaluma Boulevard deserted.

Katarina’s skateboard was under the bench on the porch. Jane’s bicycle wasn’t out back. Ryan walked down Dodge’s hallway, turning on the lights as he went. “Dodge!” he called.

Dodge leaned out the door of his bedroom.

Even with the tension this thick, Ryan laughed—sincere, muscle-relaxing laughter. Wearing a long red-and-white striped nightshirt with an old flannel hat, Dodge looked like Sleepy, the seventh dwarf. But he still sounded like Dodge: “Lying didn’t work?”

“Where can I find Jane?” As Ryan spoke, helplessness crowded away the laughter.

Wheezing, Dodge walked into his office, sat down, and turned on the green light. He picked up the handgun and rolled the cylinder. When it stopped, he said, “If she’s not at the cemetery with her husband, she’s riding around town. She’ll ride by Volpi’s, the Italian restaurant where she and Kat’s dad had their first date; Saint John’s church, where they got married; Wickersham Park, where they had their reception; Copperfield’s Bookstore, where he worked.”

Ryan started for the hall.

Dodge said, “One other thing: you might check that wooden bridge behind the old mill.”

Ryan drove out to the cemetery and around the narrow ring road, scanning the hillside and calling her name. He drove back into town, up and down the empty streets. He stopped at the park, the restaurant, and the bookstore.

The stop-and-go driving wore on the old car. The transmission complained, so he parked and walked down to the old mill. The mill had been converted to a small shopping mall decades ago, but there was still a trestle behind it along the river. The
decking was slick with dew. The bridge arced over the river, lit by a string of white lights that shimmered on the easy current.

He sat on a bench near the bridge. The sky was just turning from black to violet, and a few cars passed by on the boulevard a block away. Ryan wondered what Katarina was thinking, wondered if she had slept, but he doubted it. Meth doesn’t like its victims to rest.

The sun peeked over the mountains, and just as he decided to go wait for Jane at the cemetery, he saw her silhouette coming toward the bridge from the other side of the river. Her dress and hair flowing behind her, she rode up the bridge and stopped in the middle. She got off her bike, leaned on the railing, and stared across the river as the sun rose.

Ryan stood, careful not to scare her, suppressing the urge to scream at her for failing a daughter she didn’t deserve. He eased onto the bridge.

She noticed him and brushed her hair away from her face.

Ryan forced a smile, as serene as he could muster. “Beautiful morning, huh?”

“It was,” she said.

“Hey, I’m glad I bumped into you.” Ryan put his hand on her shoulder. She didn’t seem to notice. He said, “Could you come with me? Katarina needs you to, um, sign her out. She’s up in Santa Rosa.”

“This is where he proposed to me.” She turned back to the sunrise.

His grip tightened on her shoulder. “It’ll just take a minute.”

She noticed his hand then and tried to slip away.

He spoke with all the warmth and fake happiness he could muster. “Jane, you need to help Katarina, just like he said, remember?” He forced a smile, and it made him sound happy. “She still
needs you. We’ll go for a ride in my sports car, and all you have to do is sign your name and hug your beautiful little girl.”

He took her hand and tugged. She followed, looking back at the bridge until it was out of sight. He guided her to the car and she got inside but didn’t put on the seat belt.

“Yes, of course, she still needs me.” She spoke with no inflection.

They pulled into the jail parking lot as the sun cleared Sonoma Mountain. Ryan talked about Katarina, telling Jane the good things: that Katarina had talent and goals and was doing well in school. Jane seemed calm, almost happy. Ryan took her into that room with the fluorescent lights and the tile floor. With his arm around her, they approached the desk.

A different harried officer looked up.

Ryan said, “This is Katarina Ariadne’s mother. Can you please release Katarina to her?”

“She is being bussed to the juvenile detention center right now.” He pointed toward the window to a plain white van that was just then leaving the parking lot.

Ryan hustled Jane back to the car. He caught up with the police van and drove alongside, hoping that Katarina would see him and know someone cared.

Ten minutes later, Ryan and Jane entered the waiting room at juvenile hall. Sunbeams worked their way through floor-to-ceiling blinds. Ryan put Jane in one of the plastic chairs. She stared at her hands in her lap. Ryan tried to sit still, tried to mind his own business, but couldn’t help but realize that this is where parents go to worry. Even the parents with gang-logo tattoos sat quietly, some crying softly, some whispering to each other in anger.

At 8:30, a man in a short-sleeved shirt with a badge on the front pocket pinned two sheets of paper to a bulletin board. Ryan
followed the line of parents to look at it. Katarina would appear before the judge at 9:20.

At nine, they were ushered into juvenile court. The orange carpet, blue walls, and modest mural of happy children among flowers gave the appearance of a court desperately trying to deny its identity. Ryan walked Jane to the bailiff who was checking identification and matching parents to juveniles. Then the two of them sat in the front row. A few minutes later, Katarina was led in with a dozen other teenage girls. Katarina made eye contact with Ryan first, then leaned her head to the side, indicating her mother, as if to say, “What’s she doing here?”

It was good to see her, to see that she wasn’t a monster, that she was just his youthful ward, Katarina. He braced himself and checked Jane. She was staring at Katarina. When he looked back, Katarina was staring at him, no longer smiling. He mouthed the words,
it’ll be okay
, to which she mouthed,
What. Ever.

When Katarina was called forward, Ryan and Jane met her at the table facing the judge just as the other parents and teens had. The judge had short gray hair and a strict expression dampened by smile lines, the sort of woman you’d expect to wear sandals with socks. After reviewing the police report, she called Miss Ariadne’s parents forward. The judge explained the charges. As she spoke, her gaze lingered on Jane, who was looking at the wall behind the judge. Finally, the judge spoke directly to Ryan. “Katarina must appear in juvenile court in two months.” She gave Ryan a list of things to bring, including letters from schoolteachers or community leaders, “anything that can testify to her character.” The gavel came down, and ten minutes later, the three of them were in the parking lot.

Ryan said, “What the fuck were you doing?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

With his frustration rushing out, he was comfortable ignoring Jane. “You’re going to a doctor.”

Katarina got in the backseat. Jane stood by the door with Ryan still holding it. He pushed her in, less gently than he meant.

Katarina asked, “Why?”

“You’re going to a gynecologist to be tested for sexually transmitted diseases and to see if you’re pregnant.” Ryan slammed the door shut and walked around the car. He settled in and started the car, afraid to say too much. The silence on the drive back to Petaluma was broken only by an old Bruce Springsteen CD.

As they drove up the boulevard, Katarina said, “I’ve never wanted a shower more in my life.”

Jane made a strange sound, like a sigh mixed with laughter. Ryan heard the intake of Katarina’s breath and looked at her in the rearview. He raised his hand. “Stop!”

But it was too late.

“You fucking bitch—”

Ryan said, “Don’t say
fuck
,” but he couldn’t hear himself over Katarina.

“You are nothing,
NOTHING!
” She took another breath. “Ryan, stop this car.”

But he already had.

Katarina said, “Let me out.”

When Ryan got out of the car, Katarina started to fight her way out of the backseat. He leaned in and grabbed her shoulder. With a glare and tone that offered no compromise, he said, “I just bailed you out of jail, and you will behave. I can take you back.”

She leaned back in her seat.

Ryan walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. Jane stretched her legs, stood, and smoothed her skirt. She looked up at Ryan with a calm smile and said, “She’s almost grown up now.”

Katarina raised her eyebrows and flashed him a you’re-wasting-your-time smile.

He took Jane by the hand and guided her away from the car. Katarina climbed into the front seat.

Out of Katarina’s hearing range, Ryan said, “Your daughter is in serious trouble.”

“Kat finally had sex,” Jane said. Her forehead wrinkled into something that looked like concern. “She’s a woman now.”

“No, Jane, she’s a stupid little girl in trouble with the law.”

Jane looked back at Katarina. Katarina was staring at Ryan with an odd expression.

Jane said, “I’m almost finished.”

“No!” Ryan yelled in her face. “You’re not almost finished, you haven’t even started. Do you know how lucky you are? That beautiful, brilliant child needs you and you—”

But Jane wasn’t listening. What he’d thought was concern had been confusion, and now it smoothed into serenity. She stared north, toward the cemetery.

Ryan understood. Jane was a tweaked husk of humanity, and he knew that he couldn’t help her. He walked back to the car. Katarina was still watching him. He shrugged.

Jane said, “Your father loves you, Kat,” and walked away.

Katarina smiled at Ryan, really smiled, like she’d won something. Ryan didn’t get it, but he did feel the presence of his grandma, a soft, gentle presence like a wrinkled palm against the flesh of his cheek assuring him that he was doing the right thing.

Ryan got in the car and let go of a sigh. He and Katarina leaned against each other. Ryan said, “That’s one fucked-up individual.” This time, the feeling of his grandma chastised him.

“You’re telling me,” Katarina said. “Like I was saying about that shower?”

Ryan turned to her, shaking his head. “That’ll have to wait.” They drove through town and up a windy road. Katarina didn’t ask where they were going. Outside of town, the road curved over hills and through canyons, past vineyards, olive groves, and cattle. In a lush valley, Ryan turned onto a bridge that had been painted purple.

Katarina mumbled something.

“What?” Ryan asked.

She was facing him. A tear struggled loose from her eyelashes, and she tried to hold back a sob. Ryan pulled the car onto the dirt shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. He gently squeezed the sobs out. The words
thank you
and
I’m sorry
didn’t come out very clearly and, truth was, they embarrassed Ryan—as though he’d done her a favor, as though she didn’t deserve to be cared for. They drove along a bay and then up onto a ridge. Wisps of moisture, more like baby clouds than fog, passed over the car and left mist on the windshield. They passed lots of cows and the occasional barn. When they came to a clearing at the top of a hill overlooking the ocean, Ryan stopped the car. Katarina leaned forward, and Ryan said, “Be quiet, okay? Just look for a few minutes and then follow me.” He got out of the car and walked into a field as far as a barbed-wire fence. A few minutes later, Katarina came and stood next to him.

Ryan said, “See how the ocean stretches all the way across the horizon?” He waited for a couple of minutes and then turned around. “Now look inland. You can barely see any buildings, and what you can see are really small—they don’t amount to much.”

It was the first time Ryan had ever seen Katarina do as she was told. It was a good thing. Part of him wanted an excuse to whack her a good one, but most of him wanted her to see something bigger. “Katarina,” he said, facing the ocean again, “if we started swimming, we’d get to Japan.” Then he turned inland and
said, “If we started walking, we’d get to New York.” He stepped in front of her. When she looked up at him, he said, “Right now we live in a town over there somewhere. The stuff in that town—Skate-n-Shred, your friends, school, the cops, Dodge and his ridiculous house, even your mom—those are temporary details in the grand scheme.”

He stepped to the side. Katarina turned toward the ocean. The breeze picked up. Her hair blew in the wind, the way her mother’s did when riding her bike. The resemblance was superficial, though. Katarina was darker in skin tone and much deeper in countenance than her mom. Ryan hadn’t given much thought to Katarina’s father but, right then, realized that he must have been a special man.