The Kindness of Strangers (Skip Langdon Mystery #6) (The Skip Langdon Series) (27 page)

“You mean there’s no central Hall of Records?”

“There’s a federal wanted system, but I’ve already checked it under both names we know. The problem is, some small towns don’t report—this could have slipped by. Or, he might have had a third name at the time. I’ll check southern states—Louisiana and Georgia, for sure. Maybe a few others.”

“I’d appreciate it. I’d love to get that bastard.”

“Careful. In his case, the walls really do have ears.”

“Listen, I’ve got a tidbit for you. Do you have time? Is your flight being called or anything?”

“Shoot. I’ve got half an hour.”

“I just got a call from a source in Perretti’s campaign. Get this—Jacomine’s new press secretary quit. He wants to go to work for Perretti.”

“Noel Treadaway?” Skip whistled. “Thereby hangs a tale, I bet.”

“Don’t you imagine. I’ve got a call in to him right now.”

* * *

She’d been gone two days. Maybe that was long enough. Torian called her mother.

“‘Torian? Torian, is it really you?”

Did her mother sound slightly concerned? Maybe just a little bit as if she’d been worried?

“It’s really me.”

“Are you all right?” Lise’s voice was slurred—that was what was off.

“Fine.”

“Where are you?”

“I just thought I’d call and—”

“Where are you, Torian?”

“I’m in a nice place. Someone nice is taking care of me.”

“Some kid with a pierced nose? You little whore, you probably—”

“What?”

“You’d probably shack up with the first thing in trousers—”

“What did you call me?”

“Torian, you brat. Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through? Tell me where the hell you are, and I’ll come get your sorry ass.”

Even Lise wasn’t usually this nasty—or this loaded, from the sound of things.

Torian said, “You couldn’t even walk, much less drive.”

She hung up.

Faylice said, “Ain’ nothin’ change, huh?”

Torian turned away, blinking tears.

Faylice came and sat on the bed next to her. “Hey. It be okay to cry. That what my auntie say.”

Shyly, she put an arm around Torian’s shoulders, and without thinking, Torian put her arms around her. She buried her face in Faylice’s soft, fleshy shoulder. It was oddly, almost unbearably comforting. There was a pleasure in it that took Torian by surprise, not like what she felt when she held Noel, but not so different either. It was something more basic, something primeval.

It came to her suddenly:
This is what a mother feels like.

In the realization were the ironies of it, and all the pain of them: That she shouldn’t find out till she was nearly an adult; that the maternal object should be a child younger than she; that she should discover it only because Lise had hurt her so much and so often.

Faylice had given her permission to cry, and she took it, with utter abandon and without self-consciousness. The other girl held her and stroked her hair as if Torian were a younger sister.

When she had exhausted her tears, Torian pulled away, a little embarrassed. “‘Thank you,” she whispered.

“You sure got silky hair, you know that?”

Torian laughed. “I feel better.” In fact, she felt as if a dense black thing in her heart had dissolved.

Can a person have heartstones?
she wondered.
Like gallstones?

Faylice said, “You ain’ goin’ home yet, I guess.”

For some reason, that didn’t depress Torian. She felt she could cope with whatever happened. “You got that right.”

I’m happy here
, she thought.
I wonder how long I can stay?

The notion of simply staying, of not thinking for a while of Lise, or her father, or school, or even Noel was wonderfully appealing.

I wonder if I could just stay forever.

I’d miss Sheila, though
. And then, as if it were a sudden revelation:
That’s who I’ll call.

“Sheila?”

“‘Torian! Thank God. Listen, your boyfriend’s a jerk.”

“What?”

“All hell’s broken loose here. Lise came over and made a scene—”

“What kind of scene?”

“She yelled at everybody. I thought Skip was going to arrest her.”

Torian giggled.

“But listen, she
is
your mother. It’s not right for her not to know—”

“I just called her.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. She called me a whore.”

“Omigod. She found out about Noel.”

“I don’t think so. She seems to think I’m shacked up with some pierced-noser.”

“Oh yeah. She mentioned that to us.”

“She did?”

“Except I think it was pierced nipples in that version.” They both giggled.

Sheila said, “Wonder what she’d think if she did know?”

“She’d probably be jealous. Why is he a jerk, by the way?”

“Well, I figured he knows where you are—”

“He sent me here.”

“—so I went to find out. He told me I wear too much makeup.”

“No!”

“And I’m just a crazy little kid—”

“Little. You’re my age.”

“And he threatened me. He said to watch myself or I’ll be sorry.”

Torian was suddenly depressed again. “Oh, shit. Just when I was beginning to feel better.”

“I think you should dump that dude.”

Torian was quiet.

Sheila said, “Are you there?”

“I was just thinking. He might be a little nuts.”

“He’s not exactly Mr. Normal. I mean, first of all—”

“I know, I know. What’s he doing with a kid half his age?”

“I wasn’t going to say it.”

“I know it’s crazy—maybe we’re both crazy. But we’re in love. You can’t control who you fall in love with. Can you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, anyway, he sent me to a great place.”

“What kind of place?”

“Oh, yeah, I want to give you the address. I want somebody to know where I am.”

“Wait a minute. You just said Noel sent you. Doesn’t he know?”

“I don’t know.” Torian realized she was confused about it. “I thought it was his friend’s house, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s the Rev’s friend. Anyway, she’s somebody really nice. From the church.”

“The church?”

“You know. The Rev’s church. There’s these two black girls here. If you think we’ve got problems … I’ll tell you about them later. Anyway, here’s my address.” She read it off. “Promise you won’t tell Lise—I don’t care if she rips your fingernails out.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m your friend.”

“Well, how are you, anyway? Have you been out with Joe Eddie yet?”

“Not yet. He cancelled on me.”

“Shit.”

“But we’ve rescheduled for tonight.”

“Cool. I’ll call back. You have to tell me everything.”

“I hope it doesn’t rain—that hurricane’s supposed to be coming.”

“Not till tomorrow, I thought.”

“Yes, but you know how storms are—rain and wind forever. Anyway, give me your number. I’ll call you when I get back.”

When she hung up, she called Noel at the office.

“I’m sorry,” said an icy voice. “Mr. Treadaway is no longer with us.”

She was so freaked she called him at home, thinking to hang up if Boo answered. His voice came urgently over the line: “‘Torian. Torian, I love you.”

“Oh, Noel. Oh, God, Noel, I miss you.” She hadn’t realized how much; how familiar and comforting he had become to her. Before this, when she thought of him, it was with passion. He seemed suddenly like a relative, someone who’d always been there, who’d protect her when she needed it.

For the first time she was homesick, rather than plagued by the nagging feeling that she ought to get home. A sudden desperate urge came over her—to get back to normal, just to be home again, going to school, seeing Sheila, home in her own room, where her cigarettes were hidden.

But I can’t. Lise is there.

“‘Torian, let me come get you. Everyone’s really worried.”

“Oh, Noel, I don’t know. I just don’t know. A part of me really wants to come home. I desperately want to see you; and I want to see Sheila, but I don’t see how I can go back to Lise. I just can’t see it.”

“She’ll talk to you now. I think you finally got her attention.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? You’d really think so. But she’s meaner than ever, Noel, I swear it. I called her. I talked to her. Do you know what she called me? Whore! She called me a whore.”

“Does she know about us?”

“Of course not. That’s just her little way of showing affection.”

“‘Torian, please. I think you should come home. I miss you so much.”

“Oh, Noel. Oh God, I love you.” Something clicked on the line. “What was that?”

“I don’t know. Don’t worry about it. Boo’s at Whole Foods—it couldn’t have been her.”

* * *

Boo had had to hang up and run to the bathroom to vomit.

Washing her face, she fought for balance. She was dizzy, barely able to stand. A pulse pounded in her scalp.

I’m going to fall on the floor. I have to get control.

For the first time, she understood what it meant when someone said her head was spinning. She couldn’t focus, felt her head literally moving back and forth as her eyes sought … what? A sign, maybe? A billboard that said: “You didn’t hear your husband declaring his love to the fifteen-year-old babysitter. It’s all a big mistake.”

Get a grip, Boo. Come on. Chill.
Her hands were shaking.

She heard Noel coming down the stairs. Moving very slowly, she dried her face, patting it with a pink towel. Then she closed the toilet seat and sat, staring at a space on the wall, saying over and over,
I can handle this. I am calm and adult; I can handle anything.

When she had sat there ten minutes or more, maybe twenty, when she had said the mantra so many times it bored her, she saw that her hands had stopped shaking and realized she no longer felt the pulse in her scalp.

She stood up. That was tricky, but she managed it. When she felt steady, she looked in the mirror. She said again
I am an adult. I am going out there, and I’m going to handle this with dignity.

She went out to the courtyard, where Noel was reading last Sunday’s papers, catching up, the sort of thing a person did who’d just been fired. He was sitting at a round wrought iron table, sections on the table, on the ground, lying all around him like so much shed skin. He said, “Honey. I didn’t hear you come home.”

He looked a little uncertain, but probably not because he suspected anything. He had apologized after his tantrum, but they were still uneasy with each other.

“Obviously not.” She watched his smile fade, though probably, she thought, because of the ominous tone of her voice. He hadn’t yet caught on. “The phone was ringing when I came in. I guess we picked up at the same time.”

She watched fear fill his eyes. And regret? Or was that her imagination? His mouth started to work, but no words came out. Probably he couldn’t think what to say.

“Excuse me. I didn’t have time to unpack the groceries.” She went into the kitchen and started taking things out of bags. But she left them on the table, unable to put them in the proper cabinets or the refrigerator. She couldn’t really think where anything belonged.

Noel followed her in. He said, “Look, I didn’t mean for this to happen. Certain things you just…can’t control.”

“Oh, really? Then I suppose no babysitter in America’s safe.” Ice cream. That had to go in the freezer. She opened the door and shoved it in.

Frozen pizza. That, too.

Noel said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What it means, Noel, is that ninety-nine percent of grown men manage to keep their hands off the babysitter. In other words, do control ‘certain things.’ These are the ones who’ve grown up.”

“Boo, this isn’t some frivolous little flirtation.”

“I heard you declaring your ‘love.’ Christ! You stupid fuck! Who do you think you are? The captain of the football team? Think you can fuck her and nobody’ll find out? Then when you break her heart, she quits babysitting and you just grope the next little cutie who comes over to take care of your darling baby daughter?”

Cereal. The cabinet to the left of the sink.

“Boo, you’re not getting the hang of this. You’re treating it way too lightly.” She had been staring down at a packet of sun-dried tomatoes, trying to remember why she’d bought them and what she planned to do with them.

His tone made her look at him. It was measured—not angry, not whiny, simply straightforward; the last thing she’d have expected. His face was immeasurably sad, and she had the oddest feeling that it was on her account, that he felt badly for her.

“Lightly? You’re quite mistaken. I haven’t even begun to figure out how to treat it. But lightly isn’t one of the options I’m considering.”

He walked over to her and took both her hands. “Boo, I love her. Please try to understand that.”

She jerked away and spun around, bracing her arms on the sink. She stared down at the drain. “She’s fifteen! She’s a baby!”

“She’s the most extraordinary human being I’ve ever met. I love her more deeply than I would have thought possible.” There was a calm in the way he spoke, an unexpected dignity.

“You don’t love her! You can’t. You’re just projecting.” She heard the whininess in her voice. Her eyes flicked to the counter, where dishes had been left—her cup and saucer, the plate she’d put her toast on, the knife she’d cut the bread with. She looked at the serrated edge of the knife and thought about it tearing human flesh. It wouldn’t be a swift, clean cut; it would be slow and jagged.

“I’m sorry you had to find out.”

“Sorry I had to find out! What were you planning to do, live this little lie until she graduates?”

Some expression that she couldn’t name crossed his face. She had a sudden intuitive flash:
That
is
what he meant to do. Omigod, what have I married?

Despair gripped her for a second, and then it let go, forced out by raging, pounding fury. “Let me ask you something. What’s so extraordinary about this child? Just what could a grown man possibly see in a skinny kid— except a real docile lay, I mean.”