West Seattle Blues (20 page)

“I will.” As soon as the call ended, I rang Carson. It rang six times before I heard his breathless answer.

“They arrested Nick,” I told him.

“Man, that’s great.” I could hear the pleasure in his voice. “Maybe they can find out those names-”

“They’ve had to let him go again,” I interrupted.

That stunned him for a second. “What? Are you kidding me?”

“It’s not a joke. He stole my damn car and then torched it. They found him and now he’s back on the street. No evidence, they said.” I gave him the information the detective had passed on to me. “You’d better keep your eyes open. He might come back.”

“I got my gun here on the table.”

“Yeah, well…” I didn’t like guns. I never had. My father had been in the war and after that he refused to have one in the house. Seattle wasn’t a frontier town, he’d say if anyone brought it up. There weren’t any wild beasts to kill around here anymore. Nick’s face came into my head. Maybe my dad had been wrong about that.

I put the receiver back in its cradle just as Dustin walked in, Ian hanging as limp as Raggedy Andy over his shoulder. He headed up to the bedroom and I heard his feet shuffling overhead as he settled our son into his bed.

“Did you go out for lunch?” I asked, after he came down.

“Drove around a bit…went down to the dog beach.” It was our name for a place down in Burien where
we’d once seen a couple of stray animals running together. “I was kind of mad at you, and I wanted to calm down before we came home.”

I could even understand that. After all, I was the one who’d asked him to come along, then I’d stopped him just as he was hitting his stride with the salesman shtick. Doubtless, it probably didn’t seem fair to him.

“It was just…enough,” I tried to explain. “Look, the price was okay. It was fair.” I waited until he gave a small nod of acknowledgment. “It was like you had to beat him down more, no matter what.”

“It wasn’t like that.” He stroked my shoulder. “Really, it wasn’t. This is stuff I know. Those courses the company’s sent me on, they’re all about sales techniques. I was just turning them back on him.” I’d never seen him at work, never understood persuasion and the tactics of the close or whatever it’s called.

“I know.” Telling me this was his way of apologizing. And mine. “It’s done now.”

He nodded and kissed me. Slowly I let go of everything and melted into his embrace. He was my husband. I loved him, but sometimes he could make me angry.

“I’ve got something I need to tell you,” I said, as we stopped to breathe.

“What?” He still kept his arms around me.

“The police let Nick go.”

At first he studied me to see if I was joking. Then he started to storm around the room, banging his palm on the table against the back of the couch.

“Jesus, why?” He made his hand into a fist and opened it again. “What the fuck are they doing?”

“That was pretty much my reaction,” I told him. “Andersen called. Apparently it was the attorney’s orders. Not enough evidence to hold him.”

Dustin ran a hand through his hair. “So what are we supposed to do?”

“Watch out, I guess,” I told him. “At least he gave me some warning. They’re going to have patrol cars drive by to check.”

“Well, that’s a big fucking deal. I feel so much safer now.”

It’s not you that Nick’s after
: the thought flashed through my mind and I pushed it away. That was unfair. He was angry for me and he didn’t want me hurt. He didn’t want anything to happen to Ian. And he didn’t want me dead.

I sighed. “It’s all they can do, Dustin. I called Carson and warned him.” He nodded. I could almost see his thoughts: Carson was a guy on his own, who could look after himself. “Maybe the guy will just take off now. His scam didn’t work and the cops will be keeping an eye on him.” It was wishful thinking; I knew that even as I said it. I was going to have to keep looking over my shoulder. The guy was out, he was free. I was going to keep him from my kid. But I couldn’t let him run my life. I just couldn’t.

Dustin shook his head in frustration.

The next morning, the new car was still there. I’d woken twice during the night and glanced out the bedroom window to check. It was Saturday, the weekend, time to kick back and relax. That was the usual view, but it
was just another day to me. That was life as a freelancer.

I got up early. Ian had woken, at some stupid hour, screaming and yelling. I fed him, feeling him suckle while I watched the sky begin to lighten on the horizon. These days his teeth were sharp enough to hurt but I wasn’t going to give up on breast feeding yet. I’d read the studies which explained that it made a difference later. I was going to do everything I could to help him along. He fell straight back to sleep but my mind was already sparking. I pulled a robe around me, padded into the kitchen and made coffee. I didn’t have any work on hand right now and I felt empty.

By the time the guys were both up and ready it was past ten. I’d long since showered, dressed and eaten breakfast. A lemon-colored sun was trying to break through the clouds outside, another one of those teasing hints of a Seattle spring. Dustin wanted us to head up to La Conner to see the tulips, and it seemed like a good idea. I’d lived in the Northwest all my life, yet I’d never been there. They were supposed to be wonderful, a colorful ocean of flowers. The best thing outside Holland. By eleven we were ready to roll. The stroller and diaper bag were all packed and in the trunk. Ian had been bundled into his coat. As we drove away in Dustin’s car, I looked at the Ford Tempo in the mirror.

Once we were off the freeway it was a pleasant drive out through farmland. Stuck in the city, it was easy to forget just how much open ground there was in Washington state. Miles and miles of it, flat and green. Mount Adams and Mount Baker on the horizon, still heavy with snow. Somewhere off to the west was the water that led to the Pacific Ocean. There was so much of it I’d never seen.

A sign popped up: La Conner seven miles. We passed a broken-down old barn with a faded Burma Shave sign on the side that made me think of the Tom Waits songs. It was like traveling back in time, heading into the Depression. We could round a corner and encounter the Waltons.

Dustin was smiling in anticipation as he drove. First it was building raised beds for vegetables and changing jobs. Now it was flowers. I was starting to wonder what was happening to him. Was this what a mid-life crisis looked like?

He took the turning and headed out toward the tulip fields.

We were a week too early, and nothing here was going to rival the Netherlands. A few blooms were showing, but it wasn’t the sea of color they promised. Not even a tide pool. And the daffodils had already passed their peak, the yellow frail and aged. We drove and kept hoping, but all we saw was disappointment.

We stopped for lunch in the town, trying to salvage something from our day out. La Conner seemed deliberately, artfully cute, as if its whole aim in life was to be admired. The sidewalks were clogged when we tried to move around with the stroller. The restaurants were all jammed with tourists like us. And when we finally found a table, the food was nothing special; we could have eaten better much closer to home. Ian was in a fractious mood by now, and I didn’t blame him. Coming here had been a great idea; it was only the reality that let it down. We walked around for a few minutes longer, staring at the endless gift shops and florists.

I knew this was the time of year when La Conner made its money. This was their season and locals relied on the crowds of visitors to see them through. There certainly wasn’t anything else around here. The locals looked so hopeful and so worried, it was impossible to feel anything but sympathy.

We set off home in mid-afternoon and Ian did his usual trick of falling asleep in the car long before we hit I-5. I leaned back and closed my eyes, behaving just as bad as him. A Kate Bush cassette was playing and the refrain of ‘something’s gonna happen’ kept echoing through my brain like an ominous prediction. I hoped it wasn’t true.

I stirred eventually as we left the freeway and headed across the West Seattle Bridge. Below us was Harbor Island and the waters of the Duwamish River and Elliott Bay. It was industrial, it was humdrum and dirty, but it still moved me. The country was a fun place to visit, but this was my city and my home. Glancing back, I could see the jagged downtown skyline all the way to the Space Needle. The black height of Colombia Center that always made me think of Ozymandias. And Smith Tower, Seattle’s very first skyscraper that now looked like the baby brother of all the others. The ugly concrete of the Kingdome. This place was where I belonged.

I wondered if Ian would feel the same kind of loyalty to the place that I did. Or would he end up somewhere else? As long as he was happy, it didn’t really matter. That was what I wanted more than anything else for his life – happiness. The rest was gravy.

We parked on the street, and I noticed that the Tempo looked fine. We unpacked everything from the trunk, hauling it up into the yard. I was about to lift Ian from the car seat when Dustin said, “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Someone’s broken a window. Next to the slider.”

He moved slowly back to the car, looking over his shoulder, pulled the cell phone from under the seat and punched in 911.

Fourteen

The police were there in just five minutes, but time seemed to stretch as we waited for them. I gazed at Dustin questioningly. Nick had done this. Was he still in my house? I hated the thought that he’d been inside, that he’d breathed
my
air, that he’d left his stink on my walls. I handed the patrolman my keys. He unlocked the slider and entered with care, a gun in his hand, his partner right behind him.

In the car Ian slept on, oblivious to everything. Better that way, I thought. I didn’t want him to know about our alarm. Dustin gripped my hand and I realized I’d been holding my breath. He was staring intently at the house, with an expression I couldn’t read.

An age seemed to pass before the policemen came out, their weapons holstered

“You’re clear. There’s nobody in there,” the first one said. “Doesn’t look like anyone entered, just broke the window.”

The other officer, older and quieter, looked at me. “You did the right thing calling it in. We have you flagged in the system, ma’am.”

“We know who did it,” Dustin told him. “The same guy who torched my wife’s car. The one you guys arrested and let go again.”

“We’ll check the neighborhood, sir. If someone can give us a description, fine. If not…” He shrugged. Nick would have been very careful. He’d have made sure no one saw him. “Meanwhile, you probably want to call a glass company. They should be able to get someone out here today.”

Dustin glanced at me. There was an argumentative fire in his eye. I shook my head.

“Thanks for getting here so quickly,” he said finally.

“Like I said, your address is flagged. It’s fine for you to go in now.” He looked at Ian, still asleep and heedless. “There’s a fair bit of broken glass. You’ll need to sweep it all up.”

“I will, officer,” I said quickly. I just wanted to be in my own house again, to try to find something close to normal. But there wasn’t any normal now. Coming right up to us in the grocery store, taking my car, showing he could enter my house. He was taking away all my safety, all my freedom - inch by inch, bit by bit. He knew exactly what he was doing. And I had no idea why. I looked over at my house. Could I feel safe in there again? Locking all the doors and windows? Checking them however many times a day? Keeping the world and its evil away from my son? Christ, was this what I’d come to?

The patrolman held out my set of keys. “Just call if you need us, ma’am.”

I swept and vacuumed while Dustin changed a squalling child dragged from the comfort of his nap. By seven the glass had been replaced, and we were a hundred dollars poorer for calling out the glazier on a
Saturday. We sat on the couch, feet up on the coffee table and sharing a bottle of Henry Weinhard’s, as Ian pushed a plastic garbage truck around the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “This has turned into a pretty shitty day.”

“I’m just worried about this guy Nick,” Dustin told me. His tone was low and serious and he was staring at a spot on the wall. “What if he decides to hurt you or Ian?”

That was the question: What was he going to try next? It wasn’t as if he had anything to gain from all this. Carson was his target, since he wanted a thousand bucks from the older man.

After Dustin had gone down to Spiro’s on California for takeout pizza, he’d used his cell phone to call and check on us while he waited. I’d hovered in the kitchen, gazing out the window and through the back door, making sure I was never more than three paces from the knife drawer.

“I’ll be careful.” I took another sip of the beer.

When he returned, I asked him, “Do you want some music?”

“Sure.”

In my office, I scanned the shelves of LPs. There was only one album that could cure my mood right now and give me a leap heavenward. I pulled out Gram Parsons’s
Grievous Angel
. I needed to hear him singing with Emmylou, the sublime harmonies that could always make me feel better, even on the saddest songs. We both stayed silent until the needle clicked into the end groove of the first side.