What a Mother Knows (29 page)

The courtroom was gone now, Kenny's hand was gone, and all she saw was that damn motorcycle dripping in her driveway.

Tyler
spotted
the
black
Harley
through
the
splash
of
the
windshield
wipers. Michelle parked the SUV, pressed the garage door opener, then climbed out into the rain. The engine tick-tick-ticked as Michelle circled the hood. She heaved the motorcycle off its kickstand and rolled it into the garage.

“Don't forget your bag,” she called to Tyler.

It
took
two
hard
jerks
to
park
the
Harley, then she hurried inside. A football game raged on the television, but Bella was the only one watching. Michelle unzipped her wet jacket and surveyed the empty room.

Tyler
tugged
on
her
arm. “Where's Noah? Can he catch for me?”

“Not in this rain. Go put on dry clothes.”

“Make me a sandwich?” Tyler asked.

“Make it yourself,” she snapped, looking around for his sister. Tyler tracked mud across to the kitchen and took a bag of chicken leftovers from the fridge. Michelle felt bad; she followed him to apologize. She corralled Bella, who was pestering him for scraps. Then she heard muffled music over the thrumming rain.

Michelle's stomach seized with every step down the hall, closer to the sound flooding from beneath Nikki's door. She knocked, but there was no answer. She twisted the doorknob. It was locked. Michelle ran down to Tyler's room, but the shared bathroom was locked as well. She opened Nikki's drawer and rifled through toothbrushes and tampons. Still no change in the music, but now she recognized a Roadhouse song from the video shoot. Under a half-squeezed toothpaste tube, she found a flowered hair clip. She ran back to the hall door, bent it open, and went to work.

The
lock
clicked
and
the
door
swung
open. Noah's ass confronted her, his bare legs banging against Nikki's as he fucked her on all fours. That was Michelle's voice screaming, her baby jumping naked from the bed, her eyes bloodshot and vacant, and her hand throwing the hair clip at his head. “Get out!”

Noah
pulled
his
jeans
up, trying to focus his bloodshot eyes as he fumbled with the zipper. “Sorry.”

Sorry? She wanted to reach over and zip his balls off then yank off his shriveled penis and grind it in the kitchen disposal. She picked up his motorcycle boot and threw it at him. It slammed against the buttercup wall. Nikki shrieked. She clutched the sheet and sunk to the floor in a shivering mess.

When
Noah
snatched
his
keys
from
beside
the
CD
case
on
the
dresser, Michelle changed her mind. She couldn't let him leave without punishment. She should tell his parents or call the police.

Beneath
the
bass
beat, rain still clattered against the rock roof. Michelle hurried back to the kitchen. Tyler was on the couch across the room, glued to the game on TV. She grabbed the open bag of chicken. She ran back to Nikki's room with Bella barking at her heels.

Noah
emerged
in
the
doorway, fully dressed. “Later, babe,” he called back.

“You're not going anywhere,” Michelle cried. She pitched him the chicken. Without thinking, he caught it. Bella jumped him and he dropped the keys. Michelle snatched them.

Nikki
shrieked
from
the
bed. Michelle kicked Nikki's stereo. It went silent, but so did Nikki. She hid under the sheet.

“Nikki!” Michelle shouted, but there was no response, no movement at all. Michelle tore the sheet away. She didn't want to see if there was blood on her daughter's thigh or tracks on her arm—but she had to be sure she was breathing.

When
the
front
door
slammed, Michelle looked up. Nikki grabbed the covers back. Michelle reached for her. Nikki twisted and batted her away, clawing through the air with both hands. Michelle kept trying to grasp the moving targets of fingers and hair. She felt a sharp scratch on her forehead as Nikki lunged and fell out of her bed. Michelle sat on the hysterical girl, wrapping the fallen quilt around her as she writhed on the floor.

Noah
appeared, dripping rain in the doorway. “Where's my bike?”

“Michelle!” Kenny's sharp voice woke her up. She looked at him, then ran her fingers across the scar on her forehead. The medics had assumed it was from the accident, and in a way, that was true. She caught her breath and clasped her hands in her lap.

Greenburg was still questioning Dr. Braunstein. “Can you describe for us, Laura, the last time you saw your son alive?”

“I scolded him,” she said. “He left his bowl of Lucky Charms in the sink, and he'd only eaten the marshmallow bits.” Someone chuckled, so she looked up. “I gave him a multivitamin and offered him a ride to the field on my way to work. He said no, he was staying home to study.”

Greenburg spoke gently. “What happened next?”

“I received a call during a gall bladder operation. Just after ten.”

“Do you remember the exact words?”

“There's been an accident,” she said.

Necks swiveled in Michelle's direction. The heat of a hundred eyes bored into her. Kenny slipped her his handkerchief and she cried right on cue.

Noah's mother continued. “My first thought was of that motorcycle his father gave him for his birthday. I wanted to get rid of that two-wheeled death trap, but he threatened to move out. He was already in college, so I didn't have much time left with him…” Her voice trailed off.

“No, you didn't,” Greenburg agreed. “Were you aware of any relationship between your son and the defendant's daughter?”

“Objection!” Kenny called. “Hearsay.”

“Overruled,” the judge said. “Answer the question, please.”

Noah's mother nodded. “Yes. They brought me coffee at work. They were friends.”

“You're certain of that?”

“His lovers tended to be more voluptuous. Like Celeste, who tended bar where his band played. He was quite aware of the advantages of being a musician.”

Greenburg ignored chuckles from the gallery and pressed on. “Are you aware that Nicole Mason ran away after the accident?”

“Yes. Her father was in touch after the funeral. He offered condolences.”

“Do you have any idea why she might have run off?” Greenburg asked.

Kenny jumped up. “Objection! Calls for speculation.”

“I'm going to allow it,” the judge said, waving at Noah's mother to continue.

She considered the question. “Her mother was gravely injured. I imagine she was confused and upset.”

“Fair enough. But be honest: don't you hold her mother accountable?”

“For giving my son a ride in the rain?” Noah's mother asked.

“Let me rephrase,” Greenburg said. “When you visit your son's grave, do you think about how he died?”

“I don't visit my son's grave.” Gasps filled the room, but she continued. “He isn't there. There wasn't enough left of him to bury. Do you know what it's like to have your child vanish into thin air?”

Michelle looked up. Yes, she thought. Yes! Kenny saw Michelle tearing up and pointed at the pad in front of her. She picked up her pen and drew circles.

Greenburg tipped his head at Dillenger. “Your witness.”

Dillenger tucked his watch into the pocket of his pinstriped suit and strutted to the witness stand. “If I'm not mistaken, isn't there an eight foot tall crucifix on the roadside where Mrs. Mason's car drove off the cliff? A memorial?”

Noah's mother shrugged. “That has nothing to do with my son. Noah was Jewish. And he wasn't a rock star when he was alive.”

Dillenger was silent for a moment. Then he held his hand to his heart. “I know I speak for everyone, Dr. Braunstein, when I tell you how sorry I am for your terrible loss. It's especially tragic in light of his success. You don't get a penny. In fact, according to public record, disability payments provided by the state of California were your only source of income during your leave of absence. Isn't it true, Dr. Braunstein, that financial concerns forced you to return to work, despite the fact that you were still being treated for depression due to grief over the death of your only son?”

“I'll be grieving forever,” she said. “But I missed my work.”

“You're under oath, Dr. Braunstein. Didn't financial concerns play a part in your decision to return to work?”

“A part,” Dr. Braunstein admitted.

Judge Vaughan cut in. “Let's get to the point, counselor. It's no secret that this plaintiff does not profit from licenses and related copyright owned by Butler Music, Inc.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Dillenger said. “Dr. Braunstein, are you aware that you can obtain damages from either Michelle Mason or the Orrin Motor Company, one or the other, or both?”

“Yes,” Dr. Braunstein answered.

“Then isn't it true that you are also aware that you would benefit the most from the ample resources of a Detroit automotive manufacturer? Why, you could erect a shrine to your son and top it with a solid gold Star of David!”

Appalled spectators gasped from all sections of the gallery.

“Objection,” Greenburg called. “Badgering the witness.”

The judge rapped her gavel. “Sustained. Shame on you, Mr. Dillenger. Dr. Braunstein is a respected member of the community and deserves to be treated as such.”

Dillenger bowed his head. “My apologies. In fact, you strike me as the kind of woman who could never put a price on the relationship between mother and child. Wouldn't you agree that no amount would be sufficient for the loss of your son?”

“Yes, I would. That's why I've set up the Noah Butler Trust for the children's shelter.”

“Even so. A verdict against Orrin Motors would provide a generous contribution.”

Noah's mother rose slowly, like a tank cresting the field of battle. She aimed and fired, every word charged with ammo. “You don't have children, do you, Mr. Dillenger?”

“Sadly, no,” he said. “That's why I need you to explain why, if it isn't for the money, you would defend the very woman who drove your son to his death.”

“I'm not defending anyone. If you want to find out if Mrs. Mason is responsible for the accident in which my son died, then you'll have to ask her. Frankly, I don't care why that car crashed. My son is dead. And I blame myself. If I hadn't let him keep that damn motorcycle…” Defeated, she sat down and looked at her son's picture on the easel. “And if by some miracle, God gave me another chance…” Her voice faltered as she finally, and for the first time, looked at Michelle. She caught her eyes and didn't let go, pronouncing each word like a pledge. “I would do anything to protect that child.”

The room fell silent, except for the voice in Michelle's head. She blinked and saw nothing but white.

A
thick
swirl
of
white, like the blanket of fog in Topanga Canyon. The road blurred between each slash of the windshield wipers. Beyond the headlights, there was nothing but a black hole, an abyss. It looked as if she and Noah were alone in the world, tunneling through heaven, straight down to hell.

Static
raged
from
the
radio
until
Michelle
slapped
it
off. The kid kept shouting. Now he was quoting William Blake. His argument was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was removing him from her daughter's life. Noah jammed his demo CD into the dashboard player. The old speakers strained under the beat. He sang along. She hated this song, this rain, this boy. Michelle leaned over the steering wheel to see through the mist.

A
truck
horn
shattered
the
quiet.

Michelle
stomped
on
the
brake. The softball banner banged against her seat back. Noah was thrown forward. He thudded against the glove compartment.

“Didn't your mother teach you to wear a seat belt?” she asked.

“Leave my mother out of this.”

Michelle
nodded, but if his mother had been home, they wouldn't be on this godforsaken road to meet his father in Malibu. Headlights blinked, then faded past. The SUV jolted, then bounced over gravel.

Noah
laughed.

A
sign
flashed
out
of
the
mist. Michelle swerved. The headlights streaked across the scrubby brush and lit the jagged mountain where it dropped off, crumbled from erosion above the canyon cut by glaciers. She slowed. They couldn't be too far from the little downtown area, with all of its stores. If she could make it that far, she could pull over at the coffee shop and wait out the storm. Her knuckles were white as she peered blindly at the fog.