Winter Break (13 page)

‘Harper? Are you awake?’

Harper leaned over the railing.

‘Come downstairs and see what we got!’

Oh Lord, Harper thought. They’d already brought in a monster tree. What now? An inflatable Santa? But she had bigger issues than awful Christmas decorations on her mind. For example, the identity of the man standing beside her mother. And the possibility that someone named Wally had put a hit out on him and was, at this minute, waiting to hear it had been carried out.

Vivian was sitting beside the still undecorated tree while Lou hauled packages in from the car, beaming at Harper.

‘You won’t have to buy a thing for the baby – by the way, have you thought more about Louise? Such a beautiful name.’

Harper didn’t answer.

‘Anyway, we got everything – diapers, onesies, teething rings – look at this.’ She held up a tiny T-shirt with the slogan MY GRANDMA SPOILS ME.

Harper sat on the sofa, stunned. ‘Ma, I told you not to buy stuff—’

‘Listen to this, Lou,’ Vivian interrupted as Lou walked in, arms loaded with more shopping bags. ‘She’s complaining that we shopped. She thinks it’s bad luck to buy anything until the baby comes.’

‘Ma, I didn’t say it was bad luck—’

‘Isn’t that ridiculous? How’s she going to shop
after
the baby comes?’

‘—I just said that, with my complications, I wanted to wait—’

‘Don’t be superstitious, Harper.’

‘She’s right.’ Lou set the bags beside the tree. ‘Besides, your mother got great pleasure shopping for her grand-baby.’

And her mother’s pleasure clearly superseded her own.

‘Somebody’s got to get supplies for poor little Louise, or Louis. And, obviously, you can’t.’ Vivian made it sound like she was doing charity. As if Harper were a dire failure for having to rest.

‘You know, you should be grateful you have a mother willing to do all this,’ Lou chided. ‘Not everybody’s so lucky.’

Harper wanted to smack him. How dare he tell her how she should feel? He who’d brought a gun into her home, who wasn’t even really named ‘Lou’? She glared at the packages; some were huge. Good God, what had Vivian bought? Or rather, what had she gotten Lou to buy? Harper had wanted to shop with Hank for the baby. Pick out a high chair, a stroller, a mobile for over the crib. But, from the look of the boxes, Vivian had taken over, made all the choices for her.

Assert yourself, she thought. Explain that this is your child, your home. That your decisions need to be honored. Go on. Tell them to take the stuff back to the store.

But, as usual with her mother, Harper swallowed her anger and said nothing. She sat watching Vivian arrange boxes around the hideous imbalanced tree. What’s the matter with you, she scolded herself. You fought insurgents, you commanded armed soldiers in combat, but you can’t tell a spindly-legged middle-aged woman to back off? Speak up.

‘Ma,’ she began, her voice too soft.

‘I got you a few things, too.’ Vivian placed a package under the tree. ‘But, Harper. Don’t worry about shopping for us. I don’t want you to go to the trouble, not when you’re supposed to be resting. Don’t bother. I mean it; I’m serious.’

Harper felt a stab of guilt. Just when she was about to stand up to her, Vivian had to say something to make her feel inadequate and indebted. Obviously, Harper hadn’t shopped – hadn’t even gone to the grocery store. But now, by bringing it up, Vivian made it clear that Harper should have managed somehow to get her mother something for Christmas. After all, she’d sent something to Hank by shopping online. Lord. Why hadn’t she done the same for Vivian? She hadn’t even thought of it. The truth was she hadn’t wanted to have Christmas this year. With Hank away, she didn’t feel like celebrating. But Vivian would expect a gift. And Christmas was just days away. Harper’s mind raced through the house, the closets, the attic, making an inventory of items that could pass for presents – and she thought of the cozy slippers her friend Vicki had given her before she’d left on her cruise. Damn. She liked them. But never mind. She’d re-gift them. Her mother would never know.

Meantime, the living room was a hodgepodge of decorations and wrappings and boxes and a big, tall lopsided tree. Lou, having brought in the last of the packages, began hanging more glittery Styrofoam balls as Vivian sorted gifts and hummed carols. Out of place in her own living room, Harper stood to go, stopping in the foyer to watch them. Focusing on Lou. Thinking about the gun he had upstairs. Watching him flick specks of glitter off of his shirt.

On impulse, she called out, ‘Hey, Ed!’

Reflexively, Lou’s shoulders tensed and his head jerked up. His eyes met Harper’s with a flash of danger. He recovered quickly. ‘You say something, Harper?’

Vivian looked from Lou-who-was-really-Ed to Harper, a question on her face.

Harper didn’t reply. She headed to the kitchen to cool her temper with a tall glass of two percent.

Sure enough, by the time she’d closed the refrigerator, Lou had joined her.

‘Who the hell are you?’ She set the carton down, facing him.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Lou lowered his voice and looked over his shoulder, making sure Vivian hadn’t followed him.

‘You tell me, Ed,’ she poked him in the chest. ‘And while you’re at it, explain why you have a gun and a ton of money upstairs—’

‘What – you went through my stuff?’

‘Damn right.’

‘Where’d you get the nerve . . .?’

‘Seriously? Where’d
you
get the nerve to bring that stuff here?’

Lou sputtered, opened a cabinet. Took out a bottle of Scotch.

‘That package with the rat,’ Harper kept after him. ‘It was addressed to Ed Strunk.’

‘So?’ Lou turned, facing her. ‘Oh wait – you think I’m Ed Strunk?’ He smiled, almost convincingly. ‘No – Ed’s just a guy I know. Not me—’

‘So why’d you open his package? Why’d someone send a dead rat to him here, where you’re staying?’ Her voice was hushed so Vivian wouldn’t hear, but it rumbled like a threat, and she stepped closer to him, her head tilted up to hold his gaze.

Lou blinked. ‘He’s a business associate, that’s all – a guy I’m helping out.’

‘And the money is his, too? And the gun?’

Lou took out a glass.

‘First, the guy gets a package here. Then a phone call.’

Subtly, Lou’s eyes bulged. ‘A phone call? Here?’ He poured Scotch. ‘When was that?’

‘While you were out shopping.’

‘Really? Who was it?’ He lifted the glass to his mouth.

‘She said her name was Rita.’

Lou swallowed too fast. Coughed. ‘Rita? She called your phone?’

‘No. Yours. I heard it ringing upstairs and I answered it. Ed.’

Lou put up a hand. ‘Look, Ed’s a friend. I’m holding his stuff for him, that’s all. The phone, the gun, the money – that’s all his . . .’

‘Don’t bullshit me.’

He poured another a finger of Scotch. ‘Okay. Here’s the honest truth. Ed was doing stuff he shouldn’t have done for a client he shouldn’t have taken on.’ He finished the drink. Poured another.

‘What the hell does that mean?’

Lou’s eyes darted left, then right. He lowered his voice. ‘He was hauling illegal substances. And cash. And I guess he . . . borrowed some of the cash.’

Christ. Harper ran a hand through her hair. ‘You stole from a drug dealer?’

‘No, not me. Ed—’

‘And you put my mother and me in the middle of it?’

‘You’re not in the middle—’

‘Lou?’ Vivian called from the living room. ‘Where’s my drinkie?’

‘On its way,’ he shouted, watching Harper. ‘Look. It’s Ed’s business. Nothing to do with you or your mother—’

‘A gun in my house? The mob coming after money hidden in my house?’

‘You’re right.’ Lou stared at the ceiling. ‘I agree, Harper. I was careless, and I apologize. I’ll take care of it. Okay?’ Lou took out another glass for Vivian, poured Scotch.

‘Lou!’ Vivian yelled. ‘I can’t reach the top of the tree. I need help.’

‘We done here?’ He picked up the drinks, eager to go.

‘Take care of it fast.’ Harper watched him carry the glasses out of the kitchen. ‘By the way, Rita said something else.’ She put her glass in the sink. ‘But I guess it doesn’t matter; the message was for Ed.’

Lou spun around. ‘What’d she say?’

‘Like I said . . .’

‘Tell me. I’ll let him know.’

Harper made herself sound casual. ‘She said that Wally knows where Ed is, and Ed should watch his back.’

Lou said nothing. He nodded slightly, and Harper thought his skin drained of color before he turned and walked away.

Harper said she was tired, and ate spaghetti in her room, watching television. According to the news, that boy from Elmira still had not been found. She dozed off during
Jeopardy
, was awakened by the gong of her phone.

Hank called early. His voice was dejected again. ‘Nothing wrong. I’m fine.’

‘Don’t even say that. I can hear it—’

‘Ankle twisted,’ he blurted.

Damn. ‘How? What happened?’ Harper clutched the phone. Hank’s right side had been weakened by his accident; maybe he wasn’t strong enough for fieldwork.

‘Not bad. Slipped. On rock.’

‘Is it swollen? Make sure to elevate it. And ice – do you have an ice pack?’

‘Hoppa, stop,’ Hank snapped. ‘Care can take of it fine know what to do.’

Okay. Apparently, Hank was frustrated. Probably in pain and not wanting to admit it. Harper was concerned, but kept quiet, didn’t want to question Hank’s abilities. After all, he was an experienced outdoorsman, a PhD geologist and strong athlete, didn’t need her advice about first aid. So she said nothing, just lay on their bed, worrying silently, staring out the window at the silhouette of the fraternity house against the night sky. Waiting for Hank to continue the conversation. Missing him.

‘Tell me.’ Hank broke the silence. ‘You? Baby?’

She thought of the gun upstairs. ‘We’re fine.’

‘Tell me. What’s wrong? Something.’

Hank knew. Of course he did. He could hear the tension in her voice. ‘Nothing. Just I miss you.’

‘I miss. You, too.’

Silence again.

‘Vivian?’ he asked.

Harper took a breath and let her answer spill out. How Vivian had bought everything for the baby – high chair, car seat, stroller, toys, layette. How the whole living room was full of who-knew-what.

‘Trying to be nice.’ Hank made excuses. ‘She wants to give—’

‘No, Hank. She’s not being nice. She’s trying to tell me what to name the baby. And she knew – I told her not to shop, I said we wanted to pick things out ourselves. I made it clear that we were waiting until later—’

‘Hoppa. Breathe.’ His voice was firm, commanding. ‘Don’t upset. Rest. Calm. Name we’ll pick. Return gifts later, shop later.’

He was right. She had to stop getting upset with Vivian; it wasn’t good for her or the baby. But the problem was bigger than just Vivian.

‘It’s not just Vivian,’ she blurted. ‘It’s her boyfriend. He has—’ She barely stopped herself before she said ‘a gun’. No point making Hank worry when he was hundreds of miles away and could do nothing.

‘Boyfriend has what?’

‘I don’t know. Insomnia?’ Whew. Good thinking, she told herself. ‘He creeps out in the middle of the night. He spends wads of cash and won’t say how he’s earned it. He’s . . . I don’t know. Sneaky?’

Hank chuckled.

‘What?’

‘Sorry. Not funny really. Just you’re surprised. At sneaky? What kind of man. Vivian with ever? Expect what? Saint? Scholar?’

Hank was right. Her mother had neither great taste in nor much luck with men. The best of them, after all, had been Harper’s father, a professional liar, embezzler, swindler, cheat. A distant memory flashed: strong arms scooping her high and holding her up in the air. The sense of being safe. And of something else – pride? She closed her eyes, crushing the image, replacing it with another one: those same arms locked in handcuffs as police led him away.

‘Nice to her?’

What? Nice? Oh, wait. He meant Lou. ‘Too nice. And affectionate.’ She thought of their bedpost bumping the walls the other night. ‘He seems nuts about her.’

‘So?’

‘You’re right. He’s probably okay.’ Even though he has a gun. And a suitcase full of cash. And fake IDs and an alias. And a hit out on him by a guy named Wally.

They talked some more. About Harper’s expanding belly. Her upcoming doctor’s appointment. Life in Texas. Their first Christmas apart. When they hung up, even though she hadn’t told Hank everything, Harper felt reassured. The sound of his voice, even though he was far away and in pain, grounded her. And at least for a little while, she felt calm.

The body was too stiff, wouldn’t cooperate. They got it down the steps, laid it on the floor.

Sty shook his head. ‘Obviously, this is not going to fit in the back of my car.’

Evan crossed his arms. ‘No shit.’ He was out of breath. Tired of cleaning and carrying. Tired of listening to Sty.

‘He’d fit after rigor passes, but that could take up to three days.’

‘Which we don’t have. I’ve got to get home Christmas Eve.’

‘So do I.’

‘So what do we do? We have to leave, and he can’t just lie here—’

‘I didn’t say he would, did I? I believe all I said was that he wouldn’t fit into my car—’

‘Don’t go semantic on me, Sty. What you said or didn’t say isn’t the fucking issue. The only fucking issue is what the fuck are we going to do with him?’

Sty’s lips curled into a snaky smile. ‘Getting testy, are we?’ His eyes were cold and lizard-like. ‘This kind of reaction is beneath you, Evan. Don’t give in to childish fits of pique. They make you careless and panicky. We can’t afford them.’

Evan felt his face heat up; he fought the urge to strangle Sty. His fingers ached to close around Sty’s throat. Evan imagined his tongue protruding, his eyes bulging. But he held back; even though Sty was turning out to be a pompous arrogant asshole, he still needed him. Looking away, Evan deliberately slowed his breath, waiting a few beats before speaking. ‘So. What do you suggest?’

‘I mentioned before that I’d given the problem some thought and come up with a viable solution.’ Sty pointed into the sitting room. Against the far wall, beyond the sofas, in a corner wedged between a grandfather’s clock and a bookshelf, stood a hideous oversized armoire.