Winter Break (20 page)

But Lou didn’t cry. He rubbed his eyes and regrouped, not responding to her insults. ‘You don’t have to be mean, Harper.’

Mean? He thought she was mean?

He sniffed. ‘You have my word. In a few days, it’ll be all taken care of. Wally will be happy as pie. No more black SUVs patrolling the street. No more bombs or rats. And best of all, no reason to throw your mama out of the house.’

‘I never said anything about my mama. It’s you I’m throwing out.’

‘Even still. There’ll be no need.’

Harper didn’t back down. ‘Really? What about the government? I believe the Feds are looking for you, too.’

‘The Feds?’ He scoffed. ‘Naw. They think Wally offed me a while ago. And anyway, they got nothing on me. They just wanted me to testify against Wally.’

‘I bet they’d be thrilled to find out you’re still breathing.’ Harper ached to take him down. She pictured cold cocking him, his eyes rolling as he sank to the floor beneath the plastic covered window.

‘Look. I get how you feel about me,’ Lou whispered. ‘But your mother. Honestly, she’s the best thing that ever happened in my whole life. We’re good together. I swear, Harper. Ed Strunk – he really is dead. She changed me. I’m a new man, living right. All I want is to spend the rest of my life making your mother the happiest woman alive.’

Harper opened her mouth to answer. Closed it. Saw no point.

‘Give me a chance. Let me take care of business like I said. Let me make it right. I’m asking you, Harper. What else can I do? Should I get on my knees?’ He did. He got down on his knees, folded his hands as if praying and looked at her with wide, sorry, sincere eyes. ‘There. Look. I’m begging.’

Harper looked away. Then back at him. Then away. The man was shameless. Manipulative. Dishonest. Slippery.

‘Please.’ He kept at it. ‘Not for me – I’m nobody. But for your mother.’ His pleading eyes tugged at her.

Lord. Harper felt a flutter and held her belly; the baby was moving. Twirling?

‘Lou?’ Vivian called, again giving ‘Lou’ three-syllables. ‘Where are you? You said you’d be right back.’

Lou didn’t answer, didn’t move. He just watched Harper. The baby distracted her. Was it doing cartwheels?

‘I have to consider my baby,’ she said flatly. ‘You have until Christmas. Take care of your business. But if you can’t by then, you need to go.’

He scrambled to his feet, threw his arms around her, pressed his mouth to her cheek. ‘You won’t be sorry. I swear. I said I’d take care of it and I will.’

‘Lou?’ Vivian gaped from the doorway. ‘The fire’s dying.’ She furrowed her brows. ‘What are you two up to?’

Lou danced over to her, snaked an arm around her waist and kissed her head. ‘Spreading peace and good will, Viv. It’s the season, after all. Isn’t that what it’s all about?’

Icy sleet was falling fast, collecting on tree branches, coating the streets. Driving was treacherous.

The armoire was beginning to smell.

‘We’ve got to get that thing out of here. Can’t we just stick it on the porch?’

‘Absolutely not. If we leave it outside, we have no control over who has contact with it.’

‘In this storm? Seriously, Sty. No one’s going to come up and look at—’

‘What about the Ninja Lady? Or that detective? Wouldn’t they wonder why we’d put the armoire, an item we’ve supposedly just sold, outside where it might be damaged by the precipitation? We have to expect the unexpected. Be patient.’

Evan was itchy, couldn’t stay still. Hives were forming on his arms and stomach. Nerves. He went into the living room, sprawled on an easy chair, bouncing his foot.

Sty sprayed air freshener around the foyer, adding artificial lavender to the pine forest scented candles he’d lit all over the first floor of the house. ‘It’s not that bad,’ he scolded. ‘Stop whimpering.’

‘The plan was to dump the body right away.’

‘Yes, Evan. It was.’ Sty stopped spraying. ‘But as you well know, unforeseen matters led to modifications of that plan. We can’t very well go out driving in this weather.’

‘So we’re stuck here until the roads clear. Wonderful.’ Evan pulled a baggie out of his hip pocket, began rolling a joint. ‘By the way, isn’t that what brought down your friend Loeb – unforeseen matters?’

‘Please don’t numb yourself with marijuana, Evan. We’re going to need all our faculties.’

Evan took out his lighter. ‘Not tonight. Nothing’s happening tonight.’

Sty walked into the living room. ‘You don’t know that. You’re a liability if you’re stoned. And, to be clear, it wasn’t careful and timely modification of their plan that brought them down; it was carelessness. Leopold dropped his one-of-a-kind designer glasses near the body at the dumpsite. Plain and simple carelessness.’

Evan lit up, inhaled, held the smoke in his lungs. Held the joint out to Sty.

‘Damn it, Evan.’ Sty slapped his hand away, sent the joint flying. ‘I told you not to smoke.’

‘Really?’ Evan’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flared. He jumped to his feet, shoving Sty, meeting him nose to nose, pushing him, backing him up. ‘You really just smacked me?’

‘Stop. Calm down.’

‘No – no I won’t calm down.’ He shoved Sty against the wall, leaned into his face. ‘I’m sick of hearing about your fucking idols, Leopold and Loeb. I’m sick of you acting like you’re some goddamned superior infallible all-inspired Superhuman – and most of all, I’m sick of you telling me what I can and cannot do. Let me ask you: Who made you chairman of the board? Just answer that – who?’

‘You’re right.’ Sty stood perfectly still. ‘I have no excuse.’

‘And you know what else? I’m sick of your rigid unbendable uncompromising thinking. The almighty Plan. Everything’s got to be planned and thought out and predigested and analyzed. Nothing is spontaneous. Can’t you just for once let go and enjoy yourself? Do something – anything – without dissecting all the possible ramifications first? Can’t you ever take even a small fucking risk?’

‘I didn’t realize you felt this way, Evan. I suppose you’re right. I should occasionally give in to my impulses,’ Sty said softly. Looking into Evan’s eyes, he raised his arms, set his hands fraternally on Evan’s shoulders.

Evan began to settle down. He stepped away, and Sty lunged, knocking him backward, throwing him to the floor, pouncing on top of him, landing a fist in Evan’s gut. Evan roared and fought back; the two rolled on the carpet, bumping furniture, punching and grunting, until, finally, Sty pinned both of Evan’s arms back and pressed a knee into his throat. Evan writhed and kicked, but Sty’s knee jabbed into his neck, cutting off his air, silently threatening to crush his larynx. Evan held still.

‘How’s that for acting on impulse?’ Sty asked.

Evan looked away, lip bleeding, gasping. Nostrils flaring.

‘Anything else on your mind?’ Sty released him, and Evan lay panting, holding his stomach. ‘No? Good.’

Sty sat, rubbed his sore jaw. After a few minutes, he picked up the joint, made sure it had gone out, pocketed it. ‘Get cleaned up,’ he got to his feet. ‘We have some caroling to do.’

Lou had gone out ‘to take care of things,’ and Vivian sat with a bottle of wine, sulking in the living room beside the tree. Harper was in the kitchen, staring into the refrigerator, considering fixing a mayonnaise and raisin sandwich. Thought about what else to put in. She opened the cold cut drawer, pulled out sliced turkey.

Vivian must have moved to the family room; the television came on in there. Munchkins were singing their welcome song to Dorothy and her friends. That show ran every year around Christmas. Hank hated it, said it had given him nightmares as a child.

Hank. She slapped mayo and turkey onto wheat bread, thinking of him. He should call soon to say goodnight. Should she tell him that her mother and Lou were leaving? No. Better to save that until the last possible moment; he had enough problems with his injured ankle. And how bad was that ankle? Was it serious? Worse than he’d told her? She poured raisins, black olives, sliced bananas. Found some apricot jam. Pictured Hank in traction in a hospital bed; her chest tightened and the kitchen faded away . . . She was out in the backyard, seeing Hank fall, sliding off the roof, hitting his head . . .

‘Harper.’ Vivian tapped her shoulder, startling her. Gaping. ‘What in God’s name are you eating?’

Harper looked at her sandwich. She had no idea what was in it, but she took a bite, found it delicious. Waved a hand at her mother. ‘I was hungry.’

But Vivian didn’t leave. She looked over her shoulder into the hallway, as if expecting someone. Fluttered around, taking out coffee mugs. ‘Did you know that one of those boys next door is a singer? He performs with an a cappella group.’

Harper watched her, aware now of voices. Not Munchkins from Oz. Deeper cheery voices, singing in harmony. And approaching the kitchen.

‘Fa-la-la-la-la,’ Sty beamed, spreading his arms with a final crescendo. ‘La la la la.’ His cheek was swollen. Or was it?

Evan sang along, looking pale, his lips puffy and scabbed, maybe cold sores?

‘Harper – where’s your cocoa?’ Vivian searched the cabinets. ‘Lou normally does this, but he’s gone out,’ she explained to the boys. ‘I have no idea where anything is.’

Harper started to go get it, but Sty gestured that she shouldn’t bother. ‘No, no. Sit.’ His voice was too loud. Booming. ‘We came caroling, and your gracious mother invited us in for hot cocoa.’

‘It’s on the second shelf,’ Harper pointed. And she made her way around Sty and Evan, down the hall to Hank’s study, where she closed the door. And made a call.

‘I’m fine,’ Hank answered on the first ring. He sounded groggy, as if she’d awakened him. Why would he be sleeping so early? It wasn’t even dinner time. But his voice relaxed her. She wanted to wrap it around her like a shawl.

‘You? Okay?’

No. Not even a little bit. ‘Of course. Fine.’ Her eyes filled; she smeared the tears away, refusing to allow them.

‘Called why? Not wait for me later?’

‘I don’t know. It’s just. We’re having an ice storm. I’m lonely. And a little claustrophobic.’ She didn’t mention that she was evicting her mother and Lou. Or that Rivers had talked with her about the missing kid. Or that some fraternity boys were currently raiding the kitchen.

‘Tight. Quarters with Vivian.’

If only he knew how tight. ‘I miss you.’ Damn. She wiped her eyes again. When had she become such a sap?

She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘I miss you. Too. Hoppa.’ His words were private and throaty. Sexy. She pictured his bear-like shoulders, his solid warm chest. Could almost feel the scratch of his stubbly cheeks on her face. ‘Won’t be. Much. Away. Longer.’

She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t trust her voice.

‘Baby?’

Her hand rested on her stomach, told him about the baby’s somersaults and cartwheels. Hank asked if she was resting enough, having contractions, working on her dissertation. The same questions he asked every night. Harper gave the same answers. And then, when they’d finished with those, there was silence. Two people, breathing into the phone.

‘So,’ she tried to sound casual. ‘How’s your ankle?’

‘Oh. Will be. Fine.’

Will be? So it wasn’t yet?

‘Told you. Doctor said. Will be fine.’

‘Harper?’ Vivian knocked on the study door.

Harper clenched her jaw, closed her eyes. Couldn’t her mother let her have three minutes to herself?

‘Don’t. Worry. Fine, Hoppa.’

The door opened and Vivian announced, ‘Your cocoa’s getting cold.’

Harper turned away, huddling over the phone, whispering for another few moments. After the call, she stayed in Hank’s study, sitting in his easy chair, watching the shadows of his lamp and his desk. Feeling his absence. Oh, tough it up, she scolded herself. Stop being pathetic. Hank’s fine, you’re fine, the baby’s fine. And this separation is only for a few piddling weeks. It’s nothing. Get over it.

‘Are you coming?’

Harper whirled around; Vivian was still waiting at the door, regarding her icily. Indignantly. Unforgivingly. Harper looked away, rubbing her eyes as if she were sleepy. As if she weren’t a sorry weakling, wiping away tears.

Dinner time approached with no sign of Lou. And no sign of Sty or Evan’s departure. They sat with Harper and Vivian around the kitchen table, their cocoa mugs and the plate of cookies long since emptied.

‘Don’t you guys have to be somewhere?’ Harper finished off a bag of cheese doodles, wondering if pizza places were delivering with all the ice on the roads.

‘Not anywhere to which we can get. Evan’s performance got canceled.’

‘Aren’t you going home for the holidays?’ Harper wondered.

‘We were both supposed to leave in the morning.’ Sty looked at Evan. ‘But the weather might make us revise our plans. We still have a few days, but Evan’s nervous about getting home in time for Christmas, aren’t you, Evan?’

‘They’re sure to salt the roads.’ Vivian wrung her hands. ‘I mean, aren’t they?’

‘Sooner or later. Evan and I are counting on that.’ Sty smiled, crossed his legs.

‘I hope they do it soon. Lou’s out driving in this.’

‘He’d call if he had a problem, Ma.’ Unless, of course, the mob had snuffed him.

Vivian met her eyes, and Harper saw her mother’s alarm. They both knew where Lou was; presumably, he was out meeting the guy who was going to loan him money so he could pay back the mob guy who’d taken a hit out on him. Vivian had reason to worry, and not just about slippery roads. But Harper couldn’t think about that right then; the only thing on her mind was food. Hungry yet again, she went to the kitchen counter, opened the drawer with the take-out menus. Rifled through them until she found one for Napoli’s pizza.

‘Why don’t you call him?’ Sty suggested.

‘He told me not to. He doesn’t want interruptions while he’s doing business.’

‘Business? Today? In this storm?’

Vivian nodded, chewing her lip.

‘What kind of business is he in?’ Evan ignored Sty’s scowl.

Vivian looked at Harper, who was studying the list of optional toppings and hadn’t even heard the question.

‘Well. He does a few different things.’ Vivian stood, began collecting empty cocoa mugs. ‘This is a finance deal, I think.’