Brambleman (55 page)

“Is this money from the book, or from selling
drugs?” Susan whispered harshly.

“Hey kids! It’s me!” he shouted.

They came running. “You’re back!” Beck
squealed. Ben stumbled into the foyer, his arms full of toys,
dropping them at Charlie’s feet. Susan stood blocking Charlie from
the family room, so he stepped into the living room, kids tugging
his hands. Charlie put the books on the coffee table and plopped
into the easy chair.

They ran off to get more stuff. Susan said,
“I’ll need two thousand more.”

Charlie shook his head in exasperation. “You
know, you’re such a … skip it.”

“Consider it skipped.”

The kids returned with artwork from school
and squeezed in to sit beside him. They’d grown since he’d last sat
with them in that chair, and Charlie felt like a big sardine, but
he was too grateful to be near them to complain. As he marveled at
their drawings, Beck scrutinized the scar on his cheek and poked
it. “A flower is growing there.”

Ben pulled his injured ear and asked if it
would come off. “It will if you keep pulling on it,” Charlie said.
“OK, I’ll read the books now.”

“Mine first,” Beck said, grabbing
Stellaluna
from the coffee table and handing it to her
father.

Susan took a seat on the sofa across from
Charlie and folded her hands in her lap. “How long do you plan on
staying?” she asked, her tone crisp.

“He just got here,” Beck said, scowling.

Susan stiffened. Charlie snuggled in deeper
with the kids in the chair. As Sirius lay contentedly at his feet,
he read
Stellaluna
, then moved on to
A Series of
Unfortunate Events
. Susan waited impatiently. He grew hoarse
but kept reading, fearing that if he stopped and asked for a glass
of water (which she wasn’t about to offer), Susan would declare the
visit over.

After an hour, Ben said, “All for now. You
can read to us tomorrow.”

“No, we’ll be going to church,” Susan said.
“Charlie, you need to go.”

Charlie stood up. “All right. Bye, kids. I
love you.”

Beck hugged him, then Ben followed suit.
Sirius, moving slowly, came up and brushed his master’s knee.
Charlie bent down and rubbed the old dog’s neck, wondering how much
longer the pooch would be around.

“Beck, Ben, put your things up, please,”
Susan said, then followed Charlie to the door. When he stepped
outside, she said, “Wait up a minute.”

Charlie saw a look on her face that he’d seen
a thousand times before, that of hesitant confession. “Did you have
something else to say?”

Susan cleared her throat. “I guess you know
that Pappy sold the farm.”

“Yeah. The article about it was right under
the picture of me getting stomped by the police. I also saw that
Uncle Stanley’s spreading money around to all the churches. I
figure they already divvied up the profits.” Susan looked like
she’d eaten a green apple. “I guess your mother and Uncle Stanley
figure they’re due a cut since they’ve been paying taxes on
it.”

Susan looked away. So there it was. Pappy had
already given up his wealth to his offspring. Charlie smelled
Shakespeare at play. Hadn’t that been King Lear’s tragic mistake?
“Have they evicted Pappy?”

“The developers are letting him stay in the
house until they have to level it.”

“Mighty white of them,” Charlie said. “So
everybody’s rich now. You get your cut yet?”

“That’s not your business,” she said angrily,
waving her finger in his face. “And I know you. You’re just trying
to avoid child support. No matter what, you still have to pay.”

“What’s Bradley Roy say about all this?”

She bit her lip. “Daddy won’t have anything
to do with the money. Mom’s threatening to leave him.”

“I don’t understand. How is that a
threat?”

“Stop it. I know you hate her. But they’ve
been together fifty years.”

“Well, no one can say he didn’t try. He’s a
saint,” Charlie said.

“Well, I’m not.” Susan laughed drily.

“Just curious. Why won’t he have anything to
do with the money?”

“You,” she snarled. “He says something’s
fishy. Thinks you know something about Pappy, but he doesn’t know
what it is. I told him you were just making up stuff.” She sighed.
“He’s worked hard all his life. He should enjoy a little luxury now
that he’s retired. I don’t see the problem. Uncle Stanley said
whatever you were trying to accuse Pappy of got edited out because
you couldn’t prove it. Because it was a lie.”

Far from being insulted, Charlie was
overjoyed to hear that the varmints thought the storm had passed,
which meant they had no idea what was coming. He couldn’t help
grinning, but Susan wasted no time wiping the smirk off his face.
She said, “Before you get any ideas about spending the money from
Flight from Forsyth
, I’m entitled to half of everything you
make, especially considering all you put me through the past twenty
years.”

“When it’s over, you’ll be rich one way or
another, won’t you, dear?”

“Like I said, I’m entitled.”

“I’ll set up college funds for the kids,”
Charlie said.

She glanced back into the house, as if to
gauge the children’s IQs and scholarship potential. “I’ll be the
custodian.”

“Now you’re starting to get on my
nerves.”

“C’mon, we’ve been on each other’s nerves
since I opened the door.”

“Well, you look good angry.” Charlie grinned.
“Then again, that’s the only way I see you.”

“I wonder why that is?”

“Look, I want to get back to spending time
with Beck and Ben.”

He watched her jaw muscles bulge. Time for
him to
git
, as Evangeline would say.

“Mommy,” Ben hollered from inside. “Are you
going out with Harold tonight?”

“Harold?” Charlie asked.

Susan turned to give Ben a withering look.
Without changing her expression, she turned back to face Charlie.
“Just be careful what you say about my family. I’ll bet all those
reporters who think you’re a hero would like to know why you left
that night.” She shut the door in his face.

“I’ll be back next week,” he told the
peephole.

* * *

Charlie’s return to Thornbriar was blocked,
however. On Valentine’s Day, he received another cream-colored
envelope from Cantrell, Bachman, and Gaithers. Same law firm that
had threatened him before, different lawyer. In her letter, Leslie
Volcker, Esq., advised him that Susan had filed for a restraining
order to keep him away from Beck and Ben “due to your heavy
involvement in drug trafficking.” Ms. Volcker advised him to keep
his distance while the matter was pending.

Charlie was infuriated. He resisted the
impulse to tear up the letter and tore up the envelope instead.
Obviously, Susan had used the money he gave her to hire an
attorney. That sucked. It also meant he’d be spending his
American Monster
loot on lawyers, both his and hers.

Volcker’s letter didn’t mention divorce, and
that seemed odd. Charlie puzzled over this for a moment, then
realized Susan didn’t want a divorce. After all, divorcing a man
who was about to become rich wouldn’t make sense to a varmint,
would it? No, better to wait until he actually
was
rich from
the royalties on
Flight
. Clever girl. But clearly, this was
war. And he was determined to win, since Susan was going to fight
that way. She might not beg him to come back, but in the end, she
would
be on her knees, by God.

Charlie called around and came up with the
name of a suitably cutthroat divorce attorney named Richard Muncie.
A few days later, Charlie met Muncie and told him the deal with
Susan. The bald lawyer was both impressed and appalled when Charlie
said, “In conclusion, there’s no point trying to keep this
civilized.”

“Not even for the children’s sake?” Muncie
asked with a wry smile.

“Souls, sir. We are fighting for their souls.
The choice is bruised and battered on one hand, or stolen on the
other. So let’s gear up for a monumental battle between good and
evil. And we’ll see who’s left standing when all this is over.”

“It’ll cost you,” Muncie said, “in ways you
can’t even imagine.”

“Whatever it takes,” Charlie replied. “Bring
it on.”

Before the ink was dry on the check he wrote
to Muncie, the restraining order against Charlie had been issued
and the media alerted. This time, Charlie didn’t answer reporters’
calls. Just as well. Nothing he had to say was fit to print.

Charlie woke at 4:00 a.m. from a dream about
Romy. The girl was moaning and kicking off her sleeping bag in a
filthy room, terribly sick and feverish, babbling about a dark
angel trying to kill her. Since Charlie trusted his night visions,
at least those that came at four o’clock sharp, he jumped out of
bed and paced around in the dark on the loft’s cold concrete floor,
worrying about the girl and fighting the urge to hop into his car
and drive over to Redeemer’s church to check on her.

He hadn’t seen her in three weeks. Why was
the well-being of a street urchin—the daughter of a prostitute God
apparently despised—so important to him? Maybe he was just a sucker
for an underdog—or had issues with the Almighty, himself. Whenever
he saw her, he’d been wounded or injured, and the little girl
always seemed to take away some of the hurt. There were dangers in
crashing in on a whore in the middle of the night, however, so
Charlie waited.

But not for long. At dawn he burst out the
door, ran down the stairs, hopped in the Volvo, and drove to
Redeemer’s Holy Way House. Tawny answered the door, opening it just
a crack, then swinging it wide when she saw it was him. Her face
was plain and pale, her eyes bleary.

“Thank God you’re here,” she said, hugging
his neck as he stepped inside. “You’re the only person in the world
I’m glad to see right now.” He pressed his forearms against her
sides in an awkward embrace. He could feel her ribs. How long had
it been since she’d eaten? “Romy’s bad sick. I was going to call
911, even if the cops come and kick us out.”

“If Redeemer says you can stay, you can
stay,” he said, watching his breath in the early morning sunlight.
He turned and made his way between the pews to the corner where the
kids lay in their sleeping bags. That part of the sanctuary was
warmed by the kerosene space heater he’d given them.

Romy moaned pitifully. “What’s wrong, little
girl?”

She opened her eyes and pointed to her
throat.

“She can’t swallow,” Tawny said, coming up
behind. “Hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning.”

Charlie touched the girl’s forehead and drew
his hand back. White-hot fever raged through her. A hundred and
four, he guessed, having been there and done that. “Let’s get her
to a doctor.”

“I don’t have any insurance. I don’t have any
money, either.”

He held up his hand. “It’s all right. I’ll
take care of it.”

Wyatt, sleepy-eyed and apparently untouched
by his sister’s malady, slipped on clothes and old, torn sneakers.
Charlie turned off the heater, picked up Romy in her sleeping bag,
and carried her out to the car. Tawny and Wyatt followed.

Charlie drove to Childmed Group in North
Atlanta, being especially careful since he didn’t have child safety
seats in the car. After Tawny filled out paperwork and the cashier
verified Charlie’s credit card, Tawny took the kids back to an
examination room while Charlie waited out front.

An hour later, Tawny returned with Romy in
her arms; the woman staggered under the weight. “Strep throat,” she
said. “I’ll need help with the medicine.” She gave Charlie a
pleading look.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” he said,
and went to the counter.

“That will be three hundred thirty-five
dollars today,” the cashier said, pointing to filled-in lines on
two yellow forms. “One child’s sick visit, one’s physical. And
vaccinations for both.”

Once he got over his sticker shock, Charlie
signed for the expense, then carried Romy, limp as a rag doll, out
to the car. Tawny put a hand on his elbow. “We need groceries, too.
If we could stop on the way back to the church, I could—”

“I can’t take you back there. You don’t even
have hot water. And even with the space heater, it’s freezing
there. That’s no place to get well. I’ll put you up in a motel for
a few days, and I’ll see about getting the utilities turned back
on.”

Charlie slipped Romy into the back seat.
Wyatt slid in beside her. Tawny turned to Charlie and looked at him
plaintively. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but what about your
place?”

Interesting question. But the answer had to
be No. He didn’t want to compromise his position in the war with
his wife and lose his own kids. There would come an accounting
someday, hopefully soon, so he’d let Susan be the one to engage in
extracurricular activities.

He struggled to come up with a simple answer.
“I don’t even have a place. It’s a sublet.” He winced, knowing his
excuse sounded lame.

Disappointment spread over her face.
“Oh.”

Charlie took Tawny to Redeemer’s church so
they could get their things. He saw that both hot water and heat
were electric, which meant he’d only have one bill to pay. Another
window had been broken, and Tawny had covered it with a blanket. He
worried about squatters, burglars, and worse. He needed to secure
the windows, at least.

After stopping at Target to buy groceries,
car seats, a prepaid cellphone, and Romy’s medicine—and spending
nearly $300 this time—Charlie checked Tawny into a motel with
weekly rates and a kitchen. When she unlocked the door to their
first-floor room, Wyatt ran to the bathroom and Charlie laid Romy
on a double bed. “You’re going to get well,” he told her.

When Charlie brought in the car seats, he
said, “These are yours now. For a cab, or—”