Guilt (4 page)

“It's all set. He's coming here later.”

Jackie stared at the clock on the desk like it was about to explode. “But I can't stay. When Joe gets home and I'm not there, he'll call the office and find out I wasn't at work this afternoon. God knows what he'll do if he finds out where I was.”

“Think about whether you should be going home right now.” Annie said it as gently as she could. The bomb blast hadn't changed the fundamental fact that Jackie needed to be somewhere safe when her husband got the news that she was throwing him out. “This is why you're getting a restraining order.”

“But I—” Jackie sank into a chair. “I know that. Damn. I just wasn't letting myself think about it. Where are we going to go?”

Already Annie was making a mental list of shelters to call. Worst case, they'd come home with her. “First thing tomorrow, Chip will go with you to file the restraining order. He's got copies of the paperwork. I'll find you a place to stay tonight and tomorrow night, until we know Joe has moved out.”

Just then Annie remembered. Damn. She was supposed to meet her sister, Abby, for dinner. Abby was finally ready to talk about the new man in her life, the Mr. Wonderful who'd been monopolizing her evenings for weeks. Annie was dying to know, and given Abby's track record, afraid to find out. If she had to cancel tonight, there was always tomorrow, she thought, fingering the white coffee mug on her desk.
GOT GRITS
, it said in black letters. Mary Alice had brought back a bunch of mugs like it from South Carolina after Christmas break. She'd filled each one with a baggie of what she said were the real thing—stone-ground grits. Something was missing from your life, she'd told them, if you'd never had them the way her mother served them, “hot as Hades” and slathered with butter.

Annie felt a lump rising in her throat, the letters swimming beyond a veil of tears. Then Jackie and Annie were holding each other, trying to muffle the sounds so Sophie wouldn't hear.

4

D
ETECTIVE
S
ERGEANT
Joseph MacRae gave a tight nod as he strode past Peter and into Chip's office. His face was taut, and his red hair cut military-short. He was not a big man, but he filled the space around him like a charged wire.

Peter gave him a throwaway “Good to-see-you.” Though not Peter's favorite person, MacRae was a pretty decent police detective.

Annie shepherded Jackie into the office, too, and closed the door behind them, leaving Peter in the outer office with Sophie. Peter checked the wall clock. They were expecting him back at the Neuropsych Unit in a half hour. He didn't like leaving the folks he worked with hanging, and he wasn't thrilled about being left to watch a seven-year-old.

He called Gloria Alspag, the nurse in charge of the unit, to say he'd be getting back late. She gave him a thorough chewing out. Why hadn't he called in earlier? She'd been frantic with worry when she heard about the bombing, everyone had, since they knew he'd been heading over to somewhere in the Harvard Square area. By the time he hung up she'd made him feel thoroughly chagrinned.

Sophie was on the floor drawing. She gave him a frank, appraising look—a man she'd never seen before today—pushed back her hair, and went back to her picture. Peter didn't have a lot of experience with kids, so he hung back. Child Psych 101. Meet them at their level and don't be threatening.

“Hey, that's pretty neat,” he said.

Sophie drew eyes on the smallest of three figures. She concentrated and gripped the blue marker, the tip of her tongue visible between her lips. She'd already finished drawing a big black creature with short, pointy ears, and a medium-sized blue one with tall ears. A family?

Peter checked the clock again. Two minutes had gone by. He wondered how long he'd be stuck there.

“Hey, mister, you don't have to babysit me,” Sophie said. She looked up with sharp eyes. “I'm not a baby.”

He felt properly chastised. Sophie went back to drawing red lines radiating from a red sun. She didn't have a yellow marker. With her nose so close to the paper, he hoped she wouldn't get high off the chemicals that permeated the air. She shifted so her back was to him.

What was the matter with him, anyway, getting intimidated by a little girl? Let's see, introducing yourself is always good. He pulled over a chair and sat near her.

“My name is Peter. You're a good artist.”

Sophie ignored him.

“That's a very cool picture,” he tried.

Peter could feel Sophie shrinking back into herself. She didn't suffer fools.

If at first you don't succeed …
He wasn't above bribery. He dug into his pocket. Lifesavers. He set the half-eaten roll on the floor between them.

Sophie gave it a glance and went back to her drawing. She switched to the green marker and drew a few tentative blades of grass. Her eyes flicked over to Peter, then to the Lifesavers.

“It's okay,” he said. “Help yourself.”

Sophie licked her lips and picked up the pack. She peeled back the paper covering a yellow Lifesaver.

“You like yellow ones?” he asked.

“They're okay.” She pried the candy loose and slipped it into her mouth. “Thank you,” she said, depositing the words as carefully as she set the package down in the exact same spot where it had been.

“You can have the rest, if you like.”

She didn't reach for the pack, but went back to drawing.

“That looks like a bunny.” Peter pointed to the middle-sized blue figure.

Sophie considered her picture. The Lifesaver was a lump in her cheek. “That's the mommy bunny. And that's the baby.” She pointed to the smallest figure.

“And who's that?” Peter asked, indicating the large black figure with pointy ears.

“That's the big bad wolf,” she said, her face solemn.

“He looks scary.”

Sophie didn't answer.

Cunning
—that was the word Peter's Irish next-door neighbors used to describe their baby granddaughter. It was the perfect word for Sophie Klevinski. She had a round face and dark eyes that gleamed with intelligence.

She put some finishing touches on the figures—a tie around the neck of the wolf and a bow on the head of the little blue bunny. She reached tentatively for the Lifesaver pack and helped herself to a red one. Then she picked up the green marker and drew a horizon line and a hill with tiny houses off in the distance—pretty sophisticated spatial details.

Annie and Chip emerged from the conference room followed by Jackie. Sophie grabbed for the package of Lifesavers and sprang to her feet. She ran to her mother and latched on to her leg. Jackie smoothed Sophie's curls, then leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

Sophie stuck her tongue out and showed her mother what was left of the Lifesaver. “The man gave it to me.”

“Did you say thank-you to Dr. Zak?” Jackie asked.

“Peter,” Peter said. “She certainly did.”

Now MacRae came out. “Well, I'll be going,” he said, standing there looking self-conscious in his dark blue suit. This one fit him better than usual.

“Thank you,” MacRae said to Jackie, and gave her a stiff handshake. “We'll be able to reach you if we need to follow up?”

Jackie seemed startled. She opened her mouth but no words came out.

“Jackie might not be at home,” Annie said, jumping in. “Call me. I'll know how to get in touch.”

“Mommy?” Sophie asked, her face clouded over. She squeezed her arms around Jackie's leg and looked up, craning her neck.

MacRae hitched up his pants and started for the door. He looked tired as he wiped the back of his arm over his forehead. Peter walked out with him.

“What kind of sick fuck does this kind of thing?” MacRae asked under his breath.

For a moment, Peter wondered if it was a serious question or just an expression of frustration.

“You people will probably end up defending the bastard,” he added, and left before Peter could tell him to go to hell.

*   *   *

Peter called the unit again. It was nearly five o'clock. Annie was making calls, trying to find a shelter for Sophie and Jackie. Jackie sat sipping a cup of tea and Sophie worked on a new picture.

Dr. Kwan Liu, Peter's longtime friend and partner in running the unit, picked up.

“If it isn't the itinerant bomb squad investigator,” Kwan said.

“I'm sorry. I talked to Gloria. I couldn't get away—”

“And you're wondering if we're managing without you? I know it's hard to believe, but we are.”

“I'm heading back now,” Peter told him. “Should be there in twenty minutes.”

“After we've done all the heavy lifting? Don't bother. We'll continue to suffer in silence.”

Peter didn't point out how loud, not to mention whiny, this “silence” of his was.

“Peter”—Kwan's voice turned serious—“you weren't there or anything, were you?”

Nothing like kindness and concern to bring out the guilt. He was fine, he told Kwan, and gave a quick summary of what had happened. In return, he heard all the gory details about how Kwan and Gloria and the day staff had struggled through a particularly challenging day. They'd spent the afternoon trying to dissuade one delirious patient from trying out every bed in the place—not a big deal, but upsetting to the patients already occupying them. Kwan had to abandon a group of doctors visiting from China in order to help bring the situation under control.

“What can I do to make amends and assuage my conscience?” Peter asked.

“At least you have one.” There was a pause. “Ah, let's see. I'm sure you won't have any trouble being on call for me tonight. And—I know, a chai latté from Starbucks tomorrow morning at, say, about eight?”

“Eight?” Peter shuddered. That was when he was usually just prying himself out of bed.

“And how about something for Gloria, who shouldered this taxing burden with me?” He was on a roll. “Make that a decaf latté. Don't forget, she likes hers with extra sugar. And let me think…”

“Don't press your luck,” Peter said, his guilt rapidly shading into resentment.

*   *   *

An hour later, the savory smell of pot roast filled Peter's mother's apartment. Peter watched Sophie, her face flushed and serious as she stood on the chrome, red-cushioned kitchen chair, concentrating on the task at hand: grating potato onto a dish towel. The apron hung down around her ankles. Pearl Zak had tied Sophie's hair back with a pink ribbon.

Peter still wasn't sure how he'd ended up bringing Sophie and Jackie home with him. He'd mentioned that this was the night he usually had dinner with his mother, who lived on the other side of his two-family house. Annie had been on the phone. She still hadn't found a shelter for Jackie and Sophie, and she'd had to cancel her dinner date with her sister. Next thing Peter knew, it was settled.

Extras for dinner was no big deal for Pearl, especially after Peter gave her the condensed version of Jackie Klevinski's predicament. She usually cooked enough for four anyway, despite the fact that she'd been living alone for the six years since Peter's father died, and Peter and his brother had flown the coop years earlier.

“You're very good at this,” Pearl said, as Sophie rubbed the potato across the grater. There was already a good-sized mound of grated potatoes. “Just a
bissel
more.”

Peter had been assigned table setting. He got four glasses from the cabinet. Pearl snagged one from him, sniffed it, and pulled a face. It was ridiculous, washing an already-washed glass. But this was her house, and Peter had long ago learned that it was a lot less wear and tear all around if he just saluted and marched. Pearl even ran empty deli containers through the dishwasher before dumping them in the recycle bin.

“There, that's plenty,” Pearl said, taking the grater from Sophie and setting it in the sink. She held Sophie's hands under the running water.

“Will they taste good?” Sophie asked. She dried her hands and gave the potatoes a suspicious look. She'd probably grow up to be an expert sniffer of clean glasses herself.

“Not now, but when they're cooked. They're Petey's favorite.”

Peter cringed as he rinsed out the last glass. He hated it when she called him that.

“Petey?” Sophie looked around, then at Peter. Her eyes grew wide and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Petey, Petey, Petey…” she said under her breath.

Great. Now he had a first-grader giving him grief.

Peter set the glasses on the table, but from Pearl's sour look he knew they were on the wrong side. He shifted them.

“They taste a little like French fries, only they're shaped like pancakes,” he said.

“Potato pancakes,” Sophie said, adding a syllable to the middle so it came out pan-a-cakes.

“Potato latkes,” Pearl said.

“Do you eat them with maple syrup?” She looked as if she didn't think much of this idea.

Pearl laughed. “Some people like to eat them with sour cream.”

“
Sour
cream?” Sophie gave a questioning look over her shoulder to Jackie.

Pearl opened the refrigerator door and took out a container of sour cream. She opened it and spooned out a dollop. “Try. See what you think.”

Sophie put out her index finger and hesitated. She poked at the sour cream and put her finger in her mouth. She stood there, thoughtful, her eyes raised to the ceiling. Her mouth widened into a smile.

Pearl was beaming. Nothing made her happier than someone else eating and enjoying. She offered Sophie the spoon. Sophie took it and began to lick off tiny tastes.

Pearl carried the dish towel holding the grated potatoes to the sink. She showed Sophie how to twist it in a bundle, wringing out the milky-colored liquid from the potatoes. Sophie took a turn.