Hallowed Ground (14 page)

Angry, I unclipped it from my waistband and stomped away from him, not bothering to check the caller ID. “Hello.”

“I called just in time,” Kim drawled. “You sound madder than a wet cat, sugar.”

“Hey. What’s up?” My lungs labored to control my breathing. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of anger. I didn’t have to prove the violence I hated in him always lurked below the surface in me.

“Ran into Kevin in the parking lot. Told me you probably needed rescuing from your asshole father, and since he couldn’t be there with you, he asked me to give you a call and run interference.”

I closed my eyes. As usual Kevin had found a way to come through when I needed it. I missed him more than was healthy.

“Julie, hon, you all right?”

“No.”

“Ah, sugar, what can I do?”

I paused to clear the anger scrambling my brain. “I didn’t plan on going into the office today.

Can’t you take care of it?” I said loudly, so Dad didn’t have to try so hard to eavesdrop.

Kim chuckled. “Ooh. I love this fake ’em out spy stuff. Come on over to my place. We’ll eat ice cream, and cry in our satin hankies about how Daddy done us wrong.”

“You had the same problem?”

“Yes.” Her syrupy sweet southern voice had acquired an acidic edge. “You’re not the only one with a nasty daddy, Julie. Maybe someday after I’ve had a martini or five I’ll tell you about mine.”

Hell, not another person in my life with issues. Didn’t anyone have a normal family?

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll be there in a little bit.”

“Good. The Ben & Jerry’s oughta be thawed by the time you get here. Ta.”

I snapped my phone shut and turned toward him. “Look. I gotta go.”

“Figured as much.”

In his best sentry pose, arms crossed, feet braced apart, face stoic, he waited for me to give him a plausible excuse for why I was taking off.

I didn’t.

A beat passed, and I tired of the contest of wills. “Tell Trish thanks for lunch.”

“Don’t think I won’t know if you don’t heed my advice, girly. Maybe you could do something right for the first time in your life.”

I gave him my back as I walked away, when I really wanted to give him the finger.

WITH HELP FROM KIM AND A PINT OF NEW YORK SUPER Fudge, I managed to shove aside the disturbing conversation with my father. We hunkered down in her pastel house, on her pastel couch, popped “light” popcorn and immersed ourselves in the world of
Oh Brother Where
Art Thou?

Kim understood my Clooney fixation far more than Kevin ever had.

Still, it was weird to have a girlfriend to pal around with.

My mother had died before she’d been able to school me on the subtleties of dealing with other women. Since my friends were guys, I’d acted like one; straightforward, using my competitive streak in athletic and academic situations, not as a conversational skill.

I’d soon learned that was the wrong tack. Women, for all their talk of it, do not appreciate honesty—especially from other women. It only took me the first week in high school to figure out I didn’t need the constant validation from other females that most of the girls my age relied on.

Worries about bad hair days and who wore what brand name clothing paled in comparison to my worries on whether my father would use a belt or his fists on me to express his grief.

Besides, Ben, Kevin, and Jimmer had been more than enough. When I didn’t have them to count on, I realized I needed, and finally wanted that female camaraderie I’d always avoided.

Luckily Kim and I had clicked right away. Although at times, I suspected the easygoing nature of our new friendship would be tested, just like every other relationship in my life. For right now, I was glad we both worked to keep it light, easy, and fun.

Later, I rolled down the windows as I bumped down the road leading home, reveling in the rare summer air that brushed across my skin like warm velvet. In my housing development few of my adult neighbors were outside on the front stoop enjoying the evening like they did on TV in big city ghettos.

Kids screamed from the playground, a couple of pre-teen boys played basketball on a cracked driveway, three girls wheeled past on their pink bicycles, baby dolls sticking out from the dirty baskets attached between the handlebars.

Most residents were blue-collar workers who’d achieved the American dream of owning a home.

Too bad they thought so little of those homes that the majority had fallen into a serious state of disrepair.

My house was no castle, but at least I bothered to mow the lawn and pick up the trash that collected in the drainage ditch running parallel to my property. Rusted car parts, neglected toys, and busted lawn furniture did not decorate my yard.

I parked behind my old Ford. Unlike some of the larger homes, mine didn’t have a garage. Made for a smaller house payment and property taxes, but not a fun task in the winter months to sweep off snow and scrape ice from the windshield.

Shades drawn, lights off; the house looked unoccupied. An unexpected happiness bubbled up inside me. Although I’d spent the afternoon on Kim’s couch, it wasn’t the same as sprawling on my own couch, blissfully eating an entire bag of Dakota Style chips and catching an episode of
The Wire.

I practically skipped up the sidewalk. When I reached the bottom step, I froze at the sad bundle of wilted dandelions carefully tied with a scrap of yellow lace.

Kiyah.

My heart fell.

The year before I’d befriended the young girl who lived next door. She’d filled some latent mothering gene in me I usually ignored; I’d filled her belly when her mother was too drunk to care whether or not she ate.

Through a bizarre set of circumstances a few months back, Kiyah’s mother, Leanne, had filed a restraining order against me, barring me from contact with Kiyah. I’d quit my job in the sheriff’s office shortly after; however, the restraining order had remained in effect.

As much as I wanted to know if Kiyah’s life had improved in the months since the Department of Social Services had become involved in her case, I could do nothing. Thinking about Kiyah effectively burst my small bubble of happiness. I reached for the flowers.

“Julie?”

I jumped and the bundle slipped behind the steps where I couldn’t reach it.

“Oh dear, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I whirled around toward my seventy-something neighbor, Eleanor Babbitt. “You just surprised me.”

Actually, it was no surprise she’d snuck up on me; the woman maintained pro status in matters of stealth. She had the snoopy manner of Mrs. Kravitz on
Bewitched
mixed with the personality of Ned Flanders from
The Simpsons
, so it was hard to be mad at her. Especially when I suspected the highlight of her day was picking up her mail.

“Did you need something?” I asked sweetly.

“Not really.” Cracked skin on her fingertips looked raw and sore as she fiddled with the bullet-shaped buttons on her Oriental print housedress. “Wanted to remind you we’re on the two-day water restriction schedule starting tomorrow.”

Ah hah. A lie. As my next-door neighbor she knew firsthand I
never
watered the crabgrass masquerading as my lawn.

She rushed to continue, “You might want to tell that fella that’s been staying here sometimes, you know, in case he isn’t aware of it.”

Fishing for information on Kell. Interesting. I smiled. “I’ll be sure to remind him.”

Before she had the chance to ask any other questions, a jacked-up black Chevy Blazer turned into my driveway. It was Kell’s friend T-Rex’s rig, but why wasn’t bass thumping through the tinted windows?

T-Rex, an idiotic name for a grown man even if he was a fossil hunter, hopped out of the driver’s side, circled around back and opened the passenger door.

First thing to emerge was a set of crutches.

“Steady,” he warned as Kell slid from the cab to stand on one leg.

“Thanks,” Kell said.

The next thing I noticed was the stretchy tan tape wrapped from the top of Kell’s bare left foot up around his ankle. Then the bright blue sling holding his right arm.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Kell winced.

Okay. So maybe I could have been more sympathetic.

T-Rex said, “When we were hiking he tripped and twisted his ankle. Dumb schmuck broke his fall with his hand and managed to sprain his arm too.”

Finally my feet moved. But even as I stood in front of him I was speechless.

“I’m all right,” Kell said.

“Or he will be in a week or so.”

“What?”

T-Rex shouldered Kell’s backpack. “That’s what the emergency room doc said. He’s supposed to elevate his foot, restrict the movement of his arm, and rest for the next seven days. Looks like the band will have to find a fill-in guitar player for the time being.”

Seven days? In my house? I knew if I demanded, “Why did you bring him
here
? He doesn’t even live here!” I’d come off as an unfeeling bitch. Normally I couldn’t give a crap what T-Rex thought of me, but Mrs. Babbitt clucked her tongue, reminding me of her presence.

“You poor thing,” she soothed. “My boy Robbie had a nasty sprain once. Took him two weeks to get back on his feet.”

Two weeks? Surely Kell didn’t expect me to play Florence Nightingale the entire time? Had he told T-Rex I’d take care of him? Or had he just assumed I would?

She patted me on the shoulder. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Come on,” T-Rex said, starting for the porch, “let’s get you settled in.” He spun toward me in afterthought. “Any place in particular you want him?”

Motel 6 wasn’t the appropriate answer so I shook my head.

Kell shuffled forward. “I’ll be fine on the couch. Maybe TV will take my mind off the pain.”

T-Rex snorted. “Mr. Natural here wouldn’t take any pain killers. Ought to be a real treat in another few hours.”

Great.

I think Kell tried not to be difficult. He might’ve pulled it off if he’d taken any pain medication and become comatose. But he couldn’t get comfortable, he couldn’t sleep, and I was the one who suffered.

Mrs. Babbitt brought over a casserole. Thoughtful gesture, though I suspected she wanted to know whether Kell really was sleeping on the couch, and if my windows were as dirty on the inside as they were on the outside.

Of course, Kell wouldn’t eat the Italian casserole she’d made because it contained meatballs.

Then I had to make him something else to eat, which he didn’t eat because he was in too much pain.

Needless to say, I hopped out of bed the next morning before my alarm went off, skipped the coffee, and escaped to the office.

Grumpy without my customary morning kick start, I wasn’t paying attention as I crossed the parking lot, especially after I spotted Kevin’s car and hurried to catch him before he returned to his nurse duties.

Two shadows moved in front of me, then solidified.

I looked up.

The guys wore identical shiny suits and twin expressions of doom. “Ms. Collins. We’d like to have a word with you.”

This wasn’t a pleasant addition to my already crappy day, facing goons that were obviously muscle for somebody. Not Martinez. His bodyguards wore clothes and tattoos touting their allegiance to the Hombres.

A momentary stab of fear jabbed my empty gut. Wouldn’t be in my best interest to show it.

“Sorry. I’ll have to pass. I’m late.” I attempted to skirt the smaller of the two goons; he stepped right into my path.

“I don’t think you understand. That wasn’t a suggestion.”

My hand dropped to the pocket of my suit jacket. “No, I don’t think you understand. I don’t care who the hell you work for, or what you want, get out of my way.”

He didn’t budge.

I backed up.

The other goon must’ve seen it as a sign I’d decided to cooperate. He said, “Good choice. Our car is right over there.”

“Please. Tell me you don’t think I’m stupid enough to get in a car with you guys?”

“It’d be in your best interest.”

“Yeah? It’d be in your best interest to walk away and leave me the fuck alone.”

Without a word, big goon guy unbuttoned his suit coat, flashing the piece attached to his hip.