Relative Danger (2 page)

His gaze met mine. “And you’d take me to more places? Thanks, but I really don’t need my mother looking after me anymore.”

Let me look after you
, I yearned to scream, but his body shifted away, letting me know that more attempts at conversing now would increase his discomfort. “Pretty flowers,” I said.

Roger glanced at his garden as if he had never seen it. When I walked back to the house, I heard pipes shudder as he resumed his absentminded watering.

I had observed his initial grief with sadness but understanding, and satisfaction emerged when I watched him gradually appear to have renewed interest in life. But I didn’t know how to deal with this setback. I wanted to scream, to shake away all of his misery and have him get on with living. I knew the anguish of losing an adored spouse. I’d cried out in my bed at night when my husband Freddy was in some hospital, the relentless needles stuck in him. Around him, I’d made myself act cheerful. I even told him he’d get better. But dammit, just like Nancy, he didn’t.

I understood Roger’s grief. But now I wanted my child to know joy again. I yearned to soothe the creases from his forehead and see brightness return to his eyes. But I had tried all the suggestions I knew, and until I determined more ways to help, I could offer only my support.

Kat was spooning food into serving dishes when I returned to the kitchen. “Have dinner with us,” she said.

The anxiety twisting in my belly wouldn’t let food pass. “Please invite me another time. Today I just wanted to see you and your dad and let you know I’d arrived.”

“I did like the chicken guy,” Kat said, escorting me through the house.

On the front stoop, I told her where I was staying and gave her the phone number. Then I returned to our halted conversation. “Tell me about that custodian. Why should your grades be dropping if a man that you barely knew died?”

Her eyes took on a sheltered cast. She didn’t want to discuss the subject.

“I promised your mother,” I reminded. “I said I would stand in her place to watch you graduate. I’d be at your wedding. And I’d be near when you have every one of your babies.”

Kat awarded me a grin. “How many babies will I need to have?”

“We’ll see.”

Our lightened mood lasted only a moment. She grew silent, the air surrounding us heavy. “If something went wrong to change your future, I need to understand,” I said, not mentioning how much Nancy wanted to see her only child wearing a cap and gown. No one in Nancy’s family had finished high school. Nancy had planned to, but she became pregnant with Kat and never went back for her diploma. How she wanted to see this child take a diploma in her hand.

Kat released a deep sigh. “I didn’t really know the man who died. Mr. Labruzzo seemed nice. When I saw him in the halls, he and I told each other hello.”

“Then why would a stranger’s death affect you so much?”

She stared at the concrete floor. “I’ve had this great teacher, Miss Hernandez.”

“I remember you mentioning her.” Kat had spoken the woman’s name with the same reverence as she reserved for Nancy. “But what does your Spanish teacher have to do with a custodian dying?”

“He died in the auditorium. And the police have been acting like they think Miss Hernandez killed him.”

“Somebody
murdered
him? At your
school
?”

“He died after our classes were over. Mr. Labruzzo was cleaning the balcony and fell over the rail. He hit his head.”

“Falling doesn’t sound like murder,” I said.

“At first we heard it was an accident. Now the police are saying his death remains unclassified, but they’re treating it like a homicide.”

“Why would they suspect Miss Hernandez?”

Kat looked away. “I don’t know.”

I understood her concern about her favorite teacher but wasn’t sure if she knew why the woman was under scrutiny, or if she just wasn’t ready to tell me. “So why would your grades drop?”

She peered down. “Because I quit going to classes.”

“You’ve
what
?”

Splotches sprang to her cheeks. A passing car honked. More vehicles rumbled by while I managed to absorb that Kat had stopped attending her classes. She said nothing else and only stared out at the road.

My memory of how to relate to sullen teens had long ago vanished. I’d taught some of them briefly way back when, and, of course, reared my own. But if I were graded today on how to understand teens when they didn’t want to reveal themselves, I’d probably earn a D-minus. But Kat wasn’t a belligerent troublemaker. She was tenderhearted. Sensitive. Maybe too much so. And maybe too attached to a murderer? I shuddered.

My favorite teacher then came to mind: Mrs. Tabor, with her warm smile and hug for us students near the door of her fourth-grade classroom. I knew everybody had a special teacher who helped direct her life. “Miss Hernandez has been really important to you,” I said, trying to prompt more information from her.

Kat’s face brightened. “She’s been like a mom. I always go to her room before classes start, and she sits down and talks to me. She really listens.”

“I’m glad you found someone like that, but I’m sure Miss Hernandez wouldn’t want you to let your grades go.”

The cloudy eyes returned. “Lately she’s been ignoring me. I try to talk to her, but she’s always too busy. She seems to be constantly looking over her shoulder.”

“Maybe she knew the custodian well, or she’s concerned about what his death is doing to students. Especially one of them.” I watched my granddaughter tighten her arms about her small waist. Maybe she knew more about her mentor’s involvement than she was saying. “Kat, you have to go to school.”

“I can’t think, I can’t study, it’s miserable over there.”

“But you’re about to start finals, and your senior year is almost over. Your average could drop tremendously if you don’t show up for exams.”

She shook her head. What had gotten into the child? A horrible thought occurred to me. “The police haven’t implicated
you
?”

Kat’s arms jerked. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Alarm spiked from my heels up to my scalp. I stepped closer to hold Kat, but she backed away.

Fearing for her, I knew my arguments weren’t going to counter her resolve or get answers to my questions. She loved going to malls. We could probably make more progress with girl-talk in a clothing store. “Let’s go shopping tomorrow,” I suggested. “You can pick out treats for yourself and help me find something special to wear while I watch you march across that stage.”

“You don’t have to. I might not even show up for graduation.”

I locked my knees to keep from falling. How could she choose not to attend? Maybe some kids received diplomas without taking part in the ceremony—but I’d promised Nancy I would see Katherine in a cap and gown. We needed a stage and her hand reaching out, accepting a diploma.

But she wasn’t willing to talk now, and I couldn’t think. I kissed her cheek. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“All right.” She spoke without emotion.

By the time I started my car and drove past her house, the front door was shut. Kat had disappeared inside.

Throughout her school years, she’d made top grades her mother was proud of. Kat couldn’t let that all go now. I needed to get her back into classes.

Who in this town could help me?

Chapter 2

My heart pounded while I steered down streets, wanting Kat’s problem to disappear.

She’d been through pre-K, kindergarten, and twelve more years. Her grades had been excellent, and she’d hardly missed any days. Now someone she didn’t know had succumbed, and everything she’d worked for all those years would vanish? These final days of high school, which should have been so much fun, would be ruined?

No, that couldn’t happen. I had to keep her in classes, and I’d probably need assistance.

“Dad’s always grumpy,” Kat had told me once when I phoned. Roger remained mired in his world of memories, surely waiting for cheerful Nancy to come home. Kat and I knew she wasn’t returning, but did he? While I was in town this time, I’d have to push harder to bring him out of his misery. But the most pressing problem was Kat.

Roger was in no position to notice her withdrawal, let alone try to help her work her way out of it. I lived states away, and Kat’s final exams were about to start. Whatever I could do, I needed to do quickly.

Who else did I know in this town? I wondered, trying not to consider the sole answer.

After Nancy’s death, Kat had naturally been mournful at first, but had gradually taken up her life again. She’d joined clubs and always excelled in classes. A cute boy at school liked her. Then another. She’d recently broken up with a boy named John Winston.

While I drove aimlessly, I tried to imagine murder connected in any way to my grandchild. My mind couldn’t set them both in the same scene. Kat had said that at first everyone believed the custodian’s death was accidental.

“That’s it,” I said, my statement letting the image sink in. “The man tripped and fell.” And police ordinarily treated deaths as homicides until they determined otherwise. That’s all that was happening at Kat’s school.

Tension left my shoulders. Kat and her mentor teacher probably had a misunderstanding. Kat was upset because Miss Hernandez wasn’t giving her attention. The woman could have distractions from her life or job—too many papers to grade, a breakup with her boyfriend? If she was so kind to Kat, she couldn’t possibly be a murderer—could she?

I shook my head, noting that I’d merged into thickening traffic. Kat wouldn’t like Miss Hernandez so much if the woman could be violent. And Kat had said the custodian’s funeral was tomorrow. If she quit going to classes, she’d probably only missed a day or two. With a little nudging, she would make more effort to talk to her friend, tell her how she felt, and life would resume as before. All I had to do was make sure Kat returned to her high school.

I breathed easier. Life was much simpler without worrying about a murder, especially one connected to my family. I felt almost positive that Kat’s anxiety stemmed from the disruption of her relationship with the teacher. Still, a nagging doubt remained. I needed to be sure. Ever since I’d adjusted to being a widow, I’d learned to make decisions on my own, but this extrasensitive issue concerned my grandchild. I needed to discuss what happened with someone else.

Roger was too detached for analyzing disturbed tender moments Kat had shared with her mentor. But I did not want to see Gil Thurman. He was the only other person I really knew in this city, but I was driving in the direction opposite his restaurant.

The feel of Gil’s warm hands enveloping mine returned. I recalled the rich texture of his voice and, especially, his wisdom. I forced my rental car into a sharp turn.

Gil had been out of my life for almost a year, and I didn’t plan to open it to him again. He’d been my shoulder to lean on throughout too many happenings and almost got me pregnant when I was certain I was past all of that. In those fretful days my breasts felt fuller, my lower abdomen tender. “I’m afraid we might have created a baby,” I told him the night we snuggled in his den listening to a downpour.

Gil’s head fell back with the deep-throated laughter I admired. Until that moment.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, anger heating me.

He rubbed thick fingers through my hair—which was then natural strawberry blond—and said, “That’s wonderful, Cealie. Us, new parents. Just think of it.”

I had thought of it. I wanted to shove his hands out of my hair and punch his arm till it throbbed. I wanted to scream about all my plans. I’d expected to tell him I had toiled for decades with my husband to create a successful business. Managers now ran all the offices of my Deluxe Copyediting agency. I’d worked hard to learn to live without a mate and was no longer needed as a mom.
My
time had finally arrived.

The morning after my announcement, Gil drove me to the doctor, who assured me I could no longer conceive. My body carried only a urinary infection. The tingling in my breasts? Gil was surely connected.

Later he snuggled me on his lap on the recliner, rubbing his big hands in circles on my back, saying, “Oh baby, it’ll be all right.”

And that’s why I needed to avoid him. Instead of letting me make my own way, Gil almost made me want to settle down again and try to start a new family. And I couldn’t. I just couldn’t!

“No way,” I reaffirmed, tapping my brakes now on the freeway. The cars I drove past all seemed stopped. I needed to slow with them to find his restaurant.

Gil was certain of everything he wanted from life. Sometimes he pushed too hard to press his assuredness down on me. I needed to find my own certainty. I’d mourned about life making me a widow long before those golden years that I had planned to spend comfortably alongside my husband. Without him, my house felt empty. Humongous. Like my friends, I’d started to become dowdy. That’s when I read about a woman’s speech called “Changing Your Inner Underwear.” Exactly what I needed! My inner panties and brassieres underwent a major upheaval. It was still okay to want to feel sexy. I could enjoy washing clothes for just one person. I wasn’t only my past, I was me—Cealie Gunther. I needed to tend to my spirit and rediscover myself.

What made me happy? What did
I
like to do?

That concept seemed foreign. Guilt popped up, that same guilt a mother experiences when she wants to do something for herself instead of putting everyone else first. But my husband had died and my family was grown. Nobody wanted me to cling to them anymore. I was inching toward my golden years alone.

A while after I decided to make some attitude changes, my friend Jo Ellen made that momentous phone call to me. She was a few years older than I, but while she moaned about hoping her kids would call and when she’d start receiving retirement benefits, Jo Ellen made me realize I was heading down the same path. I had also often waited to hear from family members. And even though I hadn’t planned to retire any time soon, I was getting older, and more of my friends were choosing Social Security as their main topic for conversation. Was that all there was? My face developed more wrinkles, my eyesight worsened, and I could no longer hold in my stomach no matter how hard I tried—and that’s all I had to look forward to? Jo Ellen’s call made me aware that I’d been settling for routine existence and never considered what I really wanted from whatever time I had left. Well, I
had
thought about it just a little before I subscribed to those newsletters on sexual behavior. But her comments had made me determine my days were whittling away, influenced by anything or anyone except me. That’s when I took control.