Shadow of Doubt (10 page)

“I love you,” Ben whispered.

“What?” I stared at him.

Ben pulled back a little. “That's supposed to be a good thing,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “You took me by surprise.”

He smiled and pulled me close again.

“You're the best thing that's ever happened to me,” he said. “You're beautiful and smart and fun to be around. I'm the luckiest guy in the world to have you for a girlfriend. And speaking of surprises—”

Say something
, a voice in my head told me.
Tell him how you feel
.

“Hey, you two, break it up!” someone called. It was Betty, who was in charge of the kitchen. She was struggling with two cardboard boxes filled with loaves of bread.

“Do you need help with that?” I said.

“You bet,” Betty said. I took one of the boxes from her. “There are two more outside.”

I turned to Ben and said, “See you later.”

He kissed me on the cheek. I felt relieved as I followed Betty into the kitchen. I knew that I had to say something to Ben—to tell him that I didn't feel the same way about him as he obviously felt about me. I liked him, but I didn't love him. Then I imagined the hurt look on his face.

Later
, I decided—
I'll talk to him later
. At least that's what I told myself.

I spent the next few hours in the kitchen, washing and chopping vegetables for a soup Betty was making, mixing up a gigantic batch of chili, and peeling a couple dozen hard-boiled eggs for sandwiches. I had just wrapped the last sandwich when Ben appeared in the kitchen and told Betty that he was springing me.

“I have to run an errand for Mr. Donovan,” he said. Art Donovan was the director of the shelter. “Then we're free.”

“What kind of errand?”

“The shelter on Selwyn Street is short of blankets. Mr. Donovan asked me to run some over.” Our shelter was well supplied with just about everything, thanks to a generous donation from a very wealthy woman. In fact, come spring, the shelter was going to expand. “I've already loaded them into the car. After that, we're going for hot chocolate. I have a surprise for you.”

I guessed maybe I had one for him too. But that would come later, after we had done our errand.

To get to Selwyn Street we had to drive past the park and the house where Ms. Denholm lived. As we got close, I caught sight of something. I blinked and looked twice to make sure I was really seeing what I thought I was seeing.

“Stop the car, Ben!”

“Why? What—”

“Just stop the car.” Ben gave me a strange look, but he pulled over.

“Those two guys look like they're trying to kill each other,” he said when he saw what was happening on the sidewalk.

It would have been more accurate to say that one of them looked like he was trying to kill the other. The man on the offensive was short, bespectacled, and bald: Ted. The man under attack, who looked like he could have beaten Ted with one arm tied behind his back, was younger, taller, and had a head of thick dark hair. I recognized him too, even though I'd seen him only once before, standing outside my school. Nearby, watching them and looking frantic, was Ms. Denholm.

I started to open the car door. Ben grabbed my arm. “Hey! You're not going to get involved in that, are you? Because—”

“Call the police, Ben. Call 9-1-1.”

I jumped out of the car and ran across the street.

Ted was lashing out at the other man, pushing him, hitting him—or trying to—and shouting, “Stay away from her. You stay away!” The other man appeared to be defending himself.

Ms. Denholm tried several times to grab Ted's arm and pull him away, but without success. She looked at me with wild eyes.

“Make them stop,” she said, as if I could possibly have any control over a situation like this.

I knew—because my father had told me—that it was stupid
in the extreme
to try to break up a fight unless you knew what you were doing. “Unless you've had some training,” he said. “If you see a fight, even if you think someone's going to be seriously hurt, don't wade in and try to stop it. Call the police.”

I glanced around. Ben was getting out of the car, his phone in his hand. He shouted something to me, but the sound of sirens drowned out his voice. A squad car squealed up to the curb and two police officers got out. A second car pulled up right after the first. Another officer got out. His partner stayed in the car, talking on the radio.

The three police officers approached the scene. One of them looked at me and asked, “Is anybody armed?”

I hadn't seen any weapons. I couldn't imagine that Ted had one, but I wasn't sure about the other guy. I turned to Ms. Denholm. She shook her head. One of the officers took Ted by the arm and another grabbed the other man. They escorted them to separate squad cars and put them inside. “Can you tell me what happened?” the third officer asked Ms. Denholm and me.

“I didn't see how it started,” I said. “I was just passing by.”

“That man has been threatening me,” Ms. Denholm said.

“Which man?” the police officer said.

“The younger man. His name is Mikhail Mornov. He's my ex-boyfriend.”

“And the other man?” the police officer said.

“He was trying to get Mikhail to leave me alone.”

A small crowd had gathered. I wondered where the people had come from. The closest houses were a couple dozen feet away on either side. There were no houses opposite Ms. Denholm's building, just the large park. But police cars have an almost magical quality—they draw spectators the way an ice cream truck draws children. One of these people, or maybe a neighbor, must have phoned the police. There was no way the police could have responded so quickly to Ben's call.

I saw a woman carrying two grocery bags push partway through the crowd. She was wearing a heavy winter coat, her hood pulled up against the wind, but I was pretty sure it was Ms. Rachlis. She stopped at the fringes of the crowd and said something to one of the bystanders. Then I heard thumping, and I turned toward the two police cruisers behind me. Ms. Denholm's ex-boyfriend was pounding on the window from the inside. One of the officers went to the car and ducked down in front of the window. He said something and the thumping stopped. The officer who was talking to Ms. Denholm said, “I'm going to ask you to come down to the police station, ma'am.”

Ms. Denholm looked in alarm at the cruiser in which her ex was confined.

“Don't worry,” the officer said. “You don't have to talk to him. You don't even have to see him. I promise. I'll call another car to drive you to the station.”

“We can take you,” I said to Ms. Denholm. I glanced at Ben. “Can't we, Ben?”

“Of course,” Ben said. The officer told us which police station they were going to, and Ben opened the door for Ms. Denholm.

Ms. Denholm didn't say anything during the drive, and I didn't think it was my place to ask questions. When we got to the station, Ben got out and opened the door for her. After he slipped back behind the wheel, he said, “What was that all about?”

I held up a hand. I had my phone out and had just called my father. It was a reflex—the police were involved, my dad used to be a cop, my dad knew a lot of other cops; therefore, my dad would know what do to. Only after I had told him what happened and he'd said, “I'll be there as soon as I can,” did I realize that my first call should have been to my mom.

“Ted?” she said. “In a
fight
? Are you sure?”

I couldn't blame her for asking. If ever there was a person you'd think would never get into a street fight, it was Ted.

“He's at the police station,” I told her.

“They
arrested
him?”

“I don't know, but they put him in a police car and took him to the station.” I decided to wait until she arrived before I confessed that I had called my father.

“Now what?” Ben said.

“I guess we should wait.”

“Do you want to go inside?”

I looked at the station and shook my head.

“They don't like you hanging around unless you have business there,” I said.

“You know one of those guys?”

“My mom is going out with him. He's a really nice guy. I've never seen him act like that before.”

“He must have had a good reason,” Ben said.

According to Ms. Denholm, he had been trying to protect her. I told Ben about Ted and his daughter. I also told him about the flowers and Ms. Denholm's car, how she was obviously afraid of something—or
someone
.

Someone rapped on the passenger-side window. I jumped.

“Dad!” I pushed the button to lower the window and started shivering in the January chill, “You startled me.”

“Is Ted still inside?” he said.

“I haven't seen him come out.”

“I'll go and see what's happening. You two should take off. Depending on whether they've charged him or not, this could take some time.”

After my dad disappeared inside the station, Ben turned the key in the ignition. “We should deliver these blankets. Then we can go and get some hot chocolate,” he said.

“I'd like to wait a little longer, if it's okay with you.”

He didn't argue.

My mother arrived a few minutes later. She hurried toward the police station, one hand holding her unbuttoned coat closed, her head down against the chilly wind. I got out of the car.

“Mom!”

Her head bobbed up. “Robyn. Is Ted still here?”

I nodded.

“I'm going to go and sort this out. You should go home.”

“But, Mom—”

“There's nothing you can do here, Robyn. And it's too cold to sit around waiting. I'll call you later. I'm sure everything will be fine.”

“But—” I'd been going to tell her that my dad was inside, but it was too late. She was already rushing through the main door.

I got back into the car and we waited. And waited. The temperature inside the car plummeted. Our breath hung in front of us in little clouds. But Ben didn't complain. He didn't pester me with questions, either. He was nice about it. He always was. So why wasn't I as crazy about him as Morgan thought I should be?

Finally Ted emerged with Ms. Denholm. He looked pale and shaky, with a bandage over one eye and a cut on his lip. A moment later my mom appeared and hurried to catch up with them. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but Ted was shaking his head. My mom threw up her arms. Ted moved close to her and said something else, which seemed to calm her down. She nodded, and Ted kissed her on the cheek—at the exact moment that my dad came out of the police station. He stopped and stared at Ted and my mother like an overprotective father who had caught his teenage daughter in the arms of the neighborhood bad boy. Although my dad had known about Ted for several months, he had probably never witnessed my mother and Ted being affectionate with each other.

My mother noticed my father before Ted did. I'm pretty sure she registered the stunned expression on his face, because she pressed closer to Ted, almost defiantly. That's when Ted turned and saw my dad. He stepped away from my mom—which was not at all what the neighborhood bad boy would have done. My mom grabbed his arm and pulled him close again. By then my dad looked like his normal, casual self—or maybe he was just doing his best to give that impression. Ted raised a hand to flag down a passing taxi. He helped Ms. Denholm into it and climbed in after her. My mom watched them go. Then she turned to my father. She did not look happy. They spoke for a few minutes before parting, my father heading for his car, my mother for hers.

“I have to go, Ben,” I said, reaching for the door handle.

“What about my surprise?”

“I'm sorry. But my mom's upset.”

He looked disappointed, but he didn't argue with me. “Go ahead,” he said. “I'd better drop off those blankets. They must be wondering where they are. I'll call you later, okay?”

I caught up with my mom just as she was getting into her car.

“What happened?” I said.

My mom's face was somber. “They charged Ted with assault,” she said. “There were two witnesses—a man in the park across the street walking his dog, a woman who was on her way to the store. They both said the same thing. Ted ran out of the house where his daughter lives toward a man who was standing outside on the sidewalk and started shoving him aggressively.”

“Aggressively? Ted?”

“I know,” my mom said. “It doesn't sound like him, does it? He claims the man was threatening his daughter. The trouble is, according to the witnesses, Ted didn't even speak to the man before he started shoving him. And when the man refused to go away, Ted hit him. The witnesses said that the man had no choice but to defend himself. One of them called the police.”

“What did Ms. Denholm say?”

“She told the police that the man—her ex-boyfriend—has been harassing her. She said she's pretty sure that he trashed her car earlier this week.” She looked at me. “She said that you and your father were there when she reported the incident. Why didn't you tell me?”

My mom had been at her office working when I got home that night, and she'd been gone the next morning by the time I woke up.

“At the time, I didn't know she was Ted's daughter,” I said. “She was just my English sub. How is Ted, Mom? It looks like he was hurt.”

“He's gone to the hospital to get himself checked over, but I think he's okay. He's just shaken up—and worried about his daughter.” She sighed. “Poor Ted. After all these years, he finds her, but instead of a happy reunion he's got a new set of problems to contend with.”

. . .

Ted showed up at the house a couple of hours later. He had a fresh bandage on the cut above his eye and a butterfly suture on his lip, which had swelled since the last time I'd seen him. My mom threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.