Sister Mine (33 page)

“Like be part of mission control?”

“Yeah.” I smile at him. “Something like that.”

I notice the Marine out of the corner of my eye standing in front of the dirty windows. He's a flash of brilliant color inside the drab room like a cardinal flitting through a barren winter forest.

“Is it okay if I tell this guy to split for now?” I ask Dusty.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

I go back inside the restaurant. I know the Marine watched the whole scene.

“He's not emotionally able to make this decision right now,” I tell him bluntly. “He's having a lot of personal problems. He's desperate. You'd be signing up a man who's at the end of his rope. I'd hate to think you guys would take advantage of something like that.”

He doesn't say anything, but he begins to clean up his papers and pamphlets.

I start to help him.

“No, thanks,” he tells me.

“I'm sorry.”

“No, you're not.”

He finishes packing up and pauses to catch sight of his reflection in the window. He repositions his hat and turns to me.

“At least be honest with me and tell me what yesterday was all about.”

“Some harmless fun.”

He brushes past me but pauses at the door.

“You really think you can change things?” he asks me. “You really think keeping me away from the high school for one afternoon is going to have any effect on the big picture?”

“No,” I tell him truthfully. “I don't.”

He walks outside and stops to exchange a few words with Dusty. They shake hands and separate. The Marine gets in his car and drives away; Dusty goes back to throwing rocks, but he has a little more zip now as he stoops to refill his cupped palm.

I stopped thinking about the big picture a long time ago. I only think about the individual drops of paint and how to maintain the integrity of each color before it hits the canvas.

Chapter Thirty-Three

I
CONVINCE DUSTY TO COME HOME
with me and hang out for awhile and then stay for dinner.

When we pull off the road into my driveway, my heart starts to race as I glimpse Dmitri's blue rental car parked next to my front porch.

He's leaning against it, smoking a cigarette, and feeding Gimp potato chips out of a blue foil bag. He's wearing his black T-shirt beneath the black leather jacket he had stashed in his car, and his slick black leather boots, made for dancing in clubs not working in mines. I don't see any sign of Shannon or the baby but I assume they're inside, maybe taking a nap.

Dusty and I get out of my car.

“Darling,” Dmitri calls out to me immediately and smiles wickedly beneath his coal-black mustache. “Where you been? I missed you.”

Dusty looks back and forth between the two of us.

“Who's this guy?” he asks me.

“It's a long story,” I explain. “But don't worry. I'm not his darling.”

“How quickly she tosses the men aside,” Dmitri observes, peering through a plume of white smoke.

“How about you?” he asks Dusty. “You one of her conquests, too?”

“This is my son's best friend,” I tell him abruptly. “He is not a conquest and neither are you.

“Why don't you go in the house, Dusty. Have a beer. Relax. I'll be there in a minute.”

Dmitri watches him walk past, and the mirth that was just shining in his ebony eyes shifts to glints of suspicion and combativeness. I'm reminded of how we first met and that even though he may have his charming moments, he's also capable of smashing a woman in the face with her own boot.

He studies the silver glitter words on my shirt as I walk toward him.

“Who is this ‘him' you're dumping?” he asks me.

“It's just an expression.”

“No. ‘Slow down and stop to pick roses' is expression.”

“It's stop and smell the roses,” I correct him.

“‘Dump him' is command. Not expression.”

“It doesn't mean anything.”

“Sure, it does. Means you don't like men.”

“That is such bullshit.”

“Tell me”—he pauses to pop one of the chips in his own mouth before giving another one to Gimp—“do you have boyfriend?”

“No. I mean, yes. Well, sort of.”

He laughs.

“He must be some boyfriend if you don't even know he's boyfriend.”

He clenches his empty hand into a fist and bends his arm up into a body builder's pose.

“I'm bigger, I bet. And stronger, too.”

“You're definitely balder,” I tell him.

“I can grow hair,” he scoffs. “What do I need with hair?”

“You have it all over your lip.”

He strokes his mustache and smiles.

“This is sexy. Hair on head is nuisance.”

“Dmitri,” I begin. “It
is
Dmitri, right?”

He nods.

“Where's Shannon and the baby?”

“Gone. I don't know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I say. I lost her.”

“You lost her?”

“She is very crafty. Like wolf.”

“You mean like fox.”

“No. Fox is small and frightened.”

“But they're crafty.”

“No, they are small and frightened.”

My frustration gets the better of me. I want to reach out and grab him and physically shake the answers out of him, but I settle for shouting instead.

“What do you mean? Do you mean she's not here with you now?”

“She's not here with me now.”

“But how could you lose her? She has a one-day-old infant with her. She just gave birth in my guest room. She can't be in very good shape for traveling.”

“It's not important how. I just did.”

“And you have no idea where she's going?”

“No. “

“Or who she's selling the baby to?”

He takes a long drag off his cigarette and eyes me skeptically.

“What do you know about me and baby?”

“I know you're the father.”

He smiles and nods again.

“This baby is very good looking. She has my eyes.”

“Shannon told me so many lies. I don't know what to believe. Did she come here because she was running away from you?”

The smile disappears instantly, replaced with a sneer of anger.

“No. Did she tell you this?”

“I'm guessing.”

“No. She had no reason to run from me. That's why I followed her. If she had reason to run from me, I let her run. But she had no reason so I come after her.”

“Okay. I'll pretend to understand that.”

“I knew baby was mine,” he continues, the roughness in his voice gradually fading. “We were in relationship. I'm having personal problem and think I'll have to leave New York and New Jersey—whole East Coast—maybe whole country for awhile. I know this is why she gets pregnant with me. She thinks I'm going to be out of picture like all her other fathers. But this don't happen. I stay. She is pregnant. I…how do you say…I do the math. I figure out. I confront. She denies. I tell her I'll ask for test when baby is born to prove he's mine. So she admits. Then I tell her I'll stop adoption if she doesn't let me pick the family.”

“You didn't want the baby?”

“I have no time for babies. I'm only thinking what's best for baby. I would make great father someday. Not now. I'm too…”

“Vain? Self-absorbed? Egotistical? Violent?” I provide for him.

“I keep odd hours.”

“So you wanted your cut of the money?”

He grows angry again.

“I don't care shit about money.”

“What a lie.”

“I'm not lying. I don't want money for selling child. This is disgusting. I wouldn't touch the money. Even if I am starving. I would get job washing cars first. I only want to make sure baby goes to good home with good parents. Not like the people I work for.”

“I thought the man you work for is your friend.”

“He is my friend. What makes a man good friend doesn't always make him good father.”

Gimp finally decides he's had enough chips and it's time to acknowledge my presence. He walks over to me and nudges his head beneath my dangling hand.

“Shannon agrees I can help her pick family,” Dmitri goes on with his story. “She tells me about the family Kozlowski wants for her. She tells me about this other woman she finds by herself. She tells me the family is paying her expenses, the woman is paying her expenses, so she is stealing their money. I don't approve but I like she's planning to rip off Kozlowski.

“But she was not supposed to run from me. This was our deal. My opinion about the family is as important as her opinion. But she does run. And I don't know where she is. Not before Kozlowski comes to Mickey and they tell me where to look.”

“What did you decide? Who's getting the baby?”

“It's not important.”

“How can you say that? You just finished telling me how important it is to you to know where the baby is going and now you're going to tell me it isn't?”

“It's important for me. It means nothing to you.”

“That baby is my niece.”

“You have lots of nieces and nephews you will never know.”

The truth behind this depresses me and I suddenly lose all interest in discussing the baby any further. I realize she's a lost cause, and I need to let her go.

I reach for the bag of chips and help myself to a handful.

“I still don't understand why Shannon finally came home again after all these years,” I say to Dmitri as I crunch away. “Why now?”

He shrugs.

“I can tell you only what I know. Whole time I know Shannon she never talks about family or past. Where she comes from. It's not just her life is closed book; it's book that was never written.

“One day I'm at her apartment waiting for her. There's a calendar on her kitchen wall, and I start looking at it. It has mostly appointments on it. No birthdays marked. No brothers' or sisters' birthdays. No aunts or uncles. No friends. Not even her own birthday. Except one. Her mother.”

“Her mother's?” I ask, startled.

“Yes. So I ask her about this. I ask her how old is your mother? Where she lives? You see her often?

“She says to me, ‘She'll be sixty next month.' Then she gets funny look on her face and says, ‘Sixty is pretty old. Don't you think? She could be dead by now.'

“I don't know what to say. I think maybe she didn't see her mother for many years and is wondering if she's dead. I tell her maybe not. Lots of people live to be seventy or eighty. Some even to be ninety.

“She gets mad with me. She argues with me, ‘No, she could be dead. She could be dead of natural causes.' Natural causes. These are the words she uses over and over. Natural causes. She could be dead of a heart attack or cancer or something that killed her naturally.

“Again I don't know what to say. She's getting very upset. I think it's her hormones. I want to calm her down so I agree. ‘Yes,' I say. ‘Natural causes could definitely have killed her.'

“This works. She calms down. She almost looks relaxed and happy. She says, ‘I can go home now if I want. She'd be dead anyway. It wouldn't be my fault.'

“Does that make sense to you? Where is your mother?”

I don't respond right away. I have to digest what I've just learned.

“She died two days after Shannon was born,” I say numbly. “A blood clot in her brain. Complications of childbirth.”

“That's it,” Dmitri says, snapping his fingers. “The guilt. She stayed away because of guilt. Now it's been long enough she can believe it wasn't her fault.”

“But it wasn't her fault.”

“It doesn't matter what's true. It only matters what she thinks. Guilt is the most powerful human emotion, after hunger.”

“Hunger is a physical need. It isn't an emotion.”

“Maybe you've never been hungry enough.”

He finishes his cigarette and tosses it onto the stones of my driveway.

“I should go,” he tells me. “Too much country air is not good for me.”

He reaches into his car and returns with a box he hands to me.

“Here,” he says.

“What's this?”

“Something to remember me.”

I think he might kiss me. I almost want him to kiss me. But the moment passes as so many do.

He gets into his car and rolls down his window.

“How did you like paprikash?” he asks as he's about to back out.

“It was great. Fanci and Kenny must have eaten three bowls apiece.”

“These are children in your kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“She is too skinny, and he is too short.”

“He's only four years old.”

“Oh, well, maybe not so short.”

I watch him drive away. Gimp follows his car for about five feet with his tail waving slowly in the air behind him.

I open the box and pull out a royal blue silk robe, perfect for a ballerina cop.

Chapter Thirty-Four

A
FTER SCHOOL I SWING
by Choker's place and pick up Fanci and Kenny. Choker doesn't make it down to Harrisburg very often, and he's also not usually driving around with a pocket stuffed full of cash. I assumed the combination of these two phenomena would almost certainly guarantee he wouldn't be home in time to dine with his children so I invited them to my place.

Kenny informs me during the drive that his dad isn't much of a cook. His mom is a much better cook, and he can't wait until she comes back as soon as their dad's turn is over and it's her turn to take care of him and Fanci again.

Fanci remains noticeably silent during Kenny's praise of their mother and plans for her impending return.

I think the topic has been dropped but then as we round the final curve in the road before reaching my house, Fanci suddenly asks me, “What was it like to grow up without a mom?”

I'm caught off guard. I try offering a brave, encouraging smile but it doesn't work, and she's not looking at me anyway. Her wet eyes are fixed straight ahead out the window and her lower lip quivers slightly from the pressure of trying not to cry.

I know her so well. She is my sister, too: a force of nature, a giver of life and nourishment, strong and solid on the outside; and a source of many other precious things buried deep inside her that, once discovered, may lead to her being penetrated, emptied, and left in ruins. Some kinds of damage she won't be able to repair, but she will always have the ability to grow new life over it.

I don't try to explain any of this and settle for telling her it isn't the end of the world. And I'm not lying to her. Growing up without a mom isn't the end of the world; it's the end of one very precious specific world.

E.J. shows up for dinner, too. Uninvited. I like seeing his truck rumble up to my front porch as if it belongs here. Part of me believes that it does, and another part of me wonders if it ever truly will, and yet another part of me knows that these kinds of questions are not for me and E.J. but for people who have the emotional luxury of doubting destiny.

Ours is this: I can't imagine him without his garage, and I can't imagine me without my loneliness, and I can't imagine either one of us without the other one. So we will find a way.

I don't let him know that I'm glad he dropped by without asking if he could drop by. I don't want to scare him off by seeming too eager or scare myself off by becoming too accommodating.

I give him some crap about how he can't just assume he can stop by all the time now, and I'm sure as hell not going to feed him every night. He listens in his usual style of ignoring me while paying attention without seeming to. He puts two six-packs in my fridge, greets Dusty, and cracks open beers for the two of them. He introduces himself to Fanci and Kenny and when he finds out they're Choker's kids he tries to say something nice but can't and settles for offering them beers, too, which sends Kenny into peals of laughter and almost makes Fanci blush. I swear I see a slight pink glow appear on her cheeks.

After I get done setting him straight he corners me in the kitchen, steals a kiss and cops a feel, and utters a less than heartfelt, “Yes, dear.”

I think the exchange went better than expected.

He's even complimentary about my dinner at first, even though it's pretty bad, but halfway through it he has a small breakdown and storms out cursing only to return an hour later with George and a grocery bag full of meat.

I'm not offended. I believe this is a relationship milestone for him equivalent to that of a woman showing up at her boyfriend's place and installing her children from a previous marriage.

To have it happen so early is a little overwhelming for me but then I stop and think about the E.J. I've always known. I've always implicitly trusted his judgment. This is why I was so hurt when he stopped wanting to be with me after I grew my breasts; I knew his decision had to be the right one and it was. I just didn't know the real reasons behind it and that was the painful part for me. It had nothing to do with me becoming a woman; it was all about E.J. becoming a man.

We're all enjoying perfectly grilled steaks compliments of E.J. and George when a car pulls into my drive.

Fanci is the first one out of her chair. She gets up with uncharacteristic zeal, hurries to the front door, and opens it a crack.

“It's the sheriff,” she tells us over her shoulder.

Kenny rushes over to join her, and they both peer out the door.

I'm gripped by an icy hand of fear that yanks me bodily from my chair. Something has happened to Clay. Something happened to Clay, and Ivan has come to tell me in person but before I can get myself too worked up, the sheriff appears in the doorway and he's smiling.

“Good evening, ladies,” he greets Fanci and me, “and gentlemen,” he adds when he sees the others.

“Are you really the sheriff?” Kenny asks.

Ivan glances down at him.

“Are you really only two feet tall?”

“I don't know.”

Fanci rolls her eyes, then they suddenly grow wide and bright as she moves behind Ivan and out the door.

“It's the baby,” I hear her cry.

I rush to the door, too, and see Clay walking up the porch steps carrying a little pink bundle.

“We're here to make a delivery,” Ivan announces. “The stork was busy.”

Clay hands me the baby. Shannon's baby. I'd know her anywhere.

“Look at her,” I gush to the kids and kneel down so they can see her. “Isn't she beautiful? Didn't I tell you she was going to get pudgy and pink and smell good?”

They both lean right up against her face and smile broadly. I imagine this could be terrifying for a newborn, but she takes it in stride and puckers up her tiny, downy face into a yawn.

“Did you see that?” Fanci asks. “That's the cutest thing I ever saw.”

“Hi, baby,” Kenny starts waving. “Hi, little baby.”

I look up at Ivan and Clay.

Clay avoids my eyes.

“What's going on?” I ask.

“Aunt Shannon and the baby's father, a Dmitri Starkov, dropped her off at the sheriff's station,” Clay explains, diverting his gaze over my shoulder the way cops are taught to do, “complete with signed, notarized adoption papers.”

“You'll still have to go before a judge to finalize things,” Ivan adds, “but it's just a formality at this point.”

He hands me the documents. I check the signatures. Mother: Shannon Penrose. Father: Dmitri Starkov.

“What are you saying? She's mine?”

“She's yours,” Clay says.

“She's not hers,” Kenny pipes up. “She's not a dog. You can't own another person but another person can own you.”

The men all look down, speechless, at the wise toddler.

“You'll learn more about that when you start dating,” he thinks to tell Clay.

Everyone laughs.

“I date,” Clay says defensively and jerks a finger at me. “What's she been telling you?”

“Nothing,” I explain. “It's a joke. And you're right, Kenny. She's not mine, but I guess I can take care of her for awhile.”

“How long?” he asks me.

“As long as she wants and as long as I'm able.”

I look at Clay.

He's not quick enough this time and our gazes meet for the briefest of moments.

“Hey, is that a George Foreman grill?” Ivan asks. “I'm thinking about getting one for my mom.”

He starts walking into the kitchen. E.J. accompanies him. An infant can't compete with an opportunity to extol the virtues of George. Dusty and Kenny tag along.

Fanci lingers but I jerk my head at her, and she reluctantly walks off. “So you saw your Aunt Shannon?” I ask Clay.

He nods.

“We had a talk.”

“Great,” I sigh. “I can only imagine what she had to say about me.”

“Do you want to know?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“I told her I'm very upset with you right now because it turns out you've always known who my dad was and you never told me. She asked me if I asked you why you never told me and I said you said it was because you were protecting me, and she stared at me like I was the stupidest person she'd ever met.”

The baby stirs in my arms. She looks in Clay's direction and he smiles down at her and strokes her cheek with one of his fingers.

Then he looks back at me and his softened expression returns to his usual serious one.

“Shannon said you're a soldier, and I'm one of your missions. She said a good soldier never questions his orders; that's the definition of a good soldier. But sometimes the orders are bad. So sometimes in order to be a good soldier you have to do bad things even though a soldier's intention is always to do good.”

“She said that about me?”

He nods.

“What did you think?” I ask him.

“I'm still mad. I may be mad for awhile. I don't know, Mom. I may be mad forever. This is a big deal for me.”

Hearing him say the word, “Mom,” in his usual exasperated yet devoted tone, is all I need. I know everything is going to be okay. It may take some time for things to return to normal between us, but it will happen.

I'm so relieved, I want to scream and throw my arms around him but I know better.

“I understand that,” I reply. “And you're right. It's a very big deal.”

“No, I don't think you do understand completely. But I realize after talking to Aunt Shannon that there are things about you I don't understand completely either. I don't care. I don't care about any of it. It gets way too complicated. The only thing I know for sure about us is you're my mom and I'm your son. One major screwup doesn't change that. I'm not going to stop loving you even if the screwup is a really big one. And it is. A really big one.”

“I know.”

“And I'm still mad.”

“You already told me that.”

He falls silent, and I do the same. Our conversation for now is probably over and it went far better than I imagined it could but I can't help pushing my luck. He's my child, my territory, my home; I can't let someone invade him without putting up a fight.

“Do you mind if I ask you if you've come to a decision about what Cam Jack talked to you about?”

“You mean what my dad talked to me about?”

I can tell by the catch in his voice and the expression on his face that he's feeling sentimental. It reminds me far too much of the pathetic eagerness that used to shine in his eyes each time he met one of my dates.

“Yes,” I concede, “what your dad wanted.”

He studies the floor for a moment. When he looks up at me again, he looks more hurt than angry, more purely sad than frustrated.

“If he had asked me for my kidney, I would have given it to him,” he tells me. “But he offered to buy it.”

His expression turns sour then becomes one of utter disbelief.

“He didn't even try to deal with me like I was a decent person.”

A wealth of comments regarding Cam Jack and decency leap to my lips, but I hold them all back.

“Do you think I'm crazy?” he goes on. “It's a lot of money. An unbelievable amount of money. And we're going to need it.”

“What are you talking about? We?”

“She's my cousin,” he explains, looking down at the baby in my arms. “She's my responsibility, too. She's going to need health insurance.”

I smile at my boy.

“Don't worry. We'll find a way to get by. We always do. And I don't think you're crazy. I think you're the most decent man I know.”

He bends his face down toward the baby.

“Can you stay?” I ask him. “I think Dusty would like it if you could hang out for awhile.”

“Did he get a call from Cam Jack?” he asks eagerly. “Did he offer him a job?”

“Not exactly. I think Dusty should tell you what happened.”

“I'm about to go off duty. Ivan already said I can stay if I want to. I'll just need a ride home later.”

The crowd around George breaks up reluctantly.

“See you later, Josephine,” Ivan says to the baby on his way past.

“Josephine?”

“It's the name Aunt Shannon put on the birth certificate,” Clay explains. “Josephine Beverly Penrose.”

“Hey, how about that?” E.J. says, smiling over at Dusty, the other representative from the Jolly Mount Five.

Fanci wrinkles up her nose.

“That's a stupid name. It's a name for an old lady. I'm going to call her Josie.”

“Josie,” I try it out. “I like it.”

“One more thing.” Ivan hands me an envelope. “For you. From your sister.”

I take it from him and know in my heart it will be the last time I hear from her. I don't hurt as much as I think I should, but I still feel as sad as I've always felt at losing Shannon.

“What do you think, Josie?” I coo to the baby as we all walk into the living room. “Who should hold you? Dusty is a pro with babies. There's no challenge there. And E.J. will probably break out in some kind of commitment rash if he holds you. And Clay already got to hold you today. How about your old pal, Fanci? Remember her?”

Fanci takes a seat on the couch, and I place Josephine gently in her arms.

“Watch her head,” Dusty and I say in unison.

I leave them for a moment, with Kenny and E.J. staring intently at the baby's skull, and walk into my well-lit kitchen to read the letter.

Dear Shae-Lynn,

I know you didn't believe my retirement story and you were right but part of it was true. I did come home looking for a safe place to hide, only I wasn't hiding from barren women and bloodsucking lawyers or even from the baby's father. I think I was hiding from the thing I came looking for, my past. I think I can deal with it now.