Stash (6 page)

Gwen would have to visit the editor to see what she could do to keep her name out of the paper.

She was charged with DUI and possession, fingerprinted and released on bail—a thousand dollars, not the five hundred Roger had said, due to the double charges—and told to return for court arraignment the next day at 11:00
A.M.

“On a Saturday?” Gwen asked.

“Friday’s a big night for arrests,” Roger explained. “There’s usually a Saturday court session to prevent a backlog. But the judge tomorrow is Robert Donovan. His son plays Little League with Josh. I’ll give him a call and see if I can move it to next week. It’s better that way, anyway, if we have a little more time to prepare.”

“We were planning on going up to the lake this weekend.”

Roger looked at her. “I’ll see what I can do, but I won’t know until tomorrow.”

So their family getaway that her husband had slaved at work to carve out time for was postponed, and now Brian sat on the couch next to Gwen, holding her hand as she had asked him to, finally breaking a long silence between them.

“I shouldn’t have been so angry with you,” Brian said. “It was just bad luck, it could happen to anyone, and you’re right, it could have happened to me after a few drinks on a night out.” He took her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“We’ll take care of this and put it behind us.”

“I just feel so humiliated.”

The doorbell rang and seconds later the kids ran in ahead of Roger.

“Mommy!” Nate said. “Can I see your black eye?”

Brian got up and met Roger in the hallway. He’d changed out of his suit into jeans and a T-shirt. Brian was still wearing his clothes from work, except for the tie.

“We told them their mom got a little cut on her face,” Roger said. “Marlene sends her best. Says the kids ate macaroni and cheese and watched
Wallace and Gromit.”

“Thanks, I appreciate this. You want a drink?”

“Maybe a beer.”

Brian went to the refrigerator and got out two beers, opening both and handing one to Roger. They walked out to the back patio. The sun had dipped below the trees and long shadows hung over them. Goldenrod bloomed in a long patch where the lawn ended.

“I’ve got some other news.” Roger stepped closer to Brian and lowered his voice. They could hear Gwen talking to the kids inside, explaining she’d been in a car accident but was perfectly fine.

“The other driver—eighty-two-year-old guy with severe dementia. James Anderson. Lives in Niskayuna, God knows where he was going in Morrissey. Tore through the guardrail and plunged down the ravine. Died in the hospital about an hour ago.”

“Jesus,” Brian said.

“I know it’s terrible, but I talked to the investigator and it does appear he crossed the line and hit Gwen. It’s not final, the report won’t be complete for a few days or a week, but it was pretty obvious just from the pattern of the glass spattering and the tire marks on the road. The blood tests aren’t back yet, either, but the fact that Gwen had marijuana in her system and in her possession might complicate things.”

“You mean she’ll be responsible—”

“I don’t mean anything yet, and we shouldn’t jump to any conclusions,”
Roger said. “I’m just sharing with you information that I have. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Gwen’s going to be very upset.”

“I know—we’re all upset.” Roger finished the last swallows of his beer. “I’d better go. I’ll call you in the morning and let you know what I find out about the arraignment.”

“Roger, wait a minute. Is this the right thing?” Brian asked. “I mean you representing us—not because we’re friends, but … You know that ounce Gwen had? She said half of it was for Marlene and you.”

Roger nodded. “I know, it’s like being a fucking teenager again. Except it’s not. The stakes always get higher. I can recommend someone else if you prefer. A colleague of mine is good with these kinds of cases.”

“No, I just wanted to get that out in the open,” Brian said. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to do this and don’t want you to get exposed if it comes to that.”

“Don’t worry about that. If you want me as your attorney, I’m there all the way for you.”

“It’s up to Gwen, but I’m sure she does.”

“I think this whole thing can be cleared up quickly,” Roger said. “Gwen’s a model citizen, you know that. It was just a wrong place at the wrong time kind of thing. I can see this just going away.”

After Roger left, Brian went back inside. He had to break the news about the other driver to Gwen. But she had gone upstairs with the kids and fallen asleep on her bed with the cold pack over her eyes. The kids sat on either side of her, silent and staring.

“Is Mommy dead?” Nate asked.

“Just sleeping, honey,” Brian reassured him.

“Yes, she’s just sleeping,” Nora repeated, echoing her father. “She’s not going to die, is she, Dad?”

“Of course not. Mom’s just tired. So let’s try to be quiet.”

“Be quiet, Nate,” Nora said.

“I am quiet,” he said too loudly.

“Shhhh,” said Brian.

“When will she wake up?” Nora asked.

“In the morning, probably.”

“She’s just sleeping.”

“That’s right.”

“Will we go to the lake tomorrow?”

“We’ll see,” said Brian. “Come on, let’s take a bath.”

He ran water in the whirlpool tub in the master bathroom. The tub was big enough to fit them both. Brian let Nate pour the bubble powder, which meant the kids were buried in mountains of suds. He didn’t bother with the soap and shampoo. They sang “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” and then Brian pretended to be a troll under the bridge while Nate and Nora played billy goats he wanted to eat.

As the tub drained, Nate started in with the numbers. “4-3-9-4-9-6-1, 4-3-9-4-9-6-1, 4-3-9-4-9-6-1, 4-3-9-4-9-6-1 …” He’d learned their phone number the other day and now had to repeat it a thousand times.

Brian helped the kids with their pajamas and they sat together on Nora’s bed while Brian read them each a book,
Franklin Rides a Bike
for Nate and a chapter in Nora’s American Girl book.

He had missed too many bedtimes recently due to late work nights and was happy tonight to perform the routine with the kids by himself. Against their fragrant hair and clean, warm bodies his stress eased like a muscle cramp fading. He shuttled back
and forth between Nate’s and Nora’s rooms, stroking their faces, tucking them in an extra time, stealing kisses from their foreheads. Okay, Nate, you can repeat our phone number ten more times and then you have to go to sleep. Nora, I’ll sing the “Nina, Nina” lullaby one more time before saying good night.

And then they were asleep, and the house quiet. Brian went downstairs to the den to log on to work and check his messages, and the comfort and love that had filled him while putting the kids to bed vanished in the time it took to download his e-mail. He scanned his new messages until he saw the one from Teresa Mascetti. He opened it.

He wrote this reply:

He was reading through his other e-mails when the reply came back. What was she doing working on a Friday night? Brian was surprised she didn’t have other plans.

Jude watched Dana appear from behind the gas station and walk back to the van, her gait lacking its usual athletic grace.

“It was gross,” she said. “I couldn’t even go in, so I peed on the ground behind the back of the building.”

“Hope you didn’t squat in any poison ivy.”

“It’s just packed dirt and a bunch of tires.”

Jude finished filling the tank and they got back on the road.

“How was your run this morning? Do I detect a limp?”

“My first mile was okay, but then my knee started to hurt again. I’ve been e-mailing back and forth with the trainer and she’s going to do some tests when I’m up there.”

“All that trail running this summer probably didn’t help.”

“Dad, it’s cross-country. You’re supposed to be running on trails.”

Instead of Jude’s Lexus, they’d taken the restaurant’s van, a commercial Ford 150. They needed the van because Dana couldn’t leave for college without her snow globes, desk chair, the standing lamp with the shade her friends on the track team had autographed, a minifridge, two trunks of clothing, television, three boxes of books and notebooks, the new laptop, and who knows what else.

“I got you tea,” Jude said, pointing to the cups in the holders.

“I wanted a grande chai latte.”

“Very funny. Be thankful for the tea, the coffee’s like burnt toast.” Even with three packs of sugar and two creams it tasted bitter and stale, filtering through his stomach like spent motor oil.

Last night at Gull he had thrown a party for Dana, which lasted well past the usual 2:00
A.M.
closing time. His daughter had worked in his restaurants longer than any of Jude’s regular employees, folding napkins when she was just four years old, arranging flower vases and filling sugar bowls at age ten, setting tables at thirteen. Throughout her senior year and over this past summer, she worked Saturday nights to earn spending money for college. Jude gave her the option and Dana chose busing tables over the more glamorous and visible hostess position. She didn’t like to dress up and didn’t seek the limelight, but everyone at Gull was friends with her—boss’s daughter or not—and the party rocked, especially after the dining room stopped serving and Jude hung the sign on the door that said
CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY
. Many of his staff used the open bar as a free ticket to get hammered, but not Dana. Not his good girl. Not his runner.

It pleased him to see so many people show affection and good wishes for his daughter. A few friends from school came as well—other girls on the track team whom he warned the bartender not to serve. No boys. As far as Jude knew, Dana had never had a boyfriend, although last year she’d hung around with this big kid Sean for a month or so before the boy’s father was transferred to a new job in another state. Other than that, nobody. He hoped she would have told him if there had been anyone.

Jude had always encouraged her to be open about her feelings; he never hesitated to answer her questions, even the tough ones. He reminded her to say no to drugs, counseled her to be careful and mature about sex—when her time came, that is. He helped her with homework, he went to her track meets. He operated
from instinct rather than expertise and wondered how many ways he must have failed. Many, he was afraid.

When she was seven, he explained to her about puberty and how her body would change. By nine, she knew the gross details about sex. Her word at the time:
gross
. He’d been fortunate in picking the right pediatrician, a woman who took a personal interest in Dana and spent time at her yearly checkups talking about women’s bodies and how Dana’s would change and how she might feel about it. But there were many times she could have used a mother, like the night when she was fourteen and came out of the restroom at Gull and told her father she’d gotten her period, but was having bad cramps. He took her upstairs to his office and she rested on the couch curled like a shrimp, holding her belly. He covered her with a blanket. She moaned. He didn’t know what to do. She’d never complained before about pain when she got her period. Was this normal or the sign of a serious problem?

“Daddy, it hurts.”

“Do you want me to call the doctor?”

“I want it to stop. Make it stop.”

The emergency room—or two aspirin? He felt her forehead: no fever. She didn’t have the chills. Her eyes were clear, pupils set.

He picked up the phone and called downstairs and asked Angela, the hostess, to come up to his office.

When Angela arrived she asked Dana what the pain felt like.

“A lot of pressure.”

“Is your flow heavy or light?”

“It just started, so it’s not that heavy.”

“Poor thing,” Angela said. “Sounds like menstrual cramps. Have you ever had them before?”

Dana shook her head.

“Welcome to the club. Try two ibuprofen and a warm bath, that’s what I do. If the pain eases, then you’ll know what it was.”

She turned back to Jude. “See how easy you men have it?”

Right. Easy to be a single father with a teenage daughter. Might as well be a horse trying to parent a bird.

The challenges never ended, even with years of experience. Like now, driving on the Northway to send his daughter off to college, trying to articulate what he needed to say.

“I just want to remind you that you’re going to have a lot of freedom in college. I know you’ll make wise choices, but there can be a lot of distractions, too. I don’t want to hear you’ve become the poster child for campus party girls.”

The eye roll response. “I already have a lot of freedom.”

“You’ll be exposed to a new group of friends. I know what it’s like going to college. There’s lots of drinking, drugs are available.”

“There’s drinking and drugs everywhere, Dad. I’ve even seen them around Gull.”

“Who? What have you seen?”

“I’m not naming names.”