Sweet Poison (36 page)

“Oh, honey. Where are you? Are you okay? Is Dean with you?”

“Have the police come by?”

“Yesterday.”

“They’re not there now?”

“No.”

“Go look outside. See if you can see a man sitting in a car. Could be any kind of car.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

While he waited, he unwrapped a stick of gum and folded it into his mouth. He and Dean had ridden the bus to 60th and Penn.

Mary came back on the line. “No, there’s nobody out there.”

“You looked all over? Up and down both streets?”

“I used the binoculars you bought me for my birthday when you were seventeen.”

“Good woman.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“I will. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He cut the line. “Dean?” he called. “Let’s hit the road.”

They walked down Penn toward 60th, where they hung a hard right and headed for Sunrise Drive. Entering the house through the side door, Corey found Mary waiting for them in the kitchen.

“What happened to your hair?”

“Not now, Mary.” Corey held his son’s hand and smiled at her. “Dean, this is your great-aunt Mary.” Bending down and straightening Dean’s coat, he said, “Aunt Mary raised me, so she’s kind of like my mother.”

Dean appeared to be struck by a severe attack of shyness. He looked down at his feet, pulled on the brim of his baseball cap, his gaze bouncing around the room, looking at everything except at Mary. “Hi,” he mumbled.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” said Mary. “How old are you?”

“Eight.”

“Such a big boy.” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Do you know you look just like your father did when he was your age?”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “I saw a picture.”

“Come on, buddy. You wanna watch a little TV?”

“Um, okay.”

Corey got him set up in the family room, turned on the TV, then the gas fireplace, and finally covered him with a blanket. “I need to talk to my aunt. When I come back, it’s time for you to go home to your mom.” He figured Dean caught only half of what he’d said. He yanked down the brim of his hat and then trotted back upstairs to the kitchen.

Mary had installed herself at the table with a cup of coffee. He might have been able to read the expression on her face if he’d worked at it, but he didn’t have time, so he just sat down across from her and explained where they’d been and what they’d done. Through it all, his aunt remained impassive, hardly moving, never touching her coffee as he described in detail what a great kid Dean was, how they’d connected.

“And now what?” she asked when he was done, her blue eyes searching his.

“I need to get Dean home, but I don’t want to take him myself. I need some time, time to figure out what to do.” He covered her hand with his. “Would you take him back for me? You can tell Serena I’ll call her later. Don’t ask me a lot of questions because I can’t answer them. Just do me this one favor, okay? I’ll never ask you for another thing, I promise. I don’t want to leave Serena hanging any longer. I’ve put her through enough.”

“Yes,” agreed Mary. “You have.”

“Will you do it?” He held his breath. Everything depended on his aunt taking Dean home.

She looked at him with such disappointment in her eyes that he almost lost it.

“All right,” she said, finally. “But when I get back, we have to talk.”

“Right. Anything you want. I’ll go get Dean.”

Mary ducked her head inside the van to make sure Dean’s seat belt was fastened properly, then she slipped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and drove a little less than a block. Pulling over to the curb, she turned to look at the little boy.

“Dean, I need to ask you a big favor.”

“Yeah?” he said, looking at her sideways.

“I know I’m asking a lot, but I need to go back to the house and talk to your father for a few minutes. It won’t take me long. I have a good friend who lives in that house over there.” She pointed. “Her name is Nann. She has two wonderful little dogs who love to play with kids your age. Do you think you could play with them for just a few minutes? And I’ll bet Nann would have some cookies and milk for you if you got hungry.”

“What kind of cookies?” he asked, squinting at her.

“Well, I have to admit, I don’t know. But she makes all the cookies herself, so I know they’ll be good. What do you say?”

He tipped his head to the side. “I think I want to go see my mom.”

“I know you do, sweetheart, but I promise this won’t take me long at all. Only a few minutes. Could you do me this one huge favor?”

“And then you’ll take me home to my mom?”

“Absolutely. I promise.”

He adjusted his hat. “I guess.”

Corey dug through his aunt’s closet until he found an old suitcase. Working quickly, he carried it down to his room in the basement and began packing some clothes. He didn’t know what he’d need. He didn’t even know where he was going. Grabbing the framed picture off the nightstand, the only photo he had of his mother and Mary together before his mother died, he wrapped a heavy sweater around it and stuffed it into the case. And then he sat down on the bed.

Nothing had worked out the way he’d planned. He couldn’t believe
what a deep hole he’d dug for himself in such a short time. The way he saw it, he had three options. He could wait for the police to arrest him and toss him back in prison. That really wasn’t an option. He was never going back, whatever it took, whatever that meant. He wouldn’t survive if he did. The second option was leave the state for good. Or he could buy himself a gun and put a bullet in his brain. But that option had to be reserved as a last resort—if the cops had him cornered or something.

Leaning forward, Corey rested his head on his hands. How could everything have gone so wrong? He’d made a deal with Serena. He just wanted one lousy night. He couldn’t fathom why she’d turned him in. Thinking of Dean, of the relationship they would never have, he felt his eyes begin to well with tears. But before he knew it, his cheeks were wet and his nose was stuffed up. He was smart enough to know that he was crying mostly for himself, but also for Dean and Serena, for what could have been.

Pressing his fists against his eyes, he sniffed a few times and then looked up.

He jumped when he saw Mary standing in the doorway. “What’s going on? I thought … where’s Dean?”

“Dean’s fine. What are you doing with my suitcase?”

“What’s it look like? I’m packing.”

“You’re running away.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You’ve always got choices, Corey.”

He gave a mirthless laugh. “You want me to go back to prison? Kidnapping is a felony. That means I go back and serve the rest of my three-year sentence, and on top of that, I’ll probably get nailed for another ten, twelve years.”

“You don’t know that.”

“By the time they let me out, Dean will be the same age I am now.”

“So the solution is to run.”

“Either that, or I go get a gun and end it.”

Her eyes registered shock. “Suicide is against God’s law.”

“Fuck God’s law. Fuck any law that keeps me away from my kid.”

A deep crimson climbed her cheeks. “All right. I can’t stop you. You’re a grown man now, not a boy with a bad attitude. I thought I raised you to respect life—everyone’s life, including yours. But I see now that I failed.”

“You didn’t fail, Mary. It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s me. I’m the fuckup.”

“You will not use that kind of language in this house!”

He turned away, threw a couple more balled-up socks in the suitcase. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t speak again until he lifted the case off the bed and faced her.

“Before you go, answer one question for me.” He waited.

“Did you rape that woman up near Duluth?”

The question hit him like a two-by-four. It took him a couple seconds to recover. “Don’t, Mary. Don’t do that. You’ve never doubted me before.”

“You think I’m just some credulous old lady? Some pathetic old goat that’s happy, even eager, to buy anything you have to sell?”

“No, of course—”

She stepped forward with her hand out, like she was going to slap him. “You think it’s been easy loving you all these years? Easy keeping faith with a man intent on taking a wrecking ball to his life?”

“No. Of course not. But there’s no way I can prove to you that I didn’t rape that woman. There’s no possible way unless you accept my word.”

Corey glimpsed something final in the stillness of her eyes. This was the moment he’d feared the entire time he’d been inside. In fact, fear was what had always driven him. Fear of a personal recklessness he couldn’t seem to control. Fear that he’d never amount to anything. Fear that when he went to prison, everyone he knew would forget him. Fear that jail would change him into someone he didn’t want to be. Fear that his aunt would start to question his innocence. And now, fear that he could never be a real father to his son.

“The man I thought I knew would never run away from his boy,” said Mary. “You understand what that feels like, Corey. Your father did it to you. How can you turn around and do the same thing to Dean?”

“What kind of father-son relationship can I have with him from prison?”

“More than you’ll have if you disappear from his life. The Corey I thought I raised would never
ever
put his son through that. That’s why I demand that you answer my question. Did you rape that woman?”

“No!”

“Did you?”

He dropped the suitcase, fell back on the bed. “No,” he breathed. “No.”

He would never forget where he’d been that night. He’d tied one on in a bar the night before, so he was hungover. He’d pulled off the freeway around two and stopped on a dark country road so he could grab a few hours’ sleep. He couldn’t prove it. Nobody saw him. He’d thought a lot about the concept of proof when he was in prison. There were so many things you couldn’t prove. Important things. Like love.

“More lies,” said Mary.

“I’m not lying.”

She held his gaze. “Then prove it.”

“I can’t. It’s impossible.”

“No, it’s not. Stay. Turn yourself in to the police. Fight for Dean. Fight to turn your life around.”

“I tried. It didn’t work.”

“Try again.”

“I’m not like you. I’m not as strong as you are. I can’t go back to prison.”

“But if you run you’ll never know what you’re really made of. If you go, Corey, you leave me no choice but to conclude you lied to me about raping that woman. I may still pray for you, for your immortal soul, I might even still love you, but I will never in this life speak to you again.”

Her words gutted him. It was as if she’d reached inside his skin and scooped out everything that made him capable of standing upright. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Her voice shook with anger. “For once in your life, Corey, be a man.”

Closing his eyes, he realized she’d called his bluff—that she was the only one who truly could. She’d laid it all out for him. She’d given him a way to prove the unprovable. “Okay,” he said, pushing off the bed, his legs nearly giving out on him as he stood. “I’ll stay.”

She threw her arms around him.

“Drive me to the police station
now
, Mary, before I lose what little nerve I’ve got left.”

L
et’s do lunch,” said Cordelia.

“Here? At the Lyme House?” asked Jane.

“And not in the pub, either. In the main dining room. It’s on you. You owe me big for pushing you out the door the other night.”

Jane sat back in her desk chair and laughed. “You pushed
me
out the door?” Mouse yawned. He was curled up on the rug by the fireplace. It occurred to Jane that she wanted his life, not hers. “So what time do we eat?”

“Well, it’s eleven now,” said Cordelia. “How about noon?”

“I thought I’d call Merriam Park Methodist, see if Christopher Cornish was around.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“I don’t know. I guess … I feel like I should apologize. I need to make more of an effort to follow what’s going on around me. Luke indicated that Christopher was probably voting for my dad, so he may not be quite as rabid as Luke is. It’s just something I need to do.”

“Whatever.”

“I think I’ll call over there now. If he’s around, I’ll stop in, make it quick, and be back by the time you get here.”

“Not to worry. If you’re not around, I’ll start the celebration without you.”

“What celebration?”

“Your dad’s victory tomorrow, bean brain. I’m starting early. Put a bottle of your finest champagne on ice.”

Jane called the church and spoke to the Carla Epstine, the secretary. She said that Reverend Cornish had been cleaning out his office most of the morning but that she’d seen him leave about fifteen minutes ago.

“Why is he cleaning out his office?” asked Jane.

“A bill of charge and specifications has been issued. It’s only a matter of time before there will be a church trial. The United Methodists don’t allow practicing homosexuals to be ordained elders.”

“I see.”

“And then there are the other … accusations. Of course, we should maintain that someone is innocent until proved guilty.”