The Girl Who Ran Off With Daddy (33 page)

“If that’s the case, then why show them to me?”

“See? That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he said, flashing a rare smile at me. I guess Klaus wasn’t the only one who loosened up off duty.

“I’d be happy to look at your stuff, Trooper,” I assured him. “But Merilee’s the one you should really talk to.” The lady in question was sitting on a blanket under an apple tree with Marco, the two of them busy watching Tracy try to sit up.

“Get outta here, man!” Slawski exclaimed, awestruck. “Think
she’d
actually read my material?”

“Of course she would. She’s looking for a play right now, as it happens. And, believe me, if you show any promise at all you may save her from a fate worse than death.” I fetched him a Double Diamond out of the cooler I’d brought out. “Although I’d sure hate to think we might lose you to the Great White Way.”

“Not in this particular lifetime,” he shot back, with a huge guffaw. “A word of advice, by the way.”

“What’s that, Trooper?”

He opened his beer and took a gulp. “Don’t ever get yourself mixed up in another major crime around these here parts.”

“Not that I intend to, but why not?”

“Munger.” He said it like it was a dirty word.

“What about him?”

“He wants to bury you.”

I patted Slawski on his broad back. “Trooper, I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”

Arvin was sitting off by himself down near the water, wringing his hands and gazing mournfully out at nowhere.

I sat and gazed out at it with him. “You okay, pal?” I asked, after a time.

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you remember when I told you about how it was okay to cry?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, it’s also okay when someone asks you if you’re okay to say you’re not okay,” I said. “Okay?”

He hung his head sullenly. “Okay.”

“See, it’s bad to hold everything in. You have to vent from time to time. Otherwise you’ll explode.”

“You mean like Dwayne?” he asked. His voice was husky.

“I mean like Dwayne.”

“It’s just that …” He glanced up at me, then back down at his hands. “None of it …”

“None of it what, Arvin?”

“W-What happened,” he stammered. “None of it makes any sense. I mean, it’s not
fair!
”

“I know it’s not,” I conceded. “Life’s supposed to be. That’s what they tell us when we’re kids—that it really and truly is. But it really and truly isn’t, Arvin, and I’m not going to shit you, because you’re not a kid anymore. I’m sorry you had to find it out. It’s the hardest lesson there is in life. And there’s no turning back once you learn it. All I can tell you is I’ve been a lot better off since I’ve accepted that everything isn’t going to be all right. It makes me appreciate my life during those rare, blessed moments when it somehow is.” I unhooked Thor’s clunky bracelet from my wrist and held it out to him. “This was your dad’s. It was mine for a while. Now it’s yours.”

He stared at it blankly. “Why?”

“It’s a guy thing.”

I helped him on with it. The heavy bracelet hung loose from his skinny wrist. He stared at it a moment. Then suddenly his face got all scrunchy and his eyes filled up and just like that he let go. Wrenching sobs that came from deep down inside, tears that streamed down his pimply cheeks by the gallon. He cried for his father. He cried for his mother. He cried for himself and the miserable mess his life had become. He cried and he cried. It all came out. At long last, it came out.

Later, after we had eaten, we gathered for an extended family council meeting, al fresco. Clethra did most of the talking early on, seated there cross-legged on a blanket next to her brother.

“I have, like, a major thing to tell everyone,” she announced, speaking with newfound resolve. “I’ve decided I’m not gonna do that stupid book, okay? Like, I don’t wanna write it. I don’t wanna make speeches. I don’t wanna go on talk shows. That’s just not me, okay? I mean, I’ve been as famous as anyone could ever be. And I don’t wanna be famous anymore. I wanna live more like you do, Hoagy.”

“Careful. You may get what you wish for.”

“I mean it,” she said vehemently.

“I know you do.”

“Can it be done?” she asked me. “Can I tell them I’ve changed my mind?”

“All it takes is one fax.” Especially since they still hadn’t paid her so much as a dime. “Of course, they’ll be terribly disappointed.”

“How about you? Will you be disappointed?”

“I’ll live,” I told her. What I didn’t tell her was that I had already been approached about helping Dwayne tell
his
story—three publishers were still bidding hard for it. Seven figure advance, easy. I had said no because of the obvious conflict. Now I could say yes. I could if I wanted to, that is. But I didn’t. “What will you do instead?” I asked her.

“Apply to Barnard for late enrollment,” she answered. “I’ve only missed a few weeks of classes, and I’ve got, like, a pretty good excuse. I’ll try to get into a dorm. If I can’t, Barry said I can crash at their place until space opens up.”

“We’ve room to spare,” Barry added cheerily. “And I am, after all, her father.”

I found myself gazing at Arvin, the odd boy out. Because Barry was not, after all, his father. Thor’s son was staring down at the blanket, his Adam’s apple jumping.

Barry followed my gaze. “You’re part of our family, too, Arvy,” he added quickly. “I want you to know that. Marco and I very much want you with us. As long as we have a home, you have a home. Count on that. Now in a couple of years …” Briefly, his features darkened, his eyes avoiding mine. “… when Clethra turns twenty-one, she’ll be named your legal guardian. Until that time, I would be honored to serve in that capacity.”

Arvin nodded glumly and mouthed the word “thanks.” Although no sound came out.

“And if you ever need a place to hide out, Arvin,” Merilee spoke up, “you’re always welcome here. For as long as you like.”

He brightened. Not much, but a little. “Really?”

“Really,” Merilee assured him. “You, too, Clethra. Anytime you feel like coming. You don’t even have to call us. Just show up.”

“Although,” I pointed out, “we do charge seventy-five dollars a night per person. And food is extra.”

Arvin snickered. Possibly there was hope for him.

“While we’re on the subject of money,” Barry went on, “both of you kids will have some of your own when the estates are settled. Until then, I’ll be able to swing your tuitions at Barnard and Dalton soon as I sell the house out here. I can’t …” He faltered, growing emotional. “I can’t live in it anymore. Not after what happened there to Ruthie. Have to sell. And there’s my Sprite as well, which should fetch enough quick cash to tide us over. Still interested, Hoagy?”

“I am. And in Thor’s motorcycle, too.”

“You will
not
get a motorcycle, mister,” Merilee said crisply.

“I’ll get a helmet.”

“I don’t care. I will not spend my days and nights wondering if you’re smeared across the pavement somewhere.”

I grinned at her. “We’ll talk,” I said.

“We most certainly will
not
talk.”

Lulu let out a moan of consternation. She hates it when we disagree. Plus she was holding out for one with a sidecar for her.

“We’ll get through this,” Barry said, as much to himself as to the kids. “We’ll be fine. Isn’t that right, Hoagy? Won’t we be fine?”

“Yes, Barry. We will all be fine.”

He was sitting out by the first tee in his wheelchair with a blanket thrown over his legs. I couldn’t tell if he was watching the players out on the course or if he could even tell there were players out on the course. He was just sitting there, the breeze rippling his thin white hair. His nurse sat next to him on a bench.

“Mother is attending a lecture on primroses in the main hall,” she informed me with abundant good cheer. “Shall we head back inside? It’s getting rather chilly.”

“I’ll take over from here,” I growled, seizing the wheelchair from her.

She flared her nostrils at me and went marching off toward the main hall. I don’t predict she and I will be close.

I sat. He didn’t seem to notice me there. “Brought you a present, Father,” I said, laying it in his lap. “My way of saying thanks.”

After a long, long while he glanced down at it. It was a dark chocolate pecan turtle from the Chocolate Shell in Old Lyme. His favorite candy in the world. He gazed at it fondly and reached for it, or tried, but his hand just sort of flopped hopelessly around in his lap before it lay still again. A pained expression creased his long, narrow face.

“Here, let me.” I broke off a piece and fed it to him.

He let it sit there in his mouth for a moment so the caramel would melt and he could chew it. “For w-what, Bucky?” he wondered, after he’d swallowed it. “Thanks … f-for what?”

“You cracked the case. Helped me figure out who killed my friend. You’re still a pretty shrewd article, you know.”

“… Bucky?”

“Yes, Father?”

“I was n-never a shrewd article. I was … I-I was conventional.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk about yourself in the past tense,” I said crossly. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with being conventional.”

“It’s … everything you despise. You t-told me that once.”

“That doesn’t make it wrong. Just means it’s not for me.”

He narrowed his blue eyes at me. I had to keep reminding myself he couldn’t see well out of them. “You’ve … softened some, haven’t y-you?”

“No chance. Not me.” I fed him some more of his turtle. “Have you decided whether or not to roll over that CD?”

He gaped at me, bewildered. “Which … CD?”

“The one you were trying to decide whether or not to roll over.”

“Bunch of … gibberish,” he grumbled. “Man h-has to know Latin to—”

“I can handle it for you, if you’d like. I’ll sit down with Gene next time I’m in town, go over your whole portfolio with him. What do you say?”

He chewed on his turtle, saying nothing.

“Father?” I pressed.

“You’ve … got y-your own life and your … own worries.”

“I’ve got no worries. At least none that matter to me as much as you and Mother do.”

“I c-can manage,” he insisted stubbornly. “I’ll … take care of it.”

“No, you can’t,” I insisted, giving him stubborn right back. That’s one of the things I’m best at. “I’ll do it. And I don’t want any goddamned argument from you, either. I want to do this for you. You will let me do this for you. Is that understood?”

He made a face, as if the matter were way too unimportant to merit further discussion. He was silent after that, his breathing weak and unsteady, the sound of it much like the sound of someone crumpling very dry tissue paper.

The breeze picked up to a gust and blew his blanket away from his legs. I straightened it for him and asked him if he was getting too cold, but he didn’t answer. He’d fallen asleep. I pushed him back to their apartment, his head lolling slightly over to one side. It was very warm in there and reeked of that same, sickly-sweet smell he reeked of. Mother was still off at her garden club lecture.

I positioned him in front of the TV set and sat on the sofa. “Father?”

He stirred slightly, looking around. He didn’t seem to know where he was.

“Father, do you remember a long time ago when you used to come downstairs in the middle of the night for a glass of milk?”

He didn’t respond. “Do you, Father?”

He stared at me a long time before he spoke. “Where’s … your p-pal Stink, Bucky?” he said, grinning at me with his horsy teeth. “He still … out there t-trying to tie those f-firecrackers to … old man MacGregor’s cat?”

I sighed inwardly. “Yes, Father. Stink’s still out there.”

“Well, tell him to c-come on in. Mother will … m-make him some g-good hot cocoa. Getting awful c-cold out. Feels like … winter.”

“You’re absolutely right, Father. It’s beginning to feel a lot like winter.”

It was just past four in the morning when Tracy wanted to be changed. Merilee started to stir. I told her to go back to sleep and got up and took care of it myself. I was awake anyway.

Afterward, I carried Tracy downstairs and threw a log on the coals in the front parlor fireplace. Then I poured myself a Macallan and sat there on the sofa with Tracy in my lap and Lulu on my feet. She was giving me that look again—Tracy, I mean—the one where she was waiting for me to explain myself to her. I didn’t know how to. But for the very first time I felt strongly that I wanted to try. So I did something that night I had never done with her before.

I softly closed the door to the hallway and opened the corner cupboard, the one we hid the television in. One of the local stations in New London had the genius to schedule
The Pre-Dawn Moronathon
every morning from four until six—two solid hours of the Stooges. If Tracy wanted to understand me, I could think of no better or healthier way to start her out than this way.

We came in on the one where they’re locked in a haunted house, which I realize isn’t too specific since they were almost always locked in a haunted house. I took her hand and pointed so she’d know which one was Larry, which was Moe and which was Curly. She took it from there all by herself. And believe me, it didn’t take her long. Not with this man’s blood coursing through her veins. She was giggling in less than a minute. Squealing with delight in just over two.

God, I was proud.

And pumped beyond belief. Because here, at last, was something we could share, just we two. And I do mean we
two.
Merilee would not approve. In fact, she’d kill me if she ever found out I was polluting Tracy’s brain this way. But, hey, she could raise Tracy her way, I’d raise her mine. What a feast lay in wait for her—Daffy Duck, the Roadrunner, Laurel and Hardy …

Mitchum I’d save for when she was in the Terrible Twos.

My daughter and I watched a solid hour of the Stooges together, Lulu curled up on my feet with her tail thumping. Not only because she’s a big fan herself but because she, too, had started to figure out just how much fun it might be having Tracy around. I guess I had to realize it myself before she could. We have tremendous control over those around us, whether we know it or not, whether we want it or not. That’s one thing I learned from this entire experience with Thor.