The Letter Writer (15 page)

She wore no makeup. Not a drop of cologne, nor the slightest hint of powder, cream, or rouge. No eyeliner or mascara. He should have known this already just from looking at her,
staring
at her the way he'd been doing all evening. But the moment of revelation came instead with these first kisses, his cheek against hers, and from her scent—soap and skin, nothing more. At that instant he realized that with Clovis and all other women he'd known back to high school this moment had always been accompanied by a smell of cologne or cosmetics, the very scent of arousal, and it was missing here, as if Beryl and he had skipped some step in an instruction manual. For the briefest of moments the absence almost threw him. Then she again stroked her fingertips across his cheek, and he pulled her closer, and just like that they were off and running. Soap and skin were plenty.

Afterward, in his bed, she was the first to break the silence, unless you counted Red Barber, who had provided play-by-play throughout.
Smash to third. Slow roller up the middle.

“He missed the big play at the plate,” Beryl said, laughing.

“What was the call?”

“Safe by a mile. Game winner.”

“I didn't expect this.”

“If you had, it never would have happened. My uncle Fedya calls me a shameless libertine. Maybe that explains it. I do subscribe to the notion that consenting adults need not wait to satisfy their desires. Especially at our age.”

“I haven't even asked how old you are.”

“Like I said, a gentleman. Thirty-one.”

“Thirty-four.”

“I know. Danziger
did
offer that.”

They moved closer. A kiss, a caress. She reached down, fingertips stroking his thigh like a breeze through the window, while Red Barber chimed in.

Well, now we've got a real rhubarb going down at third.

They smiled. Then someone switched off the radio and it was just them on the bed, serenaded by the distant tooting of car horns. She touched the scar on his leg and he didn't flinch, so she left her hand in place, warm, an assurance.

“Tell me what happened,” she said.

Cain answered without hesitation, the words coming easier than he would have expected.

“My partner Rob and I, we went looking for a suspect, late afternoon. We'd heard he was holed up in some old bootlegger's shack, the edge of a tobacco field, broken-down place with vines all over the windows, a hole in the roof. We knew the guy. Mean old cuss, but not much of a threat. Tom Strayhorn. Loved to hunt squirrels, drink all weekend in his fishing skiff out on the Neuse. He'd never been much trouble up to then, but he'd roughed up his wife a few days before, and that Saturday he'd knocked over a general store, so it was time to haul him in.

“His car was there, stuck in the mud up against a line of trees. He'd put some branches over it, like a duck blind, but he must have been drunk because even that looked half-assed. We knocked first, announced our names. He knew us, so we didn't expect the worst. He said come on in. We drew our guns because it's procedure, the way you're trained. Then I opened the door, went in first.”

Cain paused, remembering the way the room had looked in the November gloom. Water dripping from warped crossbeams. Weeds sprouting through gray floorboards. Cold air, smelling of corn liquor and spoiled meat, with Strayhorn grinning at them from a crouch in the corner, a big pistol curled in his hand like a mutation.

“And then?”

“Our training was to show restraint. Be ready to shoot but give him a chance to put his weapon down. Then he shot Rob. Just pointed and
bang.
Smiled and pulled the trigger. I let it happen. The shot killed him, just like that, straight through the heart. Then I shot back, and he shot back at me, hit my leg. Hard to say which happened first, or if it was all at the same time. It was so damn loud in that small room, and Rob broke the floorboards when he fell, his blood all over me, all over everything.”

“Good God.”

“Rob was more than just my partner. My oldest friend from the first week of college, and ever since. Best man at my wedding. One of those guys who always knew what I was thinking, and I was the same with him. Or that's what I'd always figured. That morning I'd just found out he'd slept with my wife. Clovis told me at breakfast. Said she was moving out.”

“Oh my. I'm sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Cain paused, took a deep breath. This part was still the hardest.

“Did he know you knew?”

Cain shook his head.

“I'd avoided him all day, then we got called out to get Strayhorn, and it wasn't the right time. I couldn't even look at him, we hardly spoke the whole way out there. Maybe that's why I waited. You know, waited to shoot. That's what the DA's people wondered, anyway, once they heard everything else.”

“They questioned you?”

“My shot killed Strayhorn, so yeah. With me as the only surviving witness they pretty much had to. They broke it down, step by step, over and over. My boss invited them in on it. Didn't want the whole town thinking he was covering for me, not once he heard about Clovis and Rob, which, it turned out, everybody but me had already known about. Small towns, that's how it happens sometimes. You're always the last to know. So when the other two got killed and I didn't, well, you can imagine the kinds of things people would say. Three damn shots, maybe two seconds in all, and that's how long it took to lose my best friend, my wife, my career, my reputation. Every bit of it dripping away between those floorboards, with the blood of all three of us mixed in with it.”

“But you said yourself, you played it by the book.”

“I did. But now I wonder if I knew all along that the book wasn't the right way to play it. Not once I saw Strayhorn's face, the way he was grinning. And I was the first one through the door. I think part of me knew right away what he was going to do.”

“Meaning he could have just as easily shot you.”

“Maybe I wanted that, too. I'm not sure which is worse, a death wish for Rob or for me. I might have been figuring he would just take care of both of us.”

“If that was true you wouldn't have fired back.”

“By then I was operating on instinct.”

“What about Rob? He didn't fire first, either.”

“I think that's what saved me in the end, with the DA anyway. That and Strayhorn being a good-for-nothing sack of shit who deserved whatever he got. It's the one thing I keep going back to, to tell myself I couldn't have handled it any better.”

“And?”

“The jury's still out. It always will be. But I know how Clovis would vote.”

“She blamed you?”

“Blame doesn't describe it. She pretty much went round the bend. She'd always been a drinker. It was already a problem, but we managed. After that? She was a mess, dawn to dusk. Screaming one minute, sobbing the next. Or just staring off into space. Couldn't finish half her sentences. And poor Olivia. It was like she didn't exist anymore, not for her mother. It went on like that for days. Clovis's dad sent someone down, who drove her away, back up north. To someplace upstate, I think, but he's never told me where. Then he got me this apartment, this job. To help Olivia, he said. I think mostly he wanted to keep an eye on me. And on Olivia, too, once she gets here.”

“You couldn't stay in Horton?”

He shook his head.

“Raleigh, maybe, that's where my family's from. But I'm not sure what I could've done for a living. And even there, well…Rob's family lives on the other side of town. I'd spent all kinds of time with them until this happened. Every summer during college it was practically a second home. But there was no going back now.”

“They blamed you?”

“His younger brother, James, decided pretty early on that it was all my fault. He'd always idolized Rob, and he made a crusade out of it. Wrote eleven letters—
eleven
—to the DA, trying to get me indicted. And when that didn't work he wrote the U.S. Attorney. Offering to testify against me, tell them all kinds of wild conspiracy shit that wasn't even close to true.”

Cain had bunched a corner of the bedsheet in his right fist, which was shaking. Beryl pulled the fist to her face and kissed it. He let go and slowly flexed his fingers, the knuckles stiff.

“How did you hear about all that?”

“The guys in the DA's office told me.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I know. Not exactly by the book, but even they thought he'd gone off the rails. Another good reason to leave the state. I half expected him to be at the train station when I left, with a gun to finish me off. I don't think he'd ever do harm to Olivia, but, well, I'll feel better when she's up here, as tough as it's going to be for her.”

“What's she like?”

Cain smiled, exhaled. It felt good to have everything out, but now he needed to push it away, back into the corner, and thinking of Olivia helped do that. He'd been lying on his side, facing Beryl, but now he rolled onto his back and breathed deeply.

“She's wonderful. Sweet and curious, smart as a whip. I miss her, and I thinks she misses me. We write pretty much every day.”

“Does she know about…well, all of what happened?”

“We never told her about Rob and Clovis, but kids are smart. They hear things anyway, especially in a small town. They see the papers. And why else would her mother have gone crazy like that, when all I ended up with was a bad leg? She probably knows all about it. But I don't think she blames me. If she does, she's good at hiding it, 'cause if there's one thing kids her age don't hide well, it's resentment, mistrust.”

“Probably because she knows you love her.”

“I hope so. I say it every time I write. We'll find out, I guess.”

Beryl put an arm across his waist. They lay in silence, savoring the peace and quiet, the remnants of the breeze. Then she propped herself up on an elbow and spoke again, whispering her words like a lover's secret.

“Dalitz. That was Danziger's name. Alexander Maximilian Dalitz. Only because I trust you to do no harm. And that's the last story you'll get out of me tonight about Sascha.”

He nodded, grateful and solemn. Then he kissed her, quickly the first time, slowly the second, and the last thing Cain did before drifting off to sleep was to pull her closer, either for ballast as he fell, or so he knew she'd be there when he awakened.

A KNOCK AT THE DOOR
woke them—faint at first, then loud and insistent. Cain sat up in bed, fumbling for his watch.

“Are we breaking one of the landlord's rules?” Beryl asked sleepily.

“Doubtful.”

It was a few minutes after midnight. He threw on a robe and crossed the hall barefoot while the banging continued.

“Hold your horses! I'm coming!”

He opened the door to see his sister, Sue, looking tired and put out, a suitcase in her left hand. On her right, clinging to Sue's bedraggled white cotton dress, was an exhausted Olivia, whose eyes suddenly came to life at the sight of her father.

“Olivia! Sweetie!”

He knelt to welcome her. Had she grown an inch? Had her face really changed in the space of a few months, or was she just tired? She said nothing, but launched herself through the doorway and clung to him like she'd been waiting all her life to do it.

“We looked for you at the station,” his sister said crossly. “Didn't you get my letter?”

“No.” His voice was choked with emotion. “Train must've beat it here. I had no idea.”

He wanted to sob, feeling Olivia's thin body pressed against his rib cage, against the robe that, he now realized with embarrassment, smelled very much like Beryl, like sex, the essence of their intimacy seeming to fill the air. Sue stepped past him, heels hammering the wood floor. Out of the corner of his eye Cain saw her appraise the room, face tilted upward, nostrils flared, as if already receiving every important signal.

“You should've telephoned,” he said softly, not wanting to argue while Olivia was holding on. “Or sent a telegram. I could've had everything ready for you.”

“Money doesn't grow on trees, Woodrow. We don't lead a profligate life the way you do.”

Talking like a Baptist.

“Yeah, I'm just high on the hog up here, as you can see from all the furniture.”

He wondered what Beryl could hear, and how he was going to handle this.

“Well, if Uncle Sam's postmen can't beat Southern Railway to New York City, then I don't see how he expects his soldiers to beat Hitler and Tojo.”

Cain unclasped his arms and looked Olivia in the eye. She was already half asleep.

“Sweetie, I'm thrilled you're here, but what about school? You couldn't have finished the year, have you?”

Olivia yawned and buried her face in his chest while Sue supplied the answer.

“Her teacher said it was becoming too much for her, being without her daddy. Said she'd be better off finishing the year up here. I've got her permanent record in the suitcase. You ask me, the real reason was that this girl was becoming such a handful. Nobody could half control her anymore. Me, Don, her teacher. You know how stubborn she can be, once she's made up her mind. And she keeps secrets, this girl, all kinds of them.”

All of this with Olivia standing right there, although by now she seemed too tired to care. Or maybe she'd heard it all before. Cain stood and took his daughter by the hand.

“Let's get you to bed, sweetheart.”

But where? He had planned to give her his own room once she arrived, and then find a foldout bed for himself that he would store in the living room. But for the moment his bed was occupied, and he felt color rising in his cheeks. He glanced toward the hallway, but Beryl was staying out of sight. He believed now that he could smell all sorts of giveaways and guilty secrets, swirling in the night air. Then he turned toward Sue and saw that she knew.

His sister stepped into the corridor to retrieve a second suitcase and then shut the door.

“I'll put away your things for you, dear,” she said, heels striking like a gavel as she headed straight for the bedroom with Cain in pursuit.

“Let me do that, Sue.”

“I'm fine,” she snapped, gaining velocity, a locomotive determined to smash through the crossing. “I'm a big girl. I'll handle whatever there is to handle.”

Yes, she knew all right.

He gave up the chase and was still holding Olivia's hand as Sue rounded the corner. He braced for an outburst, a collision. Instead he heard a brief, muffled exchange of female voices, and then Beryl emerged from around the corner. She was fully dressed and, all things considered, remarkably poised.

“I told her I was just leaving, so I guess this is good night.” She spoke in a half whisper. She was not angry, not flustered, and Cain realized he wasn't all that surprised. She was remarkable.

He smiled warmly, reaching toward her with his free hand and then letting it fall away as Sue appeared in Beryl's wake, her face a thunderhead of triumphant disapproval. Beryl touched his arm in passing, and then paused in the open doorway.

“I'm sure I'll be seeing both of you soon enough,” she said, pointedly directing her words at Cain and Olivia.

“I'm sure you will,” Cain said. “This is Beryl, sweetie. She's a friend of mine.”

“Friend!” Sue chimed in from behind, punctuating it with a snort.

Olivia, unfazed, nodded and yawned. Her calmness probably had more to do with exhaustion than with any sense of solidarity, but it was nice to pretend they were showing a united front.

After the door shut he turned to see Sue pulling a fresh set of bedsheets from Olivia's suitcase. She began tucking them onto the couch.

“Daddy, can I go to bed now?”

“I don't think your daddy has a bed for you yet, dear, so I'm making you a place to sleep right here.” Sue's strained cheeriness had forced her voice into falsetto.

Cain shouldered past her and pulled the sheet off the cushions.

“I'll do this. Olivia will stay in the bed. I'll just put her sheets on it. Sue, you can stay out here, and I'll take the floor.”

Sue's mouth flew open in surprise. She shot him a glare of deep disgust, the implication clear.
You'd put your daughter to bed right where you were just lying with that woman?

“C'mon, sweetie.” He took Olivia by the hand.

Sue folded her arms as they left the room together.

He stripped off the sheets and tossed them into the corner while Olivia watched, wide-eyed. She stepped forward to help him put on the fresh one, and then looked up as he puffed the pillow.

“This is a big place, ain't it, Daddy. New York City, I mean.”

“Sure is, sweetie. But you'll get used to it. This is your new home.”

She nodded, kicked off her shoes, and slipped her plain wool dress over her head. Then he tucked her into bed. She was asleep almost the minute she laid her head down. He kissed her on the forehead. Yes, she definitely looked older, and she had grown an inch. Almost thirteen. Like a child for the moment, because she was worn out, but later? He switched off the light and returned to the living room to find Sue in the same pose as when he'd left—standing with arms crossed, lips in a tight seam.

“I see why you like it here so much. Some harlot in your bed whenever you want, without any family for miles.”

“I don't recall saying I liked it, but it'll do for now.”

“Why'd you even want to come to this horrible place? You know you would've always had a home with Don and me.”

“Would've? Sounds like the offer has expired.”

“You know what I mean. And listen to you, talking like a Yankee. You should be with your own people.”

He was too tired to argue.

“Thank you for bringing her all the way up here,” he said, trying to take things down a notch. “You look worn out. Are you hungry?”

“What do you have?” she said, making a beeline for the icebox.

He would've offered to fix her something, but knew better than to get in Sue's way once she'd decided to commandeer a kitchen. Within seconds she'd rounded up the essentials, and soon afterward she had eggs and bacon popping side by side in a cast-iron skillet. Slices of bread were toasting, and a fresh pot of coffee was bubbling up brown in the glass knob of the stove-top percolator.

Cain watched her eat while they exchanged small talk about people they both knew, keeping the field of play neutral to avoid further confrontations. After a few minutes, he decided to tempt fate.

“Have you been to Horton?” he asked.

She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. A glistening shred of egg white dangled like bait from a fisherman's hook.

“Once. To pick up some of Olivia's old things.”

“Are they still talking about it?”

“Worse. No one would even say your name. I think they were afraid to even bring it up. When Olivia showed her face they had no idea what to do. Old Miss Lawing's mouth flew right open, and her hands were all aflutter. When I told her you'd gone to New York you'd have thought I'd just told her you'd enlisted in the Jap army. What time is it?”

He checked his watch.

“Almost two. When's your train?”

“Six. I didn't come here to linger, and there's work to be done back home. I'll freshen up, wash my face. But when that's done I'd just as soon wait at the station.” She looked around the room with an air of renewed distaste. Keep talking much longer and they'd be right back on disputed ground, tooth and nail, so Cain let it go.

“Let me call you a cab, at least, when you're ready. I'll get the fare.”

She nodded, then stood to clear away the dishes.

Later, after she'd gone, Cain was falling asleep on the couch when a voice called faintly from the bedroom.

“Daddy?”

He got up, made his way to the bed, and sat down beside her. Olivia's eyes were wide open.

“What's wrong, sweetie?”

“I forgot to say my prayers. Do you think it would be okay to say 'em now?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

She sat up straight, pushing her pillow back against the headboard. Then she placed her hands together and bowed her head, just like her mom taught her.

“Now I lay me down to sleep, pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Bless Daddy, my school, my teacher, Aunt Sue, Uncle Don, Grandma and Grandpa Cain, Grandpa Euston…”

She paused and looked up.

“Is it still okay to bless Mama?”

“Absolutely, honey. She'd like that.”

“Aunt Sue never let me. She said it wouldn't be right to bless a wicked woman.”

“Don't ever let anyone tell you who you can and can't bless, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And your mama's not wicked.”

“I know.”

She bowed her head again.

“And bless Mama, too. Amen.”

Olivia, eyes shut, nodded firmly as if to settle the issue once and for all. Then she opened her eyes, unclasped her hands, and eased back onto the pillow. Cain pulled up the covers.

“Do you think I'll ever see her again?”

“Your mama?”

She nodded solemnly.

“Probably, but maybe not for a while. I'll have to talk about that with Grandpa Euston.”

“Will he come and see us?”

“I don't know if he'll come here, but I know he'll want to see you, one way or another.”

Olivia nodded again, then closed her eyes. He stayed awhile, listening to her breathing. Then he thought of a question, but by then she was asleep, and that was okay, too. Her face looked free of worry, an innocence and simplicity he envied. He was relieved she could still ask him about her mom. But who knew how long that would last, once she started learning more of the story. He wondered what version Sue had told her, and what else had been said.

Keeping secrets, Sue had said. Well, that was natural at this age; within another year it would probably be second nature. A lot of big changes were right around the corner for Olivia. She'd get her period, start turning into a young woman, seeking boys and independence. Girls needed their moms for all that, as guides and as sparring partners. He would need advice to help sort it out. A big job, and he wasn't sure he'd be good at it.

He wondered about all the rough kids he'd seen in the neighborhood, holding court on street corners and running the stickball games. Then he remembered gentle Olivia and the way she'd always favored the underdog, sticking up for the boy with polio who walked in braces, releasing fireflies from her friend's mason jar when the friend wasn't looking. How could she possibly fit in here? What would this place do to her?

Cain sighed and stood. He walked back to the couch, but was too restless to sleep.