The Third Child (29 page)

“You have more time now than you’ll have when you’re practicing law as an associate in some huge firm, working an eighty-hour week,” Rosemary said in a gentle, reasonable tone. “So now is the time to put some effort into finding a suitable mate. Angus is eminently suitable.”

“I’m not ready to ‘mate.’ I’m not going through all the hassle and bone-breaking work of law school to throw it all away on a mommy track position married to some guy who needs an acceptable photogenic wife to further his career. I want my own career, and I want it fifty miles away from politics.”

Oh, it was such fun when Rosemary and Merilee disagreed. She had to root for Merilee, but mainly she was delighted when Rosemary focused her annoyance on her older daughter. Melissa was about to escape back to school, back to Blake, back to Emily, back to her half-written sociology paper. Back to freedom, and none too soon.

M
elissa and Blake had been studying together in the library. It was nine and they were just collecting their books to head for his room when Phil came up to them. “I got to talk with you, man.”

“You can talk in front of Melissa.” Blake’s forehead furrowed in annoyance. “What’s wrong?”

“This is personal.”

“Lissa, babes, want to go back to my room and wait? Do you mind?”

Of course she minded, but she didn’t see how she could tell Phil to fuck off when he was obviously upset. “I’ll wait for you there—until eleven. If you aren’t back by then, I’ll head for my dorm.”

She found herself in Blake’s room alone. Suddenly she wasn’t annoyed. She had been given a secret, rather shameful gift, one she relished. This was her lover, her husband, and all his private things were open to her careful inspection. She felt a buzz of arousal, as if this were his body. First she opened his top drawer, much neater than hers. All his socks were individually balled and sorted by color and type, all his sports socks together on the right, all his dress socks on the left. His underwear drawer was equally neat, with a couple of ties folded to one side for the rare occasion when he needed one.

The third drawer was sweaters, each one folded. She buried her nose in them and smelled his gingery body odor lightly clinging to the wool and cotton. Then she felt something hard underneath. A box. She carefully drew out what she was feeling: a box of .38 shells. She stared at them, confused. Why would Blake have shells? Unless he also had a gun. Carefully she returned the shells and more quickly but equally carefully went
through his other drawers. She found nothing but clothing and sports gear. She rushed to his closet. His shirts were grouped by color; his pants suspended from pants hangers; his jackets and coats occupied the far end. No gun. Why would he have shells without a gun? There had to be a gun someplace—unless he was keeping them for someone else. Just as cautiously she explored his desk drawers. Normally she would have taken her time and prowled through everything, but she was on a mission. She perched on his bed, terrified he would walk in and catch her snooping. Then on impulse she squatted and felt under his bed. Something was taped to the underside of the box spring. She ran her fingers over it, heart pounding. She could feel the outlines of a gun. Why did he have a gun? She could scarcely ask him. She checked that she had returned every object to its rightful place. It frightened her that he had a gun. It felt out of character. It felt all wrong.

She was sorry she had looked. Now she had an upsetting mystery she could not solve by asking. She would have to find some roundabout way to learn why he had a gun and where he had acquired it. And when? Had he always owned a gun? She found herself shamefully remembering the way Rosemary always described Blake as the son of a murderer. His father too must have had a gun. She simply could not face him. Although only forty minutes had passed, she scribbled a note saying that she had gone home to get a good night’s sleep, since she hadn’t been getting enough z’s all week. “Love, XXXX,” she scrawled, but she felt funny. She hoped she wouldn’t run into him on the way out of his building. Nervously she kept glancing around, but he must still be with Phil. Of course, she had grown up with guns. Her father collected guns. But that was her father, champion of the NRA. Why did Blake have a gun? Maybe he too had grown up around guns. Maybe Si kept guns for self-defense. After all, a lawyer who dealt with murderers must have a sense of personal danger sometimes. But Blake had never said anything about it to her. Of course, neither had she ever brought up her father’s gun cabinets. Blake had seen them in Washington but never showed any interest. Maybe because they were old hat to him, as to her.

The excuse she gave him proved ironic, because she did not sleep at
all. She tried to tell herself that a lot of guys had guns, but she didn’t believe it. Not at Wesleyan. Not Blake. It frightened her. It made her doubt him. At the same time, she could not, absolutely could not, let him guess that she had been going through his drawers. He had such a developed sense of privacy, he would never forgive her. It would be too sleazy a confession. She deserved her punishment because she had been snooping. It was a character flaw, the same curiosity and love of secrets that gave her a thrill when they were uncovering information about Dick and Rosemary. But she had to trust Blake. He was her husband. He was the center of her life. She had to trust him. What choice did she have?

HE CAUGHT UP
to her at noon. “Babes, I was surprised you didn’t wait for me. Are you feeling okay?”

“I was wiped. I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

“You’re worried.”

“Yeah, a bit. You know?” She shook her hair back, not used to the new heft of it. “What did Phil want?”

“He’s nervous. He’s feeling guilty about feeding his dad stuff that got him in legal trouble. Basically he wanted reassurance.”

“Well, his father isn’t about to turn him in.”

“He needed hand-holding…. Oh, Nadine and Si are coming up this weekend. They want to know how we’re doing. They’ll take us out to dinner Saturday night, okay? They want to see you too.”

“Really? That’s sweet. But didn’t you just see them last weekend?” If he hadn’t gone home, then where had he gone?

“Things are happening fast, and he probably knows something he doesn’t want to talk about on the phone. We’ll find out Saturday. Feeling better?”

Yes, somehow she did. Nadine and Si seemed so normal, so much parents, so caring and affectionate that they made things feel almost safe. “I’m glad they’re coming. I like them. And I want them to like me.”

“They do. As they get to know you, they’ll like you even better. I promise.”

In the women’s room at the restaurant, she approached Nadine. “How well did you know Blake’s father?”

Nadine was renewing her lipstick, brushing at her halo of lamb’s-wool white hair. “We knew him even before the frame-up. He was a good man. A really good man. We tried like hell to save him. It was an awful defeat.”

“Are you so sure it was a frame-up?”

“Absolutely. As sure as I’m standing here. He wasn’t a thug, Melissa. He was an intellectual. A sensitive man. An organizer. He was charismatic. He had a voice like hot chocolate. He even had a fine singing voice. He wasn’t religious but he was a deeply ethical man. He might have killed in self-defense or in defense of his family, but he would never go out and shoot down a cop.” Nadine turned from the mirror to search Melissa’s face. “Why are you asking about him?”

“Because he’s Blake’s biological father, because he means so much to Blake, I want to understand who he was. My parents demonized him, so I have a lot of mental rewriting to do.”

Nadine seemed satisfied by her answer. “You should talk to Si. After all, he was Toussaint’s lawyer all through the appeals. He ran the defense team. Si knew Toussaint even better than I did, because of seeing him through all the stress and hope and loss of hope, to the bitter end.”

“Just to be safe, I’ve brought you a new computer,” Si was saying. “Transfer what you absolutely need to it and junk your old one. Don’t give it away. Don’t play around. Smash it with a crowbar and take it to the dump.”

“A new computer?” Blake was startled, she could see. “You think things might get really hairy.”

“They might. I want you on this right away.” Si turned to her. “Now, is there anything on your computer that might cause problems?”

“I don’t think so….”

“Please check it over. I can FedEx you a new computer tomorrow if you call me. Don’t think because you’ve erased things that they can’t be restored.”

“Even e-mail?”

“Sure,” Nadine said. “I’ve had two cases where erased e-mails were restored and used against clients.”

As they stood outside around the Ackermans’ car, awkwardly she gave them each a peck on the cheek. Her family wasn’t much for kissing, but she had noticed the Ackermans went in for that. “I’ll go check my computer. Actually, there’s all the family e-mails. Blake was reading them. I never thought about that.”

“Tomorrow I’ll FedEx you a new one, overnight. Transfer what you need and destroy the old computer. Tell me what you have, and I’ll get something that looks enough like it so perhaps no one will notice and you won’t have to give any lengthy explanations.”

The men had opened the trunk and were looking at the computer Si had brought with him. “Nadine”—she clutched her mother-in-law’s hand—“would it be good, would it help, if I converted?”

“Converted what?” Nadine was watching the men deep in argument.

“To Judaism.”

That got Nadine’s attention. “Oh, Melissa, we aren’t religious really. We’re what they call bagels and lox Jews. We identify, but we only go to a synagogue for High Holy Days and bar and bat mitzvot. It’s a long and complicated and not very pleasant process to formally convert.”

“But would you like it?”

“We pretty much take intermarriage for granted, there’s been so much of it. I wouldn’t like it if you raised the grandchildren Christian, frankly, but until you have children, it’s not a pressing issue—and you have enough troubles.”

“I don’t have any religion. My parents are Episcopalian, but it never had a pull on me. It seemed a matter of social importance and social class…. I just want you to know how happy I am to be part of your family and how much I want to be part.”

“That’s very sweet, but let’s not deal with religion right now. We have enough to worry about.”

When she was in bed that night back in her dormitory room, with Emily mumbling in sleep and sighing heavily, she realized she had forgotten entirely about the gun. Sometime she would find a way to bring it up,
but it felt less urgent. Being around Nadine and Si made everything seem normal. She was particularly grateful to them for treating her as if she were really and truly married to their adopted son. Actually they were very good to him. When she thought about it critically, it seemed to her that he had greatly exaggerated his alienation in his adopted family. She only wished she had ever felt as doted on as he seemed to be. But of course if she brought that up, he would go on about his executed father. Well, she could hardly complain about his being treated well, because they were also treating her kindly. That seemed to be part of the family package.

The computer arrived, and she promptly switched over her few programs to the new computer and lugged the old one out to the trash. Emily was at a game cheering on Fern, but Melissa had begged off.

Melissa did not look forward to Christmas vacation, when she would be in Philadelphia for weeks under Rosemary’s scrutiny. By now, she simply hated to go “home”—she put it in quotation marks in her head. Blake was home to her. The Ackermans seemed to have accepted her, if only provisionally. She was part of a different family from her own, one that she liked better. She even got on with Blake’s sister. Still, she knew she would not feel grown up after a few hours in the town house. She would feel years younger and infinitely less capable and in control. Why did she have to go and give a performance? She wanted to declare her loyalty, her union with Blake. She wanted the battle to be in the open. They would cast her out and only gradually come to accept her marriage, if ever. Maybe she would even get in touch with Rosemary’s mother and father, her grandparents.

ON MONDAY,
Jamal was waiting for her outside her eleven o’clock, at the time and place Blake usually met her. “I been trying to call you on your cell phone,” he said accusingly.

“Professor James makes us keep them off. If one goes off in class, you get thrown out and are not allowed back in for a week.” She shrugged. “What’s up?”

“It’s what’s coming down. The feds raided Blake’s room. They grabbed both his computers and a lot of other stuff.”

Blake had spent part of Sunday downloading stuff from one computer to the other, but he hadn’t had time to finish. She remembered the gun instantly. “Do you know what else they took?”

“Looked like papers mostly. I heard them barge in, and I went into the hall to see what was happening. Blake signaled me to tell you.”

She realized she was clutching herself across her breasts. She didn’t want anyone else overhearing them, so she started slowly walking down the hall and then outside into the cold. “They didn’t get anything from his drawers…I mean…or under his bed?”

“You thinking about his piece. He could tell somebody been going through his stuff maybe a week ago, so he laid it on me to keep for him.”

“That’s good,” she said, letting her breath out and making herself try to breathe normally. “So they didn’t find it.”

“He got that in Philly, like he must’ve told you. Hadn’t had it but maybe a week when he was sure somebody messing with his stuff.”

And she had tried to be so careful. “I thought he was being paranoid…. Did they arrest him?”

“They took him away for questioning.”

“I’m going to call his father right now.”

“Good thinking. You stay cool, girl. I don’t know what this about, but don’t freak and don’t talk to no one yet—except his daddy, one bad lawyer. Course you know they always after him because of his real daddy.”

“You knew about that?” She was mortified. Had Blake trusted everyone in the world except her?

“I come from the ’hood. Course I know. Everybody in the old crew knew about Blake and Toussaint. It’s like he had Malcolm X for his daddy.”

Her hands were sweating so badly she could hardly get her gloves off to use her cell phone. She retreated to a bench beside one of the sidewalks through campus. She called the Ackerman house immediately and got the
answering machine. However, it gave office numbers for Nadine and Si. She tried Si first.

“He’s in a meeting. Would you like to leave your name and number?”

“This is an emergency. It’s about his son, Blake.”

“Hold, please.”

As she expected, Si came on within a minute. “What is this?”

“It’s Melissa—”

“I figured it was. What’s so important?”

“I just heard that Blake’s room in the dormitory was raided this morning.” She filled him in with what little she knew.