The Timer Game (4 page)

“You promised and you forgot
.
Just like you forgot to take me to see the panda baby at the zoo.”

“The panda baby was sleeping, Katie.”

“You promised and we didn’t.”

Katie had the instincts of a pit bull. She lunged and clamped hold, dragging Grace back over every thing she’d promised and failed to deliver. Grace would be on her deathbed and Katie would kneel and clasp her wizened hand and stroke the purply veins, lean in close and murmur, “You promised popcorn and we were out.” And then Katie would pull out a
list
of wrongs and it would be on one of those long, computer paper rolls and she’d settle in for a nice, long chat.

Death would be a relief. Grace kept looking through her address book, ignoring the expletives coming from the kitchen. “He’s nine. A Cub Scout, I think.”

Her finger stopped. "There. Here it is. His name is Dusty Rhodes. He’ll enjoy getting a lovely drawing from you.”

“No, he won’t. He’s a boy.”

Nobody ever told her it would be this hard. This constant and this hard. “They have animals and he has a paper route and he's nine,” she repeated. “Or ten. Anyway. That’s who you can send your letter to.” She block-printed out the address onto the envelope.

“I could write to Daddy.” It hung there. Grace looked at her. Katie stared at her hands. Katie tried lots of things to get out of what she didn’t want to do, but never the trump card, her dad.

Grace had created this longing in this small, beautiful girl, this empty space that nothing filled. She’d promised herself she’d be better than Lottie, and she’d turned around and created the same ache in Katie that she’d had, growing up.

"We've been through this, honey," Grace said gently. “Remember? Daddy died before you were born. It has to be a real letter. Not one to heaven.”

“Tell me again.” Katie stood up and Grace settled into the chair and pulled her onto her lap.

Katie’s eyes were a rich brown, a Portuguese color that spoke of sailing ships and rough seas and High Mass said in lonely places.

“We loved each other very much.”

“Uh-huh. Jack. You met him at a Padres game. They were playing New York.”

“Right. We got pregnant and were going to get married, which is not the right order to do things in, and I don’t want you doing it that way either but I’ll still love you no matter what.”

“Only there was a car crash. That’s what happened.”

“That’s what happened. And he would have loved you, honey.”

“A lot.”

“Over the moon. That’s what he would have been, having you as his daughter.”

Lottie appeared in the archway. “Wrong number. He hung up.”

“You’re sure it was a he?”

“I could tell just the way he breathed it was he. I know how men breathe, Grace.”

"So this Dusty kid,” Katie said. “That’s a silly dilly stupid name.”

Grace glanced uneasily toward the phone, her thoughts elsewhere. "What? Try and leave that part out, Katie.”

____

An hour later, Lottie mercifully gone, Grace finished the carton of yogurt she was eating standing up. She bent down and kissed her daughter on the forehead.

Katie’s hair was a curly cloud on the pillow. Her favorite doll nestled in her arms, a Katie doll built to look like her, an extravagant birthday present Grace had given her for her fourth birthday. It had a recorder inside, so that Katie’s voice came out in short, staccato sentences that Katie periodically changed. The voice was so lifelike that Grace sometimes thought it was Katie herself and dropped whatever she was doing to answer, much to Katie’s great amusement, which made Grace want to permanently injure the Katie doll’s vocal cords in any one of a number of unfortunate accidents.

Katie’s eyes were closed, along with the doll’s. They were dressed in matching pink nighties, caramel-colored hair tangled in wild manes, dark long lashes against pink cheeks. On the vanity lay the drawing, smudged and crinkled with violent splotches of color. It appeared to be a giant smiling orange head floating over a pink and orange lake. Katie had dictated a short message to go along with it.

Dear Dusty: How are you? I am fine. This is Cinderella who is riding in a big pumpkin. She is inside. That is why nobody can see her. Mommy says you came to our house and broke your arm. You need to write me back right away so I can pass kindergarten. Sincerely, Katie Descanso.

Impulsively, Grace ripped a piece of paper out of a wide-lined notebook she found in

Katie’s bookshelf and added a quick note of her own:

Dear Annie: We missed hearing from you at Christmas. Hope you're okay. I know this is a lot, but could you prod Dusty to answer this right away? Katie's had this pen pal assignment looming over her for weeks. Of course. Love you, thanks. G.

“We get to play the Timer Game tomorrow, right?” Katie’s voice was blurred with sleep.

She’d forgotten about the Timer Game. “Right.”

“Good.” Katie shifted and licked her lip, eyes closed. “You're wrong about one thing, Mommy.”

"Only one?" Grace sealed the letters in an envelope and dropped it on the dresser. She opened the drawers.

"He's not dead."

“Who?” She pulled together shorts and a top and underwear. There was a long silence, and Grace thought Katie had dropped off to sleep.

“Daddy,” Katie muttered. Her lips went slack. She breathed in through her nose.

A prick of unease darted through her. She put down the clothes. “Honey. Katie.” Grace touched her shoulder gently. “What are you talking about, sweetie? With Daddy.”

“He visits me sometimes.” Katie shifted under the covers, punching the pillow down, trying to find a comfortable spot.

“Visits you?” Grace shifted her weight. She adjusted the quilt. They’d bought it on sale at Penney’s, small pink squares of pink and white rosebuds.

“Uh-huh. I'll wake up. He'll be there, at the end of my bed. He talks to me, too.”

“What does he say?”

“Stuff. Just private stuff. He’s coming back for me.” She yawned hugely. “Night, Mommy.”

“Night, sweetie.”

“Wait till I sleep?” Katie's voice was faint.

“Sure.”

The room faced out over Scott Street. In the dark, the soccer and T-ball trophies on Katie’s bookshelf were indistinct soldiers. The half-opened window was a small black square hanging over the eaves slanting down to the front porch. The dotted Swiss curtains moved gently, caught in an invisible breeze.

Grace stroked her daughter’s hair. “Katie? You do know he doesn’t do that, right? Sweetie, you do know that?”

Katie’s mouth opened into a slack O. One small foot hung out of the pink quilt. Grace cradled it in her hands. It was warm and delicate as a shell.

She kissed the arch, tucked it back in, and gently eased the window shut.

Across the street, a shadow moved. Grace tensed. It was a dog, nosing in the trash. Screens. She had to spring for screens.

Helix was dreaming on the braided rug when she entered her bedroom at the end of the hallway, his fake leg spasming the air. From her bedroom sliding glass door, the harbor spread out before her, glittering with boats tethered in black water. She pulled the sheers. She could feel her heart banging dully in her chest as she went to her closet and found it.

It was a small hard box made of enamel and she kept it on the top shelf under her sweaters. She was breathing through her mouth now and Helix cracked an eye open to look at her blearily before settling back into sleep. She lay down on the bed and put the box on her chest and felt its small cold heaviness, and her finger slid into the crack of the box and she sighed deeply and opened it.

The phone rang.

Helix jerked out of sleep and growled once deep in his throat. “It’s okay, boy, it’s okay.”

She stared at the machine, wondering if this was going to be another night where she was plagued with hang-ups. She heard Jeanne’s voice leaving a message, and she put the box aside and rolled over and picked up. “Hey.”

“My God, I can’t believe what you’ve been through.”

“Did you call earlier?” Grace sat up. Helix stretched and got up, taking a few steps and flopping down next to her ankles, his ear cocked, watching her.

“What? No, why?”

“I keep getting hang-ups. Never mind.”

Her eyes strayed to a group of photos on the wall and found the one of a beaming nun holding the hand of a shy Guatemalan kid who looked to be about ten. She frowned and reached down to scratch Helix behind his ears. He made a small sound of pleasure and his tail thumped the wooden floor.

“Are you watching the news?”

“What channel?”

“All the channels, kiddo.” Jeanne’s whiskey-ravaged voice dropped into a phlegmy rattle and Grace could hear her sucking on a lozenge. “They’re withholding your name for the time being, there’s that at least. Some wild man in a Hawaiian shirt’s pushing you out the squad car and screaming at you to duck.”

Grace felt drained. “Sid. My boss. I’ve told you about him.”

“Oh, so that’s Sid. I always pictured somebody taller.”

Grace tried to smile.

“Who was taking care of Katie?”

“You mean while it happened? Lottie.”

Jeanne groaned. “God. Oil on the fire. You need to take a meeting? I could stay with Katie.”

“I’m okay, Jeanne.” An edge had crept into her voice.

Jeanne was silent, except for the sound of crunching. “I could come anyway.”

Grace shifted the phone and sank back, stretching out on the quilt. A pain jolted her midriff, and she massaged her side.

“Grace?”

Tears welled and leaked down her face, wetting the quilt and pooling near her ears.

“Honey?”

“I’m here.” Her voice was desolate, lost.

“Talk to me, honey.”

Grace curled into a ball and rocked. “I can’t. I don’t.” Her voice was low, fighting it.

“Start anyplace. Start with what happened.”

Grace squeezed her eyes shut. “Can’t. Too soon.”

“Then start with how it feels.”

Her belly was on fire, her head throbbed, her shoulder felt wrenched from the socket, and everything safe in the world was gone. She was in Guatemala again, and the world was on fire. It happened fast, when it came, with a force that never failed to derail her. It was close now and she was running hard ahead of it, trying to break free.

“Oh, God. Pain. In my gut. Lost. Nobody here. Afraid. Like my body’s been torn apart. I’m free-falling, Jeanne.”

“Honey, stay with me.”

Her lips were numb now and she felt a pounding behind her eyes; all the bad horses had been unleashed. A flicker of fire darted across her vision, the screen behind her eyes blinding, and she heard the crackling noise that always presaged a bad attack.

“Stay there. Right there. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Door’s locked.” Her lips were turning numb.

“I’ve got a key, remember? I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here. Take a breath. Come on. Come on, sweetie. Come on back.”

Grace made herself open her eyes and she stared at the ceiling and forced her breathing to calm down. Her skin felt damp.

“Where are you now? What’s happening?”

Grace shook her head and closed her eyes. Her feet were cold and she burrowed them under the pillows. “If I drove. I could.”

Jeanne crunched down hard on the lozenge and the noise made Grace wince.

“Sure. There’s Vons on Rosecrans but why mess around pretending you need milk? Just hit the first liquor store you can find and get it over with. There’s one two blocks away.”

Grace exhaled. Her breath was shaky. “Too hard, Jeanne. This.”

“Don’t give me that crap. You know drinking’s not the answer.”

Grace took another unsteady breath and the dark thing in her mind slid back to where it lived.

“You heard me, right?”

“Tell me again all the reasons.”

“Katie.”

“That’s one.”

“That’s five or six million, all bunched up together, Grace. That little girl is your only responsibility. That’s all that matters. Doing right by her.”

“My only responsibility?” Grace licked her lip. The ceiling had stopped moving, and she took a deeper breath. “Easy for you to say. You have alimony and a house in Mission Hills with a pool, and AA, when you want to go slumming.”

“An
empty
house, Grace, an ex-husband who would have gnawed off his own foot to get away, two kids who hate me, neighbors who talk about me behind my back, and yes, AA, but not when I want to go slumming.” Jeanne stopped. “You okay now? You better?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She rolled on her side and took a deep shuddery breath, her eyes on the door, the door that led down the hall to Katie, that sweet bundle of laughter and darting energy, prickly feelings and blazing joy.

“That’s it. I’m coming over.” A click. Dial tone.

“Thanks,” Grace whispered.

In her mind, she still heard the whispery voice, the silky question:

Don’t you want to know what he’s going to do to you?

Going to do to you?

Going to do to you?

Chapter 4

Monday

The CNN reporter had been following the taillights of a battered pickup truck for almost an hour as it headed into the Tohono O’odham Nation, a hundred miles of desert stretching from Arizona into Mexico. It was two in the morning, and stars spangled the night sky.

Mac McGuire was traveling a road he’d taken half a dozen times, but a sudden rain the night before had cut gullies through it and left part of it a mire. He was relieved to have a guide.

On the seat next to him Pete Hildebrand snoozed, a burly arm around the camera. Mac felt a flash of irritation. One day, Pete would hit a bump and that camera would fly out of his arms and smack the dashboard like an egg. In back, Aaron Spense stretched out, arms crossed, wearing his dad’s Marine boots, iPod earbuds in his ears. Next to him lay a mixer in a tangle of cables and snarl of mikes. Aaron was twenty-two, Pete not much older. It made Mac feel tired. He was thirty-eight, his last birthday.

Usually, CNN would have sent at least one producer, but Mac had insisted on keeping the size down, instinctively understanding that the fewer people pushing into their world, the greater likelihood he had of getting what he’d come for.