Up in Smoke (24 page)

“We gotta roll.” Todd stood up and everybody else began to scramble.

“Molly!” Jack yelled. “Let's go!”

Jack and Molly got in the waiting limo. Cass, Bernie, Todd, and Leon piled into the one behind it. They were headed thirty-five miles to a luncheon in Lawrence where Jack would speak to a group of University of Kansas alumni.

“Don't wait,” Todd told the driver. “We have a schedule.”

The driver put the limo in gear, but before he could pull away, Nora came running up. Todd grimaced and opened the door for her.

“… Sorry, just had to pick up something at the last minute. I couldn't go off without…”

Todd folded his arms and closed his eyes. He didn't suffer fools politely and he made no secret of the fact that he thought Nora a fool.

Thirty-five miles. With Nora talking all the way, it was going to be a long trip.

“Just look at all these empty fields.” Nora bustled around settling in her seat. “Why doesn't somebody do something with them?”

Since everybody else ignored her, Cass felt pressured to respond. “It's farm land. Crops will get planted in the spring.”

“Well, I know that. What is it they grow here?”

“Wheat, corn, soy beans—”

“That's interesting, thank you, dear. Do people really live in these old houses way out in the middle of nowhere?”

“They're farm houses. People have lived in the same house, many of them, for generations.”

“Well, some of them are falling down. Look at that old thing. It's nothing but rotting wood.”

“It's The Hanging Barn,” Cass said. That even got a rise out of Todd who opened his eyes for a moment, then closed them again. “People who want to commit suicide come out here and hang themselves.”

“Why would anybody want to come out here to hang himself?” Nora said.

Bernie thought, shouldn't the question rather be, why would anybody want to hang himself?

“It's where I'd come,” Cass said.
If I didn't have the gun.

Bernie shot her a look, but only asked mildly, “Why is it called that?”

“Quantrill,” Cass said. “In eighteen fifty-six, filled with a fervor of rightness, Quantrill and his Raiders slaughtered an antislavery farmer and his two sons. The farmer's wife, overwhelmed by grief, hanged herself in the barn. Since then, a number of people have hanged themselves there.”

For the rest of the trip, Nora talked about the senseless act of suicide and how she, herself, didn't understand it at all. Fortunately, they arrived at Lawrence and Nora got out, or Cass might have found herself yelling at the woman.

The room where the luncheon was held was all very nautical with framed pictures of boats on the wall, ropes dangling here and there, anchors and nets propped in the corners. Pretty funny, Kansas being nowhere near a seafaring spot. Molly and Jack sat at the speaker's table with important looking people about whom Cass hadn't a clue, except they had money. She sat next to Bernie at a banquet table with Nora and Todd seated on the other side and wondered how long this would take and when she might be expected to get home. She had no idea what had happened to Leon. Off somewhere making media consultant decisions probably. Lunch was an unexpected surprise, the baked chicken was actually quite good. When the mousse and coffee came, she excused herself and went to the ladies room.

Just as she slid down her trousers and underwear and was about to sit, her cell phone rang.

A women washing her hands called out, “I think your phone is ringing.”

“Oh, thank you.” Cass unzipped her bag and fumbled for the phone. “Hello?”

“This is your old friend Marsha.”

She did have an old friend Marsha, but this wasn't her voice. This was the voice of Todd Haviland, campaign manager, sitting back there in the dining room. “Uh—this isn't really a good time, uh—”

“Call me Marsha. Tell me how you like working for Garrett For President?”

“Well, I don't work for him yet. I'm only thinking about it. I'm not sure I will.” Her voice echoed with a tinny edge. “It might be interesting. You know, finding out how our democracy works.”

“Stop a minute. Listen … listen … okay. Call me Marsha.”

Irritated at being put in this ridiculous position, Cass threw in a sweet snag. “Marsha, these people are not above putting on a charade.”

“Don't ruin this opportunity. We can't try more than once,” Todd said sharply.

“Yeah, all the juicy stuff, you know? The stuff that never gets on the news.”

“Good. Keep going.”

Cass lowered her voice. “Oh, like just yesterday he said Senator Halderbreck was so stupid he needed both hands and a map to find his ass.” She felt silly and self-conscious and had no idea if anyone was listening. If no one heard her, the great performance in the ladies room was wasted.

“That's great! Don't forget to flush.”

Cass flushed, washed her hands and went back to the table. Todd ignored her. Molly gazed with adoring admiration at Jack as he spoke. After the speech and the handshaking and the back slapping, they all trooped out. Herds of press surged toward her, microphones bristling. Head down, she kept going. Obviously, her little staged bit had been heard.

When they got back to Hampstead they stopped at the Garrett For President local headquarters where Jack shook hands with the volunteers.

*   *   *

Em hadn't been there when the governor came. She felt both anger at a possibly missed opportunity and relief that she hadn't been forced to use the opportunity. She worked steadily throughout the afternoon, following the script and dialing the numbers on her list. She kept her head bent and didn't make eye contact with any of the other volunteers. What would they think if she suddenly told them they might as well stop making these silly calls? None of it mattered. Jackson Garrett would be dead before the first primary.

The headache that had started out as only a nagging annoyance crept to the front of her brain and seized at her temples. She had aspirin in her shoulder bag but was afraid to stop what she was doing and find them. What if the gun fell out when she was looking for aspirin?

The man in charge was looking at her. She felt his gaze all the way across the room but didn't look up when he walked toward her. Was he going to tell her to leave? She wasn't doing it right. She wasn't fast enough, or persuasive enough when talking to potential voters. Oh no, no, he couldn't tell her not to come back. Volunteering here was the best way to keep track of what Jackson Garrett was doing and where he went. She couldn't lose this opportunity. How would she manage, if she was sent away?

“Em?”

She started even though she'd been expecting him to speak to her. When he put a hand on her shoulder, it took all her energy to keep from flinching. Like a whipped dog, she thought, any time a hand reaches for you, it's going to inflict pain.

“Hey,” he said. “You've been at it a long time. It's time to quit. Next shift coming in. You don't have to work day and night. Take off. Come back rested tomorrow.”

When she looked around she saw that everybody who'd been working when she started was no longer there. The young man seated next to her was replaced by a middle-aged woman, the middle-aged woman across from her was replaced by a young woman, probably a college student. She nodded to the young man in charge, she thought his name was Scott, and put her hands in her lap. Dumb. Did she think if she wasn't careful, they'd leap up on their own and start dialing.

“You've done a really good job,” he said.

Em held her breath. Now he was going to say it,
but don't bother to come back. You're not fast enough. You're too old. We have somebody better.

“… So, I'll see you tomorrow?”

A second or two passed before she processed his words, then she smiled. “Oh yes.”

“You have a pretty smile, Em, you should use it more often.” He gave her shoulder a little pat, then went off to snag a new person who had just wandered in.

It was nearly dark when she left the headquarters. She didn't much like being out after dark. Not that it was late, and not that she cared what happened to her, but she had to complete her work. After that, nothing mattered. She pulled a soft cloche hat from her shoulder bag and put it on. She couldn't even remember what color it was, she had several in different shades. Aware of the importance of not being noticed, she was in the habit of changing clothes often, sometimes wearing a hat, trying to keep changing her appearance so nobody would remember her as the woman who was always around.

She was tired. How nice it would be just to go home and lie down. No! She straightened her shoulders. Not yet, not until she finished the job.

At Eighth Street, instead of simply walking on by, she stopped and looked up at St. Elizabeth's Cathedral. A big, imposing building, it looked exactly like a church should. Important, like God could perform miracles in this place. So many of the new churches looked like office buildings. How could you fear God and repent your sins in an office building? Before she could talk herself out of it, she was inside. Dim and hushed. Deep feeling of being in the presence of God. She lit two candles, one for herself and one for Alice Ann.

Moving slowly, in a dreamlike way, she sat in a pew and stared at the altar of God. She wanted a miracle, but the miracle she wanted was a sin against that God. For thirty minutes, she prayed. Then, still in her half-wake state she took confession. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
And I intend to sin more.
She told the Father she had something in mind and it was a bad thing what this would lead to. She didn't tell him what these plans were and he didn't push her. She wasn't looking for forgiveness or absolution, but just being here and speaking vaguely of her plans made her feel eased, like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The Father told her to say fifty Hail Marys and read a passage in St. Matthew. This is what a life is worth? Fifty Hail Marys and a bible reading?

As she was leaving the church, she saw a young woman across the street who looked like Alice Ann. A burst of grief gripped Em with such pain, she thought she couldn't breathe. Alice Ann, her daughter, the love of her life, dead now for almost twelve years. Nothing would bring her back. Em's pain was burned away by anger. Such hot anger that it owned her, possessed her, was the only thing that kept her warm, the only thing that kept her going.

She dug out her key and let herself into the motel. It was close to campus and because it was inexpensive many parents stayed here when they came to see their sons or daughters at Emerson.

“I'm home,” she said.

Sitting on the end of the bed, she untied her shoelaces and slipped off her shoes, wiggled her toes at the relief. An eight-by-ten photo in a silver frame sat on the lamp table by the bed. She kissed two fingertips and placed them gently on the face of her dead daughter in the eight by ten photo in the silver frame. The picture was taken the year Alice Ann graduated from high school. Soft blond hair, slightly disarrayed, as if caught by a gentle breeze. Smooth forehead, quizzical blue eyes, lovely pointed chin. Beautiful, she was so beautiful. “Soon, my child.”

The feeling of destiny swelled in her chest.

Em had been against the marriage from the very start. She never liked Kirby Vosse from the first time Alice Ann brought him home. Her husband had said she was just being clutchy, hanging on because she didn't want to let her baby go, but deep down where he wouldn't admit it, he understood. He didn't want to let go either, but there was nothing they could do. Alice Ann was all grown up and ready to make her own life. She had chosen this young man. It didn't matter how they felt about him. Because Alice Ann loved him, they must find a place in their hearts for him.

“This is really the hardest part, you know? Waiting for the right time.” Em took off her blouse and pants, hung them in the small closet and pulled on a nightgown. In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and when she noticed herself in the mirror, she was startled at the lines and sags in her face. When had the frown appeared between her eyes?

My daughter is dead because of Jackson Garrett, she told her image.

Alice Ann had a sweetness with a desire to please. At first there had been a bruise, once a black eye, and another time a broken arm, but she only said she fell, she was clumsy, she just seemed to bump into things. That happened over and over and then …

Em got angry still, remembering her daughter in the hospital, so battered she was barely recognizable. Em had flat out asked her if her husband had done this.

“It was my own fault,” Alice Ann had whispered. “I knew he was tired. I shouldn't have said what I did.”

Dear God in heaven, Em thought, picking up her daughter's hand. “Tell me what happened.” She spoke sharply, but it took more than that, it took repeated urging and pushing before Alice Ann would say anything. As near as Em could piece it all together from Alice Ann's stumbling words her daughter had been home alone, waiting for Kirby. He hadn't come home for dinner, it was late, she started getting concerned. She waited up for him and fell asleep on the couch with the television on so she didn't hear him unlock the door and come in. The first she knew, he was standing over her.

“Where have you been?” She wasn't prying, just concerned and glad he was back.

“You telling me I can't do what I want?” He'd been drinking.

“No, I—”

“Why do you always do this to me?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper and very sad.

Numb with fear, she didn't answer.

He shook her. “Why?” His eyes glittered and his breath was foul.

Frozen, she didn't respond. He hit her low in her stomach and she felt the warm trickle of urine.

“Christ, look at you. Pissing all over yourself like a baby.” By one arm, he hauled her to the bathroom and flung her at the toilet.