“Used to be the American dream.” Garcia stuffed the notepad back in his pocket. “Now, we’re all selling our LCD TVs and lap-tops for gas money.”
“Thanks for sharing with me, Ben, but I have another story I’m working on—”
“Are you going to be in your office all day?”
“Most likely.”
“Remember that meth lab explosion in Fruit Ridge County?”
“How could I forget?”
“The Captain might be willing to exchange some information.”
“For what?”
“You’ll find out. Just keep your phone on, okay?”
*****
“Uncle Bill? I’m riding my bike to the park.”
Bill, engrossed in the contents of a shoebox in his lap, nodded. “Aron is coming back from the bank, then taking me to my support meeting.”
Bill attended his Alzheimer’s disease support group meeting every Tuesday night at the Devotion church. Aron usually went with him, leaving Sonya alone until eight o’clock.
Sonya knew she would have to be sneaky, and she did not like manipulating Bill. However, she thought that if Aron had his way, she would not be allowed to leave the yard.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
Bill raised his head. “Your father doesn’t believe me...”
“About what?”
“He said I could have sold a different knife, but I only owned one clipped-point.”
“Why does he think you sold it?” Sonya asked.
“He said I told him once that Mike Winstead bought it from me. I’ve been trying to find a receipt, but I don’t remember where I put them.”
She pushed her arms through the sleeves of her red hoodie. “I’m sure you’ll find it, Uncle Bill. Maybe Dad can help you.”
“If I sold that knife, why would it be in my closet? I guess there had to be two.”
Sonya thought about the mess in Bill’s closet the day she found his door open, the light on. She shook her head. “I’ll be back later.”
“Okay. Be home before dark.”
*****
The route to Sue’s house was easy as soon as Sonya could cross Farm Road. She slid off the seat and took her bike by the handlebars, dodging busy mid-day traffic, until she came to the other side, then resumed her ride, consisting of several blocks east to Tulip Avenue.
Sonya had come to Sue’s little white house often to visit with her mother, sometimes playing with Kaitlyn. Bill had lived in Sue’s house for nine years during their marriage, remodeling almost every room.
Sonya’s thighs were burning from exertion by the time she reached the short gravel driveway. She noticed Sue’s Volkswagen parked there, the same car she had driven for years.
Sonya propped her bike against the back of the house, near the patio. She went to the side door and raised her hand to knock, but the door was already opening.
Sue stood at the threshold. She was smiling, her hair damp from the shower, wearing her Forge Plastics work shirt and pants. She was only a teenager when she gave birth to Tara; however, she looked like a woman much older. Her dark brown hair was streaked with gray, her eyes blue-green, surrounded by crow’s feet and sagging brows. She had gained more weight over the years, making her appear matronly. The verical wrinkles above her upper lip were from years of smoking. Age spots covered the hand that gripped the doorknob.
Her gaze registered surprise. “Well...hello, Sonya! How are you? Come in!”
“You don’t mind, do you?” Sonya asked.
“Oh, no. I don’t go into work until later.”
Sonya followed Sue into the house. The cigarette and coffee smell gave Sonya a sense of deja vu; Sue had worked third shift for so many years, a pot of coffee was always brewing and meals for Bill and Tara had often been improvised.
They walked across the kitchen floor Bill had constructed years ago, now covered with a red rug.
“I made brownies last night. I’ll get the milk.”
Sonya sat down at the kitchen table while Sue pulled out the milk and the brownies wrapped in foil. She stayed quiet until Sue approached the table, setting a full glass and a paper plate with two brownies cut large.
“I was sorry to hear about the cancer,” Sonya said.
Sue sat at the chair across from her. “I found out just last month. I finally went for my yearly mammogram and the doctor found the mass in my left breast. There was a biopsy and the mass is malignant. I’ll be going in for surgery next week.“ She pulled at a piece of brownie. “How’s life with Bill and Aron?”
“It’s all right.”
“I had hoped to speak to you,“ Sue said. “I stayed and visited, but I got the impression that Bill didn‘t remember me.”
Sonya shook her head as she swallowed. “He talked about you after you left. He said Tara wants you to sell your house.”
“No way in Hell.”
“That’s what Uncle Bill thought.” Sonya took a drink of milk. “I’ve seen Kaitlyn at school, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to her. How is she?”
“She’s good. Looking forward to graduation. She’s at work right now, the L+M Market.”
“Is Tara working?”
Sue rolled her eyes. “No. She’s at the club-house with Axel, her boyfriend.”
“Are they going to get married?”
“I don’t think so. Tara is pregnant, but she’ll have to take the responsibility.”
“You think she can do it alone?” Sonya asked.
“No, but Axel says he’s saving his money–however he earns it–to find a house. He’s been married before, his kids live in Florida with their mother.” She sighed. “No one wants to be married anymore.”
“No one wants to get divorced.”
Sue grinned. “That’s true.”
“When you and Uncle Bill split up, he went to live with Mom and Dad, right?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Months. Until he found the house on Garland.”
“Uncle Bill didn’t really like my mom, did he?”
“No, but they got along all right.”
“Something changed after he stayed with my mom and dad. She was pregnant for me by the time he moved out, and she hadn’t been pregnant in years—”
“Sonya, what are you getting at?”
“Tell me what happened, Aunt Sue.”
Sue sat back in her chair. She seemed old at that moment, and Sonya started to feel selfish, but Sue did not get angry, although her expression had become almost stony. “It wasn’t your fault, Honey. You’re lucky; Aron is an understanding man. A good man. Maybe better than Bill.”
Sonya felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach, making her regret devouring a whole brownie. “What did he do?”
“Why does it matter now?”
“It matters to me, even if he forgets everything.”
Sue shrugged. “They both love you very much. My father didn’t give a damn about me; you don’t know how lucky you are—”
“Why do you keep telling me I’m lucky? All I need is for someone to tell me the truth.”
“It’s not my place, Sonya. Ask Aron.”
“I can’t ask him.”
Sue came forward, laying her palms on the table. “I’m trying to quit smoking. I haven’t had a cigarette in a month. Bill always wanted me to quit. He would mention often that Carolyn didn’t smoke, drink too much, or talk too loud. Not in her presence, but in mine. He thought Carolyn was more of a lady. I would try not to get jealous, because Carolyn would be hurt. She always gave off the impression that she wasn’t attracted to Bill; he was too boring, narrow-minded. But I would catch him looking at her long hair, her body. She didn’t encourage him, but she and Aron became so unhappy. One miscarriage after another...”
Sonya stayed silent as Sue fished for a pack of gum from her shirt pocket. Years spent working at Forge Plastics, handling part
s hot from the machines, had made her fingers stiff and bumpy with arthritis. She folded a piece of gum into her mouth. Sonya noticed that she was missing a few teeth to the side.
Sue chewed for a moment, then resumed her story. “Bill wanted out by the time Kaitlyn was three years old. Her father had moved in with us, and Bill couldn’t stand Chris, who still had a lot of growing up to do. Tara was only sixteen when she got pregnant.”
“Dad said you didn’t like it when Uncle Bill would send money to John.”
“I couldn’t keep him from wanting to help his son, but Elke had also remarried. There was no law forcing Bill to send hundreds of dollars a month out of the country. Besides, Elke left him. And he would be so cheap, I didn’t dare quit my job at Forge. Tara would never have had enough new clothes or toys. He made it hard, too.”
“Is that why you got divorced? Over money?”
“It was a lot of different things. Bill left me the year after he and Aron finished remodeling the house. We hadn’t been seeing much of each other, we both worked so hard. Then Tara got pregnant, and I had became preoccupied with Kaitlyn. One morning, I came home from work and noticed that Bill had cleaned out his dresser, his suitcase was gone. We didn’t have a big argument, but I guess Bill felt it was time. Tara had left Chris and come back with Kaitlyn. While they were gone, living in Falls River, we tried to make things work, but it was too late. By this time, Carolyn had told me she wanted to leave Aron. The last miscarriage, before you, had been the worst. The pregnancy lasted long enough for them to know that the baby would have been a boy. The doctor told her to think about alternatives, like adoption. She didn’t blame Aron for the miscarriages, she blamed herself, and the depression made her...cold. Aron wasn’t faithful, then Bill moved in with them.”
Sonya looked down at the brownie crumbs on her plate. The nausea had subsided, but she felt a headache coming on. She took a deep breath before asking,”What happened then?”
“I think you’re old enough to figure it out, Sonya.”
“I want to hear it.”
“Carolyn later told me that it was a single encounter. Bill was different from Aron. Bill wasn’t her husband, he didn’t care about the miscarriages so much, although I wonder if he understood how hurt Aron would be. I don’t know what Bill was thinking, maybe he just wanted a woman to need him for something.”
“So Mom got pregnant—”
“I don’t think Aron is going to appreciate what I’ve already said. You want another brownie?”
“No thank you.” Sonya brushed the crumbs off her lips with her fingers. Sue started snapping her gum, nervous after Sonya’s questions, but Sonya made no move to leave.
“Aunt Sue, how were you able to forgive her? I mean, you and Uncle Bill were still married.”
Sue stopped chewing, and Sonya could smell the fragrance of Juicy Fruit on her breath. “I have a sister, but we were never close. Carolyn was more like a sister to me. Men come and go, but you should always forgive your sisters.”
Chapter Eleven
“How are you going to control the scooter with two broken fingers?” Piper asked.
Bobby, in a black jacket and sweater, was sitting behind the handlebars. He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Princess. Just get in my bitch-seat.”
Piper put on her helmet. “I’m always in your bitch-seat.”
“It should take us about an hour to get there,” Bobby said. “We’ll have to stop for gas at least once. You would have been better off taking the bus.”
She reached her leg over the back seat, making the scooter rock for a moment. “There isn’t a stop for the city bus out this far.”
“Haven Rest is past the Heights, so I’ll have to turn on to Berman Avenue, off of Monarch. Then turn right at Seymour...”
Bobby was still calculating the route as they started their journey, Piper confident he would figure it out.
They stayed to the side of the major roads in their area, first crossing Farm Road carefully, then going about thirty-five miles per hour up residential Pond Avenue and Fergus Road, the long stretch on Fergus taking up four miles, with Bobby trying to bypass the busy intersection near the turn-offs to the highway. By the time they reached Monarch, they had been on the road for over an hour.
Monarch Street, once residential, had been going through a developmental Hell for the last thirty years. Car dealerships, new and used, some closed, dotted the street along with Wal-Mart, fast food chains, banks, and other businesses. Bobby and Piper passed the empty parking lot of a long-closed K-Mart, a Best Western hotel across the street, once a Holiday Inn, a gas station next door. Nothing seemed permanent on Monarch; the Wal-Mart used to be a Kroger store, the Quiznos a tuxedo shop, the Marine Bank a pizza place. The only thing that stayed the same in Marine was change.
The day was mild but Piper was feeling cold in her long sweater, thick leggings, and gray trenchcoat by the time Bobby turned on to Berman, then Seymour. She could see the old brick structure that housed Haven Rest in the distance, once the spawling home of a Marine lumber baron, now a place for disturbed kids whose parents were willing to write a hefty check for their care.
Bobby cruised up to the locked gate, a call post with a buzzer to the left. Piper announced that they were there to visit a patient. They held their breath until the gate was unlocked, allowing them entrance.
Bobby parked his scooter in the small lot. “I was wondering if they would let us in without an adult.”
“I didn’t tell them who we wanted to visit with,” Piper said. “We might get thrown out yet.”
They walked up the wide brick steps to the old-fashioned porch. The sign, at the end of the driveway,was made of marble on a lead foundation and boasted ’Haven Rest Youth Home’ in gold-plated letters, although the place had tried to retain some Victorian-era charm. Another buzzer allowed Piper and Bobby to open the front door, heavy with reinforced glass.
The foyer was well-lit. A portrait of the former lumber baron, Henry Seymour, was on the wall, a bald, severe-looking man in a suit from the 1890s, standing to the side of a desk, surrounded by books. His oldest son, Marshall, had been schizophrenic and Mr. Seymour donated his money to the care of the local mentally ill. At one time, young children were also patients. Haven Rest had become part of Marine lore; patients were known to escape and commit murder, even the notorious Adam Moore had been a patient. Piper knew that if any of her friends from school, except for Bobby, found out she had been anywhere near Haven Rest, the news would spread, so she was at least grateful the place was miles away.
A nurse in blue scrubs greeted them.
“We’re here to see Justine Kent,” Piper said. “We’re friends of hers from school.”
The nurse, a large woman with pale eyes that shot a quick glance over Piper and Bobby, said,”Justine doesn’t get too many visitors...”
Piper nodded. “We only want to say hi. We won’t stay long.”
“She’s medicated. She might be sleeping.“
Bobby watched the nurse, waiting to see if she would give in. The woman looked tired and overworked, hardly in the mood to argue with a teenager. She reminded him of his mother that way. She looked them over again and shrugged. “If she gets up, don’t keep her for more than fifteen minutes. She hasn’t been making a lot of sense lately, but I’m sure you understand.”
Piper nodded, her expression solemn. “Yes, ma’am.”
The nurse turned around, Piper and Bobby following her down the hallway. Bobby had been expecting to see wandering patients, but the area was peaceful; a few kids sat in a small lounge, once the downstairs parlor. The walls were painted white with cheerful flowers in yellow and pink, two girls playing a game at a table. Connect Four. Bobby heard the plastic chips crash on to the table and some soft laughter. He realized how easily controlled anyone could be if they were constantly drugged. He wondered how much the patients slept in this place.
; Bobby followed Piper and the nurse into an old elevator that rattled to the second floor. The nurse did not speak to them, her graying dark hair and glasses making her seem older, her skin unlined.
Bobby and Piper were escorted out of the elevator to a soothing blue hallway. They walked to the end, the area also serene, except for the sound of a television. A room contained computers and Bobby noticed a few kids inside, wearing T-shirt and jeans, not hospital gowns.
The visitor’s room was also blue, but a narrow table was divided by a three foot tall piece of glass.
“You two sit at this side,” the nurse said. “Justine can’t be left alone outside of her room, so I’ll have to stay after I bring her in.”
Bobby and Piper took their seats as the door shut and locked behind the nurse.
“They don’t trust her alone with other people,” Bobby said.
“If she’s drugged, she won’t be dangerous,” Piper replied.
“Do you think she can tell you anything about the Ravisher if she’s out of it?”
“We’ll see.”
They stayed silent until the key was turned and the door clicked open. A girl with thick, long dark hair and a round, angelic face entered before the nurse, whose hands rested on Justine Kent’s shoulders.
Piper’s eyes widened at how heavy Justine had become; her deep, dark eyes revealed an old soul, tormented by fiery delusions and flashes of brilliance.
Justine was dressed in a gray sweatshirt, but her hair shined, the rest of her appearance clean. The nurse shuffled her over to the other side of the table and Justine sat at the chair.
Piper would not have made any move to approach or hug Justine, because their relationship never needed touch, just talk. Justine’s descent into schizophrenia had changed her from a vital, opinionated girl to someone manipulative and cold. She was always charismatic, able to get people to do what she wanted, including her mother, friends, and teachers. As her behavior became more dark and erratic, she did not seem to care about the feelings of others, and who she favored as friends could change daily. By the eighth grade, she had been written off by the teachers at the Crandall Academy, not out of disgust, but fear. She just had a way of making everyone feel unimportant and stupid, except for Piper. For some reason, Piper understood her. The rumors of Justine being gay only made her more persona non grata. No one at the conservative Crandall wanted to deal with a gay or mentally ill student. But Justine never failed to get attention, especially with her singing and painting. One Christmas, her rendition of ’Ave Maria’ at assembly drove some of the faculty to tears, and she was forgiven for awhile. By this time, she was coming to school only twice a week, skipping classes and painting at home or wandering the old mall downtown, Piper frequently accompanying Justine on these day trips.