only loved her work, she loved her life. She’d much rather be tired at the end of the day than whining that she wasn’t having enough fun or getting enough attention. And that was that.
Next, she thought about Dennis and Dr. Malone, but by now she was in command of her senses again. It had clearly not been passion with which Dennis had touched the young woman. It was comfort. Paternal. There had been a fatality. A child. Barbara Benn had said Dr. Malone was a pediatrician. That explained everything. She settled her mind on that matter as well, and let it go.
But on the matter of Lois, she was at sea. She could feel the sting of tears come to her eyes at the smallest thought of her mother stooped and confused and lost. It was more than she could bear. Had she taken her completely for granted? She was in her late seventies, after all. Charlene knew she was lucky to have had her for so long, and in such excellent health of body and spirit. This time of life, she reminded herself, eventually comes to everyone. As some wise old sage had said, old age is not for wimps.
She pulled off the interstate onto the access road that led to her neighborhood. Within a quarter mile of her house, her car seemed to lurch oddly to the left and drag as if being tugged from behind. It was an ominous sensation. She slowed and pulled onto the soft, muddy shoulder. As she did so, she could feel the left rear tire go flat.
What little sun there was behind heavy clouds was almost gone, so she grabbed the flashlight from the glove box, got out of the car and shone it on the flattened rubber. “I can’t believe this,” she said aloud. At that very moment, she felt the first drop quickly followed by the second. Then the heavens opened up in earnest and a deluge poured down on her, drenching her to the bone. As she stood beside the disabled car, practically drowning, she saw the glare of approaching headlights. The car slowed, pulled to a stop behind her. There was not so much as a single house on this half-mile stretch of road that led from the interstate to her subdivision, so the odds were excellent that this was one of her neighbors, on his way home. Then she considered how her day had been going and thought her chances of being murdered were better.
A man got out of his car. She shone the flashlight on his face—and groaned. She was only slightly happier to see her ex-husband and not a serial killer.
“Charlie?” he said. “What the hell you doin’ out here?”
She almost laughed, but it was more a sputter, given the heavy rain. “Oh, gee. Thinking,” she replied.
“Well, Jesus, think in my car!” he said, grabbing for her arm.
“I can’t,” she resisted. “I’m soaked.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Come on.”
“I’ll ruin your upholstery.”
“Oh, that’s funny. My upholstery? I’m way ahead of you. Come on!”
For lack of a better option, she went to the passenger side of his car and got in. She had to kick aside what appeared to be dirty clothes and a pair of running shoes, while he lifted a stack of file folders spewing loose papers off the seat so she could sit down. He pitched some fast-food bags into the back seat, pulled a blanket from same and drew it around her shoulders. The car was only a couple of years old at worst, but the interior was a wreck. Like his little house. His life.
“Why would you have a blanket in the back seat? Dates?”
“You’re a riot, you know that?” he replied irritably. “This is a stakeout car—I practically live in it. There’s also a first-aid kit, water, pick and shovel, fire extinguisher and other emergency items. You never know what’s going to develop. Or what you might have to dig up.” He pulled the blanket tighter around her. “So, what were you thinking about, Charlie? That flat tire?” he asked. “Wishing you could say ‘April Fools’?”
God, she thought, it was. April first! How sad that none of her stuff could be joked away.
He was the only person who called her Charlie. Well, he and his cop friends. “What are you doing out here?” it finally occurred to her to ask, but she knew the answer. He had to be coming to see her. The question she couldn’t answer yet was whether he was going to make her laugh or piss her off. There was a fifty-fifty possibility.
“I stopped by your office, but you were already gone….”
“I know I gave you my cell-phone number,” she said.
“I had to see you in person for this,” he said.
“Is it about Stephanie?” she asked.
“No, it’s a favor. I need your help on something. But what about Stephanie?”
“You didn’t hear from her today?”
“Not a peep. Why?”
“Well, wait a minute. I don’t want to breach a trust. Does she usually talk to you about her relationship with Grant?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. She complains about Grant. She whines about Grant. She snivels, gripes, moans and groans, but no, I can’t say she has ever talked to me about Grant.”
A chuckle escaped Charlene. Jake also had a way with the unvarnished truth.
“There are times, Charlie, when I think I almost like the boyfriend better than my own daughter.”
She shrugged and chuckled again. Guiltily. “She’s been a little high-maintenance lately,” Charlene commiserated.
“Y’know, I forbade her to move in with him. I absolutely forbade her,” he went on. “She totally blew me off, called me old-fashioned, overprotective, the whole bit. Told me she knew what she was doing. And now what? All she does is bitch. Things just aren’t going too well for the little couple. I guess Mr. Grant isn’t courting her enough, huh?”
“Well, what do you say to her when she lays all the whining on you?” Charlene seriously wanted to know.
“I tell her to grow the fuck up.”
God, he was a clod. “Oh, that’s sensitive. You don’t really say that, do you?”
“No, I think that, but I don’t say it. If I said it she would cry. And you know what happens to me when she cries. It takes the bones out of my legs and I crumble. But I’d like to say it. I gotta tell you…I’ve been thinking it a lot lately.”
“I’ve even thought that about you,” Charlene taunted.
“You look good, Charlie,” he said. “You put on a little weight?”
She ground her teeth. She wanted to kill him for that. “About Stephanie—”
“You’re right, I shouldn’t be too hard on the kid. She going to learn about successful relationships with us as role models?”
She let out a huff of indignant laughter. “You weren’t so hot, maybe. I think I was a fine role model.”
“Hey, hey, hey, I didn’t mean to say you were a bad parent. Jesus, Charlie, you were the best parent in the world. There is no better mother than you. Hell, I wish you were my mother! I just mean about relationships. We weren’t, either one of us, able to make one stick.”
“Yeah,
