it. You and Dad make a lot of money.”
“That’s right. Your . . . dad . . . and . . . I . . . make the money. When you make the money, you can blow all you want on overpriced junk food.” She motioned toward the phone. “I’m ordering lunch. What does everybody want?”
Jordan scowled. “You said we could go to Planet Hollywood.”
Though the boys never seemed to tire of the restaurant, Pat felt she could die happy if she never saw another studded-leather jacket or gaudy guitar.
“Yeah,” Marc chimed in, his tone accusatory. “You promised.”
Not up to another public outing with her crazy sister, Pat pulled a couple of twenties from her purse. “You go ahead. Helen and I will eat here. And go easy on the fries. They’ll give you zits.” Knowing they had no interest in nutrition, she could only appeal to their vanity.
Conspicuously avoiding eye contact with Helen, Marc snatched the bills and was out the door, Jordan a step behind. Pat handed Helen the shopping bag from Target. “Would you like to change into your new clothes before lunch?”
Helen paused in her murmured conversation with Bobby. “I get my clothes at Goodwill.”
“These are special,” Pat answered. “I picked them out just for you.” She had actually picked them out for the woman she wished was her sister—someone who wore a bra, clean underwear, and neutral colors. She steered Helen into the second bedroom and pushed open the door to the Roman-style bathroom. “You can change in here.”
Helen stared at the tiled whiteness, the luxurious white towels with their gold embroidered CP, and the gold faucets rising like jewels from the black marble counter, then ran a hand over an ankle-length robe hanging behind the door. “This is pima cotton. I could sell it for twenty dollars at my booth.”
Pat mentally added another hundred dollars to the hotel bill, feeling as if she had acquired a third child. “If I lie down for a minute, will you be okay?” She felt exhausted, buried beneath an avalanche of responsibility.
“Of course,” Helen answered with a wry grin. “I know how to dress myself, Cleo. I’ll be extra quiet so I don’t disturb you.” She pulled a pair of silver huarache sandals out of the bag. “Oh, these are beautiful.”
Pat forced a smile at the sight of the shiny eyesores. “Jordan picked them out,” she said, wanting to give credit where credit was due. “I’m glad you like them.” She shut the door, collapsed onto the bed, and punched Wyatt’s number into her cell.
He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, I’ve been waiting for your call. How’s it going?”
“Hard to say at this point.” She kept her voice low, so Helen wouldn’t hear. “How’s the packing going?”
“Oh, you know, same stuff, different day. What do you mean, ‘hard to say?’ Are the boys okay?” His voice took on a concerned edge. “You okay?”
“It’s a lot more complicated than I thought. Helen’s much worse than we imagined.”
A moment of silence as he digested the information. “How did she react to Marc?”
“Oh my God!” She struggled to keep her emotions under control. “She didn’t recognize him.”
“Pat, honey, it’s been years, of course she wouldn’t—”
“Not like that,” she interrupted. “She wouldn’t even admit to having a son.”
“She what?”
“She said, and I quote, ‘We don’t have a son.’”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“She’s still hauling Bobby around.”
“After ten years! How did Marc handle that?”
“He’s angry and hurt, typical teenager, but in a weird way he seemed relieved. I think he feels as long as she doesn’t recognize him, he won’t have to go back.”
“Of course he won’t have to go back.” His voice took on the familiar protective-father tone. “We’re his legal guardians. You can assure him of that. We certainly spent enough time and money slogging through the paperwork.”
“Wyatt, we were able to get custody because she was too traumatized about Bobby to contest it. I deserted her.” She hated the words, but knew they were true. “When she needed me most, I let her down.”
“You did no such thing. You wrote every month. You sent checks she never cashed. You made every effort.” He paused, obviously considering his words. “It’s been years since you’ve seen her, maybe she’s not as bad as you think.”
“I went to her house. You wouldn’t believe how she lives. The place should be condemned. Mail and garbage everywhere. And those letters I wrote—she never opened them, and I never followed up. I told myself she’d contact me when she was ready. What a cop-out . . . I was happy to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Stop beating yourself up, honey. We did what we thought was best. Helen’s an adult. Marc was the one at risk.”
“But now he’s doing well and Helen’s at risk.” She could barely contain a sigh. “I hardly know her.”
“How is Jordan handling it?”
“Oh, that’s different. They’re like a couple of long-lost buddies. He chats with her. He chats with Bobby. Acts like everything is perfectly normal. Anything to improve his chances for UNLV.”
Wyatt laughed, a mirthless bark. “Is that what he thinks now? You know Jordan, once he gets an idea in his head, he works it. Probably thinks if he can help with Helen, we’ll let him stay there and go to college.”
“No way that’s going to happen. She’s almost incoherent, and the police are desperate to get her statement. The murder was really gruesome, and there’s a lot of pressure on the cops to catch the guy.”
“It’s not that call girl who got chopped up?”
“That’s the one. How did you know?”
“Saw it online. Do they have any suspects?”
“No, but the lead detective, a guy by the name of Madison, thinks it might be someone in the neighborhood . . . that Helen might have seen him. I’m supposed to keep her away from the house.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Does he think she’s in danger? Is it safe for you to be there?”
“We’ll be fine.” She knew if she didn’t ease his mind, he would commandeer the company jet, fly to Vegas, and sweep them into the sunset, leaving Helen to disappear down the rabbit hole. “We’re registered under my name at Caesars Palace.”
“How long is this going to take? I thought you were only staying the weekend.”
She was torn, wanting to do exactly that but knowing she couldn’t. “Two weeks or so. I’m sorry, honey, but I can’t leave her. Not again.”
