Little Girls(64)

The Genarros arrived at the Rosewoods’ around seven. Ted brought a bottle of Da Vinci Chianti Reserva and Susan had made a friendship bracelet out of colored string and plastic beads for Abigail. Derrick was already out on the deck warming up the barbeque when they arrived; he waved one of his big paws at them through the kitchen windows. Liz greeted them with a smile and commented about how nice it was for them to bring a bottle of wine.

“Where’s Abigail?” Susan asked Liz. Then she held up the friendship bracelet. “Look at what I made for her!”

Liz bent down, planting both hands on her knees. “Well, that is a particularly exquisite piece of jewelry. I think Abigail will like it very much. I also happen to know she made you something, too. She’s upstairs in her room. Go on and fetch her.”

“Can I, Daddy?”

“Sure, pumpkin pie.”

“Yay!” She raced off down the hall and tramped hard upon the stairwell.

Outside on the deck, Derrick introduced himself to Laurie with a meaty handshake and a broad smile. Then he went instantly somber. “I’m so sorry to hear about your dad. He seemed like a nice old fellow.”

“Did you know him very well?”

“I would sometimes see him sitting out in the yard before he got sick. We used to say a few words to each other and he was always very friendly. It was terrible what happened.”

Liz put a hand on Laurie’s shoulder and offered her a seat at the picnic table that stood on the slouching deck. Once Laurie sat down, Liz took everyone’s drink order. Ted said he’d have some of the wine he brought while Laurie just asked for an ice water. At the table, Laurie positioned herself so that she could see the light on in the window upstairs—what she assumed was Abigail’s bedroom, since it was the only light on up there. She couldn’t hear the girls, couldn’t see them. There was a stubborn lump in her throat.

“Anyone want something other than medium rare?” Derrick asked when Liz arrived with the drinks and a platter of raw sirloins for the grill.

“Susan will have hers well done,” Laurie offered. “Where are the girls, anyway?”

“Playing upstairs,” Liz said. She was having a beer and leaning against the deck railing. “Don’t worry about them, they’re fine.”

“I’d hate to think my daughter is getting into anything up there.”

Without looking at her, Derrick waved a hand. “Kids get in trouble anywhere. Better they’re keeping each other busy.”

Ted lifted his glass of wine. “Agreed.”

“There’s nothing they can get into,” Liz confided, winking at Laurie.

The sun sank low in the west, toward the front of the Rosewoods’ house; toward the east, the pulsing sodium lights on the other side of the river radiated up over the trees.

“You know, Laurie, I had no idea your father had been a big-time steel mogul until I read his obituary,” Derrick commented. “He was part owner of one of those old complexes down at Sparrows Point back in the seventies, wasn’t he?”

“That’s right.”

“I work for BGE and service Sparrows Point as part of my route.”

“What’s BGE?” Ted asked.

“Baltimore Gas and Electric. We’ve been taking a lot of heat from Sparrows Point the past few years over the size of the mills’ utility costs. Armor Steel pays just over twenty thousand dollars a day for natural gas and electric services—”

“A day?” said Ted.

“—with an annual bill of around eight million bucks.”

“That’s unfathomable,” Ted stated.

Derrick pumped one big shoulder and said, “Let’s not forget how much money these companies actually make. Your father made out all right, didn’t he, Laurie?”

“Yes, he did very well.”

“Where is this Sparrows Point?” Ted asked.

Derrick pointed out across the yard and over the trees at the eerie light on the horizon. The color was an indistinct electrical hue, not quite white, not quite pink, not quite orange. “Dundalk, which is maybe forty minutes by car, although it’s quicker if you cut through the channels. The waterways, I mean. But you can see the factory lights straight across the river when it starts to get dark. Makes it look like Roswell over there, don’t it?”

“Industrial pollution is what it is,” Ted commented.

“All kinds of pollution,” Derrick said. “Not just in the air, I mean. There’s pollutants in the sediment, in the oyster beds, all throughout the wildlife that feed off the waterway. Water got so bad the past few years, Maryland crabs were being shipped in from North Carolina and Louisiana, though the locals don’t really like the tourists to know. There’s methods for cleaning it up, but the big question is who’s gonna pay for it?”

“When I was a girl, I used to think it sounded so pretty,” Laurie said. “Sparrows Point. Then one day my father drove me out across the Key Bridge. It was a wasteland of factories and shipyards—smokestacks, industrial pumps, hazard lights.”

“It’s mostly a ghost town now,” Derrick assured her. Meat sizzled on the grill, the smell of it strong and smoky. “Half the factories have closed down. Now they just sit there like giant castles that have been evacuated because of some deadly plague. I guess industry itself was the plague, killing off the old steel mills and replacing them with liquefied natural gas terminals. Back in the seventies, Bethlehem Steel invested millions of dollars in the shipyards, and for a while it was profitable. But it’s changed hands about half a dozen times since then, maybe more. Baltimore Marine owned much of it at one point back in the nineties, and maybe they still do, though you don’t hear much about it anymore, unless it’s chatter about the pollution and the dead critters that wash up on shore after a heavy rain.”