Home Front(14)

Michael paused, the coffee cup inches from his mouth. “How many times are you going to remind me?”

She smiled. “I’m a little obsessive? What a surprise. It’s just that it’s important that you be there. On time. Betsy is fragile these days and I—”

Betsy shrieked “Mom!” and skidded into the kitchen. “Where’s my orange hoodie? I need it!”

Lulu ran up beside her, looking sleep-tousled, holding her yellow blanket. “Hoodie, hoodie.”

“Shut up,” Betsy screamed.

Lulu’s face crumpled. She shuffled over to the kitchen table and climbed up into her chair.

“I washed your good-luck hoodie, Betsy,” Jolene said. “I knew you’d need it.”

“Oh,” Betsy said, sagging a little in relief.

“Apologize to your sister,” Michael said from his place at the counter.

Betsy mumbled an apology while Jolene went to the laundry room and retrieved the hoodie—a gift from Michael that had become Betsy’s talisman. Jolene knew it wasn’t unrelated—the source of the gift and the magic that went with it. Betsy needed attention from her father, and sometimes the hoodie was all she got.

Betsy snatched the orange-sherbet-colored hoodie from Jolene and put it on.

Jolene saw how pale her daughter was, how shaky. She glanced over at Michael, to see if he’d noticed, but he had gone back to reading the newspaper. He was in the room with them but completely apart. How long had it been that way? she suddenly wondered.

Betsy went to the table and sat down.

Jolene patted Betsy’s shoulder. “I bet you’re excited about the meet. I talked to your coach and he said—”

“You talked to my coach?”

Jolene paused, drew her hand back. Obviously she’d gone wrong again. “He said you’d been doing great at practice.”

“Unbelievable.” Betsy shook her head and stared down at the two pancakes on her plate, with their blueberry eyes and syrup mouth.

“I want pancake men,” Lulu yelled, irritated not to be the center of attention.

“It’s natural to be nervous, Bets,” Jolene said. “But I’ve seen you run. You’re the best sprinter on the JV team.”

Betsy glared up at her. “I am not the best. You just say that because you’re my mom. It’s, like, a rule or something.”

“The only rule that I have is to love you,” Jolene said, “and I do. And I’m proud of you, Betsy. It’s scary to put yourself out there in life, to take a chance. I’m proud of you for trying. We all are,” she said pointedly, her words aimed at Michael, who stood by the counter, reading his paper. Beside him, tacked to the wall, was Jolene’s calendar that listed everything she needed to do this week, and everywhere she needed to be. TRACK MEET was written in bold red on today’s date.

Betsy followed Jolene’s look. “Will you be at the meet, Dad? It starts at three thirty.”

A silence followed, a waiting. How long did it last? A second? A minute? Jolene prayed that he would look up, flash that charming smile, and make a promise.

“Michael,” she said sharply. She knew how important his job was, and she respected his dedication. She rarely asked him to show up to any family event, but this first track meet mattered.

He looked up, irritated by her tone. “What?”

“Betsy reminded you about her track meet. It’s at three thirty today.”

“Oh, right.” He put down his newspaper and there it was, the smile that had swept so many women, including Jolene, off their feet. He gave it to Betsy, full power, his handsome face crinkling in good humor. “How could I forget my princess’s big day?”

Betsy’s smile overtook her small, pale face, showing off her braces and big, crooked teeth.

He walked over to the table, leaned down, and kissed the top of Betsy’s head and ruffled Lulu’s black hair and kept moving toward the door, grabbing his coat off the back of the chair and his briefcase off the tile counter.

Betsy beamed under his attention. “Did you know—”

He left the house, the door snapping shut behind him, snipping Betsy’s sentence in half.

She slumped forward, a rag doll emptied of stuffing.

“He didn’t hear you,” Jolene said. “You know what it’s like when he has to catch the ferry.”

“He should have his hearing checked,” Betsy said, shoving her plate aside.





Four



Michael stood at his office window, staring out. On this cold, gray day, Seattle simmered beneath a heavy lid of clouds. Rain obscured the view, softened the hard steel edges of the high-rise buildings. Far below, messengers on bicycles darted in and out through traffic like hummingbirds.

Behind him, his intercom buzzed.

He went back to answer it. “Hey, Ann. What’s up?”

“An Edward Keller is on the phone.”

“Do I know him?”

“Not to my knowledge. But he says it’s urgent.”

“Put him through.” Michael sat down behind his desk. Urgent calls from strangers were a fixture of criminal defense.

The phone rang; he picked it up.

“Michael Zarkades,” he said simply.

“Thank you for taking my call, Mr. Zarkades. I understand you’re my son’s court-appointed attorney.”