Whisper Me This(30)

My brain goes over and over and over all the problems I need to solve. My dad, so lost and confused and accused of unthinkable atrocities. My mother. Her injuries, her missing advance directive, her gun. Which leads me to Tony. I can’t decide whether he counts as problem or solution. Either way, the memory of my face pressed up against his hard-muscled chest, his hands smoothing my back, does nothing to relax me into sleep.

At the first sign of the coming dawn, I give up the battle and get up. Breakfast is leftover pizza, cold out of the box.

I take a bite, but the congealed cheese and flabby crust make me gag. I’m too worried to eat.

I’ve already called the hospital. My father is resting comfortably, whatever that means in medical speak, and my mother is stable. Neither of these terms reassures me.

“Can we please go to the grocery store?” Elle asks. “Not that I’m opposed to pizza. But maybe we should have a vegetable for lunch.”

“You’ve got a point.” My brain is running on Mom’s missing advance directive and whether I really want to find it or not, and if so where it might be and how to access her safe-deposit box. But a stop by the grocery store might just be more immediately important.

When the house phone rings, I figure it’s Greg again and don’t answer, but Elle picks it up.

“Hey,” she says, “do I know you?”

This is her standard initial response to telemarketers. What happens after that varies depending on her mood. Sometimes she’ll lead them on by pretending to be me and having great interest in whatever is being offered. Sometimes she’ll ask the sort of questions that would make a preacher run for the hills.

Listen, Steve, my mom won’t talk to me about this. Since I’ve got you on the phone, can you explain why women were stoned in the New Testament if a man slept with them during that time of the month?

So I’m only half listening before I realize that she’s actually making plans with some unknown caller.

“Sure, that would be awesome. Ten? Yep, hang on, I’ll ask her.” She mutes the phone. “Hey, Mom, can I go to the gym with Mia? And then maybe shopping and the afternoon movie?”

I stare at my daughter, bewildered. She’s been with me the whole time we’ve been here, and somehow she’s managed to make a friend.

“Who?”

“Mia. Tony’s sister. Here, you can talk to her.”

She unmutes the phone. “Here’s my mom.”

“Hey,” a female voice says, as casual as if we’ve been BFFs forever. “How are you doing this morning? Sorry about last night, by the way. Tony said you thought I was his girlfriend. Now that’s the funniest joke, like, ever.” And she laughs as though she means this, then stops, just as abruptly. “Oh God, I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I can’t help myself. You haven’t said a word yet, and I’m still going on. You are actually there, right? Hello?”

“Yes. Hi. I’m here.”

“Cool. So anyhoo, if I haven’t scared the pants off you yet—I promise I’m not a nutcase. You can ask Tony. I just talk. A lot. Anyway, I wanted to help if I can. So I thought maybe you’d like to have me pick up Elle and keep her busy today so you can take care of family stuff.”

“Um . . .”

“I’m good with kids. I’ll be by in about twenty minutes. Okay? She’s in good hands, I promise. Nothing on my driving record. Or my legal record. Oh, wait. Better come clean on that. There was that shoplifting charge when I was eleven, but I’m all over that. Scout’s honor.”

She pauses for a breath, and I dive in with, “Look, I—”

“Right? It will be so much better this way. And don’t worry—I’ll enjoy it. I happen to have the day off and not a single plan. Colville is incredibly dull this time of year. See you in a few.”

“Listen, Mia, I don’t think . . .” But she’s already gone, and I’m talking to dead air.

Elle squints her eyes and wrinkles her nose. “Don’t you look at me like that, Mom. I know what you’re thinking. Do you really want to drag me around with you doing boring stuff when I could be having fun?”

“Elle, we don’t even know this woman.”

“She’s Tony’s sister.” This declaration is delivered as if we’ve known Tony for thirty years, rather than a few hours.

“Right. And Tony responded to our 911 call and bought us a pizza. That doesn’t exclude him from the predator pool. He could be a serial killer, for all we know.”

A damned attractive serial killer, I add to myself.

“Mom. Please. You’ve been watching way too much TV. Maybe she could take me to see Nana. I should visit her, right?”

Guilt again.

I’m not fond of Greg’s mother and she isn’t fond of me, but she is still Elle’s grandmother, and they don’t get to see each other often. I hadn’t even thought about Elle wanting to visit her. And I really do have some things I need to do that would be better accomplished without the assistance of a twelve-year-old Sherlock Holmes.

“Well,” I say, considering, and Elle knows she’s won.

She hugs me, a quick, tempestuous squeeze around the neck. “You worry too much,” she says. “It will be fine.”

Mia shows up at about double her estimated twenty minutes, out of breath and apologetic. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t find my shoes. And then I left my phone at home and had to go back for it. There was actually traffic. Can you believe it? Like, when is there a traffic problem in Colville? Only today.”