Redemption Road(72)

“You need to see something,” Elizabeth said. “And then you’re going to eat.”

*

They took the Mustang, top down. Heat was already spiking in the day, but dense trees shaded the streets, and the lawns in Elizabeth’s neighborhood were thick and green. It made for a pleasant drive out, and Elizabeth watched the girl when she could. “Why the desert?”

“Hmmm?”

“You said once that we should go to the desert. I found it odd,” Elizabeth said, “because I’d had the same thought just before that, and I’m not sure why. I’ve never considered the desert, never thought I’d want to live there or even visit. My life is here. It’s all I’ve ever known, but I lie awake at night and imagine wind like it came from an oven. I see red stone and sand and long views of brown mountains.” She watched the girl. “Why do you suppose that is?”

“It’s simple, isn’t it?”

“Not to me.”

“No mold, no mildew.” Channing closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun. “Nothing in the desert smells like a basement.”

*

They were silent after that. Traffic thickened. Channing kept her eyes closed. When they reached the commercial district, Elizabeth edged onto a ramp that spit them out six blocks from the square. They passed office buildings and cars and homeless people with loaded carts. When the square appeared, they circled the courthouse and turned onto Main Street, which was dotted with a few shoppers and people in suits. They passed a coffee shop, a bakery, a lawyer’s office. Channing eased the sweatshirt hood over her head and sank into the seat as if people frightened her.

“You’ll be fine,” Elizabeth said.

“Where are we going?”

“Here.”

“What’s here?”

“You’ll see.”

Elizabeth parked at the curb, then opened the door and met Channing on the sidewalk. Together, they passed a hardware store and a pawnshop. The door after that was glass with wood trim painted dark green. Letters on the glass said SPIVEY INSURANCE, HARRISON SPIVEY, BROKER AND AGENT. A bell tinkled as they pushed into a small room that smelled of coffee and hair spray and wood polish.

“Is he in?” Elizabeth asked.

No preamble. No hesitation. The receptionist stood, the gap of a sweater gathered in one hand, her soft face turning bright red. “Why do you come here?”

Elizabeth said to Channing, “She always asks me that.”

“You’re not a client, and I don’t think for a second that you’re a prospective one, either. Is it a police matter?”

“That’s between Mr. Spivey and me. Is he in or not?”

“Mr. Spivey comes in late on Fridays.”

“What time?”

“I expect him any moment.”

“We’ll wait.”

“Not here, you won’t.”

“We’ll wait outside.”

Elizabeth turned and left, Channing at her heels as the bell tinkled again, and the receptionist locked the door behind them. On the sidewalk, Elizabeth stepped into a shaded alcove. “I feel bad about that. She’s a nice enough woman, but if her boss won’t tell her why I come, then I won’t either.”

“If you say so.” The girl was still small, still sunken in the sweatshirt.

“Do you understand whose office that was?”

“You don’t need to do this.”

“You need to see how things can change. It matters. It’s important.”

The girl hugged herself, still doubtful. “How long do we wait?”

“Not long. That’s him.”

Elizabeth dipped her head as a car rumbled past. In it, a man tapped his hands on the wheel, mouth moving as if singing. Two hundred feet farther, he pulled into an empty spot and climbed out, a thirtysomething man, thick in the middle, thin on top. Otherwise, he was strikingly handsome.

“You don’t have to say a word.” Elizabeth started walking. “Just stay beside me. Watch his face.”

They moved up the sidewalk, and in spite of what she’d said to the girl, Elizabeth felt the narrow finger of her own shame. She was a cop and a grown woman, yet even at a distance suffered the memory of his weight and the taste of pine, the heat of his finger on the back of her hand. She’d had nightmares for years, come close to killing herself from shame and self-loathing. But none of that mattered, anymore. This was about life after, about strength and will and lack of compromise. It was about Channing.

“Hello, Harrison.”

He was walking head down and twitched as if her voice carried a live current. “Elizabeth. God.” His hand covered his heart as his feet dragged to a stop. He licked his lips and looked nervously at his office door. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just that it’s been a while. This is my friend. Tell her good morning.”

He stared at Channing and flushed bright, hot red.

“Can you say hello?” Elizabeth asked.

He mumbled something, and sweat beaded on his face. His eyes flicked from Channing to Elizabeth, then back. “I really need to … uh … to … you know…” He pointed at his office.

“Of course. Business first.” Elizabeth stepped aside and gave enough room for him to edge past. “Have a nice day, Harrison. Always great to see you.”