Part 36 (1/2)
Tara stared at her. She knew what his touch could do. She knew what his eyes looked like in the dark. She knew what she had felt and it chilled her that his own mother had felt the same.
”Was your husband a cowboy? Did he work on a ranch?” Tara asked softly, knowing the answer already but needing to hear it.
”Is that what he's saying his father was? That's good. That's funny.”
Vera stayed quiet for a minute.
”That's sad.” Then she pulled herself together.
”No, he's not a cowboy. I don't know or care what he is, or where he is, as long as he's not in my backyard. Some things are best kept secret, and I want to keep my secrets. I'm ashamed of them. I'm ashamed I'm his mother. You tell him where I am, and I'll sue. Then I'll run. So if you want anything from me, or Bill wants anything from me, you can just forget it.”
That was an invitation to leave. They stayed where they were. What an amazing man Vera's son was. His own mother was shaken with fear that he might return and Donna Ecold sat quivering, fearing he might leave her.
”Bill doesn't know we're here. I want something from you, Mrs.
Hamilton,” Tara said.
”You're lucky you got in here.” Vera Hamilton cautioned Tara not to press. She ignored the warning.
”I've promised to represent your son, Mrs. Hamilton, and I intend to do that. Bill wants to be hospitalized. He may have committed a horrible crime, and if the district attorney can pet.i.tion for hospitalization, your son would be free from selfincrimination. Instead, the district attorney wants to arrest Bill and bring him to trial.”
”Remind me to vote for him,” Vera muttered.
Tara ignored the aside.
”I came here because I wanted to meet you and find out more about Bill. Now that I have, I'm convinced more than ever that Bill needs psychiatric help. Unfortunately, since the DA and I can't agree on what we want, I'd like you to sign the commitment papers. Unfortunately, that won't protect Bill from prosecution should he confess this crime to a doctor. But he'll be out of the mainstream for the time being, and he won't be dangerous to anyone else.”
Vera Hamilton stood up. She was a determined woman and she was determined not to listen any longer.
”I don't want to talk to you about Bill, and I sure don't want to sign any papers. Maybe you've never seen Bill mad. Maybe you have, and you don't care because you have friends to watch out for you. I've got nothing except shameful memories.
No mother should have felt the things I felt.
Not that kind of love, and not this kind of fear.
Leave me out of it. Go on now. There's nothing more I can tell you.”
Vera made a little shooing motion.
”Mrs. Hamilton, he's asked for help. Think what it took for him to do that,” Ben said. She spoke without looking at him.
”And he'll bite the hand that gives it to him.”
”Do you have any of Bill's medical records?”
Ben asked.
Vera shot him a withering glance. There was pain behind it. Finally she nodded and went toward the back of the trailer, returning a minute later.
”Might as well take them. I burned his picture book.”
Ben reached for the envelope and for a minute both of them were holding it, linked together.
They looked at one another for a long while then Vera Hamilton let go.
”It's all I've got left.”
”You sure you want me to take it?” Ben asked.
She nodded. Tara and Ben went to the door in silence. They were on the porch again when Tara remembered she had one more question.
”Mrs. Hamilton?” The door was almost closed.
It didn't open again but it wasn't shut either.
”The woman Bill lived with. Where can we find her?”
”You want to eat now? Before we see her?”
Ben drove slowly, the envelope Vera Hamilton had given him on his lap. Tara was once more bent over the map looking for the address Vera had given her.
”Definitely not.”
”It's dark. It's getting late. You're sure?”
Tara lifted her head, noted the street, then went back to studying the infinitesimal type.
”I'm sure.
Listen, you're going to make a left on Zuni, then another quick left on San Pedro. Looks like about five minutes more. I want to hear from everyone we can tonight. We'll go back and look at those records, piece everything together, then I'll know what to do.”
”I'm starving,” Ben complained.
”Suffer,” Tara said, adding a smile.
He responded in kind and they were quiet until they pulled up in front of a small blue house. Two bikes were out front and the garage door was open. Inside was a battered Toyota, surrounded by tools, boxes, skates, and the other stuff life with kids was made of. Tara got out of the van, paying no attention to the whirrs and clunks of Ben's descent.
They were halfway up the cracked and crumbling driveway when the door of the house burst open, expelling four children of varying ages. They screamed, hollered, hit one another for no reason whatsoever, and were precariously close to careening into Ben's chair before they suddenly scattered and disappeared into the gathering dark. Tara drew close to Ben. They watched the kids go, then looked toward the house and the woman standing in the doorway, backlit by a low-light bulb.
”h.e.l.lo,” Tara called as they went closer.
”h.e.l.lo,” came the wary reply. Mothers didn't like strangers in the driveway when dinner dishes waited and kids were loose. Tara and Ben were close enough now to see the woman's round face.
Her skin was beautiful without makeup, but she looked tired and worried.
”Can I help you?” she asked.
”We hope so.” Tara went close to the door, holding out her card as she did so.
”I'm Tara Limey, an attorney here in Albuquerque. This is Ben Crawford, a psychologist who is working with me.