Part 16 (1/2)
”Isn't that what they say about you at Duhamel?”
d.a.m.n. Not bad.
”But I was never a tenth as bad as you were in there.”
”A tenth, huh?”
”A tenth.”
”So, I'm just supposed to sit back and let an emotionally abusive parent swim in his own self-righteousness?”
”Yes.”
”I can't.”
”I noticed.”
”I mean, is this it?” she said. ”Is this the job? Did I forget it's just talking to people who make you want to scour your skin with a Brillo pad?”
”Sometimes.” I looked over at her. ”All right-most times.”
Traffic thinned as we neared the New Hamps.h.i.+re border. I picked up enough speed so that the trees along the highway turned into a brown blur.
”Trying to close out the year with one final speeding ticket?” Angie asked.
As long as my daughter wasn't in the car, I always drove fast. And Angie had long ago accepted it the way I accepted her smoking. Or so I'd thought.
”What,” I said, ”the f.u.c.k crawled up your a.s.s this morning, babe?”
The silence that followed got thick enough to make me consider rolling down the windows, but then Angie slammed the back of her head against the headrest and slapped the soles of her shoes against the glove compartment, and let loose a long ”Arrgggghhh.” She followed it with, ”I'm sorry. Okay? I truly am. You were right. I was unprofessional.”
”Could you repeat that into my tape recorder, please?”
”Seriously.”
”I am serious.”
She rolled her eyes.
”Okay, okay,” I said. ”Apology accepted. And greatly appreciated.”
”I really did blow it back there.”
”No, you didn't. You almost almost did. But I smoothed it over. It's all cool.” did. But I smoothed it over. It's all cool.”
”It wasn't, though.”
”You haven't done this in a while. There's bound to be rust.”
”Yeah.” She ran her hands back through her hair. ”And I'm covered in it.”
”You still got those, uh, mad computer skills, though.”
She smiled. ”Yeah?”
”Yeah. Think you could hop on your BlackBerry and Google James Lighter?”
”Who's ... ?”
”Zippo. Let's see if he shows up anywhere.”
”Ah.” She tapped the keys for a bit and then said, ”Oh, he shows up all right. Shows up very dead.”
”No s.h.i.+t?”
”No s.h.i.+t. He's positively ID'd as a corpse found in Allston about three weeks ago.” She read it aloud to me. The body of James Lighter, 18, had been found in a field behind a liquor store in Allston the weekend after Thanksgiving. He'd been shot twice in the chest. Police had no suspects and no witnesses.
Midway through the article, his predictably s.h.i.+tty back story appeared: when he was six years old, his single mother gave him to a friend to babysit and never came home again. To this day, the whereabouts of Heather Lighter were unknown. Her son, James, grew up in a series of foster homes. His last foster parent, Carol ”Weezy” Louise, was quoted as saying she'd always known he'd end up this way, ever since he'd stolen her car when he was fourteen.
”Steal Weezy's car,” I said, ”and you apparently deserve two in the chest.”
”What a waste,” Angie said. ”A whole life adds up to ...” She searched for the word.
”Zip,” I said.
”I'm not going to claim Sophie was some perfect kid until her father came along and destroyed everything.” Elaine Murrow sat on a red metal couch without cus.h.i.+ons in the center of the converted barn she used as a studio for her sculpture. We sat on red stools across from her. They were metal, too, and cus.h.i.+onless and about as comfortable as sitting on the mouth of a wine bottle. The barn was warm, but the sculptures kept it from being cozy; they were all metal or chrome and I wasn't sure I could recognize what they were supposed to represent. If I had to guess, I'd say most were supposed to be oversize fuzzy dice. Without the fuzz. And there was a coffee table (I think it was a coffee table) in the shape of a chain saw. Which is to say, I don't understand modern art and I'm fairly certain it doesn't understand me, so we leave it at that and try not to bother each other.
”She was an only child,” Elaine said, ”so she was a bit bratty and self-centered. Her mother had a flair for the dramatic, so Sophie did, too. But Brian, believe me, never gave a s.h.i.+t about his daughter until her mother left him. And even then, what he cared about most was getting Cheryl to return to him so he wouldn't have to live with what her rejection said about him.”
”When did he begin showing serious interest in gaining custody?” I asked.
She chuckled. ”When he found out who who Cheryl left him for. He was clueless for a good six months. He thought she was living with a girl friend, not a Cheryl left him for. He was clueless for a good six months. He thought she was living with a girl friend, not a girlfriend girlfriend. I mean, look at me-do I look like I ever lived a straight day in my life?”
She had heavily gelled spiked hair the white of Liquid Paper. She wore a sleeveless plaid work s.h.i.+rt over dark jeans and brown Doc Martens. When it came to Elaine Murrow, if we were operating under the policy of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, no one would need to ask.
”Not to me,” I said, ”no.”
”Thank you. But dips.h.i.+t Brian? He didn't pick up on it at first.”
”And once he finally clued in?” Angie asked.
”He'd show up here in a rage and scream at her, 'You can't be a lesbian, Cheryl. I won't accept it.' ”
”He wouldn't accept it,” Angie said, ”so it must not be true.” wouldn't accept it,” Angie said, ”so it must not be true.”
”Exactly. Once it finally got through to him that not only was Cheryl not going back to him but that she was, in fact, very much in love with me and this wasn't some ident.i.ty-crisis fling? Well ...” She blew air out of her mouth, her cheeks puffing and unpuffing. ”All Brian's rage, all his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing, which had probably been eating at him since, I dunno, birth-guess what form they took? A moral crusade to rescue the daughter he'd never known from the clutches of an immoral lifestyle. From there on, when he'd come to pick up Sophie, he'd wear T-s.h.i.+rts that said charming things like G.o.d MADE ADAM & EVE, NOT ADAM & STEVE G.o.d MADE ADAM & EVE, NOT ADAM & STEVE, or the word DE-EVOLUTION DE-EVOLUTION over a drawing of a man lying with a woman, followed by a man lying with a man, followed by a man lying with-wanna guess?” over a drawing of a man lying with a woman, followed by a man lying with a man, followed by a man lying with-wanna guess?”
”I'm betting some type of livestock.”