Jeff Abbott - Promises of Home

Now Sister sat alone with Mama in the living room. Mama had not attended the funeral, but Clo had dressed her in a dark robe. Always one to get an early start on the holidays, Mama was humming the tune of “Away in a Manger,” which she’d plucked somehow from the quicksand of her memory. Sister didn’t appear to be noticing, still wearing her dark jacket and skirt, her sunglasses finally off, her hair a blonde tousle around her shoulders.

I sat down and handed the fee coffee. She accepted it wordlessly, took a sip, and said, “I have to get down to the hospital and see how Junebug’s doing.”

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough for today?” I said. “I’m sure Barbara or the doctors will call us if there’s a change. You need some rest.”

“There have been two men in my adult life I’ve loved, Jordy. I buried one today. And the other one may not make it out of the hospital. I don’t think I can sleep any.”

“You’ll make yourself sick, Sister.”

“Spare me the worried-brother act. You practically accused me of killing Trey this morning.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe you killed him, but I had to know for sure. You still didn’t answer my question.”

She rubbed her eye. “I didn’t kill him.”

“Then tell me. Were you over there that morning?”

Fatigue had won out against her defenses. “Yes, all right. I stopped by on my way to work. Even with it being a cold day, I wore those stupid pants ’cause it gets hot in the kitchen and they’re comfortable.”

“What happened?”

Her voice took a distant tone as she spoke, “He was there. Alone. He let me in, said he was even glad to see me as long as I wasn’t there to blacken his other eye.” She sipped at her coffee and closed her eyes.

“Oh, he looked bad, Jordy. You’d seen him. He was a shell of the man he’d been. He’d had so much energy, so much power in his body. That man in the chair had nothing.” She shivered. “I apologized for hitting him-and said I hoped he wasn’t gonna press charges. He laughed and I started to cry. He said I looked wonderful to him. He said… he’d missed me.”

I took a long breath while she paused. “And what effect did all this sweet talk have?”

She shook her head. “Part of me wanted to belt him again. Part of me wanted to tell him to never darken our door. Part of me wanted to hold him. Stupid, huh?”

“No.” I squeezed her shoulder.

“He asked to see Mark. I explained I thought that was a bad idea, that Mark needed more time to get used to the idea of his father back in his life before he saw Trey face-to-face. Trey said I was stalling. He begged, Jordy. He begged to see Mark and I kept saying no.”

“So when’d you get the black eye?”

Sister paid me no heed. “I finally asked him why he’d come home after all this time-why hadn’t he just stayed away? He wouldn’t look at me for a while, then he said that he’d finally stared death in the face and it had made him a man. I said that was crazy, and he said you’d understand.”

I eased back on the couch. Famous words from Trey from the tree house. It’d been his argument for our foolishness that long-ago day.

“So,” Sister continued, sniffing, “he said abandoning us was the most terrible mistake he’d ever made. He wanted to come home more times than he could count, but he was too ashamed. And he said he knew I wouldn’t take him back, and he was afraid Mark would reject him. It wasn’t till after that bull nearly killed him that he decided to come home.”

I didn’t say anything. I saw Candace standing at the kitchen door, tears in her eyes, her fingertips on her lips.

Sister looked up at the ceiling-or perhaps past it, toward God and heaven. “He said he still loved me, he’d never stopped loving me. And he wanted to be a father to Mark. I told him it was impossible, it could never be like it was before. He pleaded with me, and I ran out.” She started crying again.

“I don’t understand. When did you get the black eye?”

“Oh,” she said, wiping tears away. I handed her a tissue. She dabbed at her eyes. “I stumbled when I fell down the stairs. I hit my face.” Sister got up and retreated to the kitchen. She looked back at me. “Now you know everything, Jordy. Happy? If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get something to eat, take a shower, and go to the hospital.” She ducked past Candace, who regarded me with concern.

“She’ll be okay, Jordy. She just needs time.”

I didn’t say anything; I just sat back down. Trey had neglected to tell Sister the most important point of all: just why had he so regretfully left Mirabeau in the first place?

Franklin Bedloedrummed his pencil against his pad as I finished talking.

“Well, you’ve been busy,” he said. I couldn’t tell quite yet if he was angry or not.

I’d invited him to stop by, and when he arrived, basically I’d spilled my guts. What I’d found out from Ed, from Scott, from Steven Teague, from Thomasina Clifton, from Hart. The only item I omitted was that dogged bit of Sister’s pants. She’d told me what I believed was the truth about her seeing Trey and there was no need to tell Franklin about it. At least in my judgment. I could pinch a penny if I gave him a pound.

“Well, we had been talking to Mr. Teague about his treatment of Mr. Shivers,” Franklin began uncertainly, then stopped. I waited politely. Junebug had always told me Franklin was a bright fellow with a future. I hoped he was right, but I wondered if having been shoved into the role of acting chief had overwhelmed him.

“Look, I really wasn’t trying to snoop, Franklin. I know Junebug’s told you I have a propensity to stick my nose in. I can’t help it if information comes my way. That’s why I’m sharing it with you. You do with it what you think best.”

Franklin jotted a final note and shut his book. “Well, all this is real interesting, Jordy, but I’m not sure how it bears on the case. Especially the Rennie Clifton connection.”

“But that stuff you found in Clevey’s house-”

“We don’t have an explanation for it yet,” he said calmly. “And I’m in the business of evidence, not conjecture. You haven’t shown me one shred of evidence-only hearsay about both Clevey and Trey.”

I opened my mouth to speak and shut it promptly. He was right. I’d built a house of cards and he was the wind.

“Then I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time, Franklin. I just feel so angry about what happened to Junebug, I thought-”

“Jordy, listen, I do understand. Everyone at the station’s determined we’re gonna catch this bastard. I appreciate the information you’ve given us. We’ll take it from here.”

He stood and we shook hands. When I showed him to the door, Hart Quadlander’s truck was pulling into the driveway. Franklin gave Hart a polite nod and drove off in his cruiser.

Trouble with the police?” Hart asked as I let him and Scott in the door. I helped them off with their coats and hung them on the pegs. Scott eyed Mark nervously as I ushered them into the living room.

“Mark, I’m sorry about my mom. She’s just really upset. But she still shouldn’t have said what she did.” Scott’s eyes held real apology. “I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry she hit you, Jordy.”

“How’s she doing?” I made myself ask. I thought Nola Kinnard needed a good rest home, but I wasn’t about to suggest that in front of her son.

“She’s okay. Steven Teague talked to her for a while and he got Dr. Meyer to prescribe a tranquilizer for her.” Hart squeezed Mark’s shoulder. “It was unforgivable what she did at your father’s funeral, Mark. I am terribly, terribly sorry for the way Nola behaved. So is Scott; he wanted to come over and make amends. I hope you’ll understand that Nola is just very grief-stricken. I think she’s going to be ashamed of herself when she has a little time to consider her actions.”