Craig Johnson - Kindness Goes Unpunished

I watched him and then spoke very slowly. “There are twenty-six received phone calls from Devon Conliffe from 5:11 P.M. through 10:03 P.M. last night, ending with the message you just heard.” I took a breath, pointed to the cell phone, and continued. “To me, that doesn’t sound like a man involved in a relationship he doesn’t take seriously.” I could barely talk. “And I didn’t hear any baseball game in the background of that message.”

He held the phone close to his chest. “Do you mind if I take this?”

“I think I’ll insist.”

His smile was grim, and I was liking him more and more. He nodded and placed the phone with his note pad. “I may not be the one who talks to you about this next.”

I looked at my daughter. “That’s all right, as long as somebody does, and damn soon.”

After Michael left, we sat in chairs on either side of the bed and watched Cady. “It was the right thing to do.”

I had been listening to him think it for so long, I wasn’t sure if I needed to reply. “Yep.”

He glanced over to me. “Why am I not so sure that you believe that?”

“Maybe it was the halfhearted response you just got.”

“Maybe.” He waited. “Is there anybody you want to call?”

“Not yet.”

He nodded, his eyes returning to her. “You should get some sleep.”

“No.”

“You are not doing anybody any good falling asleep in a chair.” I looked at him. “You might as well lie down.”

“No.”

“How about something to eat then.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He sighed a large sigh. “Then go take a walk, anything, but do not just sit here brooding.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“Planning then.” I looked at him, the man who knew me better than I knew myself. “Concentrate on walking, breathing, eating, drinking, anything but this.” I could still see the streaks on his face. “I will watch her. Go.”

I didn’t make it very far, but I made it outside and, with the number of hallways, elevators, and stairwells I had to use, that was a miracle in itself. I walked through the revolving doors and onto the University of Pennsylvania campus. It was spring, even in the winter of my discontent, and all the freshmen were hurrying to their eight o’clock classes. They looked as asleep as I felt.

There were a few roach-coaches across the street, and I figured I could get a cup of coffee from one of the food carts without contracting a disease. As I stood in line, I noticed people looking at me, and I figured I’d strangle the first one that made a smart remark about my hat. I stepped up to the counter and asked for a large one, which cost me two bucks.

“Here ya go, Tex.”

I let him live.

I wandered back across and sat on one of the low cement walls that had flowering shrubs planted behind them. My back hurt and my shoulders ached. I took off my hat; even Atlas shrugged. It was a gorgeous day, and the apple and cherry trees were exploding in a riot of effusive color. I pulled in a deep breath. As a westerner, I’m always amazed at the balm of eastern air, the coursing, life-giving humidity. Even on the busy street, I could feel the trees, the river, and maybe just a little bit of the ocean off the coast of New Jersey, not so far away.

I took the top off to allow the coffee to cool when someone moved my hat and sat on the wall beside me.

Lena Moretti looked a lot better than I did. She was wearing a simple floral-print sundress and was carrying two small bags that she set on the concrete. She placed my hat on her head, and it dropped down over her ears so that I could barely see her eyes. “Didn’t trust me to bring breakfast, huh?”

“I forgot.”

She tipped my hat back and pointed to the cup in my hand. “Is that coffee?”

I looked at the cup. “I’m just waiting for it to cool.”

She reached out a hand. “Here, I’ll show you what to do with that.” I handed her the cup, and she poured it out on the sidewalk. A young woman, slouched over with the weight of her backpack, was walking past and gave her a dirty look.

“That was my coffee.”

“No, this is your coffee.” She handed me another lidded cup from one of the bags, and I held it with both hands. She opened her own and took a sip. “I took your dog for a walk this morning.”

“Thank you.” I had forgotten about him. “Where did you find a leash?”

“I used an electric cord.” She crossed her legs at the ankle. I was beginning to think that she was capable of just about everything.

I opened my coffee and looked at the decisively dark brew. “This looks strong.”

“Espresso, tall, double-shot. I thought you could use it.” She looked at me. “How’s she doing?”

I took a sip and swallowed most of the enamel from my teeth. “I figured one of your troopers would have reported in by now.”

“He did, but that was almost half an hour ago.”

I nodded. “No change.”

We sat and drank our coffee in silence. “The Indian up there now?”

“Henry. He ran me out.”

She smiled. “Here, I brought you something to eat.” She dug into the other bag and handed me a collection of biscuits and a tiny paper napkin. “Biscotti. I didn’t think you would be very hungry.”

“You’re right.”

She chewed on one herself, and I watched as she unconsciously began swinging her intertwined legs. “Almond, Michael’s favorite.” The biscuits were good, and the only sound for a while was the munching of our communal breakfast. I noticed she was looking up at the brim of my hat that was still barely above her eyes. “Does the Terror wear a hat like this?”

“No, she says they’re goofy.”

She munched some more. “How disappointing.” She glanced down at my feet. “She wear boots?”

“She has one pair she wears on special occasions.”

She watched me for a long while. I took another breath and looked above the buildings to the clear blue sky. I could feel the thumping in my chest as the temptation to turn and count the floors up to five tugged at my jaw. A few fat pigeons ambled over from across the quad and positioned themselves in front of us. I broke off a little biscotti and tossed it their way. They grabbed the pieces and looked at me some more, giving up on Lena as a native.

“Dr. Rissman said the damage was blunt trauma from a fall?”

I nodded. “Concrete steps.”

She didn’t say anything for a while. “She’s going to be okay.”

I looked at her, still wearing my hat like a child. “How do you know?”

She ignored my ridiculous question, smiled, and looked back into the bag. “I’ve got a coffee for Henry, too.”

I had been about to apologize, but took another deep breath instead; the darkness was there as we made small talk. “You got cream and sugar?”

“Yes.”

I tossed the pigeons more biscotti. “He’s particular.”

She smiled. “I’ve heard that.” She sipped her coffee and watched as I continued to feed the birds. “We may have to toughen you both up a little while you’re here.”

The pigeons stood next to the blunt toes of my boots. The darkness was with me again, and a plan was unfolding like a crisp linen tablecloth, snapping across the expanse of a long table and floating down to cover everything. “Lena, I may need a favor later today.”

She turned at my tone of voice. “Anything.”

The pigeons were now standing on the wide part of my boots, happily taking the crumbs from my fingers. “I may need you to take a shift with Cady.”

“Any time. I’m a woman of leisure.” She sipped, and her ginger eyes stayed steady. There were too many cops in her life to fool her for long. “You got plans for the afternoon?”

I handed the remainder of the biscotti to Mutt and Jeff and looked across the street toward the river. “I thought I’d take in a baseball game.”