Daniel Palmer - Helpless

“Mom, I’m going out,” Lindsey said on her way out the door, knowing her mother was passed out on the sofa. Her mother’s drunken snores completed Lindsey’s private joke.

Lindsey continued to swing. She checked the time on her cell phone. Tanner was late. Maybe he’d bailed. She wasn’t about to call, begging him to come. Forget that . She thought about Mitchell Boyd getting off to pictures of her and Jill, and it churned her stomach.

Whatever Tanner’s explanation was would have to wait. She wasn’t going to stick around to hear it. She felt angry at herself for even agreeing to meet him.

“I love you,” she said aloud, mocking the words’ now apparent stupidity.

Lindsey was about to leave when she heard rustling in the bushes behind her. Her heart leapt into her throat. She remembered a path to the park through the woods, which Tanner must have taken.

She looked toward the road and didn’t see any headlights. Tanner must have parked on the dead-end street and used the back path to get to her. Maybe he was trying to sneak up and scare her. He’s too stupid to even do that right, she thought.

She leapt off the swing and spun around in the direction of the noise.

“Very funny, Tanner. Don’t be a jerk.”

The bushes concealing the path parted, but nobody emerged from the dark.

“Tanner, don’t be an ass,” Lindsey said. “I know it’s just you trying to scare me. It’s not going to work.”

Lindsey took a tentative step onto the path. She didn’t cry out when someone stepped out from the bushes and onto the path. She’d been expecting it. A tingle of panic ran through her when she realized it wasn’t Tanner standing in front of her. Her panic quickly escalated as the shadowy figure lunged at her, and grew into terror when she felt hands wrap around her neck.

She didn’t know she was going to die. Not then, anyway. That came soon enough, when she realized that despite the humid night, her attacker wore leather gloves. He felt around her legs and pulled the flash drive from the front pocket of her jeans. She felt his hands squeeze tighter around her neck.

Lindsey closed her eyes. She wanted this to be a nightmare. She wanted to wake up. At that moment, what she wanted most of all was her mother.

Tom struggled through his headache and bum knee to finish his morning workout, which consisted of 150 push-ups, 500 sit-ups, a six-mile run, followed by thirty minutes of strength and flexibility exercises. He showered and made breakfast. He set the table for two. He covered Jill’s plate with another plate so that the food beneath could remain hot. He also wanted Jill to be surprised when she saw what he had prepared. He poured two glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice and decorated each with a drink umbrella.

Long past the hour he predicted Jill would rise, his daughter ambled into the kitchen. She moved about sleepily. She was dressed and ready for school, with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She carried a blue nylon backpack, which was slung across one shoulder. Earbuds were planted in both ears, and without concentrating Tom could hear the drone of whatever music blasted from her iPod.

She marched by the kitchen table, unaware that the table was set for breakfast, and headed straight to the refrigerator, where she extracted a yogurt container from the recently replenished supplies. She grabbed a spoon from the nearby drawer, peeled back the yogurt top, and began to eat.

It was only then that she looked up and saw Tom standing before the mountain of dirty dishes that overflowed the kitchen sink. She popped out her earbuds, muted the iPod, and smiled at her father.

“Mornin’, Dad,” she said.

“Morning,” Tom replied. He tilted his head in the direction of the kitchen table, encouraging Jill to look.

“Oh, Dad,” Jill said once she saw the spread. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I thought we should kick off our new start with a special father-daughter breakfast before school. Check it out.”

Jill lifted the plate covering the food and couldn’t resist a smile. Tom had made his famous Mickey Mouse pancakes for her. He blended three pancakes together to form the head and ears. He used whipped cream for the whites of the eyes, and three black raspberries, two for the pupils and one for the nose. The mouth was made of whipped cream, too, and he used a strawberry for the tongue.

“Oh, Dad, you shouldn’t have done that,” Jill said. But Tom could see that his daughter was touched by the effort, as well as the memory.

“I think you were six the last time I made this for you.”

“Every Sunday,” Jill said, remembering.

“Come. Sit. Eat.” Tom sauntered over to the table and pulled out her chair from underneath.

Jill smiled and bounded over to him. She brushed his cheek with one quick peck.

“Wow, this is so… sweet,” Jill said. “But I’m late for the bus. And I don’t really have time for breakfast… pretty much, ever.”

She handed him the empty yogurt container and descended the front stairs, seemingly without stepping on any of them.

“I’m going to make rosemary chicken for dinner tonight,” Tom called after her.

“Going over to Lindsey’s after practice,” Jill yelled back. “We have a math test already. Her mom will drive me home after dinner. Bye.”

“Well, call and let me know what time you’re coming home,” Tom said, though he knew his words had bounced, unheard, off the front door.

The phone rang moments after Jill departed. Tom answered it without checking caller ID and was glad to hear Marvin’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey! Called the hospital and heard you checked yourself out,” Marvin said.

“Yeah, long story. What’s up, Marvin?”

“What are you doing?”

“Ah, let’s see… recovering from a concussion, cleaning up from a reconciliation breakfast that nobody ate, and waiting for my lawyer to call with news that all charges against me have been dropped.”

Marvin made a slight chuckle. “Well, no can do on the last item on your list. But I do have something. Pretty interesting stuff, too. When can you get over here?”

“Not many people want to hang with an alleged sex offender. I’d say my calendar is wide open today, tomorrow… and, well, for the foreseeable future.”

“Well, get over here right away,” Marvin said. “You really need to see this for yourself.”

Marvin didn’t pick up his head when Tom entered his office. The lawyer remained hunched over his conference table, where he appeared to be reading from a baseball almanac. A coffee mug and a hefty law journal kept the thick tome pried open. Stacks of papers set upon the floor created a mini obstacle course for Tom to navigate.

“Have I inspired you into a new career as a private investigator?” Tom asked in a voice loud enough to get Marvin’s attention. “Hope you do better than the guys you hired to watch Jill.”

Marvin looked up and impatiently waved Tom over. “I was going to call back and see if you’re even allowed to drive with your head all banged up,” Marvin said, “but I figured a guy who leaves the hospital against medical advice isn’t going to follow any prescribed driving restrictions, either.”

“I’m fine to drive. My head hurts pretty much all the time, so it’s become sort of normal now.”

“Well, that’s one way to cure a headache. Make it the norm. Okay, I’m going to tell you a story.”

“Oh, good,” Tom said. “For a second there I thought you had something really important and useful to show me.”

“Patience, my good man. Patience.”