Sophie Littlefield - A Bad Day for Sorry

She and Chrissy stopped by the FreshWay to pick up dinner fixings. When they got home, Todd was doing skateboard tricks across the street in old Rolf Bayer’s driveway. Stella was surprised, since Bayer had always been hostile to everyone in the neighborhood, and seemed to reserve a special hatred for kids. He’d yelled at Noelle years ago for making chalk drawings on the sidewalk in front of his house.

“Hey,” she called, walking into the street as Chrissy took the groceries into the house. “You tryin’ to get Bayer to call the cops on you?”

Todd shot out into the street, leaping over the curb and landing hard, then skidded to a stop next to her. As usual, he hadn’t bothered to tie his shoes; it was a wonder that the puffy, enormous things stayed on his feet.

“He told my mom he was going to sic the city on us!” he said in a tone of outrage. “Called us trash. So I told him I was gonna skate on his driveway until I broke something and then we’d sue his ass to hell.”

Stella figured she knew what had Bayer’s dander up—the Groffes’ lawn had been neither watered nor cut in a long time, and the girls usually left their Big Wheels and Cozy Coupes in the front yard.

“Well, lemme ask you something,” she said. “You ever thought about cutting that grass of yours?”

“Mower’s busted,” Todd muttered, toeing the ground.

“Ah,” Stella said. Poor Sherilee. In her line of business, Stella occasionally forgot that getting rid of a bad man was only the first step to getting one’s life back. And with Sherilee’s schedule, she could see how lawn care might have fallen down on the priority list. “Well, look here, mine’s working fine. You go and get it out of the garage. It’s got gas in it. Put the clippings in the garden bin, okay? I don’t want to see them left out on the lawn.”

“Aw, Stella—”

“Shut up, punk, and listen. When you’re done with that, come on back here and I’ll loan you some sprinklers. Hoses if you need ’em, too. That lawn is officially your job, now, hear?”

Todd crossed his arms and glowered at her. “Why the fuck would I want to do any of that?”

It had been a long day, and Stella’s patience was stretched thin. Without thinking she reached out for the collar of Todd’s grimy T-shirt and twisted until she was practically choking him.

“Look here,” she said. “You want to grow up like the dirtbag who walked out on your mom, or you want to maybe be someone she can be halfway proud of? Huh?”

It wasn’t until Todd made a strained gasping sound that Stella realized she might be squeezing a little too hard, and relaxed her grip. Todd rubbed at his throat and glared at her.

“Besides,” she said, softening, “there’s twenty bucks in it for you.”

“Mom won’t let me take no money,” Todd muttered.

“Well, that’s right. She shouldn’t. But I’m going to give it to you anyway. That can be our secret.”

Todd stared at her a moment longer. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll do it for ten,” he said, and as he trudged into her garage to get the mower, skateboard tucked under his arm, Stella felt an odd little tug at her heart.

Maybe there was a chance for the kid.

Inside, she put a pot of Rice-A-Roni on and tossed some pork chops with bread crumbs and Lipton French onion soup mix, drizzled them with butter, and stuck them in the oven. Chrissy was slicing veggies for a salad and setting the table, so Stella took her cell phone out to the screen porch at the back of the house and dialed Noelle’s number.

“Hi. You’ve reached Noelle! Gerald and I aren’t here right now…”

Stella’s throat tightened at the sound of her daughter’s voice. She called a few times a week, always when she knew Noelle would be at work, which wasn’t hard to do, because Noelle worked long hours at the beauty shop.

This Gerald thing on the machine was new. But it wasn’t a surprise.

Stella knew a fair amount about Gerald already. An old client who lived in Coffey e-mailed Stella to let her know when Gerald and Noelle started keeping company. Within two weeks of their first date, Stella had his priors memorized. Could draw his family chart from memory, the whole unremarkable clan over in Arkansas. Knew the details of the warrant he was avoiding across the state line, for putting his old fiancée in the hospital.

Stella still didn’t understand what it was that made a girl who grew up in a house filled with anger and violence seek out the same. Even if Ollie never smacked Noelle, she was barely six the first time she saw him punch her mother—and Ollie doled out a steady stream of verbal abuse to both of them. Why hadn’t Noelle arrived at adulthood, looked around, and said to herself, “Oh goody, look at all these perfectly nice, ordinary men—they’re not one bit like Dad”?

But Gerald wasn’t the first man her daughter had dated who treated her badly.

He was the second.

Unfortunately, Stella had dealt with the first one so decisively that he lived in Alaska now, not daring to show his face in the continental U.S. Stella didn’t regret it—not even when Noelle called her up sobbing and cursing and promising never to speak to her again for the rest of her life.

No, she only began to regret it when Noelle went out and found herself someone worse.

Stella dialed her daughter’s number again and listened to Noelle’s voice, that sweet voice that had called her “mama,” had shrieked with laughter during tickle fights, had sung in every concert the Prosper High School chorus put on.

“Oh, sugar, why do you want to do this to yourself?” Stella whispered, then hung up when the phone beeped.

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and rocked back and forth on the glider. She was keeping a close watch. If things got to where she needed to intercede with Gerald, she would. But she’d learned a lesson, and the fact that it broke her heart didn’t make it any less important that she stay a little further out of her daughter’s life than she wanted.

Next time, there was nothing to stop Noelle from moving even further away. And though Stella doubted there was anyone better at finding people who wanted not to be found, she was terrified of pushing Noelle further out of her life than she already was.

After the dinner was done and the dishes washed, Chrissy settled in to watch Talladega Nights on pay-per-view, and Stella went to check her e-mail. She planned to make an early night of it. Tomorrow, when she had a little more information, she’d put together a plan. Head up to Kansas City, if that’s what it took.

When the phone rang she picked it up right away. No sense taking Chrissy away from her movie. Lots of folks used TV as an electronic babysitter for their kids; Stella was finding it convenient for keeping Chrissy’s mind off trying to get involved in the case.

“Hello?”

“You lookin’ for Roy Dean,” a voice said on the other end. A weird voice, tinny and deep, as if its owner was speaking through layers of Reynolds Wrap.

“Might be,” Stella said slowly, trying to place the voice and having no luck.

“I got some information could help you find him.”

“Is that right? What sort of information?”

There was a pause, and Stella could hear breathing.

“I don’t want to say, over the phone.”

“Whyever the hell not?”

“Line might not be secure.”

Stella sighed heavily. “What, you think the FBI came in while I was at work and bugged my place? Wait—fine, fine, whatever. You want to meet somewhere?”

“Yeah. And I was thinkin’ you could make it worth my trouble. You know.”

Stella was mystified: could it be a friend of Roy Dean’s? Someone he’d blabbed to at a bar? One of Benning’s employees? Benning himself?