Faye Kellerman - Milk and Honey

“A lot of rape-os are intelligent.”

“He doesn’t fit the profile. He’s not manipulative, he’s got great impulse control. He’s not the kind of person who goes around beating up hookers.”

Marge didn’t answer him.

Decker said, “All right. If I’d be brutally honest with myself, I’d say there was an off-chance that he freaked and did it. But we were in combat together for a while. I never saw him explode. Abel had a rep for being coolheaded. Type of guy the COs chose for pointman—lead-off guy in foot patrol—because he was careful and didn’t panic when things got hot.”

“Ever see him kill anybody?”

“You saw smoke, you busted some caps. Simple as that. When everything cooled off and you went in for cleanup, you’d see all these fucking bodies. Well, they didn’t drop dead from birdshit. You were shooting to kill, you killed. In answer to your question, I never saw him waste anyone for the sake of killing, and there was plenty of that going around!”

Decker stopped, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“Abel could have been something if the war hadn’t left him paralyzed. Matter of fact, he wanted to be a cop, but Charlie blew off his leg and ended that dream.”

He snapped a pencil in half.

“I’m his dream, Marge. Maybe I feel guilty because Abel had all the fantasies, and I wound up with his dream.”

The phone was ringing when Decker opened the door. He raced over to the kitchen wall, his Irish setter, Ginger, nipping at his heels, and picked up the receiver.

“Did you just walk in?” Rina asked.

“Yeah,” Decker said. “I didn’t even close the front door. Hang on a sec.”

“Sure.”

He walked through his living room, Ginger following him, barking for attention. The room was comfortable, full of furniture made in his size—an overstuffed sofa, two buckskin chairs, and a leather recliner that sat in front of a picture window. In the heat, the room seemed alive, seemed to sweat. Decker quieted the dog and shut the front door. He drew open the front-window curtains, and a white square of sinking sun fell upon his Navajo rug.

He picked up the receiver and pulled out a kitchen chair with his foot. He sat down and petted Ginger’s head.

“I’ve got all the time in the world for you now. Speak.”

“That’s why I called.” She dropped her voice a notch. “The kids are home. I can’t really talk. We’ve got to leave any moment for my brother-in-law’s birthday party.”

“You sound thrilled.”

“I’m nearly faint with excitement.”

“Don’t go, if you don’t want to.”

“I can’t get out of it. At least not without lying.”

“Then be honest. Just say, ‘I find all this family stuff boring—’”

“Boring is the least of it.”

“Troubles with the family?”

“Something like that.”

“They’re giving you a hard time because they don’t approve of me.”

“Much more than that. Hold on.”

Decker heard her quiet her younger son, Jacob. When she returned on the line, he said, “Boys want to talk to me?”

“Very much,” Rina answered. “Look, can I call you back tonight?”

Decker paused.

“You’re working?” Rina asked.

“Just tying up odds and ends. I’ll put it off.”

“Don’t bother. I bought my ticket this afternoon, so I’ll see you in two days. Want to take down all the flight information?”

“Yeah, let me get a pen.” He rummaged through a junk drawer and came up with a red pen and the back of an old electric bill. He placed the paper on the wall and said, “Go ahead.”

Rina stated all the pertinent data, then gave Jacob the telephone.

“Hi, Yonkel,” Decker said. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

“How’s school?”

“Fine.”

“How’s basketball?”

“Fine.”

“How many lay-ups did you do yesterday?”

“Four.”

“Terrific.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you taking good care of your eema for me?”

“Yes.”

“Being good to your grandparents?”

“Yes.”

“Great,” Decker said. “I miss you, kiddo.”

“Peter?”

“What, Jakie?”

“When can we come back to your ranch?”

Decker sighed, hesitated. The kid was a sweetie. Decker pictured him talking on the phone, big blue eyes wide with innocence. He said, “Honey, you’re welcome here anytime your eema says it’s okay.”

“I miss the horses.”

“They miss you, too.”

“Okay, ’bye. Here’s Shmuli.”

Rina’s elder son came on the line.

“I’m upset,” Sammy said.

“What’s wrong?” Decker asked.

“Why can’t we come to L.A. with Eema? It’s not fair!”

“Sammy, I’d love for you guys to come out here—”

“So why can’t we come with Eema on Wednesday?”

“Because there’re things that your eema and I have to discuss privately.”

“So we’ll wait in the other room while you guys talk.”

“It’s not that simple, honey.”

“Eema just doesn’t want us around.”

“No, honey, that’s not true.”

“It is true. You’re just defending her.”

Decker paused a moment. The boy had to be handled carefully.

“Sammy, honey, try to understand this. I haven’t seen your eema in six months. We’re kind of like strangers, and it’s going to take us a while to get to know each other again. Now, I want to know your eema real well before you and your brother and I get reacquainted. That way I can pay attention to you guys and not have to worry about your mother. Does that make sense to you?”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

“Are you and Eema fighting?” Sammy asked.

“No, Sam, not at all.”

“I mean, you’re not breaking up, are you?”

“No.”

“Because if you are and you’re just trying to protect me …”

“We’re not breaking up.”

“Well okay … Peter, can you talk her into taking us?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea now.”

“Then when can we come out?”

“Before baseball season’s over.”

“Baseball season! That could take three more months.”

“One thing at a time, Sammy,” Decker said. “Let me talk to your eema first.”

“You sure you’re not hiding some bad news from me?”

“Sammy, I promise you, I’ll see you before the summer’s over,” Decker said.

“Okay,” Sammy answered sullenly. “Here’s Eema again.”

Decker felt tense. The kid always wore him out. Sammy was a typical firstborn—precocious, sharp as a tack. He’d been the light of his father’s eye, Rina had told him. His father’s death had hit him very hard, made him very suspicious of losing people he loved.

Rina came back on the line.

“They’re angry I’m not bringing them home with me,” she said. “Especially Shmuli.”

“I heard,” Decker said.

“They miss Los Angeles. They miss you. I miss you, too.”

“Then come home!”

The line went quiet.

“You still with me?” Decker asked.

“I’m still here,” she said. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. How are your studies with Rav Schulman?”

“Fine.”

“What are you learning—oh darn! The doorbell’s ringing. It’s probably my sister-in-law. I’m not wearing a shaytel, and Esther’s going to yell at me for answering the door with my hair uncovered.”

“Tell her to shove it up—”

“Peter.”

“She doesn’t approve of me, I don’t have to approve of her.”

“Esther’s not the problem, although she has problems. Dear God, I never realized the extent of her problems. Unfortunately, now they’ve become my problems and—now, she’s banging at the door. Any moment one of my neighbors is going to stick a head out and ask what’s wrong. Tiny apartments they have here. I feel like a laboratory rat. Things are really a mess. I’ve got to go.”