Full Circle (15 page)

‘That’s what you get for thinking,’ Luna said and hung up.

I was worried about Bessie — Elizabeth, I mean. She’d been in her room for two days and I couldn’t get her to come out. I’ve put lunch and dinner outside her door and the trays are mostly empty when I pick them up in the morning, but, truthfully, Graham could be eating it.

He seems relieved that day camp is over. I think Elizabeth and Megan aren’t, however. They both were getting a lot out of it. Meanwhile, Graham has gone into Codderville to fill out job applications for every fast-food eatery in town – the six to twelve shift.

The doorbell rang and I went to answer it. Alicia stood there in front of me, Wednesday Addams’ clone.

‘Is Elizabeth here?’ she asked.

‘Yes, honey, she is, but she’s still in her room,’ I told her.

‘Oh,’ Alicia said, more crestfallen than usual. ‘Could I come in and talk to her through the door?’ she asked. ‘I have to tell her something important.’

I sighed. ‘Sure, go on up.’

Things had progressed so far that I had absolutely no qualms about eavesdropping, which I did unabashedly from the bottom of the stairs.

Alicia knocked on the door. ‘Elizabeth?’ Two more knocks. ‘Elizabeth it’s me, Alicia.’ Getting no response, she knocked again. ‘It’s important. It’s about Ricky.’

Suddenly, on the third knock, the door finally opened. Alicia was pulled inside and the door was closed and locked behind her. Which meant I could no longer eavesdrop. Not good.

And then the thought struck me: Who’s Ricky? Was there yet another Lothario after one of my daughters? Or, more likely, was my daughter after him? I could so easily remember myself at that age, all high drama and angst. His name was Larry, and he had long hair, about three chin whiskers, and the most gorgeous blue eyes. I would have done anything for him, if he would have just looked at me. But, alas, he was a normal eighth grade boy – five foot, seven or eight inches, whereas I had already reached my top height of five feet eleven. And, at that time (oh to be so again!) I weighed little more than one hundred pounds.

But, I reminded myself, Bessie wasn’t me. She weighed about as much as I did at that age, but she was barely five foot, which meant those pounds were much better distributed. In fact, now that I really thought about it, she wasn’t really a little girl any more. She had a nice shape – not the boobage my other daughter had, but, again, well distributed. I sighed. Both my girls were becoming beautiful young women, with all the heartache and horror that entailed. I surely didn’t need to add a mad stalker to that mix.

I decided not to think about it and went into the kitchen to start dinner.

GRAHAM, THE PRESENT

I’ve got so much on my mind I can barely think. This was probably the first year since Myra came to work at the church that I haven’t had wet dreams about her. I almost feel guilty about that, although I know her death had nothing to do with her not being featured nightly. And then there’s Lotta. I’m pretty damn messed up about Myra, but how much do I let show to Lotta? I mean, the girl’s jealous, ya know? And man, was I right about that ugly Christine! I shoulda figured the only way a girl could be that ugly was if she was a guy!

The girls, my sisters, are pretty torn up about Myra. And then there’s the whole Christine thing for Liz. I mean she really got to like and trust that bitch – or should I say bastard, now that I know. It’s just unfair what this guy is doing to her. If I could get my hands on him for five minutes, I’d let him know just how unfair
I
can be!

Lotta and I went out on her usual Wednesday night off, but neither of us felt like going to the movies. So we grabbed some burgers and Cokes and went out in the country to a back road to eat and talk. And whatever.

‘How are you holding up?’ she asked me, halfway through our burgers.

‘Huh?’ I said, mouth full of cheeseburger. I swallowed, then said, ‘Fine, I guess.’

‘You guess?’ she said. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means if you have to put an “I guess” on the end, then you probably aren’t “
fine
”.’ She hit me on the arm. ‘You think I don’t know you used to have a crush on Myra—’

‘Crush? Hell no! Guys don’t have crushes, for God’s sake.’

‘Oh, really? What do guys have?’ she asked.

‘The hots,’ I answered immediately, without thinking it through.

‘Oh. You had the hots for Myra?’

‘Ah . . . No, not really. Yeah, you’re right, it was just a little crush, I guess.’

She leaned over and kissed me. ‘You’re so silly. It’s OK if you had the hots for Myra. White guys do that—’

‘White guys? Hey, now—’

‘Don’t get all huffy. Latino boys don’t go for older women because that reminds them of their mothers, and Latino boys have a thing for their mothers—’

‘God, you talk about white people stereotyping Latinos—’

‘Is it stereotyping if it’s true?’

‘Are you saying every single Latino boy in the world doesn’t go for older women because they have a thing for their mothers—?’

‘Hey!’ she said, slapping my arm again. ‘I didn’t mean
a thing
for their mothers! I just meant they respect their mothers and would always think of an older woman like a mother—’

‘Whoa now! Are you saying because I’m white I don’t respect my mother?’ I was getting hot. And not the good kind of hot.

Lotta was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘I guess I was stereotyping.’ She leaned over and kissed me again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘All I really wanted to say when I started this conversation was that you have every right in the world to grieve about Myra. She was someone you’d known for years, someone you liked, in whatever way that may be. Don’t hide your feelings for her death because of me, OK?’

I pulled her closer to me. ‘OK,’ I said, and kissed the top of her head.

BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, 1999

After church, and after a quick lunch for the kids and Willis, I headed into Codderville. At first I didn’t even think about the day before, I was so intent on my mission, but when I got on to the highway into Codderville, my body reacted before my mind did. My hands began to shake so hard I could barely hold the steering wheel, while my eyes were darting back and forth from the rearview mirror to the side mirrors, looking, I suppose, for black vans. None to be seen.

I took the first exit into Codderville and pulled into a service station, stopping the engine and sitting for a moment. The station was closed on Sunday so I was able to sit in absolute silence. Someone had tried to kill me yesterday. Me and my kids. Someone wanted us dead. Or someone wanted Bessie dead. And I had started that. Me. With my big mouth. I had set the wheels in motion that could cause the demise of Terry’s only surviving child, and my kids and me to boot.

Somebody had killed the Lesters. Murdered them. If I’d had any doubt before, if somewhere in my being a nagging atom wanted to blame Roy for the deaths of his family, it was gone now. I was convinced. The black van was no coincidence. Definitely no accident. I hadn’t cut anyone off, hadn’t stolen a parking space, hadn’t been driving too fast, too slow, or over the line. I hadn’t committed any violations that would inflame a motorist to mayhem. It had been deliberate. Attempted murder. But the police didn’t think so. Even if they did, even if I could convince Elena Luna that someone was out to get Bessie, I hadn’t gotten a license number. There was no way to trace the black van. I wasn’t even sure of the make and model. It could have been Japanese or domestic. It wasn’t a Volkswagen, of that I was sure. But that was all I was sure of. Except that someone had tried to kill us.

I shuddered and looked around. Here I was at an empty gas station right off the exit ramp of the highway, right next to the access road. There were no other businesses on that side of the highway. To get to Codderville, you had to go up a block, under the highway overpass, and then into town. I sat there, in a different car from that of the day before, but still – I started the engine and got the hell out of there.

The office supply store was open. I went in and looked at the binders and pads and forms. I wanted something to organize my pain. Put it in neat little piles. After ten minutes of looking I found it. The Office Organizer. It was eight and a half by eleven inches, had a brown leatherette binding and, when you opened it up, on one side, up in the corner, were ‘while you were out’ slips for messages, right next to a ‘things to do’ pad. Under these was a leatherette sleeve for catching loose pieces of paper – like receipts and bills. On the other side were two five-by-six-inch yellow-lined notepads. Under these was an address book and, next to that, a five-year calendar. It cost $13.95 and was worth twice that much to me. It would make everything better. I knew that. In my heart and in my soul.

ELIZABETH, THE PRESENT

I’ve been thinking about suicide for the past two days – not
doing
it, just the whole concept of suicide. For the first time in my life, I think I understand why people do it.

So I can see, if one was so inclined, why one might off oneself. Not that I would, although the concept seems like a natural offshoot of what I’ve been through. I’ve done my birth family an injustice. I haven’t really thought of them much since they were murdered ten years ago. I tell myself it was because I was so little and hardly remember them, but the truth is that the Pughs made me a part of their family so totally that it was easy to forget my true family. I’m not blaming Willis and E.J. (sorry, I can’t bring myself to call them Mom and Dad anymore). I’m sure they did their best. But maybe it’s time I moved on. I think I could be an emancipated minor, under these circumstances. I’ll Google it.

E.J., THE PRESENT

Saturday morning, Luna’s day off, she came over for a coffee klatch. As we’ve never done this in the ten years I’ve known her, I was slightly suspicious.

‘What’s up?’ I said, starting a new pot of coffee and checking the freezer for any pastry-type nibbles I might have hidden up there. I found half of a coffee cake in the back, took it out, set it in a microwaveable dish, and offered Luna a chair.

‘I just wanted to come over and see how the kids are,’ Luna said.

I shrugged my shoulders then checked on the coffee. Still doing its thing. ‘I haven’t actually seen Elizabeth in three days,’ I told her. ‘She’s hiding in her room. Graham and Megan are all right, I guess.’

The coffee was through, as was the coffee cake. I distributed coffee into cups, cake on to plates, found a slab of real butter in the back of the butter thingy in the fridge, put it all on the table, with paper towels as napkins, and felt a Martha Stewart flush come to my cheeks.

‘Thanks,’ Luna said as I placed her goodies in front of her. As I sat down, she said, ‘Look. I know what you’re going to say, but this has to be broached.’

‘What?’ I asked, feeling that not-good feeling in the pit of my stomach.

‘My lieutenant is insistent that we put a guard on Bes— Elizabeth,’ she said.

I didn’t blow up. Couldn’t imagine why I would. My child’s welfare – her actual life – was at stake here. A guard sounded good to me. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘When will this start?’

‘Today,’ she said. ‘I’m moving in.’

‘Excuse me?’ OK, now I was indignant.

‘You’ll all get twenty-four-hour surveillance. I’ve told the boys to stay at school for a while, which they took very well, the little bastards. I’ll spend the nights with you, and we’ll have a uniform with you during the day.’

‘Hey, a squad car coming by three or four times a day would be nice, but—’

‘Sorry, no buts. This is what the higher-ups want. This is what the higher-ups get. You really don’t have a voice in this, E.J.’

Well, shit, I thought.

ELIZABETH, APRIL, 2009

‘You don’t believe it’s Aldon, do you?’ Megan asked.

‘Of course not,’ Elizabeth said.

‘I mean, you can’t for a moment think Mom and Dad had anything to do with what happened to your family!’ Megan said.

‘Let’s just drop it,’ Elizabeth said, getting off the bed and turning the computer off at the box. ‘No more IMs right now, thank you,’ she said.

Megan stared at her sister. ‘Mom and Dad loved your parents,’ she said. ‘We were all one big extended family, Mom said.’

‘Let’s drop it, Meg,’ Liz said.

Megan stood up from the computer chair, looking hard at her sister. ‘If you believe any of this, Liz . . .’

‘No,’ Elizabeth said, turning to Megan and staring hard at her. ‘I don’t believe it.’

Megan nodded her head slowly. ‘OK, then. Well, we’re on for tomorrow night, right?’

Elizabeth nodded. ‘Sure,’ she said.

Megan left her room and Elizabeth laid down on the bed, curled into a fetal position.
There’s no way it’s Aldon
, she told herself.
No way in hell. Aldon’s dead. My mom and dad are dead. Monique’s dead. They’ve all been dead for almost ten years. Dead and gone.

Her fingers reached out for the bejeweled silk drapes that passed for swags on her four-poster bed, the drapes that used to hang in the living room of their home next door. The drapes she’d used to pretend she was Princess Jasmine from Disney’s
Aladdin
, the drapes she’d hide behind to sneak up on Aldon or to listen in on Monique’s telephone conversations.

She’d only had them, her family, for four short years, and her memories were sporadic at best. Daddy laughing at something Aldon said, the huge sound of his laughter that shook his whole body and made everyone around him smile. Watching Monique put on make-up at her little dressing table, the care she’d take to cover every blemish, darken every lash. Sometimes she’d let Elizabeth try on some lipstick or eye shadow – once she even put the make-up on Elizabeth herself, and when Elizabeth looked in the mirror she thought her reflection was beautiful. She remembered her mother didn’t think so, and Monique got in trouble. Oh, God, how she remembered her mother – holding her at night, reading her Dr Seuss or
Goodnight Moon
. She could still smell her – that scent of lemon and flowers, the cool touch of her fingers, the warmth of her lips on Elizabeth’s cheek or forehead.