High Heat (2 page)

I stepped out of my room. "Mom," I said as she came toward me.

She put her finger to her lips. "Shhh." Then she nodded toward Marian's room.

I followed her downstairs. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. That wasn't so unusual; she drank wine lots of times. But after sitting down at the breakfast table in the now-dark sunroom, she reached into her purse, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one.

"What are you doing?" I said. "You don't smoke."

"I started smoking when I was your age," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "And I didn't stop until I became pregnant with you. It was very hard for me to stop, and I don't plan on starting up again. But right now I need a cigarette. So don't say anything more, okay?"

I didn't. Instead I pulled back the chair and sat across from her. "What did Dad's lawyer say?" I asked. She looked at me, surprised. "That's who you were talking to, wasn't it?"

"He explained to me why your dad was arrested."

I waited, but she didn't say anything. "So what did they charge him with?"

She sucked on her cigarette and blew out a long, thin cloud of whitish smoke. "Money laundering."

I'd heard that expression before, but I didn't know what it meant. "What's that?"

She shook her head. "It's too complicated to explain. All you need to know is that your father is innocent."

"Mom. I'm not a little kid. Tell me what it means."

She looked at me long and hard. "Okay. Let's say somebody gets money from illegal things."

"Like from selling drugs?"

Her eyebrows went up. "Yeah, like from drugs. So they can't put a whole bunch of cash into the bank without raising questions."

"Why not?"

"They just can't. Banks have rules. They have to report any person who brings in a large amount of cash. Drug dealers use ordinary businesses to make the money look like it's from something legitimate. Businesses like your dad's."

"What do they say Dad did?"

She sucked on her cigarette again, turned her face away from me, and exhaled. "The police say that drug dealers bought cars from your dad, paying cash for them. They say your dad put the cash in the bank, then turned around and bought the cars back at a lower price a couple of months later, paying with a check. Once the drug dealers had a check, they could deposit the money because it came from a real business." She stopped. "Are you following this?"

"Sort of. What does Dad say?"

She sipped her wine, took another drag of her cigarette, then looked out the window. "The truth. That he didn't know he was involved with drug dealers. That he was only buying
and selling cars, just like he does with everyone."

"But they can't keep Dad in jail once they see he's innocent, can they? They'll have to let him go."

"It's not that simple, Shane."

I thought about Rausch, his clipboard, and all the men taking files out to the cars in front of our house. There were so many people against him.

"What do we do now?"

Mom stubbed out her cigarette. "The first thing is to get your dad out of jail. Mr. Anderson is working with a bail bondsman, so that should happen soon."

"How much is bail?" I asked.

"You don't have to worry about that, Shane."

"Do we have enough money?"

She lit another cigarette. "Yes, we do."

Dad didn't come home on Sunday morning or Sunday afternoon. It wasn't until after dinner that we heard a car pull up and the door slam shut. I went to the window and looked out. He was whistling as he came up the walkway.

Marian raced to him and hugged him as soon as he stepped in the doorway. "Come on," he said, "can't you do better than that? How about a monster hug?"

That was one of their jokes. She jumped into his arms and squeezed as hard as she could. He puffed and groaned. "You're so strong. You're going to crush me to death." He put her
down and turned to me. "How about you, Shane? Are you too old to give your dad a hug?"

"No," I said. I stepped toward him, and he gave me a long hug.

Then he looked at Mom. I could tell he wanted to hug her too, but she only smiled, went to the love seat by the window, lit what seemed like her fiftieth cigarette of the day, pulled her legs up onto the sofa, and looked out the window.

He took a deep breath, exhaled, then looked from me to Marian, from Marian to me. "All right, let's get a couple of things straight around here. The next few months aren't going to be easy, and there is no sense in pretending they will be. You're going to hear a lot of things about me. But no matter what you read in the paper or what your friends might say at school, I want you to know that I've done nothing wrong. Do you understand? Nothing. If we stick together, we'll get through this, and we'll be stronger for it. Okay?"

Marian nodded, and so did I.

Dad turned to Mom, but she was still looking out the window. He watched her for a moment, then swung back to Marian and me. "How about a game of Monopoly? Just the three of us. What do you say?"

Marian had just discovered Monopoly and always wanted to play, but usually she couldn't get anyone to play with her. Her eyes brightened at his suggestion. I didn't feel like playing, but I knew Dad was trying to cheer her up, so I went along.

I set up the board, passed out the money and pieces. On his first turn Dad rolled a four—income tax. "That's perfect!" he roared as he moved the little dog forward. "Absolutely perfect."

Throughout the game he kept losing track of his turn, of his playing piece, of his properties. I wasn't much better. When Marian finally won, he put his hands on the table and looked her in the eye. "You're going to be the tycoon in this family, little lady. But now it's time you went to bed. Way past time, in fact."

Marian smiled and kissed Dad good night, but he hadn't fooled her. Just like me, she'd noticed that Mom had spent the whole evening drinking wine, smoking cigarettes, and looking out the window. And she knew that his big smile and loud laughter were fake.

I put all the Monopoly stuff back in the box, then said good night myself. Upstairs, I stuck a Lauryn Hill CD into my sound system and put my earphones on so I wouldn't disturb anyone, but after about two minutes her music seemed stupid, so I turned it off. Below me I could hear my parents talking, their voices low and serious. I opened my door and listened; I could pick up only a word here and there—nothing I could make any sense of.

Neither Marian nor I went to school on Monday. I didn't want to go on Tuesday either, but Dad wasn't having any of that. "I pay big bucks for Shorelake," he said, still smiling too much. "You get yourself dressed, Shane. I'll drive you. You too, Marian."

As he drove us to school, Dad listened to a seventies station and sang along with the songs. The more he sang, the sicker I felt. When I stepped out of the car, it was all I could do
to stand. "Bye, Dad!" Marian called back to him. She was better at play-acting than me.

There's a long set of stairs that leads up to the Shorelake campus. My legs kept wanting to give out from under me. Marian was silent. At the first pathway, she broke off from me and headed toward the lower campus. "See ya, Shane," she said, her voice small.

"Yeah. See ya."

I hadn't even reached the flagpole when Greg came rushing over. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Sure," I said, my throat tight. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I was worried about you. We all were. You know, with what happened to your dad, and you not being here yesterday."

I shrugged. "That? That was just some police screwup. They don't know what they're doing. My dad drove me to school this morning. Everything's fine."

Greg nodded. "My mom and dad told me to tell you that if you need anything, or if your mom does, you should call us. My dad's a trial lawyer, you know."

The blood rushed to my face. I could hear them talking about us at dinner. "I just told you it was a screwup, Greg. We don't need a lawyer."

"If you do, though, later on. My dad said—"

"We won't, Greg. Okay? How many times do I have to say it?"

He stepped back. "Sorry. I was just trying to help."

"Look," I said, "I've got to go to the library to look some stuff up. I'll see you around."

Before I'd gone twenty feet, he called out. "Shane, you're going to be at practice, aren't you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

He waved me off. "No reason. I was just checking."

In the hundred-year history of Shorelake, my dad was probably the first parent who'd ever been arrested. In every class that day the kids were polite to me, the teachers kind. It was as if I had some horrible skin disease, but they were going to show their good manners by pretending not to notice.

During lunchtime, I stayed behind in Mrs. Goure's biology class and ate there. I couldn't bear going to the cafeteria and facing a roomful of sympathetic faces. When school ended, I headed off to practice without waiting for Greg and Cody by the fountain as usual. I dressed in a corner of the locker room and then headed to the field.

Crossing from the outfield grass to the infield dirt, I saw Scott Parino and Terry Clarke, our two starting pitchers, standing together at the mound, whispering behind their gloves, grinning away.

"What's so funny?" I said.

"What?" Parino said, looking at me as if he didn't know who I was.

"You heard me, Parino. I want to know what you're laughing at."

"None of your business, Hunter," Parino answered.

I took a step toward him, squaring up with him. He was a little bigger than me, but not much. Besides, there was a softness to his face, to his belly, and I felt like cold steel inside. "It
is
my business," I said.

Clarke stepped between us. "He told you it was none of
your business, so get yourself away from here and leave us alone."

"I'm not leaving him alone and I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me what you were laughing at."

Clarke's face hardened. "It wasn't your jailbird father, if that's what you're thinking."

In an instant I'd charged him, knocking him to the ground. A second later I was on top of him, smacking him in the face. Left and right and left and right. If he hadn't had his arms up, and if Parino weren't grabbing at me to pull me off, I would have broken his nose and blackened both eyes. Still, I hit him hard enough to make his nose bleed, but he didn't hit me at all. Then I felt another pair of hands grab hold of me.

It was Coach Levine. He yanked me to my feet and held me by the shoulders to keep me from going after Clarke and Parino. "What's this all about?" he demanded.

"He started it," Clarke said, wiping the blood from his nose and pointing at me. "The guy's crazy. We were just telling jokes over there, and he comes sticking his nose in, thinking we're making fun of his old man, all ready to fight."

"Were you making fun of his father?" Levine asked.

"Hell, no," Clarke said. "What do I care about his father?"

Levine looked to Parino. "We weren't, Coach. We were talking about something that happened in history class. Mickey West had his..."

I don't know what he said after that. Some stupid story. All I know is that it was obvious he was telling the truth, just as it was obvious I'd made a fool of myself. My body went limp. Levine felt me relax and let me go.

"All right," he said. "Enough of this. Let's get to practice."

"That's it?" Clarke said, wiping his nose. "The little jerk hits me and you're not going to suspend him from the team?"

"You trying to tell me how to run the team?"

Clarke stared at Levine for a second, then turned and headed to the mound.

Levine walked me to the outfield. His voice was low, so low I could barely hear it. "You had it in you, Shane. To hit somebody, I mean. Now you've done it, and it's over. Any more fights and I will suspend you, from the team and from school. You understand?"

I nodded.

"All right then. Get out there and stretch."

I found an empty spot in center field. I could feel the eyes of every player on the team watching me. Again. I made a vow to myself. I'd cracked once, but I wasn't going to crack again. From that moment on, everything was going to stay inside.

We had a game against Sammamish High on Thursday. Sammamish is a long way from Sound Ridge, and I wasn't sure how I was going to get there. Dad was busy with his lawyer all the time, and I didn't want him to drive me anyway. Marian wouldn't go see her friends, so Mom had to look after her. I didn't want to ask Greg or Cody. Then, after Wednesday's practice, Coach Levine pulled me aside. "If you need a ride tomorrow, meet me by the gym after school. I could use some help with the gear."

When I got home that night, dinner was over. Mom was
in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher; Dad was upstairs in his office, his head bent over a stack of papers, a glass of Scotch on his desk. I peeked into Marian's room. She was at her desk drawing, the pencil tight in her hand. One of her pet rats was perched on her shoulder. I went to my room, emptied my backpack, and flicked on the television. Mom brought me a sandwich, and as I ate, I half watched the Atlanta Braves get demolished by the Giants.

At breakfast the next morning Mom made toast for Marian and me, but she didn't eat anything herself. Just before she was going to take us to school, Dad came down. "I'll drive them," he said.

He was hung over. I could see it in his eyes and in the way the skin on his face sagged. For most of the ride he didn't say anything. When we were about ten blocks from Shorelake, he looked at me. "You've got a game today, right? Against Sammamish."

"Yeah," I said.

"Okay then. I'll pick you up right after school." He turned to the back seat and looked at Marian. "You don't mind going to Shane's game today, do you?"

Her whole face dropped, but he didn't seem to notice. "No, I'll go," she said.

"That's my girl."

A cold wave washed over me. "You don't have to take me, Dad," I said, keeping my voice casual. "Coach Levine is giving me a ride. I've already talked to him."