Liberty...And Justice for All (3 page)

John’s hands were curled into fists. “I can’t have you around that—not again. But I can’t leave that woman down there, in trouble. It’s not right. I can help. I can’t just sit here and let it happen.” He turned to look at me. “And Catherine—I can’t leave her by herself, either. I don’t know where her head’s at, or what she’d do if we left her alone. I need you to do this for me. I need you to help me help her.”

“How can I help her?” I asked, looking at him levelly, even though my head was not level at that moment. “Hang around, go get
manis
and
pedis
and go high-fashion shopping? I’m sure she’d rather poke her eye out. And quite frankly, so would I.”

“I want us both to help her find a way to have some self-worth. She needs something to do with her time,” John said. “Work on the necklace case together. Maybe if Catherine has some responsibility, something to do besides berate people, spend money, and smoke…. Maybe she can find a way back to herself. Maybe she can find a way to be part of the world, and this family, again.”

“Honey,” I said to John, gently, “I know she’s your daughter. I know how much her situation hurts you. And that you blame yourself. But I don’t think giving Catherine a gun and a list of people to go chase is going to help. I don’t think she’d take it seriously. I don’t think she’d follow through. Plus, she would be a complete nuisance.”

John looked at me, his eyes pleading. “I’m sure that you’re right, babe. But do you understand that I can’t give up on her? At least, not yet?”

I put my arms around his waist. “Of course I do,” I said. “I would never ask you to give up on your daughter.”

“Is that a yes?” He asked me, hopefully.

I nodded at him, grimacing. “That’s what you call true love,” I said, dreading the imminent future.

“
A
re you fucking kidding me
?” Matthew asked me, the next morning at breakfast. It was apparently the slogan of the moment. It certainly fit the occasion. “Catherine’s coming here? And she’s gonna
work
with us?”

“And you thought I was a pain in the ass,” I said, grabbing a pancake. “I promised John I’d try to help her. Which leads me to my next question: are you going to help me?"

“No way, dude. Not now. I’m going to Vegas with John.”

“Sorry Matthew, but you’re going to be staying here with the ladies,” John said, coming up next to us. “I need to make sure they don’t get shot.”

“Or shoot anyone,” I said, thinking briefly of Catherine.

“John,” Matthew said, “you know how much I love my job. But if you think I’m going to babysit two spoiled brats—”

I rounded on him, appalled. “I am not a spoiled brat,” I said. “Catherine totally is but I’m not. Do you remember that shit-hole where you found me in Vegas? That was
nice
for me. That was a step
up
.”

“Liberty 2.0 is a little spoiled,” Matthew said, shrugging it off. “It’s not getting to your head, yet. Not like Catherine.”

John shot him a scathing look.

“John, I’m sorry. But you know she’s nuts. I get why you’re going to Vegas. So can I come? Please?”

John stared back at him passively. The subject was apparently closed for discussion.

“Guess I’m hanging with the ladies,” Matthew said, forcing a fake smile onto his face. “Lib, let’s make it as fun as humanly possible. We can make Catherine run. A lot.”

“Hmm…” I said, considering the possibilities. “Maybe this won’t suck as much as I thought.”

“Upside, Lib. We always gotta look for the upside.”

We sat down for breakfast and I looked over at John. The thought of him being halfway across the country, out of my sight and most certainly in danger, tore at me. But I put on a brave face. If I let my fear control me, John and I would never leave our room, our bed, where I could keep him all to myself.

I sighed wistfully at the thought.

“Honey, are you flying out this afternoon?” I asked, trying to sound supportive and normal.

“I am,” John said. “But I don’t feel right about leaving you.”

“I can handle myself. And Catherine,” I said.
For you,
I thought
.

“I don’t know if I can stand to be away from you,” John said.

“I know,” I mumbled, miserably. “I could fly down for one night this weekend,” I offered.

“A cross-country booty call,” Matthew said, stuffing some ham steak into his mouth. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

“Can you please be quiet?” I asked, looking at him with my nose wrinkled. “Like, for a really long time?”

“Sure,” he said, through a stuffed mouth.

John just rolled his eyes at Matthew, then turned to me. “I’ll fly you down Saturday night. I’ll take the night off. We can grab dinner. And then I can send you home safely.”

“That sounds perfect,” I said. I was thrilled we would only be separated for a few days.

Matthew made a kissing face and chair-danced in what I imagined he thought was a sexy way.

“I said no talking!” I spluttered at him.

He shoveled another bite of meat into his mouth. “I didn’t say a word,” he said, through the meat.

I sighed, picturing myself sitting between him and Catherine for the coming week. I was going to have to stock up on ibuprofen. And wine.

L
ater
, Ian and I were in the kitchen, making a list of things that Catherine might eat and plotting how we were going to deal with her.

“What about the smoking?” I asked. I watched as he sighed and pulled his glasses down his nose a bit. He peered at me over the rims.

“I think we’re going to have to let her smoke,” he said. “But only outside. Ten feet from the house. I’ll actually designate a smoking area and get one of those enclosed ashtrays.” He pushed his glasses back up. “We’ll throw it into the dumpster when she goes back.”

“We need to make sure we have vodka. That designer kind she likes,” I said.

Ian gave me a grave smile. “We just have to make sure she eats something. Besides cigarette smoke.” When we’d seen Catherine in Turks and Caicos, she’d been very thin, even more so than usual. Eva had confided to Ian that her daughter seemed depressed, unsure of what to do with herself.

I wasn’t sure if she was depressed. She was, however, definitely going to be difficult.

Ian patted my hand, as if he were reading my mind. “We’ll get through this,” he said. “Maybe it will be better without John here. I hate to say that, but maybe she’ll be less of a hellion. She has something to prove to him. He reaches out, she pulls back. They’ve always been that way.”

“You seem to handle her pretty well,” I said. Catherine clearly loved Ian, and she was never mean to him, which was really saying something.

“I don’t ask her to be anybody but herself,” Ian said. “Even though that’s not easy to do.”

I’d like her to be somebody besides her snotty self,
I thought, but I wouldn’t say that to Ian. He’d been through enough, already, in so many ways. After he’d gone to Mexico to try to find Catherine, her husband, Angel Morales, had nearly killed him. When we’d brought Ian to the hospital he was bruised, bleeding and unconscious. Catherine had sat, dry-eyed, staring at him.

When he’d opened his eyes the first thing he’d done was hug her.

I might have seen her tear up then. Maybe. I still wasn’t sure.

“We’ll get through it. We’ll watch the movies she wants, let her go shopping, and let her help with the case,” Ian said. “I think John’s right—she could use some responsibility. Eva said she’s been sleeping until noon, watching infomercials and eating ice cream for breakfast.”

“Sounds like she’s regressing,” I said.

“Yes—except for the cigarettes and the vodka.” He looked at me and gave me a grim smile. “Everybody needs some direction in life,” he said. “Something to hold onto. Otherwise, it’s the abyss.”

I nodded back at him, thinking of my mother passed out on the couch. “A job will do her good,” I said, adding a
chin-up
lilt to my voice. I had to make this work. John couldn’t lose his daughter, not again. I couldn’t let her ruin her life by drinking herself to death or dying of boredom from watching too much daytime television.

I looked back up at Ian. “I’m gonna give this my best effort,” I said, sounding braver than I felt.

“I know you will. That’s because you’re loyal to John to a fault,” Ian said, smiling at me.

“Takes one to know one,” I said, and smiled back.

L
ater that afternoon
, it was time for John to catch his flight.

Corey was waiting in the Audi SUV, getting ready to take John to the Providence airport. Corey looked straight ahead, trying to give us privacy. He was also probably mentally preparing for how cranky John was going to be on the drive. We hadn’t been apart since I’d run off to Mexico, months ago, to bring Catherine back. Actually, he and Matthew had been following me part of the time down there, so we hadn’t technically been that far apart even then…

But I was digressing, and that was because the idea of him getting onto a plane without me was making a large, unruly and impassible lump form in my throat.

“Ugh,” John said, and pulled me into his arms. “I can’t say goodbye to you.”

I buried my face in his chest. “Then let’s not say goodbye,” I said, trying to keep my voice in check. “Let’s just say
see you soon
.”

“Four days,” he said, crushing me to him. “I just have to live for four days until I can hold you again.”

“Call me,” I said, keeping my voice light. “I’ll catch you up on everything that’s going on here.”

“Corey is picking up Catherine later,” John said, still not letting go. “So she’ll be here for dinner.”

“Ian and I have got this,” I said.
I hoped.
It would be like having dinner with a rabid alley cat. In designer clothes.

John kissed the top of my head. “I love you so much. Thank you for helping me.”

I leaned up and kissed him quickly on the lips. “Anything. Always,” I said, and then I gave him one more hug. “Okay, go now, before I start crying like an idiot.”

John exhaled and headed to the car.

Corey gave me a brief nod, rolling his eyes. To him, it was only four days. He must think we were idiots.

Maybe he just didn’t know how it felt.

The Audi pulled out, gravel crunching underneath its tires. I smiled and waved, even though I felt like my insides were being ripped out.

After they pulled out of the gate I let myself cry, just a little. I wanted to rid myself of the tears. Then I was going to put my game face on.

I was going to need it.

“
W
ell
, hello
Mommy Dearest
,” Catherine said. She was sitting in the kitchen with Ian, a patterned scarf tied inexplicably over her hair.

“Catherine,” Ian admonished her, but I just rolled my eyes at both of them.

“Hello stepdaughter from hell,” I said back, by way of a greeting. “I’m so thrilled that you’re here.”

“Join the freakin’ club,” Catherine said, jangling the ice in her glass. Her drink was clear liquid; I desperately hoped it was water. I looked at the clock.
4:30 p.m.

It was definitely vodka.

“See Ian? I’m being polite,” Catherine said, finishing her drink. “I said
freakin’
instead of
fu—
”

“I caught it,” Ian said, holding up his hand and stopping her. “Good girl.”

I sat down warily at the table. I was in sweats and a t-shirt; I’d tried to go for a run but I’d ended up just wandering around the property for an hour, at a loss without John, worrying about dealing with Catherine.

“You look…in character,” Catherine sniffed at me, taking in my make-up free face and messy curls, which I’d pulled up into a bun.

“You, too,” I said. She was wearing that designer scarf on her head and she was fully made up: three different colors of eyeshadow, all expertly blended, what looked like five coats of mascara, and lips that were so lacquered up I’m surprised her glass didn’t stay stuck to them.

Ian inserted himself between us. “Let’s figure out dinner, shall we?”

Catherine looked at her enormous platinum watch. “It’s not even five o’clock. Dinner? What are we, three years old?”

“No, we’re not three—and we don’t want to get three sheets to the wind. Not this early.” Ian removed the glass from her hands and pointedly put it into the dishwasher.

She watched him ruefully. “You’re not going to keep me from drinking. Especially not while I’m here,” she said, motioning to me.

Ian’s eyes flicked to mine and I could read the message there.
Bear with me,
they said
.

I would for him and for John. But Catherine?

She can suck it,
my inner voice offered, and I heartily agreed.

“I’ll make dinner,” I offered. “Everybody like pasta?”

“My favorite,” Ian said.

“It makes you retain water,” Catherine said, looking at me. “But I’m guessing you’ve already figured that out.”

I turned to Ian. “It’s wine o’clock for me,” I said hopelessly, giving up. “Can I have some of that Chardonnay in the fridge?”

“Ooooh, me too,” Catherine said, grabbing a wine glass and holding it out towards Ian.

“Let her drink,” I said to Ian, and shrugged. “Matthew and I will make sure she pukes it all up tomorrow morning when we make her run.”

Ian
tsked
under his breath but I noticed that he poured himself a large glass of wine first, a very un-Ian like move.

He was gonna need it.

Catherine glared at me and I returned her sour look with a genuine smile. Ian handed me my wine and I took a large, delicious sip, then started on dinner.

“You two relax,” I said. “But Catherine, we start tomorrow morning at five. It’s tradition—with a new person, we do a lot of running. And then the new person usually does a lot of complaining. And begging. And occasionally, vomiting.” I gave her an evil smile. For one moment, I was glad John wasn’t here.

He didn’t need to see me like this, and
this
was going to get worse before it got better.

I went back to cooking, hoping the pasta made her retain water, and smiled my evil smile.