Shadow & Soul (7 page)

Then, at Blue’s funeral, Hoosier had asked him to come home. And Demon had humiliated himself by breaking down into tears.

So he was home. He had a home. And a son. People who loved him and wanted him. And with no outlet for the crap in his head, he was losing control of his darkness again.

Tucker looked up as Demon came into the room. “Pa! Bwain!” He held out a little blue train engine.

“
T-T-Train
, buddy. T like in Tucker.” He squatted at his son’s side.

“Tuh-bwain.”

Demon laughed. “Close enough. Did you have fun with Gramps?”

Tucker nodded and held out a shiny new engine, this one kind of purple.

“You got a new one! Who’s this?” It had a vaguely female face. All Tucker’s engines had faces.

“Bwain!”

“Deme. You doin’ okay?”

Demon looked up and saw Hoosier eyeing him over the back of the sectional. So Hoosier knew that Faith was in town. It made sense; Bibi would probably have told him as soon as he was back. He ruffled Tucker’s hair and stood up.

“Have you been in touch with her all this time?” The words came out more sharply than he’d meant them. He didn’t want to accuse Hoosier and Bibi of anything. There were probably dozens of good reasons not to tell him they knew where she was. He wasn’t sure even now how much he trusted himself to know.

“Have a seat, brother.” Hoosier waved at the side of the sectional, and Demon went around and sat down. “Beebs’s kept up with her, yeah. Until today, I hadn’t seen her since she ran.”

“She’s been good?”

Hoosier heaved a sigh. “Yeah. I guess she actually earns making her weird, rusty art. Remember that sh—stuff she used to make?”

That thought made Demon smile and feel a little proud. He remembered climbing around with her at the salvage yard. She’d been so cute and enthusiastic. He’d kissed her that day. It had been her first kiss ever. His, too, in a way.

He closed his eyes and counted five beats. Muse had taught him that, to focus on his heartbeat until the hurt that made red edge his vision backed off. Sometimes he needed a lot more than five beats.

“Why’s she back?”

“There’s something goin’ on with her mom. Any more is for her to say.”

Not for him, then. Of course she wouldn’t have been, but there’d been a little flickering light in the back of his head that had thought maybe she’d come because she couldn’t stay away.

“You mind some advice, Deme?”

He shrugged, and Hoosier took that for permission.

“It all went down bad back in the day. You fucked up bad. But you were a kid, younger than your years. I knew it. Most everybody did. Even Blue, deep down, knew you were just a kid, too. He couldn’t see anything but his little girl, the one who ran around with scraped knees and ratty pigtails stealing sips from beer bottles and getting caught swiping loose parts off worktables. He’d never’ve admitted it, but when it all fell out, I think even he knew it was more for you than just claiming his little girl’s cherry.”

Demon flinched at the rawness of Hoosier’s last statement. “Don’t, Prez.”

“I’m telling you something that might help, so listen. It don’t matter what Blue thought. Not anymore. He’s dead and buried. And you are no kid anymore. Neither is she. I’ve seen you both today, and you both look like somebody ran over your best dog. Now, you both got other good reasons to be so glum, but maybe, just maybe, ten years is long enough to beat yourself up about something that wasn’t really all so bad.”

His face felt hot, and he tried to count beats, but he couldn’t. “Not so bad? Not so bad? Are you shitting me?” He stood up, and Hoosier did, too.

“Deme. Easy. I know it was bad then. I was there.” His voice was low, and sort of rolled, and Demon was still in control enough to know he was being talked down like a wild animal.

He didn’t have enough control for it to work, though. “YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA!”

“NO, PA! NO!” Tucker yelled. He was standing at the corner of the sectional, his sweet little face contorted into a scowl that was both angry and afraid.

Demon deflated instantly, dropping back to the sofa. “I’m sorry, Motor Man. You okay?”

For a few seconds longer, Tucker stared at him with that fearful distrust, and Demon wanted to die. Then his little boy came around and climbed up onto his lap. “Bad noise.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” Demon kissed his son’s head and looked over at his President.

Hoosier picked up where he’d left off. “I’m saying in hindsight, you were a couple of stupid kids in love. The worst thing you did wasn’t to Faith. Far as I know, you didn’t do anything to her but love her. What you did wrong was betray a brother. That’s why the club let it go to a vote at all. But that sin was dead and buried with Blue.”

“What difference does it make?”

“Boy, you are so tangled up in thinking you’re fuc—messed up, you can’t see when somebody’s offering you a help. I’m telling you the slate’s clean. Don’t bother about what happened before. Everything’s changed for all of us since then. You were a kid, now you’re a man. Act like it. Quit pouting and figure out what you want. Maybe what you have here is a second chance. You gonna moan and sulk until it goes away, or are you gonna fucking take it?”

“Fucking take it,” Tucker said, with perfect enunciation.

CHAPTER FIVE

“This is where she lives?” Faith looked out the windshield of Bibi’s Cadillac, ducking her head to take in the full view of the little ranch house.

Actually, ‘house’ was too grand a term for the building before her. ‘Shack’ might have been more appropriate. It wasn’t small, but it was unloved. The stucco was a faded yellow, worn bare and smooth in noticeable patches. The windows and doors were covered with pocked iron bars.

Though a large attached garage dominated the front of the building, apparently that hadn’t been enough storage space. Somebody had turned the front yard into a parking lot. What little ‘yard’ there was had been filled in with white gravel. There was a huge, dry, concrete birdbath or fountain or something in the middle of that gravel expanse. Faith realized that she was looking at a poor man’s idea of xeriscaping.

The house in L.A. that Faith and Sera had grown up in had been surrounded, front, back, and sides, by an elaborate garden. The house itself had been pretty average—a palace compared to what she was looking at now, but in itself nothing special—but the yards had been amazing. Gardening was her mother’s passion, and she had a real talent for it. She had an artist’s eye. It was one of the few things Faith was glad to have gotten from her.

She tried to imagine Margot Fordham living in this ugly, barren, unwelcoming hovel, and she couldn’t. So she said again, “She lives
here
?”

Bibi reached over and gave Faith’s hand a squeeze. “It’s been hard for her since your dad passed, honey. Your dad didn’t do so good settin’ things up for her, I guess. I know Sera’s schoolin’ cost a lot, too. And your mama don’t have much she can do in the way of work. Not anymore.”

Faith gave an absent nod. Yeah, she guessed not. The only job her mom had ever had was porn. She’d stopped doing that when she became an old lady.

“Madrone is cheap, though, compared to L.A. She should have been able to do better just from selling the L.A. house.” They’d owned that house free and clear, too, as far as Faith knew.

“I don’t know. A lot’s been different these past few years. I got her to move with us, to keep her close, but she pulled back a lot. From the club, mostly, but from me a little, too. So I don’t really know. She’d bought this before I even knew about it.”

That was unlike her mother. Bibi and Margot had been best friends since long before Faith and Sera were born. They were the kind of friends who had matching jewelry and gave each other flowery mugs that said crap like
Best Friends Make the Best Sisters
or whatever. They used to share a seat at parties, getting drunk and giggling like girls. Her mother’s relationship with Bibi was one of the few signs Faith had that her mother could actually be a decent person. If she was pulling away from Bibi, then things had gotten really bad.

Faith wasn’t quite sure why she cared, but she did.

She didn’t say anything, but when she turned, Bibi was giving her that examining stare she had.

“I know your mama’s bein’ a bitch right now. She’s never been an easy woman, and there’s obviously somethin’ even more wrong than I knew.” She’d thrown Bibi out of her hospital room, too—after demanding that she go to her house and pack a bag for her. “But I am here to tell you, she loves you. She misses you. She lost you, and then she lost your dad, and now Sera’s off and away and never calls. She’s a lonely woman who’s realizin’ that a lot of things she thought were right weren’t. That’s a hard lesson. We all do bad shit in our lives. Sometimes we do bad shit and we think we’re makin’ a hard choice for right reasons. Sometimes we are. But sometimes, we find out we were just fuckin’ everythin’ up. When we figure that out too late to fix it, well, that wears a sore spot. I can tell you that.”

“You never did anything like they did, Bibi.”

They locked eyes, and then Bibi let out a long breath. “I wasn’t in her shoes or your shoes then. I know why your folks did what they did. I know what your mama was afraid of, and what she thought she was doing. I know I’ve done things I regret as a mom, even though I was tryin’ to do it right. That I am sure of. I’m sure Connor could tell you stories of all the ways I fucked him up.”

Faith shook her head. There was no middle ground to be had on this point. No forgiveness. She wasn’t interested.

Bibi sighed again. “Come on, honey. Let’s go on in and get your mama the things she wants.”

The house was a little nicer on the inside than the outside suggested. Margot was a neatnik, and everything had its place. The hardwood floors gleamed. Faith felt an awkward sense of verisimilitude, because all of the furniture was familiar to her—the same black leather, glass and chrome furniture that had always been in the house she’d grown up in. The faux zebra throw over the arm of the leather sofa was in the same place it had always been, but the house itself was foreign.

Maybe that off-kilter, foreign familiarity was the reason Faith didn’t notice anything remarkable right off. Not until Bibi muttered, “What the hell?” did Faith widen her focus and really see.

All over the house, in tidy rows and columns, her mother had stuck neon-colored Post-It notes. On the back of the front door were five, written in block letters with black marker: KEYS, PHONE, PURSE, read one. SHOES, another. CHECK STOVE AND OVEN, another. IRON? yet another. FAUCETS, the last.

There was also a calendar hanging on the back of the front door, the block for each day filled with reminders, the days that had passed crossed out with black Xs.

Bibi moved into the house, and Faith followed, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

On the glass table in front of the sofa, a row of notes reminded her mother about shows and channels and how to use the remote.

There was a whiteboard calendar on the wall over the glass-topped dining table, each block filled in with colored marker.

The refrigerator was covered with a matrix of notes, telling the dates that items had been bought and when they should be thrown out. On the cabinet above the stove were notes explaining how to use the burners, the oven, the microwave, and the timer.

On the back door, there was one note: “SLY.”

Faith stared at that one for several seconds. “It this…?”

Bibi’s answer was distracted. “Hmm? Oh, yeah. That nasty old bastard of a cat. He’s still around. Outside, mostly. He’s too mean to be closed in with people, but she moved him out here just the same.”

Feeling something like excitement, Faith opened the back door and looked around. The yard here had overgrown grass and a plain, square concrete patio. It was completely bare. Not even a hibachi or a lawn chair, and no plantings at all. “Sly?” She whistled and then made the clucking sound she thought of as her cat-call. “Sly!” Nothing. She went back in. There was a pet door in the bottom of the back door, so she supposed he’d be okay. There was a set of empty bowls on the floor in the corner. She found food and filled them with food and water. While she did so, Bibi wandered off. Faith followed as quickly as she could, feeling nervous about being alone in this weird house papered in Post-Its. She still couldn’t find the rhyme in what she was seeing.

In Faith’s mother’s bedroom, they found her bed unmade, her drawers and closet open and in disarray, Post-Its everywhere with reminders about how to do things like set the clock and where the extra blankets were.

Reminder notes confetti’d the surfaces of every room of the house. Bibi and Faith wandered through, saying nothing, their only communication an occasional shared gasp.

And then, heading down the hallway as they continued their confused tour, Bibi drew up short. The hallway walls were covered with family photos. That had been the case in the L.A. house, too, and, again, at first the familiarity blinded Faith to the difference.

There were small Post-Its on, above, or below every frame. Identifying the people in the photos. People like Margot’s children. Her parents. Her best friend. Her husband. Some of the notes, especially those with photos of friends, had only a question mark.

On Faith’s parents’ wedding photo, there was a single Post-It with three question marks.

“What the fuck is this, Beeb?” Faith turned to see that Bibi had gone white and looked like she was going to pass out. “Hey—you need to sit down?”

Bibi shook her head. “I’m okay. But Jesus, baby. I know what this is. Sweet Jesus.”

“What?”

“Hoosier’s dad—you remember him at all?”

Faith had a vague recollection of an old guy at a few of their parties. She thought she remembered him being pretty grumpy. Not really a grandpa type. “I think so, yeah.”

“We brought him out to be near us after Hooj’s mom passed. He had…fuck, Faith. He had Alzheimer’s. When it started, he forgot little shit, like losing his keys or forgettin’ to close his pants, leavin’ the fridge door open. Stuff we all do sometimes, but he started doing it all the time. When it really started to come on, he got all distant and belligerent. It wasn’t so easy to tell at first, ‘cuz he wasn’t so nice a guy anyway. But I think he knew what was happenin’ and didn’t want people to know. It started like this, honey. It looked like this—him tryin’ to remember what he kept forgettin’, pullin’ away from people close to him.”

Faith shook her head. By the time Bibi took a breath, she was shaking her head vigorously. “No way. Mom’s fifty-six. That’s barely old.”

That got a little bit of a smile. “It ain’t old, period, baby. She’s too young. God, I hope it’s something else. That doctor not called yet?”

Again, Faith shook her head, pulling her phone out of her bag at the same time. “Fuck. I have a missed call and a voice mail.” She listened to the message—and it was, indeed, Dr. Tomiko. “Yeah, she called. She wants to talk to me.” Closing the barn door while the horse ran free, she toggled her ringer on.

“Well, let’s get movin’. You mama keeps her suitcases in that room over there.”

~oOo~

Though the afternoon was moving toward evening when Faith and Bibi got back to the hospital, Dr. Tomiko was standing at the nurse’s station. When she saw them, she turned and stepped forward, like she’d been waiting specifically for them.

“Hi, Miss Fordham.” She extended her hand, and Faith took it and gave it a halfhearted shake. The things Bibi had said while they were standing in her mother’s hallway were clanging around in her head. They hadn’t talked much on the drive; they’d both been preoccupied with what they’d seen and what Bibi thought it might mean.

What, Faith wondered, would it mean for her? She knew it was selfish, and maybe even coldhearted, to think about herself in this circumstance, but knowing didn’t make the thoughts dissipate. Sera was thousands of miles away. Who else was there to take care of their mother if she would need taking care of? Bibi? She was taking care of Tucker. And managing the clubhouse. And all the other gazillion kinds of things she’d always been involved in, Faith was sure.

Dr. Tomiko motioned toward the empty waiting room. “Let’s sit down.”

“I’ll just go in and sit her while you two talk,” Bibi said. Faith reached out and grabbed her hand. She didn’t want to be alone to hear whatever the doctor thought she needed to sit down to hear.

“She’s sleeping right now,” Dr. Tomiko said. “Maybe you could go have a coffee?”

“No. She can stay. She’s my mom’s best friend. She can hear all of it—I’d tell her anyway.”

The doctor nodded. “Okay, then let’s talk.”

They all sat, clustered in a corner of the waiting room. Dr. Tomiko maintained perfect eye contact with Faith—as if, Faith thought, she’d had training on the way to appear compassionate and involved when giving hard news. “We did a long series of tests, last night and today. We’ve ruled out stroke, tumor, hydrocephalus, encephalitis or any other infection. We’ve ruled out drug or alcohol-related complications. Your mother shows some signs of past alcohol abuse, but my guess is that she doesn’t drink currently?”

Faith shook her head before she realized that she had no idea if her mother drank currently, but she sensed that Bibi did the same at her side, agreeing. They were ruling things out, which should be a good thing, right? It didn’t feel like a good thing. Infections had cures. They ran their course. A tumor could be excised. Fluid could be drained. The things the doctor wasn’t ruling out—those were things that endured. That changed lives.