The Mortal Groove (40 page)

P
eter waited until he thought Sigrid was asleep, then pushed back the cotton blanket and got out of bed. Moving over to the open window in the bedroom, he stood naked in the moonlight, breathing in the sweet night air. Coming home had been a bizarre experience. In the short time he'd been gone, his reactions had changed, his senses altered. He was like a man in an old sci-fi movie returning from outer space, not entirely sure how the aliens had changed him, but knowing that they had. He was pretty confident he was still himself, not some alien creature who merely looked like him, but, in a profound way, he couldn't be sure.

Nolan had convinced Jane that Peter had been in a state of shock when he'd killed Larry. Maybe they both needed to believe that, but it wasn't true. He knew exactly what he had to do and he'd done it. He'd been bone tired and had wanted nothing more than to get it over with. They'd mistaken his tiredness for
shock. He supposed he owed his freedom to Nolan, and for that, he was grateful. But it wasn't like he regretted killing Larry, no matter what the consequences might have been—or might still be. In a certain way, he realized he owed Larry as much as he did Nolan. They'd both been instrumental in setting him free. He'd learned a lesson about control. It was all an illusion. You got on the bus the day you were born and you couldn't get off, no matter where it took you, until you took your last breath.

As he stood looking down at his arms and legs, at how smooth and clean he was, how fresh he smelled, it was like seeing someone else's body. Yesterday morning, he'd stood in front of the refrigerator just to remind himself he could eat or drink anything he wanted—anytime he wanted. Sigrid had come in, asked him if something was wrong. He said, no. Everything was fine. And then he thought: maybe this was what it felt like to come home from war. People expected you to be the same person. They asked a few questions, but mainly, they wanted the return of the status quo. But where did that leave the poor asshole who'd had his intestines ripped out through his mouth, because that's what Peter felt like. He knew things now he would never talk about, but all of it was inside him. Not necessarily good things, either, but not all bad.

Peter's hair had grown out just enough that he hoped he wouldn't scare Mia tomorrow. His full beard was gone, too. In its place he was keeping the two-day-growth look. He liked it, felt it suited him more than the beard did—the new him.

He'd told Sigrid last night after dinner about Mia. He wasn't the least bit frightened or anxious about her reaction. Quite honestly, he didn't care. She'd either be okay with it or she wouldn't. Either way he intended to love Mia with every last ounce of his badly battered heart. He wondered if Mia would
see the change in him. He'd heard that when one sense died, others got ramped up. She sure did watch people closely. She might be able to tell, to sense the difference, but he doubted she had the sophistication to understand the full ramifications. Hell, he was only beginning to see that himself.

It was really kind of funny when he thought about it. He could see things now that he couldn't before. Like, he knew Sigrid was going to leave him. She didn't love him anymore. She'd assumed they would have sex tonight because that's what they did to pretend they still had a marriage, but Peter had no intention of sleeping with her ever again. Besides, she'd be gone soon. He and Mia would have to learn how to be single together. Peter intended to protect Mia from anything cruel or brutal. Whatever it took. Whatever that meant.

Yes, he thought, running his hand over the bruises on his thigh, three days in a trailer with a psychopath did change a guy.

When he turned away from the window and saw his reflection in the mirror, he smiled.

 

 

“Happy Memorial Day,” said Cordelia.

“I guess we can use the term ‘happy' again,” said Jane.

Cordelia had pressed Jane to tell her every last detail of the rescue mission. Jane had explained most of it, but she hadn't said anything about the murder. That whole afternoon had been surreal. When she and Peter got back to her rental car, while Nolan was burying Larry in the woods, she'd leaned against the back bumper of the rented Chevy and unloaded the contents of her stomach. Peter had put a comforting hand on her back, stood next to her without comment. She remembered wiping an arm across her mouth, her gaze sliding along the ground until her eyes came to rest on his. She felt woozy, bruised, furious. He must have read all that in her face. But all he'd said was, “Feel better now?”

The lie they were putting out there was that Larry had escaped. Since nobody was about to go looking for him, it seemed
a safe enough cover. But no matter how hard she tried, Jane simply couldn't get her mind around the fact that her brother had murdered a man in cold blood, and then just walked away. Somewhere, somehow, there had been a huge disconnect between the man who'd walked into that trailer and the one who'd walked out. She'd been up every night since they'd come home, drinking probably more than was good for her, trying to come to terms with what had happened. Maybe he had been in shock and didn't know what he was doing, but that explanation didn't satisfy her.

Nolan had sworn both Peter and Jane to secrecy about the murder and its aftermath. Jane couldn't even tell her father the full truth. Only three people would ever know what really went on during that rescue, and that's the way it had to stay. But without Cordelia or her father to talk to about it, Jane was beginning to feel the terrible weight of the secret.

“When are Peter and Sigrid coming over?”

“They should be here any minute.”

Mia had spent the night at Jane's house last night. Everything was a hard transition for the little girl, but the dogs eased some of the rough spots. Mia knew she would be meeting her mother this morning, as well as being reunited with Peter. Jane could tell she was nervous, but she figured that was normal.

“So what's the plan?” asked Cordelia.

“For Peter and Sigrid? I guess they take Mia home and get on with their lives. Peter said he can buy faked adoption papers.”

“Boy, that's something I never thought I'd hear come out of your brother's mouth.”

“Yeah, I know. What you don't know is that Sigrid told me she wanted a divorce.”

“She actually said that?”

“She has lots of plans for her life, none of which include my brother—or Mia. But now, everything's changed. I have no idea how it will all play out.”

“Wow, that's really piling on. I mean, after all Peter went through. And now a divorce? How's he dealing . . . after what Larry did to him?”

“I want him to see a therapist, but he says he doesn't need to. Says he's fine.”

Cordelia snorted. “Right. Has he told your father about Mia yet?”

“No, I don't think so. Unless he called him this morning. There's no rush because Dad's back to campaigning—trying to make up for lost time. Besides, Peter wants to bring Mia by Dad's house himself, introduce her in person. He can't tell him the truth about how he found her. Neither can we.” More secrets, thought Jane.

“What's he going to say?”

“He'll tell Dad that he and Sigrid have been working on adopting Mia, but that they didn't want to break the news until it was a done deal.”

“Well, you can count on my discretion, Janey. My mouth is officially zipped. Hey, I hear your father's giving a speech in St. Paul this evening. Some sort of Democratic fund-raiser. I'll have to miss it.”

“Are you at the hospital?”

“In the waiting room. The doctors are doing their morning checkup with Melanie.”

“How is she today?”

“Sitting up. They even had her walking yesterday.”

“And the blood pressure?”

“It's down some. Not where they want it, but it's headed in
the right direction. I want to take care of her when she gets out, Janey, but she's so damn independent. She's already talking about going back to St. Cloud.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

“Who?”

Jane cleared her throat.

“Her health has been badly damaged. This is just my opinion, but I think it will be a long time before she can go back to work.”

Jane took her cup of coffee and walked out into the living room. Mia was lying on the floor, coloring in a sketchbook with the new megaset of crayons Cordelia had bought her. Mouse and Teacake were tussling on the rug in front of her.

“You hear anything more about Hattie?”

“I won't know anything until Octavia returns from Italy in late June. I expect that the shit, pardon my Italian, will hit the fan right about then.”

Jane smiled at Mia, bent down to see her drawing up close. It looked a little Jackson Pollock, not exactly a pretty picture.

“I think I better get going. Wish I could be there to see Mia finally meet her mom. ”

“I'll give you the play-by-play later tonight.”

“Ciao, babe.”

Walking over to the windows in the living room, Jane looked out at the street. Still no car. Instead of wandering around downstairs doing nothing, Jane decided to go up and strip the sheets off Mia's bed. She touched Mia on the shoulder and pointed to the stairs.

Mia nodded that she understood.

Entering the guest bedroom a few seconds later, she looked around. Mia hadn't packed her suitcase, so Jane figured she'd help out. She took the pants and shirt she'd been wearing yesterday and
folded them up. She assembled everything on the bed, then opened the case.

“What have we here?” she said, seeing that Mia had collected three apples, two bananas, a box of crackers, an unopened package of Havarti cheese, and half a salami. Jane dug a little deeper and found a serrated chef's knife, which gave her a moment's pause, a gold necklace that Kenzie had given her for her birthday last year, one of Cordelia's favorite silk scarves, and the framed picture of Peter that Jane kept down in her study. As she thought about it, she realized she shouldn't be surprised. At least when it came to the food and the photo of Peter, Mia was simply taking care of herself. The necklace, scarf, and knife, however, were a different matter. For all Mia's outward sweetness, she was really an unknown quantity. After years in a child welfare system, there had to be some scars, some damage.

Right then, the doorbell rang.

Racing downstairs, Jane told Mouse and Teacake to get back. Mia wasn't the only one who was nervous.

Jane opened the door.

“Where is she?” asked Peter, standing outside wearing a new white polo shirt and light blue Dockers.

Jane's head tilted to the right.

“Okay, let me go in first,” he said to Sigrid. “And then I'll introduce you.”

“I'm a wreck,” said Sigrid, pushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“Me, too,” said Jane. She wanted to ask Sigrid what she thought of Mia's sudden return to her life, but that conversation would happen later.

“Everything's going to be fine,” said Peter. He ran a hand
down the front of his shirt, then stepped inside. He moved to the edge of the living room and crouched down.

Mia frowned when she saw him, but then the light of recognition dawned in her eyes. She leapt up and ran into his open arms.

“God,” he said, picking her up, spinning her around, “you're what kept me alive. Seeing you again was all I wanted.”

Jane glanced sideways at Sigrid, saw the tightness in her expression. She couldn't help but wonder what Sigrid thought of the bond that had already formed between Peter and her daughter.

Peter set Mia down, then spoke slowly and clearly so she could read his lips. “I missed you. I'm sorry I had to go, but I'm back now, and I want to take you home with me.”

She nodded, threw her arms around his neck.

He held on to her until she backed up. “Mia,” he said, straightening the red bow on her dress, “there's someone I want you to meet. Remember I told you that I was taking you to see your mother? Well, she's here. Would you like to meet her?”

Mia gazed over Peter's shoulder, chewing her lower lip. Finally, with her eyes lowered, she nodded.

Peter motioned for Sigrid to come in.

Bending at the waist, Sigrid smiled, waited for Mia to look at her. When she did, Sigrid said, “I'm so so
so
glad that you're here, and that you're coming to live with us.”

Mia looked at Peter, then back at Sigrid. She turned and picked up the sketchbook and a crayon. “Are you my
real
mom?” she wrote on a clean page.

Sigrid nodded.

“And is Peter my real dad?”

When Sigrid didn't respond, Peter took the crayon and wrote, “In every way that counts, sweetheart.”

“Why did you go away?” wrote Mia, squinting up at Sigrid. Sigrid hesitated. “I guess . . . I guess I got lost, honey. For a long time. But now, thanks to Peter, I've found my way back to you.