Tribe (10 page)

“As much as I love Jeff,” began Janice, “I don't want to get into any of this with him. He's going to want to linger, but I don't want to talk about the baby until he's gone.”

“Sure, whatever,” replied Todd, parking behind Jeff's snow-covered car. “Don't worry, everything's going to be fine.”

Todd stared up at the large, arching windows and glimpsed a figure whooshing across the living room. Oh, brother. What was Jeff up to? A bank teller by day, the drag queen in him erupted when the sun went down and the music came up. And then, by God, you had to look out for a 230-pound guy in spike heels who thought he was the all-in-one Judy-Barbra-Tina. So what was he up to tonight? Or rather, who?

Todd grabbed their boxed food from the rear seat and followed Janice over a snowbank and up her snowy front walk. By the time they reached the front door on the side of the house, they were both covered with downy flakes.

As she took out her key Janice peered in a side window. “Seems pretty quiet to me.”

“Yeah, I don't hear any music. Maybe the baby's asleep.”

“Wouldn't that be great.” She unlocked the front door, stepped in, stomped her boots, and softly called, “Jeff?”

With a grin Todd said, “I feel like Ward and June coming home from the club.”

Paying him no attention, Janice moved toward the living room and again called, “Jeff, we're home. Hello?”

There was no response, the house offering nothing except silence. For a moment Todd wondered if something was wrong. A shot of fear dousing his heart, he followed Janice, passing from the entry hall, stepping down one stair and into the large living room. And there sat Jeff, the baby Ribka cradled in his arms.

“Shh!” he hissed. “She only just, just went to sleep.”

Janice unbuttoned her wool coat, dropped it on a chair, and zeroed in on the baby. Hurrying across the living room as if she hadn't seen the child in months, she eased herself onto the couch next to Jeff and carefully lifted the baby from his arms.

“Hello, gorgeous,” she whispered, cradling her. And then turning to Jeff, “Did you feed her? How about her diaper, did you change it?”

“Yes and yes.” His voice hushed, Jeff added, “The baby Ribka was purr-feet. But why are you two home so early? I didn't expect you for at least another hour. Whatsamatta, you queers didn't have a fight, did you?”

“Of course not,” said Todd as he set their food on a table. “The restaurant was just so crowded we couldn't talk.”

“Oh, so does that mean you two have come home to gossip? About whom? I'm all ears.”

Janice said, “Jeff—”

“Really, no problemo. I can stay the whole night. In fact, I'm going to have to. I've got rear-wheel drive and there's no way I'll be able to drive in all this snow.” He mimicked his best Minnesota accent, his voice as nasal as possible. “Oh, for fun, a sleep-over.”

Todd saw the look of despair on Janice's face. Yes, she needed to talk. But she wasn't going to divulge a thing while Jeff was here.

Todd slipped on his gloves again, saying, “Come on, Jeff. Time to take the baby-sitter home.”

Jeff opened his mouth, was about to protest, then took a look at Janice and replied, “Okay, okay. I get it when I'm not wanted. But just remember, I want a full report later.”

“You're a doll,” said Janice.

“Of course I am.” Then he puckered his lips and leaned toward Janice. “Kiss, kiss.”

“Goodnight.”

Todd buttoned up his coat and said to Janice, “I'll be back in a few minutes.”

After all, Jeff lived less than a half mile away.

It was a cool,
breezy night in Colorado, and Suzanne stood at the window of her darkened bedroom. Her father was out on the driveway, the hood of his car raised, his heavy body bent over the right front fender. Him and that car, his prized Cadillac, long and white and so big. Since he was the only person at The Congregation with a private car—there were a handful of other vehicles here on the compound, but they were all shared—she called it the Popemobile. But her daddy, God's very own Apostle on earth, sure as heck didn't like that, she thought with a devilish grin. Among other things on the compound there was to be no mention whatsoever of that false church and his unholiness.

Standing inside and in the dark, she watched her father work in the floodlights out front, first twisting the oil filter, next measuring some fluid. She wanted to be out there too, but he'd ordered her to stay inside in case the phone rang with news of the baby. The baby, the baby, the baby. Her father had been using those two words to shackle her to the house not only for the last week, but also the last thirteen months, ever since she'd first gotten pregnant. Eat this, don't eat that. Now rest, Suzanne. Rest and pray to Jehovah for a healthy child. Well, she was sick of it. Yes, she wanted news of Ribka, but how long was she supposed to stay cooped up in here before she started bouncing off the walls?

Still without turning on the lights, she dropped herself on the edge of her bed, stared up at the black ceiling. Her father had never trusted her, not really. Always keeping tabs on her, questioning her whereabouts, who she'd seen, what she'd done. Maybe if her mother were still alive things would be different; Suzanne cursed the day her mother had died of melanoma. Instead of a nice family, it was just she and her dad, and he was like the Gestapo, always watching her, getting furious—even jealous—if she attracted too much attention. She couldn't help it if all the guys liked her. Her dad said she attracted boys like a cat in heat. Well, maybe so. She was pretty, so what? And she had nice tits, full and round, or at least that's what all the guys said. The guys. She laughed. Her dad actually thought Zeb had been the first to crawl through her bedroom window. Oh, Daddy would be so, so angry about all the guys she'd known. Maybe one day when she wanted to make her father nice and mad she'd go ahead and tell him.

And then she started to cry.

Her round cheeks flushed red, her almondy eyes crinkled up. She wanted Zeb. She wanted Ribka with her dark curls. She wanted them both to come back and take her away too. How could Zeb have done it, gone and left her like this? Sure, both of their fathers had made them get married, but . . but why hadn't he at least told her that he was going to run away? Didn't he know she would've fled The Congregation too? It was just so…so incredibly boring here.

She wiped the few tears from her cheeks, sat up, and glanced outside again. Her father was still out there, still monkeying with his stupid car. It doesn't make any difference, she thought. None of it does. And she stood up, left her room, crossed the hall, and entered her father's room. She didn't need to turn on the lights here either, for she knew just where he kept it, placed there after the government's attacks on others. Crossing to the far side of the bed, she opened up his bedside table, pulled open the drawer, and there lay his gun, a heavy, silvery thing. She studied it in the faint light, reached for it once, then retracted her hands. She stood quite still for a moment and realized that, no, for once she was going to do what she wanted instead of what Daddy or God the Son or God the Father said. Or The Congregation. This was her decision. Or maybe it wasn't, she thought with an impish grin as she sat down on the edge of her father's bed. Sure, she was just going to put her faith to a little test and see what God had in store for her.

Her hands quite calm, she lifted the pistol and a small box of bullets from the drawer, arranging them all on the bedspread beside her. Never keep a gun loaded, that's what her daddy always said, so she just had to find out how you opened this thing, the barrel. She pushed at a couple of levers, and finally it opened, the barrel flopping to the side. She held it up toward the window, peered through the chambers, and sure enough saw a series of holes in the dim light. Not loaded. So her daddy was a man of his words.

Now for the test of faith.

She opened up the small box of bullets and ran her fingertips over the smooth tips. Okay, okay, she thought, if there was a God, if He was watching over her, then everything would be all right. It would mean that He had a plan after all. Simple. She brushed aside her hair with one hand, then selected one bullet. Just one. Suzanne studied it, rolled it between her fingers. A bullet of truth, she thought, that's what it was. No, a piercing bullet of faith.

Her hands working quickly, she picked up the pistol, slipped in the bullet, closed the gun, and then spun the barrel, which rolled with a gentle clicking sound. God the Father, God the Son, and God's Apostle on earth. She spun it three times. Next she held the pistol up to her right temple, pressing the cool barrel right against her skin.

“Is there a plan?” she asked aloud, her eyes peering heavenward. “If so, am I part of it?”

Her body rigid with tension, she pulled the trigger, which clicked with a sharp, hollow sound. Nothing else happened however. There was no shattering explosion. Suzanne sat there on the edge of the bed, surprised, almost disappointed. She was alive. So what did that mean? She was tempted to pull the trigger again, to see how much she could truly prod fate. Realizing she shouldn't press the matter, however, she stood up. She had her answer: The gun hadn't fired, she was alive, so there must be a plan for her life, she must have to live for some unknown reason. But, she thought, biting her bottom lip, she did have one more question.

Carrying the pistol carefully in her right hand, she left her father's bedroom, crossed the hall, and returned to her own room. With the lights still off she went up to the window. Her father was still out there, bent over that big white Cadillac and poking around at the engine. She cracked the window and lifted the gun up to the slender opening. So He had a plan for her, but what about her father? Crouching down, she took aim as best she could, for the only gun she'd ever fired was the BB gun at the county fair, the one and only county fair her father had allowed her to go to several years ago. She considered spinning the barrel yet again, then thought otherwise, for she'd already spun it three times and certainly the fate of this household had already been decided.

Just aim and squeeze. Right. That's how you're supposed to do it. She squinted, trained the barrel on her daddy. And gently, gently pulled. To her surprise, once again nothing happened, only a sharp click. So He had a plan for him too.

With a shrug, Suzanne closed the window and returned the gun to her father's bedside table.

Cradling Ribka in her
arms as she sat on the couch, Janice was just starting to doze off when she heard an odd noise, a thunk of sorts from somewhere within the house. At once her eyes popped open, and she glanced toward the entry hall, half-expecting to see Todd returning. Had he gotten stuck? Had the storm proved too much for his four-wheel-drive vehicle?

But no, there was no one, and the silence hung in the house like an invisible fog.

Must have been the snow, she thought, glancing out the large front windows. Must have been a sheet of snow sliding off the roof and onto the bushes. Or an icicle must have crashed down.

When Ribka started to squirm in her arms, Janice said, “Sweetheart, I think you're hungry, aren't you?”

As if she understood, the baby smiled back up, her mouth opening in a big, toothless grin.

“Oh, yes, you're so pretty. And so funny, aren't you?” Janice lifted one teeny hand to her lips and kissed it loudly. “Wouldn't you like a bit more to eat? Would that help you sleep a little better?”

Dear God, thought Janice, staring down into this little bundle. She'd never known such pure happiness. She'd never imagined she could be, well, so gaga over a baby. If the guys at the law office could only see her now!

Scooting to the edge of the couch, she held the baby in her left arm, grabbed a clean white cloth, then pushed herself to her feet. She didn't ever want to put her down, to lose her. Never. Baby Ribka. Janice started for the kitchen, cooing and rocking the child. Whispering. Who knew how or why or, for that matter, how long. But the baby was here and Janice was going to cherish every instant.

“Yes, you're here and you're all mine,” she whispered, kissing the infant yet again. “You're mine, mine, mine.”

It definitely seemed a miracle that this baby had found her way into Janice's arms. Janice just prayed to God it didn't portend a tragedy. How many days now—five?—and not a word from Zeb. When she wasn't thinking about the baby's health, when she wasn't filled with unspeakable joy at the sight of her very own granddaughter, then Janice's heart was aching with worry. And she had every right to worry. Sure, Zeb had an entire life that she didn't know about, including, of course, parents and aunts and uncles, but damn it all, he'd come into Janice's life and left this child on deposit. So what was going on with him? Dear God, it certainly sounded like drugs. Or had he borrowed a bunch of money from some gang or whatever and then gambled it all away at one of the casinos? In her law practice she'd seen every kind of tragedy, and she knew all too well it could be something like that. Why else would he fear for the child's safety and hide her at Janice's house?

Not to mention the baby's mother.

Janice didn't even know if Zeb was married or how to find Ribka's own mother. Worried about that one, in the middle of the night Janice had rolled over, fearful that Zeb had done something like kidnapping Ribka.