A gathering storm, p.14
A Gathering Storm, page 14
Dora arrived with Missy, and after greeting everyone, they walked around Lenny’s garden, marveling at the beauty and variety of his flowers.
Big and Little Ru arrived, this time with their spouses. Vanessa was delighted to see Dora—they, too, hugged. Elder Reginald Williams was another surprise. He arrived with Willis Thomas, followed by Kelvin and Martine Franklin.
A pleasant, handsome young man with a smooth complexion and puppy dog brown eyes named Teófilo was bringing around a tray of crudítes. Unfailingly polite, he waited to the left of each guest until there was a natural break in their conversation, when he quietly offered his hors d’oeuvres.
Beyond her general level of exhaustion and devastation, Miz Liz’s absence on this particular day was for two reasons—she was watching her grandsons, and now that there was confirmation or, at least, strong suspicions that Jesse was involved with drugs beyond marijuana, and was probably dealing with Corb Egar, nobody wanted to burden Miz Liz with what could be even more painful yet unverified information.
Vanessa took charge of the meeting, as she was determined to do as often as she could. She was making a real effort to motivate herself, to go on her errands, to go for walks, to spend quality time with the boys, to work. To stave off depression.
Once she welcomed everyone and thanked Lenny for hosting, she got right to business.
“Does anybody know this Corb Egar? The police showed me a picture—he’s a big, bald white guy with a grey beard.”
Lenny put a hand up. He was sitting at the far edge of the group. “And a lot of money. He brings his Lamborghini in before he goes on his road rallies. I don’t know anything about the drugs, but the man has some serious cars—he’s a good customer, too. Nothing bad to say about him.”
Willis Thomas had taken off his prosthetic leg and leaned it against his chair. “I heard some things about Egar, but to be honest, I don’t want to talk about him out of school. Don’t feel it’s my place and I don’t want to stir the pot.”
“I understand,” Vanessa said, “but anything anyone knows—you don’t have to say it here, but there are channels, private channels.” She looked over the crowd before continuing. “There’s something about this I just don’t understand. I’ve been led to believe that there was an aspect to my husband’s involvement with drugs that is none of my business.” She looked at Rudy and Agatha. Rudy tipped his head back and looked at the sky, then clasped his hands together behind his head. Agatha looked away.
“Would anyone care to comment, or to further enlighten us?” She waited, looking at Rudy and Agatha all the while. “I figured. Well, to set the record as straight as I can, I want to say that to my knowledge, my Jesse was not a hard drug user, yet the police and some others seem to be trying to tell me different. I knew my husband. We shared everything. Again, can anybody here tell me different?” She waited. “Well, then. I would like to say a public thank you to Mr. Charles Bernelli for giving me a job and teaching me about proofreading, a skill I’m actually learning and sort of enjoying.”
Charlie waved her off. “You’re doing a great job. I needed a good proofreader, and now I have one—you’re on your way to being a really good one.”
Vanessa managed a smile, then grew serious again. “So, what are we going to do about this? Dora, what are the police doing?”
Dora stood up to address the group. “It might sound silly, but they’re doing police work, which can take time. They’re analyzing all sorts of things that were found in that alley, talking to anyone with any connection to Jesse, scouring the local drug world.”
Vanessa looked frustrated. “Well, how ’bout we all try to see what we can learn about this Corb Egar and anything my Jesse had to do with him? Anyone can contact me privately at any time, and I will keep the communication quiet. No need to say anything now.”
Ferret Wallace and Teófilo, the waiter, were off to one side, talking quietly; Vanessa gave them a hard look and they stopped.
Again, from the sidelines, Lenny put up his hand. “I just want to respectfully suggest that from the little we’ve learned here, Egar sounds more dangerous than I was aware of, so I want to urge everyone to be careful.”
Elder Reginald Williams stood and addressed the group. “Something we can do is to support this young lady here, and support one another as friends, and as a community. Wouldn’t hurt to come to church and pray and give thanks for what we have now and then.”
Then Rudy stood up. “I’d like to say that Kelvin and I are putting together a fundraiser to donate to Vanessa and Jesse’s boys’ college fund.”
Vanessa was suddenly in tears. “No! I don’t want no charity.”
“Believe it or not, we all want to help—if not for you, for your boys, Jesse’s boys.”
Vanessa began crying harder. She turned away, and Lenny drew attention away from her by beckoning everyone to a large table that offered a spread of tacos and pulled pork sandwiches. The tension soon dissipated, and the meeting became a social gathering.
Chapter 11
The day at the academy had started badly and gotten worse. The morning class was Suicide Ideation Management, a subject that interested Dora, but for some reason the parking lot had been full, so she’d had to find street parking. She wondered if there was a program or presentation in the building, but she didn’t wonder for long, because the parking issue caused her to be late to class, a fact that immediately drew her instructor’s attention and ire.
She had brought a cheese sandwich for lunch—Swiss and lettuce with a bit of mustard—and as she sat down to eat, she noticed a spot of mold on the bread, which disgusted her and ruined what little respite lunch offered.
Afternoon was O.C. (Pepper) Spray Training, but her instructor, Captain Jason Taub, noticed a few wrinkles in her pants. Dora hated ironing. She thought it was a stupid waste of time. Of course, Taub picked Dora to be his partner and managed to spray her with pepper spray. She was certain he did it because of the wrinkles.
On the way home, she decided to stop by Laila’s to see if she could ask Julius about Corb Egar. She texted Vanessa for the address, ignoring the little voice in her head that warned her against such direct involvement with the case.
As she arrived and began looking for parking, she saw a black Mercedes pull up and stop in front of Laila’s building. The rear door of the car opened, and Julius got out. Miz Liz had shown Dora his picture on several occasions; she was always showing off her grandbabies, as she called them. Dora’s car was in front of the Mercedes, so she could see the driver’s face in her rear-view mirror. A hefty-looking bald man with a grey beard. She dismissed the idea of approaching Julius and demanding to know why he was driving around with Corb Egar, and decided she should probably go on to Vanessa’s and attempt to speak with Julius another time.
She arrived at Vanessa’s apartment to find it in disarray—children’s toys were everywhere, and Miz Liz was on the couch, her legs folded beneath her, snoring softly, while the boys played on the floor with model cars and trucks. Liz looked tired and, once awakened, was eager to leave and go back to her apartment, so Dora jumped right in to playing cars and trucks with the boys, trying—but not too hard—to teach them a children’s version of the rules of the road.
Dora gave the boys their dinner—chicken with vegetables and rice that had been prepared the prior weekend for Drew, and applesauce for Buster, who was going through a phase where he would eat very little besides applesauce and certain breakfast cereals without milk.
Both boys insisted on staying up to be tucked in by their mother, but Drew faded while Dora was putting on a puppet show with a Kermit Muppet. Buster, however, was another story.
“Gamaliz sunshine!” he crowed, as the puppet show ended.
Dora had no idea what this meant and realized that this was a “be careful what you ask for” moment. She had asked to be a detective—well, here was something to detect. What did Buster want? How could she placate this adamant if exuberant child before his exuberance turned to frustration and then to something many decibels louder?
“Gamaliz sunshine?” Dora repeated, tentatively.
Buster brightened and repeated the phrase several times, then said, “Tashuns! Tashuns!”
Dora thought about the things the boy loved to do—his toys, his bedtime process, and what he might be asking for if not demanding.
“Tashuns. Tashuns…” she ventured, then remembered she had been told the boys loved to sing Motown hits with their Grandma Liz.
“Ohhh.” She smiled at Buster. “Want to sing ‘Temptations’?”
“Tashuns! Tashuns!”
This took at least as much courage as anything at the academy—she hoped the toddler was a gentle audience, as she took a deep breath and sang the first phrase.
“…sunshine…on a—”
“…kow dee ayye!” He was even on key.
Several minutes later, Dora heard the rattle of the key in the apartment door, followed by a long sigh as Vanessa dropped her keys on the kitchen counter, opened the refrigerator, took out a beer, and popped it open.
“Maaaa!”
Dora walked from the boys’ room down the little hallway into the living room, where Vanessa was standing and looking through the day’s mail.
“Maaa!”
Vanessa and Dora made eye contact and smiled, each recognizing the other’s exhaustion. Vanessa started toward the boys’ room and held up a finger, indicating that she would be back and for Dora to wait.
“Busterrrrr!”
Dora took a beer for herself, something Vanessa often insisted she do, and sat down on the couch to wait, listening to the music of mother bonding with son through bedtime singalong. After a while, Vanessa returned to the living room and sat on the couch next to Dora, her smile fading fast.
“How’s the proofreading?” Dora began.
“That, actually, is pretty good, but it’s the only thing that is.” Vanessa let her head loll back and looked at the ceiling, then allowed herself a small smile as she looked at Dora. “I’ve gotta say, I’m learning a skill that maybe I can make a living at, and Charlie Bernelli is a freakin’ saint.”
Dora smiled and nodded. “He is a good guy.”
Vanessa’s little smile disappeared. “But otherwise?” She groaned. “I can’t do this anymore!”
“Do what?”
“All of it. Manage the boys on my own, deal with Miz Liz, who is pushing, pushing—always pushing for more information. I mean, I get it. But I don’t have information to give her, so maybe she should push the cops, not me. And the cops…they aren’t getting anywhere… And what I really can’t do is put my head on that pillow without my sweet Jesse looking into my eyes and telling me he loves me like he did every night we were together.”
“I get it.”
“No you don’t—” Vanessa paused, looked at Dora. “Yeah, maybe you do.”
“I do. I sleep with a pile of Franny’s clothes that still smells a bit like her.”
“How do you do it? Tell me.”
“A minute at a time. Crying, praying, screaming, failing…” Dora turned her body so she was halfway facing Vanessa. “Let me ask you something—you believe in God, right?”
Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with God. I already have Elder Reginald pushing God on me. God’s not going to bring him back. God’s not going to make this pain in my chest I have to live with every day go away. God’s not going to raise those boys!”
“I hear you. But please answer my question.”
Vanessa couldn’t help but laugh. “What was it again?”
“Do you believe in God?”
“Well, I was raised to.”
Dora nodded. “I wasn’t raised to believe in anything, and in a way, I think it’s kind of an advantage. I didn’t have a lifetime of sermons staring me in the face when the shit hit the fan.”
“What do you mean?”
Dora could see that Vanessa was listening. “When you’re told that God heals everything, then something comes along that’s so wicked painful that you’re like—okay, heal me—and you’re not, like instantly healed—that can be daunting. See, we’re not told how or when the healing will work. We’re not told how long it will take—at what rate we will heal. So, when we’re kicked in the gut by life, we look up and say, ‘Okay, God. I’m here. Do your thing.’ And it doesn’t really work like that.”
Vanessa was looking at her and nodding. Then she shook her head and half smiled. “Ooh. Now, I feel better.”
Dora gently touched Vanessa’s arm. “Well, hang on. Because on my darkest day when my sweet darling Francesca was gone and my heart was broken and I was crying in bed, I decided, you know what? God either is, or God isn’t.”
Vanessa was listening.
“This has nothing to do with anyone else,” Dora cautioned. “This is not about what I think you should believe. This is to do with me.”
“So, what’d you do?”
“This is what I did. I said, out loud—God I need your help. I don’t need a bolt of lightning. I just need you to hold my hand.”
“What happened?”
“Not a whole lot.”
“So, what’s your point?”
“The next day.”
“The next day…what?”
“Somehow, the next day I found the strength to put one foot in front of the other again. Just for that day, and I keep doing that.”
They sat together in silence for a few long minutes.
Vanessa spoke first. “You think…God was holding your hand?”
Dora looked back at her friend, raised her eyebrows, and shrugged.
• • •
When her academy classes let out the next day, Dora saw that there had been a call from Rudy. What now, she thought as she dialed him back from the parking lot.
Rudy answered right away. She could tell from the background noise that he was at work, and she hoped that would keep him from being able to talk—she didn’t really want to talk to him. But instead, he told her to hang on while he found a place, probably the back room, where he could talk.
“What?” Dora said, when he came back on.
“I’ve gotta try one more time to get you to stop what you’re doing.”
“What are you talking about? What do you have to hide? Come on—we’re friends, or we were!”
“It’s not about hiding. Someone’s going to get hurt.”
“So…you’re threatening me now? Are you kidding?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“I think you are. You’re saying I’m going to get hurt.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You know I like puzzles and riddles and shit, but how ’bout being straight with me.”
“That’s the problem. What you’re trying to find out, it’s not something you need to find out. It’s not going to help Jesse. What it will do is hurt people.”
“Try me. Come on, Rudy. Your wife feels this way too? She was acting as weird as you at that Altamont guy’s house.”
“Dora, she’s with me. Agatha feels the same as I do. You do not know what you’re messing with. We’re with you as far as solving the murder, but you don’t want to know what Jesse was involved in, because it’s going to hurt people.”
“So, tell me this—the people it’s going to hurt…you’re not talking about me?”
“Correct.”
“Huh. So…is it going to hurt you?”
“No more than it already has.”
“And Agatha?”
“This isn’t a question-and-answer game. This isn’t a game at all. Let me tell you something. This isn’t just about Jesse—he’s gone. There’s other people here.”
“You mean his kids, right? And Nessa?”
“You know I love you, Dora, right?”
“Actually, no. I did not know that, but it’s good to know, I guess…”
“Well, one of my favorite qualities in you is that you have only two gears—one and a thousand.”
“Yeah, that sort of is me, I guess.”
“Well, not today.”
“What do you mean? You’re going around in circles when all I’m trying to do is solve Jesse’s murder. There’s nothing else, zero, I care about here.”
“Now is not the time for going from one to a thousand. You’re my friend. You’ve gotta trust me. Back. The. Fuck. Off. People you care about will be better off. And if you don’t, you’ll be hurting them. It’ll be on you.”
She was about to answer him, but Rudy was gone.
Chapter 12
C3 was on his way to the taxi stand to apply for a job. He had been thinking about driving Uber but wanted to see what the taxi stand offered, so he could compare. He had loved his job—he knew only too well about addiction, so being able to put that knowledge to use helping someone was a marvelous thing that helped him, the other person, and society at large. Unfortunately, he was at least temporarily unable to work at the counseling center, having been told that if he stayed clean for a while—the timeframe was not discussed, but he suspected they meant a year—he might be able to regain his job.
Meanwhile, he did his best to think of other things. He was relieved that Sarah continued to support him and allowed their relationship to remain. She offered a simple explanation: she loved him. Losing his job and Sarah would have been too much. He hoped he would prove worthy of her trust.
He parked on the street around the corner from the train station and went over to the little hut used as a taxi stand. An old acquaintance named Freddie was working at a desk.
“Hey now!” Freddie exclaimed, with his trademark vigor.
“Whatsup, Fred?”
“Looking for work?”
He nodded, then was surprised to hear himself ask, “Can you get?” Where did that come from?
Freddie answered, “Depends what you want.”
“Oxys.” His mouth seemed to have taken on a life of its own.
“Maybe.”
“Are they real?” C3 asked.
“Oh, yeah! Listen, come back to the train station during rush hour, and you’ll see a guy playing a guitar for money, with the case open. Tell him Freddie sent you. He’ll know.”
Big and Little Ru arrived, this time with their spouses. Vanessa was delighted to see Dora—they, too, hugged. Elder Reginald Williams was another surprise. He arrived with Willis Thomas, followed by Kelvin and Martine Franklin.
A pleasant, handsome young man with a smooth complexion and puppy dog brown eyes named Teófilo was bringing around a tray of crudítes. Unfailingly polite, he waited to the left of each guest until there was a natural break in their conversation, when he quietly offered his hors d’oeuvres.
Beyond her general level of exhaustion and devastation, Miz Liz’s absence on this particular day was for two reasons—she was watching her grandsons, and now that there was confirmation or, at least, strong suspicions that Jesse was involved with drugs beyond marijuana, and was probably dealing with Corb Egar, nobody wanted to burden Miz Liz with what could be even more painful yet unverified information.
Vanessa took charge of the meeting, as she was determined to do as often as she could. She was making a real effort to motivate herself, to go on her errands, to go for walks, to spend quality time with the boys, to work. To stave off depression.
Once she welcomed everyone and thanked Lenny for hosting, she got right to business.
“Does anybody know this Corb Egar? The police showed me a picture—he’s a big, bald white guy with a grey beard.”
Lenny put a hand up. He was sitting at the far edge of the group. “And a lot of money. He brings his Lamborghini in before he goes on his road rallies. I don’t know anything about the drugs, but the man has some serious cars—he’s a good customer, too. Nothing bad to say about him.”
Willis Thomas had taken off his prosthetic leg and leaned it against his chair. “I heard some things about Egar, but to be honest, I don’t want to talk about him out of school. Don’t feel it’s my place and I don’t want to stir the pot.”
“I understand,” Vanessa said, “but anything anyone knows—you don’t have to say it here, but there are channels, private channels.” She looked over the crowd before continuing. “There’s something about this I just don’t understand. I’ve been led to believe that there was an aspect to my husband’s involvement with drugs that is none of my business.” She looked at Rudy and Agatha. Rudy tipped his head back and looked at the sky, then clasped his hands together behind his head. Agatha looked away.
“Would anyone care to comment, or to further enlighten us?” She waited, looking at Rudy and Agatha all the while. “I figured. Well, to set the record as straight as I can, I want to say that to my knowledge, my Jesse was not a hard drug user, yet the police and some others seem to be trying to tell me different. I knew my husband. We shared everything. Again, can anybody here tell me different?” She waited. “Well, then. I would like to say a public thank you to Mr. Charles Bernelli for giving me a job and teaching me about proofreading, a skill I’m actually learning and sort of enjoying.”
Charlie waved her off. “You’re doing a great job. I needed a good proofreader, and now I have one—you’re on your way to being a really good one.”
Vanessa managed a smile, then grew serious again. “So, what are we going to do about this? Dora, what are the police doing?”
Dora stood up to address the group. “It might sound silly, but they’re doing police work, which can take time. They’re analyzing all sorts of things that were found in that alley, talking to anyone with any connection to Jesse, scouring the local drug world.”
Vanessa looked frustrated. “Well, how ’bout we all try to see what we can learn about this Corb Egar and anything my Jesse had to do with him? Anyone can contact me privately at any time, and I will keep the communication quiet. No need to say anything now.”
Ferret Wallace and Teófilo, the waiter, were off to one side, talking quietly; Vanessa gave them a hard look and they stopped.
Again, from the sidelines, Lenny put up his hand. “I just want to respectfully suggest that from the little we’ve learned here, Egar sounds more dangerous than I was aware of, so I want to urge everyone to be careful.”
Elder Reginald Williams stood and addressed the group. “Something we can do is to support this young lady here, and support one another as friends, and as a community. Wouldn’t hurt to come to church and pray and give thanks for what we have now and then.”
Then Rudy stood up. “I’d like to say that Kelvin and I are putting together a fundraiser to donate to Vanessa and Jesse’s boys’ college fund.”
Vanessa was suddenly in tears. “No! I don’t want no charity.”
“Believe it or not, we all want to help—if not for you, for your boys, Jesse’s boys.”
Vanessa began crying harder. She turned away, and Lenny drew attention away from her by beckoning everyone to a large table that offered a spread of tacos and pulled pork sandwiches. The tension soon dissipated, and the meeting became a social gathering.
Chapter 11
The day at the academy had started badly and gotten worse. The morning class was Suicide Ideation Management, a subject that interested Dora, but for some reason the parking lot had been full, so she’d had to find street parking. She wondered if there was a program or presentation in the building, but she didn’t wonder for long, because the parking issue caused her to be late to class, a fact that immediately drew her instructor’s attention and ire.
She had brought a cheese sandwich for lunch—Swiss and lettuce with a bit of mustard—and as she sat down to eat, she noticed a spot of mold on the bread, which disgusted her and ruined what little respite lunch offered.
Afternoon was O.C. (Pepper) Spray Training, but her instructor, Captain Jason Taub, noticed a few wrinkles in her pants. Dora hated ironing. She thought it was a stupid waste of time. Of course, Taub picked Dora to be his partner and managed to spray her with pepper spray. She was certain he did it because of the wrinkles.
On the way home, she decided to stop by Laila’s to see if she could ask Julius about Corb Egar. She texted Vanessa for the address, ignoring the little voice in her head that warned her against such direct involvement with the case.
As she arrived and began looking for parking, she saw a black Mercedes pull up and stop in front of Laila’s building. The rear door of the car opened, and Julius got out. Miz Liz had shown Dora his picture on several occasions; she was always showing off her grandbabies, as she called them. Dora’s car was in front of the Mercedes, so she could see the driver’s face in her rear-view mirror. A hefty-looking bald man with a grey beard. She dismissed the idea of approaching Julius and demanding to know why he was driving around with Corb Egar, and decided she should probably go on to Vanessa’s and attempt to speak with Julius another time.
She arrived at Vanessa’s apartment to find it in disarray—children’s toys were everywhere, and Miz Liz was on the couch, her legs folded beneath her, snoring softly, while the boys played on the floor with model cars and trucks. Liz looked tired and, once awakened, was eager to leave and go back to her apartment, so Dora jumped right in to playing cars and trucks with the boys, trying—but not too hard—to teach them a children’s version of the rules of the road.
Dora gave the boys their dinner—chicken with vegetables and rice that had been prepared the prior weekend for Drew, and applesauce for Buster, who was going through a phase where he would eat very little besides applesauce and certain breakfast cereals without milk.
Both boys insisted on staying up to be tucked in by their mother, but Drew faded while Dora was putting on a puppet show with a Kermit Muppet. Buster, however, was another story.
“Gamaliz sunshine!” he crowed, as the puppet show ended.
Dora had no idea what this meant and realized that this was a “be careful what you ask for” moment. She had asked to be a detective—well, here was something to detect. What did Buster want? How could she placate this adamant if exuberant child before his exuberance turned to frustration and then to something many decibels louder?
“Gamaliz sunshine?” Dora repeated, tentatively.
Buster brightened and repeated the phrase several times, then said, “Tashuns! Tashuns!”
Dora thought about the things the boy loved to do—his toys, his bedtime process, and what he might be asking for if not demanding.
“Tashuns. Tashuns…” she ventured, then remembered she had been told the boys loved to sing Motown hits with their Grandma Liz.
“Ohhh.” She smiled at Buster. “Want to sing ‘Temptations’?”
“Tashuns! Tashuns!”
This took at least as much courage as anything at the academy—she hoped the toddler was a gentle audience, as she took a deep breath and sang the first phrase.
“…sunshine…on a—”
“…kow dee ayye!” He was even on key.
Several minutes later, Dora heard the rattle of the key in the apartment door, followed by a long sigh as Vanessa dropped her keys on the kitchen counter, opened the refrigerator, took out a beer, and popped it open.
“Maaaa!”
Dora walked from the boys’ room down the little hallway into the living room, where Vanessa was standing and looking through the day’s mail.
“Maaa!”
Vanessa and Dora made eye contact and smiled, each recognizing the other’s exhaustion. Vanessa started toward the boys’ room and held up a finger, indicating that she would be back and for Dora to wait.
“Busterrrrr!”
Dora took a beer for herself, something Vanessa often insisted she do, and sat down on the couch to wait, listening to the music of mother bonding with son through bedtime singalong. After a while, Vanessa returned to the living room and sat on the couch next to Dora, her smile fading fast.
“How’s the proofreading?” Dora began.
“That, actually, is pretty good, but it’s the only thing that is.” Vanessa let her head loll back and looked at the ceiling, then allowed herself a small smile as she looked at Dora. “I’ve gotta say, I’m learning a skill that maybe I can make a living at, and Charlie Bernelli is a freakin’ saint.”
Dora smiled and nodded. “He is a good guy.”
Vanessa’s little smile disappeared. “But otherwise?” She groaned. “I can’t do this anymore!”
“Do what?”
“All of it. Manage the boys on my own, deal with Miz Liz, who is pushing, pushing—always pushing for more information. I mean, I get it. But I don’t have information to give her, so maybe she should push the cops, not me. And the cops…they aren’t getting anywhere… And what I really can’t do is put my head on that pillow without my sweet Jesse looking into my eyes and telling me he loves me like he did every night we were together.”
“I get it.”
“No you don’t—” Vanessa paused, looked at Dora. “Yeah, maybe you do.”
“I do. I sleep with a pile of Franny’s clothes that still smells a bit like her.”
“How do you do it? Tell me.”
“A minute at a time. Crying, praying, screaming, failing…” Dora turned her body so she was halfway facing Vanessa. “Let me ask you something—you believe in God, right?”
Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with God. I already have Elder Reginald pushing God on me. God’s not going to bring him back. God’s not going to make this pain in my chest I have to live with every day go away. God’s not going to raise those boys!”
“I hear you. But please answer my question.”
Vanessa couldn’t help but laugh. “What was it again?”
“Do you believe in God?”
“Well, I was raised to.”
Dora nodded. “I wasn’t raised to believe in anything, and in a way, I think it’s kind of an advantage. I didn’t have a lifetime of sermons staring me in the face when the shit hit the fan.”
“What do you mean?”
Dora could see that Vanessa was listening. “When you’re told that God heals everything, then something comes along that’s so wicked painful that you’re like—okay, heal me—and you’re not, like instantly healed—that can be daunting. See, we’re not told how or when the healing will work. We’re not told how long it will take—at what rate we will heal. So, when we’re kicked in the gut by life, we look up and say, ‘Okay, God. I’m here. Do your thing.’ And it doesn’t really work like that.”
Vanessa was looking at her and nodding. Then she shook her head and half smiled. “Ooh. Now, I feel better.”
Dora gently touched Vanessa’s arm. “Well, hang on. Because on my darkest day when my sweet darling Francesca was gone and my heart was broken and I was crying in bed, I decided, you know what? God either is, or God isn’t.”
Vanessa was listening.
“This has nothing to do with anyone else,” Dora cautioned. “This is not about what I think you should believe. This is to do with me.”
“So, what’d you do?”
“This is what I did. I said, out loud—God I need your help. I don’t need a bolt of lightning. I just need you to hold my hand.”
“What happened?”
“Not a whole lot.”
“So, what’s your point?”
“The next day.”
“The next day…what?”
“Somehow, the next day I found the strength to put one foot in front of the other again. Just for that day, and I keep doing that.”
They sat together in silence for a few long minutes.
Vanessa spoke first. “You think…God was holding your hand?”
Dora looked back at her friend, raised her eyebrows, and shrugged.
• • •
When her academy classes let out the next day, Dora saw that there had been a call from Rudy. What now, she thought as she dialed him back from the parking lot.
Rudy answered right away. She could tell from the background noise that he was at work, and she hoped that would keep him from being able to talk—she didn’t really want to talk to him. But instead, he told her to hang on while he found a place, probably the back room, where he could talk.
“What?” Dora said, when he came back on.
“I’ve gotta try one more time to get you to stop what you’re doing.”
“What are you talking about? What do you have to hide? Come on—we’re friends, or we were!”
“It’s not about hiding. Someone’s going to get hurt.”
“So…you’re threatening me now? Are you kidding?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“I think you are. You’re saying I’m going to get hurt.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You know I like puzzles and riddles and shit, but how ’bout being straight with me.”
“That’s the problem. What you’re trying to find out, it’s not something you need to find out. It’s not going to help Jesse. What it will do is hurt people.”
“Try me. Come on, Rudy. Your wife feels this way too? She was acting as weird as you at that Altamont guy’s house.”
“Dora, she’s with me. Agatha feels the same as I do. You do not know what you’re messing with. We’re with you as far as solving the murder, but you don’t want to know what Jesse was involved in, because it’s going to hurt people.”
“So, tell me this—the people it’s going to hurt…you’re not talking about me?”
“Correct.”
“Huh. So…is it going to hurt you?”
“No more than it already has.”
“And Agatha?”
“This isn’t a question-and-answer game. This isn’t a game at all. Let me tell you something. This isn’t just about Jesse—he’s gone. There’s other people here.”
“You mean his kids, right? And Nessa?”
“You know I love you, Dora, right?”
“Actually, no. I did not know that, but it’s good to know, I guess…”
“Well, one of my favorite qualities in you is that you have only two gears—one and a thousand.”
“Yeah, that sort of is me, I guess.”
“Well, not today.”
“What do you mean? You’re going around in circles when all I’m trying to do is solve Jesse’s murder. There’s nothing else, zero, I care about here.”
“Now is not the time for going from one to a thousand. You’re my friend. You’ve gotta trust me. Back. The. Fuck. Off. People you care about will be better off. And if you don’t, you’ll be hurting them. It’ll be on you.”
She was about to answer him, but Rudy was gone.
Chapter 12
C3 was on his way to the taxi stand to apply for a job. He had been thinking about driving Uber but wanted to see what the taxi stand offered, so he could compare. He had loved his job—he knew only too well about addiction, so being able to put that knowledge to use helping someone was a marvelous thing that helped him, the other person, and society at large. Unfortunately, he was at least temporarily unable to work at the counseling center, having been told that if he stayed clean for a while—the timeframe was not discussed, but he suspected they meant a year—he might be able to regain his job.
Meanwhile, he did his best to think of other things. He was relieved that Sarah continued to support him and allowed their relationship to remain. She offered a simple explanation: she loved him. Losing his job and Sarah would have been too much. He hoped he would prove worthy of her trust.
He parked on the street around the corner from the train station and went over to the little hut used as a taxi stand. An old acquaintance named Freddie was working at a desk.
“Hey now!” Freddie exclaimed, with his trademark vigor.
“Whatsup, Fred?”
“Looking for work?”
He nodded, then was surprised to hear himself ask, “Can you get?” Where did that come from?
Freddie answered, “Depends what you want.”
“Oxys.” His mouth seemed to have taken on a life of its own.
“Maybe.”
“Are they real?” C3 asked.
“Oh, yeah! Listen, come back to the train station during rush hour, and you’ll see a guy playing a guitar for money, with the case open. Tell him Freddie sent you. He’ll know.”
