A Day Late and a Dollar Short (26 page)

The drive from Las Vegas was long enough to help me sort out some things. Not everything, but enough. Even though I'm afraid, I'm going to pretend I'm not afraid of what will happen when I file for divorce Monday morning. I've been married to this man for six years. I shouldn't have to worry about how I'm going to manage once he's gone. After all, he adopted Shanice. She has his last name: Porter. He's legally responsible for her until she's eighteen. I'll get a real job. I don't care if it pays minimum wage. That's a lie. I need to make more than that. Right now, I almost don't care what I have to do.

When I turn onto our street, George has put all the Easter things in the front yard. But it's all wrong. First of all, the big blue bunny isn't supposed to be so far away from the eggs; the nest is supposed to be inside the basket. The flag shouldn't be stuck in the ground; it goes in the flagpole on the porch. I've only been hanging them at this house for the past five and a half years. And where are my baby chicks? Why didn't he put my miniature eggs out? They're the prettiest: all robins-egg blue. The yard looks so amateurish and sparse. He should've left it alone if he didn't know what he was doing or couldn't do it the right way. I can't imagine what the neighbors are saying. I'll fix it later.

The garage door is opening before I even press the Genie. I get out of the car and George almost runs out to greet me. "Hello, Janelle," he says. "Let me get your bags for you."

"There's only one."

"Where's Shanice?" he asks.

"She disappeared," I say. "Can't you see that?" I walk past him into the kitchen, letting the door slam in his face.

"Seriously," I hear him say as he comes through the door.

"She's somewhere she'll be safe."

"Actually, she'll be safe here from now on."

"Spare me, would you, George." This place is a mess. Soiled dishes piled in the sink. Something sticky's on the floor. Juice containers and a few empty wine bottles are all littering the counter. Two uneaten Marie Calender's veal and beef TV dinners sit on top of the microwave. Pots are on the stove. It stinks in here: like day-old broccoli. He disgusts me.

I walk into the dining room, and there, in the middle of the table, is probably the largest bouquet of spring flowers I've ever seen in my entire life. I hear him enter the room. Feel him standing behind me. When I turn to face him I realize that George is not handsome at all. I don't know when it was that I thought he was. And he's old. He looks much older than fifty- one. Now I see why people often mistake him for my father. But right now he just looks pitiful. Like a puppy. But I don't feel sorry for him one bit, because he is not a puppy. He is the man who molested my daughter.

"I start counseling tomorrow," he says.

"What did you say?"

"Counseling. For my behavior. To stop it. So it never happens again. I didn't mean to do what I've done, and I never really actually did anything to her, if that matters."

I feel like I need Mama's inhaler. "Are you packed?"

"I can't leave here," he says.

"You'll have to when I report this," I say.

"Please, don't, Janelle. I'm begging you not to, please. It could destroy everything. The life I've worked so hard to build."

"You should've thought about that before you started going into my daughter's room at night."

"I did think about it."

"Oh, you thought about it, and your brain gave you the go-ahead, is that it?"

"No. I mean, I wasn't thinking when I did it. That's the whole problem."

"You think okay on your job and you carry a fucking gun. You don't seem to have any difficulty making decisions out there, do you? I mean, you've never shot anybody because you were overwhelmed by the fucking moment, have you?"

"I suppose not."

"What in the world would compel you to do something like this in the first place?"

"I don't know."

"And then keep doing it?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Think about it for a minute! If you don't know, who the hell does?"

"I guess I wanted her to like me."

"What did you say?"

"I wanted her to like me."

"Oh, really. And this was a guaranteed way to do that?"

He just shakes his head.

"She never liked you, George, and I should've trusted her instincts from the start."

"I know that, but I kept hoping she would. It doesn't make any sense."

"And you really thought that by touching my daughter and forcing her to do things to you, that that would make her like you more? Am I getting this right, George?"

"Somewhat."

"Did you ever think about how she might feel because of what you were doing to her?"

"I thought she liked it."

I reach for the bouquet to throw at him, but decide it's not worth it. I grit my teeth and ball up my fist and back away from him. "You didn't say what I thought you just said. Did you?" "She could've stopped me." "How?"

"She could've said no."

"You expect me to stand here and believe that she didn't?" "Look, Janelle. I don't want to argue about this. What I did was despicable and I want to get help. I don't like the side of me that did this." I fold my arms, wishing they were bats. "What if they can't help you?" "It doesn't matter. I know the magnitude of what I've done. It was wrong, and I can promise you that it will never happen again." "And you expect me to believe you, just like that?" "Yes."

"Let me ask you something, George. Did you do this to your own daughters, too?"

"Absolutely not."

"Oh, so my daughter was the prize, huh?" "No, Janelle."

"How about any other little girls?"

"No. Look, I'm just as shocked by my behavior as you are." "Really," I say. I'm not sure if I believe him or not. Thieves have usually been stealing a long time before they ever get caught. I will certainly find out.

"Janelle," he sighs, "do you really think I did this deliberately to hurt Shanice?"

"This isn't just about Shanice, George." "Well, either of you?" "You hurt us, all right. Big-time." "But I didn't mean to. I swear it."

There is a long silence. I'm sick of talking to him. Sick of listening. He's not sorry. He's worried. More worried about what might happen to him than he is about what's going to happen to me and my daughter because of what he's done. He has changed our lives forever. No matter how much I wish it weren't true.

_

"And what about our promise to each other?" he's saying, as I move toward the stairwell for no reason other than to get away from him.

"What promise?"

"To get through the bad times together."

"This doesn't exacdy fall under the 'bad-times' category, George."

"Then what about forgiveness?"

"Yes. Some things shouldn't be forgiven."

"Is that what you really believe, Janelle?"

"Some things are unforgivable."

"So-you mean all the Sundays in church when Reverend Mitchell preached about forgiving the intolerable, all that meant nothing to you?"

"Yes, it did mean something." I stop on the tenth or eleventh step and turn to look down at him.

"Then wouldn't you say this qualifies as some sort of test?"

"A test given by whom?"

"I don't want to say it, but I'll say it: God."

I was about to turn to keep walking until I heard the word "God." I don't play when it conies to Him. And as much as I hate to admit it, what George has said is true. Reverend Mitchell has given us so many examples of things people have done that hurt others so deeply, but he says that God gave us the capacity to forgive. Wants us to forgive. But I don't know how right now. I don't feel like forgiving him. I don't think forgiving him will make me feel any better. And what about Shanice? Is she supposed to forgive him, too?

"What about our baby?" he says.

I sit down on a step. The baby. There's a baby growing inside me. What in the world am I going to do with a baby? His baby? How will I feel having a constant reminder of him in my life? I couldn't take that out on an innocent child, could I? But what about protecting it? I haven't done such a good job with my daughter; how can I expect to keep this one from harm? And how would Shanice treat him, or her?

"Look, Janelle, I'm ashamed of myself for what I've done, but I'm glad you found out, because now an end can be put to it. It stops. I stop. And hopefully we can get on with our lives. I want our baby to be raised in this house, with both of his or her parents under one roof, under which there i s a new sense of trust and love. Hell, we can get a bigger house. Fill it with even more love and trust than we ever imagined. I know its something I'm going to have to earn again, but, baby, I'll work overtime to get it back. I promise you. I'm sorry. So very sorry. Can't we try to put this behind us, and think about our future?"

I try to stop the tears but I can't control them. I wish this was all just a bad dream, and when somebody snaps their fingers or turns the light on, it'll be over. That my daughter will be upstairs in her bedroom reading Goose- bumps and I'll be reading a Janet Dailey novel and George will be rubbing his foot up and down my leg until he falls asleep. I have loved him hard, but right now I don't love any part of him. Can't. He used to make me feel protected and safe. How in the world can you ever get that back once you lose it?

George is crying, too. We both cry until I know for sure that our pain isn't the same. Coming from two very different places. I suppose he is sorry, but most criminals are after they get caught. I'm sorry for him. Sorry for Shanice. Sorry for me. But I'm not going to be a fool. Not take any more chances with my daughter's life. I look down at him and I simply say, "I want you out of here before this day is over. If you refuse, I'll call a few of your buddies in blue and you can explain it to them."

"Where am I supposed to go?"

"I don't know, George. But I hear they're looking for your kind in hell." I stand up and walk back down the stairs like I'm in a hurry. I bump into him to the point where he loses his balance. He does what he can to get his equilibrium back. But I ignore him, and head for the kitchen to straighten up, because he and everybody else knows that I like my house clean.

Chapter 16

Hand After Hand

"You ready to call it a night, man?" Howie asks.

We been at the tables since I got off work. "What time is it?"

"Late. And I'm hungry. We ain't ate nothing in going on five hours. I need to eat something before I go home. Come on, Cecil. Let's cash in."

I look down at my chips. Hell, what's to cash? Chump change. I ain't got but two or three hundred. Howie in better shape than me, but some nights is like this. We pick up our chips and take 'em over to the change booth, where one of my least favorite clerks is working: Betty Sue, a redneck from Reno who shoulda stayed there. She got a high-and-mighty attitude to go with that thin brown hair that look like a rat's nest on top of her head. She act like it's downright painful when a black man cash in, and right now I'm a lit tl e pissed 'cause I ain't handling more than I am.

I don't say a word. Just watch her fingers flip through them bills like feathers. Howie get his take and we head on over to the restaurant. It ain't crowded, not this time of night. It's a Monday. No big conventions in town this week. Thank the Lord. Which mean maybe we stand a chance on making a few dollars around here tomorrow.

We sit in a booth, where we can still see the casino and folks walking back and forth picking which slot machine looks lucky, which dealer looks like he'll give you that winning hand after hand after hand. I would love to tell these knuckleheads that ain't no lucky machines or no such thang as a good dealer. The odds is stacked against the gambler. Casinos is in the business o f m aking money. So-some days they let you win. But most days you lose. Its simple arithmetic. It shouldn't take all day to figure out which of them days you on. But, hell, I thought everybody knew that.

A redheaded waitress comes over to take our order: she's new.

"We'll both have the well-done steak and eggs with hash browns and white toast," Howie says.

She looks at me and I give her a look that says, "He said 'we,' didn't he?" She turns and walks away. Her orange uniform don't look so hot with her hair that color and her skin being so pale. I wouldn'ta took this job if I was her. There's hundreds of places just like this one in this town that got uniforms that would go a whole lot better with that copper-penny color. But I'm just a man, so what do I know?

"So how was it seeing your kids, Cecil?"

I take a sip of my water. "It's hard to say, Howie."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I thank they mad at me."

"For not being over there with Viola?"

"That, and for being with somebody else."

"They just have to get used to it, then, don't they?"

"I guess."

Howie lights a cigarette and blows the smoke away from me. He know I'm allergic to it, but I'm so used to it now I don't know if it even bother me no more. He ain't got no wife or no steady woman in his life-just visitors, as he call 'em-and nobody but me for a friend. But he got a dog: a German shepherd he call Lassie, which I told him when he got him was a stupid name for the dog-considering-but Howie said he always loved that TV show and how much that dog could do, and he was naming his Lassie, he didn't care what I said. This Lassie's a mean son-of-a-bitch, too. The last thang he would even thank about doing is giving you his paw. This dog ain't never in a good mood, but I thank God he like me. Howie musta told him I'm his best friend.

"Did you tell 'em about Brenda?" he asks.

"I told my youngest, Janelle, but I betcha Viola had already heard something and probably told Paris and Lewis." "You ain't committed no crime, Cecil."

"I know that, Howie."

"So what's the problem?" he asks, scratching the top of his bald head, which is so shiny it look like a varnished hardwood floor. Howie's eyes is the same color as his head: light brown, and his skin, which always smell like stale tobacco, probably used to be a golden color, but now he done gotten older and ain't kept hisself up like he shoulda and so his face and hands-in all fairness-ain't but two or three shades above me, and everybody know I'm darker than burnt fried chicken. Me and Howie done spent so much time outside in this hot desert sun we done both changed colors, although I can't see how I can get no darker.