All the Ugly and Wonderful Things (29 page)

When Dad answered the phone, Mom went stiff and she didn't even say hello. She said, “Bill, I need you to come pick up the girls. Something happened with Val.”

He must have said a lot more than hello, because she listened for several minutes. She got up and dragged the phone around to the other bed to sit down facing away from Leslie and me.

“Bill, I need you to drive up to Powell in the morning and pick up the girls. We're staying at the Blue Moon Motel that's on the highway into town. Room One-Oh-Seven. Bill, I don't want to talk about it on the phone. They're fine.”

She was quiet again, listening, her shoulders tight.

“I don't care about your stupid meeting! Come get your daughters and take them home!” When she glanced over her shoulder at us, I could see she was getting ready to cry again. “They're safe, but they want to come home.”

Mom came around the bed and held out the phone. “Tell your father that you're okay.”

Leslie took the phone and said, “Hi, Daddy.”

“Leslie, are you okay? Your sister's okay?” I heard my father say.

“We're okay.”

“What happened? What's going on?”

“Aunt Val's dead. And Unc—”

Mom jerked the phone away from Leslie.

“Ow!” Leslie clamped her hand over her ear, and when she pulled it away there was blood on it. Mom had yanked her earring out. Not hard enough to tear the lobe, but hard enough to make it bleed.

“No. You don't need to come tonight. It'd be after midnight by the time you got here,” Mom said to Dad.

It wasn't, which meant he'd sped to get there. He didn't wake us up, because we weren't sleeping. We had changed into nightgowns donated by church ladies, and crowded together in a bed that smelled of bleach and cigarette smoke. Lying in the dark, we were staring at the ceiling when he pounded on the door.

He'd come straight from work, wrinkled and tired. Pulling all three of us into his arms, he hugged us hard. Usually I hated his stale coffee breath, but that night it was familiar and comforting.

“I'm so glad you're safe,” he kept saying. Sitting on the edge of the bed, with Leslie under one arm and me under the other, he listened to Mom tell what had happened. When she was done, he said, “Let's go home.”

Leslie and I didn't have to be told twice. We were ready to leave that dark paneled room with the sticky carpet. We picked up the plastic bags that held our clothes and Leslie's puked-on shoes, ready to go out to Dad's car in our borrowed nightgowns. I thought of Wavy, going from one place to another, never knowing what stranger's clothes she'd have to wear.

Mom stayed sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Come on, Brenda. We've all had a long day. You don't want to hear it, but I have to be at work in the morning. Let's go.”

“I can't go.”

“Yes, you can, Brenda. There's nothing you can do here. We can make the funeral arrangements from home.”

“Wavy and Donal are missing. I can't go. They need me.”

“I'm so sorry about Val, but your daughters need you, too.” Dad jingled his car keys. “The police will find Wavy and Donal and take care of them.”

“What am I supposed to do? I can't just walk away,” Mom said.

“That's exactly what you can do. There's a system in place to take care of kids like Wavy and Donal. There's a reason I pay through the nose on my taxes, so that when things like this happen, we don't have to disrupt our lives. So we don't have to live in the chaos people like Val create. We keep stepping in, but let's let the system work this time.”

“Are you serious? If something happened to us, is that what you'd want to happen to Leslie and Amy?” Mom stood up, not to come with us, but to fight.

I stood in my socks, on the sidewalk between the room and the car, waiting to see what Dad would do. He stepped out of the motel room and closed the door behind him, leaving Mom alone.

“Get in the car, girls.”

I slept on the drive home, curled up in the front seat. I dreamed in blood that night, speeding through darkness, with Dad's hand on my back. Aunt Val's skull ruptured on the kitchen floor in a sea of creeping red. Footprints running away. A trail of blood drops across a concrete floor. A calendar blotter on a desk, with a heart drawn around the nineteenth, and a smear of blood beside it.

 

6

KELLEN

I knew exactly how Wavy's birthday would go. I would make her wait at the table with her eyes closed, while I set out the ice cream to spell the message I'd written on the lids. Then I would sit down across from her and say, “Okay, you can look now.”

She would uncover her eyes and stare. The same way the girl at the ice cream place stared at me when I ordered. After she got over the surprise, Wavy would laugh. Stuff like that cracked her up. Then we'd eat ice cream together, even if I had to close my eyes.

After that, I was gonna take her over to the shop to see her real birthday present, the Triumph Terrier. It wasn't finished yet, but that way she could tell me how she wanted it painted. The guy who sold it to me planned to return it to mint condition, but I had my eye more on the size, only 150 cc. Now that she was fourteen, she could get her learner's permit, and the bike would let her go where she wanted, when she needed.

Then there would probably be some fooling around. Okay, there was definitely gonna be some fooling around after two weeks apart. Not too fast, but maybe not that slow. I could not stop thinking about the magazine she left on my pillow.

Eventually, I imagined we'd end up lying on the quilt in the meadow and she would name all the stars for me. Last of all, I was gonna say, “Do you really wanna marry me?”

If she said yes, I'd tell her about the conversation I had with Liam.

We were driving back from a deal, and I waited until he was all talked out about business.

“So, what do you want to do about Wavy?” I picked that question because if somebody asked me that, I had an answer.

“Do about her? Is there a problem?” Liam said.

“No, but I was thinking maybe we could make things more official.”

“Didn't you buy her a ring?”

“Yeah, but I talked to Lyle Broadus. You know, my lawyer on that assault charge over in Garringer. That fight I got into at the drags?”

“Yeah, I remember. Can't believe he got you probation for turning that guy into hamburger.”

“Well, it was justified. Anyway, Lyle says, once Wavy turns fourteen, we can get married, if you give us permission. It's just a piece of paper you'd have to sign with a notary, that's all.”

Liam laughed and shook his head. My stomach went south and I eased up on the accelerator.

“Kellen, as a married man, let me tell you, you don't want to rush into anything. How old are you? Twenty-five or something? Why are you in such a hurry to tie yourself down? Think about that girl we met at Myrtle Beach last year. The redhead. The one with the tiny, tiny waist and the black leather dress?”

I didn't have a clue what he was talking about. I had room in my head for about five women: my ma, Wavy, Val, and maybe two of Liam's girlfriends. Beyond that, I couldn't keep them straight. I wished Liam would lay off the coke or the meth, whichever one made him talk so fast.

“So, would that be okay? If we got married? You wouldn't have to do anything except sign that form. It'd be easier for school, too. If Wavy lived with me, she'd be closer to the new high school in Belton County.”

“Does she still go to school? You didn't finish school, did you?”

“No, but Wavy's a lot smarter than me.”

“No offense, but that's not saying much. She's a little slow.” Liam laughed. “I tried to teach her to read and never got anywhere.”

“You know I'd treat her good. You wouldn't have to worry about that.”

Liam fumbled around in his shirt pocket for the coke. “Can't talk you out of it, can I? You're like a—you know in those Budweiser commercials—you're like a big fucking horse with blinders on. I'm trying to expand your horizons, introduce you to girls, and you got your eye on that weird little runt. Does she even talk to you? Seriously, don't lie, now, you sad sack of shit, does she talk to you?”

“Yeah, she talks to me.”

“That's something.” Liam took a snort and, after he put the coke away, laid his hand on my shoulder. “Sounds like you've got it all figured out. Get me whatever paper I gotta sign and we'll get you a ball and chain. How would you feel about a honeymoon in Colorado? I need you to make a run for me next week.”

I wasn't gonna tell Wavy what Liam said about her being weird or slow. I'd just say, “I talked to Liam and he signed off on the form. If you really wanna marry me, we can apply for the license tomorrow.”

Honestly, I figured on her saying
yes
.

Didn't figure on spending her birthday in the county jail. When I was younger, me and the sheriff had some run-ins, but not in a while. If we saw each other on the street, I'd say, “Sheriff Grant,” and the sheriff'd say, “Junior.” Which was what we said to each other when he walked into the interview room. He looked about as confused as I felt, but I played by Wavy's rule:
wait
.

The sheriff sat down and lit a cigarette, held the pack out to me. I shook my head.

“Junior, we got ourselves a real situation. I don't guess I have to tell you that, but I need to know what in Hell happened today.”

“Not much 'til this afternoon. Roger was sharpening a lawnmower blade and managed to cut the tip of his finger off. Mr. Cutcheon took him up to county hospital, and I stayed at the shop. After they left, Wavy showed up.”

“That's the Quinn girl?”

“Yep. Her aunt dropped her off, and a couple hours later her aunt came back. That's when I found out something had happened up at Quinn's place.”

“Junior, it seems to me you're leaving out a whole bunch of stuff there in the middle. The aunt told my deputy that girl was bare-ass naked on your desk.”

I wanted not to blush so bad, but it came creeping up outta my collar. “Yeah, we were fooling around. But she's my fiancée. I bought her a ring, and her daddy gave me permission to marry her. Got the letter from the judge, notarized and everything.”

“Don't lie to me, Junior. You don't want to go down that road. Even if I could make heads or tails of what's left of that letter, the fact is, the girl's not your wife. Age of consent's sixteen, and her aunt is real goddamn upset, talking about pressing charges. So you need to tell me exactly what you were doing.”

“It went a little further than it should have. I know that. But it didn't go all the way. I wouldn't do that. We're gonna get married and all.” I felt bad enough how far it did go, because I was sincere about wanting to marry her first.

“Okay. I'm glad to hear that, but the situation with the Quinn girl is the least of your worries. I've also got a gun that my deputy found in your shop. Now, we don't know for sure yet, but my suspicion is that's the gun used to kill Liam and Valerie Quinn. So you tell me, how'd the gun end up there?”

“I don't know.” I knew that gun was gonna end up in front of me to explain. “After Roger and Cutcheon left, the phone in the office rang. I went in to answer it, 'cause we'd left a message for Roger's wife, thought it was her. While I was on the phone, Wavy came in. She closed the office door and the window blinds, but the garage doors stayed open. Anybody coulda walked in there.”

“That puts us at nearly three hours between when her aunt says she dropped the girl off and when she made the call to dispatch from your office. You didn't leave the garage any time in those three hours?”

“No, Sheriff. I didn't even leave the office.”

“Three hours is an awful lot of fooling around, even for a young man like you.”

My face got hotter and hotter, and even though it was air-conditioned in there, I started sweating. The sheriff waited, looking at me.

“Well, we talked quite a bit, too,” I said.

“So, that's your story? You and the girl talked. And you fooled around some, but you didn't have sex with her. And you didn't leave the office any time in there. And that's what the Quinn girl will say?”

I nodded, but it made my guts tight, thinking about the police questioning Wavy.

“Anything else you want to tell me?” the sheriff said.

“That swab they took?”

“For the gunshot residue?”

“That might come back positive.”

“Damn it, Junior. What's the story?” The sheriff put out his cigarette and leaned a little closer, frowning.

“There was a possum messing in my trash this morning and I took a shot at him.”

“Don't suppose you killed him?”

“I missed.”

“That figures,” the sheriff said. “Is that it? I'm not gonna find your prints on that gun? That Quinn girl's exam ain't gonna show there was more than a little fooling around?”

“No, sir, but what kind of exam?”

“I believe they'll do a swab for semen and look at, you know, whether she's got any injury. Like that.”

“Are they going to touch her?”

“Yes, I suppose they will.”

“I wish they wouldn't. She can't stand for people to touch her.”

It made me sick. That I hadn't had the self-control to say, “No, Wavy.” Or the goddamn good sense to close up the shop and take her to my house. I'd had this great plan and I screwed it up with plain old carelessness.

“She'll be okay,” the sheriff said. “And so will you, if you're telling me the truth.”

 

7

SHERIFF GRANT

The federal agents crawling all over the Quinn place were part of some drug task force, and apparently that meant they couldn't help look for two missing kids. We lost daylight before we found Wavy and Donal. I've had some sleepless nights as sheriff, but that was one of the worst.