Arizona Allspice (9 page)

I nod at her words.
“Of course.
I’ll read to him every moment I can.”

“Thank you,” she smiles sadly as she places the journal on the table beside the bed. “We’ll just leave it here so that either one of us can use it.”

“Okay,” I breathe. I clear my throat. “I have to go now, Miss Kinsley. My father needs me. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“All right, Elaine. Say hello to Mr. Roberts for me. He was such a great landlord when he was still running it.”

“I will.” I turn to leave.

“Elaine?”

I turn to her. “Yes, Miss Kinsley?”

“Those things I said, about your brother. It’s just that…” she glances over at Joey. “I just hope Emanuel gets what he deserves. I don’t know if it was purely an accident or something else, but either way I hope with all my heart that he gets exactly what he deserves. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes. Thank you,” I speak past the lump in my throat. I give her a slight wave and walk out into the hallway.

SIX

 I want Joey’s lips to part and his voice to ring out just because I’m lonely tonight. How selfish. This loneliness is worse than my freshman year of high school when I realized I had no real friends and I’d have to go the four years alone. Joey isn’t going to talk. Not for the indeterminate amount of time it would take for him to heal and be taken out of the induced coma. He’s been under for 37 hours so far. I’ve kept count.

 Sitting in the armchair by his bedside, I smooth my fingers over the black leather cover of his journal on my lap. Miss Kinsley was right; the only way Joey could talk right now was through his journal. I want to open it and escape from what happened today. Today, Manny and Dad met my concern for them with a resistance that almost equaled disownment. It was as if bringing our small family back together was my wish alone. My fingers play with the corners of the closed journal’s cover as I try to make sense of it all.

Earlier today at around nine o’clock I found myself burying a knife and fork into a huge stack of syrup and butter-smothered pancakes. I was at a restaurant off I-10. I ate without thinking, without worrying. I didn’t think about how I would visit my dad in an imprisoning mental institution or about how not long after that I would have to head over to the courtroom in the Pima County Jail to see my twin brother standing handcuffed and gutless before a judge. I just ate the rich meal before me. I savored each bite of the sweet fluffy pancakes with sausage, bacon, and home fries, washed down with apple juice.

But then I glanced over at a poster on the wall that led to memories.  The wall was covered in nostalgic fifties images such as ‘Smiling Aproned Housewife Serves the Family a Perfectly Plated Meatloaf Glazed with Heinz Catsup’. The poster I looked up at was a Pillsbury advertisement showing a young boy contentedly tearing apart a fresh steamy buttermilk biscuit. I remembered being ten years old, sitting at a booth in that restaurant, sitting across from ten-year-old Emanuel, my mom seated next to him, and me sitting sandwiched between Dad and Uncle Frank. We called him our uncle because he and Dad had been best friends since junior high. I remembered Manny biting into his own steamy buttermilk biscuit he’d drizzled with as much honey possible. We all laughed as Manny’s eyes squinted and his mouth twisted into a grimace from the intense sweetness. I remember Uncle Frank secretly passing me sugar packets under the table. I shoved them inside my socks and keep them as souvenirs.

When everyone was stuffed and ready to leave the restaurant, I hooked my arms into the crooks of their elbows. My skinny brown arm entwined with my father’s arm of the same brown and my other arm entwined with my uncle’s tanned arm covered in a brown dusting of hair.  They lifted me up and carried me to the car, my feet swinging above the ground and a grin on my face. Emanuel was upset that I was getting so much attention, but it didn’t last long. We whispered to each in our made-up language in the back of Mom’s minivan and giggled at each other’s imitations of cartoon character voices.

We talked about everything. Hard feelings never lasted and big secrets were never allowed.
Until now.

The feeling that Emanuel was holding back information had been troubling me for a while. I felt it when we talked in my room that morning after my
Stepford
Sister rant. There was a vague sense of dread when thinking of what his secret might be. Also, the last phone call from jail I’d received from him left us buried beneath a heap of hard feelings. He’d made no attempts to call me since then. An apology seemed unlikely.

However, that didn’t stop me from trying to connect with him as soon as I woke up this morning. I made numerous calls until I finally found the number of his attorney’s office. Once her secretary was on the phone I utilized my acting skills to convince the secretary there was a huge emergency with our father and I needed the lawyer’s cell phone number desperately. Lying was getting easier and easier the more I did it. I made a conscious decision to make it my last.
Tammi
Goldman, the lawyer, was at the courthouse and answered on the fourth ring.

“Goldman speaking,” she said, in a voice raspy and ruined after years of cigarette smoking.

“Hi, this is Emanuel Robert’s sister. Elaine Roberts.”

“Hello there, Miss Roberts. I happen to be in a meeting with your brother as we speak.”

“Really?
Could you give the phone to him, please?”

“Yeah, uh, just a secondHe’s busy filling out paperwork. He’s not able to speak with you now.”

“Well…okay. Has Raul Campos admitted to giving false information?”

“Yes. He spoke with police and has retracted his statement.”

I sighed in relief and then cringed at the pop of her chewing gum in my ear. “Has Manny finally decided what he’ll plead in court?” I silently prayed he’d come to his senses and wouldn’t plead guilty.

“Mr. Roberts prefers to keep that information private.” Her statement combined with the loud pop of her chewing gum gave me an instant headache.

“Please, just give him the phone.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Why is he being such an ass? Fine, am I
allowed
to know when the pretrial is?”

“Of course.
It’s scheduled for this afternoon. Twelve o’clock in Courtroom 120. Wait, no, it’s in Courtroom 102. No, that’s not it. Emanuel, what courtroom did they say the pretrial would be held? Oh. Yeah, Miss Roberts, the pretrial is in Courtroom B.”

“Thanks,” I grumbled.

“
Buhbye
.”

I called again a few minutes later. He was still “filling out paperwork”. I couldn’t believe Manny was going to let some gum-popping lawyer take his case. “If Mom was here she could smack some sense into him,” I steamed. I thought about calling his lawyer a third time and giving a fake name, maybe even Denise’s name, but it seemed so stupid when I knew he had no desire to talk to who would really be on the line. His most recent words came to mind.
You’re so stubborn! You can’t let anything go! You have to be in control of everything!
 I admit I hold grudges, but if I never held a grudge I would have footprints all over my body from being stepped on by other people. And shouldn’t I use my stubbornness and strength in a situation like his? I wasn’t going to fight any more if that was what Emanuel truly wanted. I hung up the phone. I’d see him at noon.

After I gave up trying to be helpful, I threw on my pinstriped royal blue vest over a cream colored shirt and stepped into my skinny jeans. I slipped on my ever-present boots and twisted my straightened black hair into a bun held by two golden chopsticks. Later, during the stressful situations which aggravated my urge to finger my glasses, I realized I hadn’t put them on. I headed to the restaurant whose pancakes would bring me comfort and escape. I should have known there would be too many memories at that restaurant. Then again, if I hadn’t gone to that sentimental eatery I may not have been reminded that I had more family, an uncle in Florida, I could talk to.

“Laney, Laney, don’t lie to me,” Frank
Merjoy
half pleaded, renouncing the truth.

Fidgeting, scratching at my jean clad knee and then thumbing a packet of artificial sweetener, I sat inside the F-150 still parked in the lot of the restaurant. “Uncle Frankie, I wish I was lying to you. I’m trying to figure out what I can do to get everybody home. Manny won’t speak to me.”

“He won’t talk to you?
What for?”

“He doesn’t want me to meddle. He doesn’t want my help.”

“I don’t understand why he’s acting like this. What did you…Did you say something to him that would make him so defensive?”

“I don’t know. I just told him not to plead guilty or I’d never forgive him. I told him he had to fight, but he feels so horrible about what happened to Joey. Still, he can’t let what happened defeat him! He doesn’t deserve to go to jail no matter what others say. He called me stubborn. But he’s a doormat sometimes, you know? I told him he, he’s a pushover,” my voice trembled, “he can be a pushover sometimes. I didn’t say it to be mean. I love him and I just want him to be okay. Uncle Frank, I want him to be all right and I love him and I just want…” I stopped myself before shedding any tears.

“
Shhh
, it’ll be okay Laney. Laney, so far you have handled this better than I imagined my little niece ever could. God, I haven’t seen you since your Mom passed. It ripped me up to leave you and Emanuel again, especially with Edward struggling with his illness like he is. You guys are my family. You and Manny are like my kids. In all my years I haven’t settled down yet, I never had kids, but you two are the children of my heart. I don’t want you to be scared or worried about anything. I’m going to talk to Emanuel and I’m going to hop on the next plane to Arizona and take care of everything, okay?”

“Okay,” I breathed.

“Don’t you
worry.
I will straighten everything out with your brother. Most likely I’ll see you tomorrow morning or afternoon at the latest. Hang tight until I get there. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you. I should be at Palo Verde in a few minutes to pick up Dad.”

“Okay, Sweetie. I’ll see you soon. Everything will work out fine. I promise.”

“Thanks, Uncle Frank.”

******

           “Your daughter is here to see you, Mr. Roberts.”

He looked up from the animated game of checkers he’d started with another patient. I watched his face fall. His smile was wiped away instantly at the sight of me. I felt sick to my stomach and almost turned to leave. “No Daddy,” I whispered under my breath, “Not you too.”

The Palo Verde Mental Hospital is an asymmetrical three story building made unbalanced by additions made during three different decades. The rows of small square windows hardly let in natural light. The path to the door is a long concrete walkway hedged with blooming prickly pear cacti. The revolving door at the entrance mocked the patients who found themselves in and out of treatment, in and out of the outside world. At the front desk a nurse pointed me towards the security guard. A female security guard wearing latex gloves waved a metal detector wand over me and then proceeded to search through my purse for any contraband. She studied curiously the eight steel rings that she dug out from the bottom of my purse. I needed to call Raul soon to thank him for giving the police the truth.