Brambleman (67 page)

These audacious thoughts did not comfort him.
Instead, they made him increasingly nervous. When he arrived at
Northeast Regional, his throat was so dry he could barely swallow.
His sneakers squeaked on the ICU’s polished floor as nurses popped
in and out of rooms. The piped-in music sounded inappropriately
perky. When he came to 332, he opened the door and spied Bradley
Roy in the corner of the private room, his head lolled back on the
cushion of an aqua-colored armchair. Charlie’s father-in-law looked
like he’d aged a decade in the year and a half since they had last
seen each other. The old man’s dark hair had turned steel gray; his
face was careworn and wrinkled. This was alarming, since it
contradicted Charlie’s belief that leaving Evangeline would have
had the opposite effect on a man.

Sunshine came in spots through loose-weave
drapes, dappling Susan, who lay in the bed breathing in rhythm with
the respirator’s slow, steady
pock
. On a monitor, a line
blipped relentlessly; her heartbeat was now mathematical. Charlie
tiptoed to her side, grimacing at the tubes and wires sticking out
of her. Her left elbow was bandaged. There was an abrasion on her
forehead. Her hair was matted and disheveled. She wore the
slightest of frowns.

Charlie gently took his wife’s hand and held
it, cruelly aware he couldn’t have done this if she was awake.
Looking at her now, he knew she didn’t deserve this. If things had
worked out differently on that winter’s night so long ago, the
children would be sleeping in their beds right now, Susan would be
stepping out of the shower, and Charlie would be leering at her.
If
.

Bradley Roy stirred, half-opened an eye, then
came fully awake. He sat up straight, blinked, and stood. The old
man hitched up his pants and gave Charlie the evil eye. “You.”

“Me.”

“I don’t want to believe the things I’m
hearing. But if they’re true,” he said, sighting down a pointed
finger at his son-in-law, “I will for certain kill you myself.”

“Fair enough. But you’ll have to get in
line.”

“I heard that.” Bradley Roy nodded. “Suppose
you tell me what happened with the police.”

“I’ll tell you, but first I want to know
about Susan.” Charlie brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
The frown straightened out. She never could stand for her hair to
be mussed.

Bradley Roy scratched day-old stubble and
shook his head. “She’s not out of the woods yet.”

“The one who shot her is dead.”

“Can’t say I’m sorry about that.” Bradley Roy
cleared his throat. “She was in surgery for three hours. They
didn’t take out the slug. It was small, at least, a twenty-two, but
it’s lodged in her spine and she’s got a cracked vertebra. They
don’t know … if she’s paralyzed. But it doesn’t look good.” He
choked a sob, then composed himself. “They’re keeping her in a coma
so she don’t try to move.”

“Have you seen Beck and Ben? How are they
doing?”

“Sheila’s got them. She’s puttin’ ’em in
Bible Camp.”

“Not at First Baptist, I hope.”

Bradley Roy shrugged. “Best place for ’em
right now. I wouldn’t worry about it if I was you.”

“They should be with me.”

“Leave ’em be. They’re in good hands. Away
from this.” He gestured weakly toward the bed, then checked the
silver watch he’d worn as long as Charlie had known him.

“Do they know what happened?”

“Lord, I hope not. They know she’s hurt. Or
maybe that she’s sick. I don’t know exactly what Sheila told them.”
The old man gave him a penetrating stare. “All right, I gave you
what you wanted. Now you tell me. Why did this happen?”

Bradley Roy was no varmint—in fact, he was
the only in-law Charlie felt he could speak to honestly. “I can’t
say why it happened, but I can make a guess, since I know the
people who did it.”

Bradley Roy turned and reached down to pluck
a newspaper section from the floor beside his chair. He leaned over
the bed and shoved the headline in Charlie’s face:
Author
Implicated in Wife’s Shooting
. “So what’s this about?”

Charlie shook his head vigorously and held up
his hands. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“How’d they find her, then?”

“Hell, Bradley Roy, you can use my name to
look her up. And then she was on the news Monday night standing
right where the carjacking took place. Even showed her car.
Shouldn’t have gone on TV.”

“She was mad at you.”

“She’s always mad at me.”

“Well, this time for cheating on her with
that foreign woman that got arrested.” Bradley Roy paused. “She was
a looker, I’ll give you that.”

“Don’t see why
Susan
was jealous,”
Charlie muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a fool. She loved you.”

“Come on. You expect me to believe that?”

“Well, she’s a Cutchins,” Bradley Roy said.
“She’s just got a contrary way of showing it. So tell me what else
you know about what happened yesterday.”

“The one that died, I only met once or twice.
The one that’s still alive, Demetrious, is Minerva Doe’s
grandson.”

“Shit.
That
wasn’t in the paper.”

“I don’t know how much you know about this,
but that makes him Pappy’s great-grandson.”

“I’m followin’ you. Go on.”

“He told police I gave him money to do it.
Which is exactly opposite what happened. A week ago, I took a copy
of the book to Minerva and while I was driving away, he ran up to
my car and told me he needed money to help out his mother.”

“How much?”

“How much?” Charlie wrinkled his face.
“Twenty grand.”

“You ever give him money before?”

Charlie hesitated. “I paid him for a blood
sample. I needed it for the book.”

“The book. Damn thing’s been a tornado
rippin’ through the family. Made everyone crazy, includin’ you. You
got like a million dollars, didn’t you? So why didn’t you give him
the money?”

Charlie wore a look of disbelief. “Why didn’t
I give him the money?”

“Yes. Why. Didn’t. You. Give. Him. The.
Money. You took advantage of those people’s story—I mean, it is
their story, and hell, everybody else is profiting off what
happened. If it was a movie about their lives, you’d have to pay
them, right?”

“Hold on. It’s
not
a movie, and
Minerva doesn’t want my money. Doesn’t want anything to do with the
book. She’s suing over the farm sale, though, so I don’t want to
taint the case.”

“Phooey.” Bradley Roy gestured toward Susan.
“You tellin’ me there was a way to avoid this and all it took was
money? I am sick and tired of being surrounded by greed. That’s
what broke up my marriage. You aren’t in the clear. There’s blood
on your hands.”

“I told you, I didn’t have anything to do
with this.”

“Just because you wash your hands of it,
doesn’t mean you’re clean. You’re in this nastiness along with
everybody else, and it ain’t over, not by a long shot. Well, all
right. You been here. You found out what you needed to find out.
And now I’ll kindly ask you to leave. So go.”

When Charlie hesitated, Bradley glanced at
his watch and said, “They’ll be here soon, anyway, and I’ll not
have the lot of you screaming at each other like it’s some damned
TV show while my daughter lies here …”

He choked up, unable to continue. Charlie
reached over to touch his shoulder. Bradley Roy swatted the hand
away. “You’re a prick.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“My feelings are the least thing you need to
feel sorry about.”

Charlie turned to leave, his face burning
with shame.

“Wait. There’s something I was going to tell
you,” Bradley Roy said, his features softening. “I owe you that
much, I suppose. They took half of Pap’s money after the sale and
split it up. Vange moved out with her money and got a fancy house
by the lake. I ain’t had much to do with her or any of ’em lately.
I bought a copy of your book. I’m reading it now, and I gotta
admit, it makes sense.”

Bradley Roy paused to reflect, then
continued. “Way back before your time, I said something Pap didn’t
like, because, well you know how I feel about the N-word. He looked
at me across the table—this was in his old house—and he said, ‘I
don’t need you telling me about
niggers
.’” Bradley Roy
whispered the last word. “He said, ‘We ran ’em all out and there
was one too stupid to leave, so we took care of it, and I’ll damn
well not put up with any shit from you about it.’ I’d come back
from Korea owing a black man my life.”

Charlie nodded. “I know. So he as much as
said he got rid of John Riggins.”

“Seems like it now, don’t it?”

“Maybe you should tell that to the
family.”

“I think they know. I think they knew all
along and kept it a secret. That’s the real shame of it. All right.
You go on, then.”

Charlie cast one last glance at Susan before
he left. As he approached the elevator, the doors opened and
Evangeline stepped out, gazing at her shoes. When she looked up and
saw Charlie, she yelped and lurched backward, throwing up her
hands. Charlie walked past her as she inched along the wall,
glaring at him with fear and hatred. “Don’t you touch me!” she
warned, then pulled her cellphone from her purse.

Charlie took the stairs, exiting before she
could have him arrested again. He crossed the drive to the parking
lot and saw Stanley giving a television interview. The Channel Six
crew broke away from the politician in mid-sentence and chased
after the elusive author. Charlie had too much of a head start on
the overweight cameraman and the blonde in high heels, however, and
thereby made his escape.

* * *

Back at the loft, Charlie called his
sister-in-law to check on the kids but got no answer. Then he
called Muncie, who said the private investigator had been
reassigned from “Harold Watch” to find out what the police had on
him. After that, Charlie sat on the sofa, occasionally glancing at
the wall mirror to see if he was still there, and tried to convince
himself that Susan’s paralysis wasn’t his fault. He skipped
breakfast and ate a piece of dried bread for lunch. He ignored
knocks on the door and refused to turn on the TV or computer. The
news could rage; he would stay in his safe place. Every hour on the
hour, he turned on his cellphone and called the hospital for a
condition report. Susan remained critical.

Time’s passage was glacial. That afternoon,
he sat on the bare concrete floor with his legs sprawled out,
contemplating the nature of his suffering. His work was a failure.
His reputation as a human being was destroyed. Everything he should
have accomplished, all the things that should have been his, had
slipped away like sand through his fingers. He was alone in the
world. His children would be taken from him and turned into
Cutchinses, becoming as distant as stars in the sky—the dim ones,
at that.

He didn’t belong in this place or any other.
Well, maybe on a bridge.

The sun set. The otherworldly fire in his
mirrored doppelganger’s eyes faded. He cast yesterday’s newspaper
on the floor beside him and put his face in his hands. He wanted to
cry but couldn’t, because he was a dry and hollow man.

When it was time to make his hourly call to
the hospital, he turned on the phone. Before he could press the
“send” button, it buzzed. He pinched his chin fiercely, enough to
hurt. The number looked familiar. “Be a man,” he told himself.
“Answer the phone.” He took a deep breath. “Hello.”

“Charles.” It was a deep schoolteacher’s
voice. Minerva.

“Hey.”

After a minute, she said, “Are you still
there?”

“Yes.”

“I heard about your wife. And Demetrious.
It’s terrible in so many ways. How is she doing?”

“She may never walk again. But she’s got to
survive before we even worry about that.”

“It’s that little gangsta Demetrious hung
around with. I realize this is no consolation, but he’s the one who
did the shooting.”

“I know. And you’re right. It isn’t.”

“That boy was a shark. But Demetrious went
along with it. He believed everybody owed him something, and he was
going to take it. Now they’re charging him with the other boy’s
death, that’s what I hear. He’s being held without bond. I’m afraid
he’ll never see the light of day again.”

Minerva continued in a halting voice. “I took
no joy in that man Cutchins’ death. If I could change things, I’d
drop the suit in a minute. Tell me. Would you do what you did if
you had it to do over again?”

“It’s beyond that now,” Charlie said, his
voice etched with weariness.

“Takira’s baby won’t have a father.”

“Do you need somebody to talk to? I’m not the
best person for conversation right now.”

She laughed derisively. “If I need somebody
to talk to now, I talk to Jesus. No, that’s not why I called. I
need you to give me a ride. Please.”

“Well, I—”

“I know you’ve got other things on your mind,
but you need to see this.”

He was tired of the other things on his mind.
“All right. When?”

“Sooner rather than later. Now would be
good.”

“Is it an emergency?”

“It’s beyond that now,” she said, either
mimicking him or simply matching his world-weariness.

“You’re not talking about going to see
Demetrious, because—”

“It’s too late for him. Too late for a lot of
things.”

“OK. So where are we going?”

“I want you to see something. I want you to
understand.”

“I already know.”

“You know nothing.” Her tone was flat and
cold as ice. “I’m at my house.”

* * *

Minerva was rocking on her stoop when Charlie
arrived in the Volvo. She stood up and strolled slowly down the
sidewalk in heels. Charlie had never seen her dressed up and
figured she wanted to go to church, although it seemed awfully late
for Wednesday evening services. He got out and opened the passenger
door for her. She was wearing makeup and a floral print dress.