Breaking the Rules (53 page)

And with that, she pushed open the door and climbed out of the car on legs that were shaking. And great, now she was going to throw up, but she closed the door and briefly bent over, hands on her knees, closed her eyes, and breathed.

Izzy being Izzy, he refused to give her space, crossing quickly around the front of the car, in case she needed a hand.

She pushed him away as she started for the walkway to the hell-house. “You’re not allowed to touch me anymore. Just … go back to California.”

He stood in front of her, blocking her path and making her pull up short. “We’re supposed to wait for Dan and Jenn.”

“Danny’s not the boss of me.”

“And he’s not the boss of me, either,” Izzy told her evenly. “Sometimes he’s an asshole, and sometimes he’s right, and this is one of the times that he’s right. And you know it, too.”

He glanced down the street, where, yes, those were headlights approaching. It was Dan and Jenn’s rental car, and both he and Eden watched as it approached.

Or rather Eden watched, because Izzy was still gazing at her as if he were trying to read her mind.

“You’re not allowed to
look
at me anymore, either,” she told him. “So just stop.”

He glanced over at the approaching car. Jenn was driving and she pulled up in front of the house and parked, waving at them as if they’d gathered for a family picnic.

But then Izzy touched Eden’s arm and looked at her, both actions clearly meant to be in-her-face violations of her latest rules. His words, however, were dead serious. “Eden, do you really … love me?”

And for a half a heartbeat, as she looked up at him, she thought maybe—just maybe—he was finally starting to believe her. But then he added, “Or do you just hate to lose?”

She jerked her arm away. “Screw you.”

“Sorry,” he said, wincing. “
Sorry
. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, like it was a bad thing, because I’ve got it, too, you know? This inability to accept that it’s time to quit. And that’s what I’m trying to do here. With you. Be a grown-up about the fact that we’re together for all the wrong reasons.” He glanced over to the other car as Jenni and Dan got out. “And I just wanted you to think about that and … You’re right—I
don’t
get to tell you how you feel, but … I just want you to know that … Well, shit, I’m eleven—ten and a half—years older than you, and most of the time
I
don’t know what the hell this is that
I’m
feeling.”

“Well, right now I hate you,” Eden said. “About as much as I ever have. I’m very clear about that.”

He nodded, still somber, as if he were actually taking her at her word. “There have been times that I’ve hated you, too,” he told her. “I’ve tried, but I just can’t manage to make myself feel indifferent.”

What was he saying? “Look, if you’re really going,” Eden said, wiping
away the tears that kept springing into her eyes, “please, just
go
already.”

“Hey.” Jennilyn greeted them, looking from Eden to Izzy and back again, clearly picking up on the tension between them. “So
this
is going to be hard, huh?”

“Izzy’s got to go back to San Diego,” Eden told her new sister-in-law, who turned to Izzy with surprise.

But he was shaking his head. “Are you kidding? And miss this episode of
Dysfunction Junction
? I call dibs on hog-tying Greg. Assuming Greg’s gonna need to be hog-tied, which … is a pretty sure bet.”

Jenn was the only one who laughed. Dan was already grimly starting up the stairs, leading the way—taking the point, as it was called in the SEAL teams. He was still wearing his dress uniform, which was a nice touch when dealing with their mother, who’d always loved shiny things.

“We’re going to get through this,” Jenn told Eden, pulling her in for a quick hug. “Maybe it’ll be easy. Maybe Ben’s inside, and together we can get your mom to agree that living with Danny and me in San Diego is a good solution for everyone—because it is. We can do this. We
will
do it.”

It was all Eden could do not to cling to her, weeping. But Dan was already knocking on the door—the buzzer had stopped working a long time ago.

She let Jenn hold her hand and lead her over to the foot of the cracked and broken steps, with Izzy—who hated her, too—in the rear, clearly not going anywhere.

Eden and Dan’s mother came to the door with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Whozat, Ivy?” someone—Greg, had to be—shouted from the back of the house.

“It’s Danny,” Ivette shouted back in a voice heavy with nicotine-laced
Southern sugar. She didn’t let them in, she just looked out at them through the screen, leaning close to whisper in a drunk’s version of sotto voce, “Why’d you bring her? You know seeing her makes Greg go all apeshit crazy.”

The
her
in question was Eden, and as Izzy watched, she stood a little taller, chin high.
Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words …
He knew damn well that words could hurt pretty fricking badly.

“Nice to see you, too, Ivette,” Eden said as Dan spoke over her. “We don’t want any trouble. I know it’s late, but I got your message and … We’re looking for Ben. Is he here?”

“Benjamin?” she said as she took another sip of her drink, as if that would improve her memory.

It was pretty freaking amazing, seeing her in the flesh.

Eden had described Ivette to Izzy, back when they’d gotten married. He’d always thought she’d been exaggerating, but in truth she’d been pretty damn accurate. The woman was in her late forties—some years younger than Dan Gillman the elder, which made sense, because she had been his second wife. They’d married out of necessity when she was still a teenager, after he’d gotten her pregnant. She was formerly, fadingly pretty in an aging porn-star way. And if Izzy looked hard enough, he could see traces of Eden’s beauty in the shape of her face.

But the similarities ended there. Ivette’s eyes were a watery, washed-out blue and her hair was bottle blond, and her lips had been recently collagened, giving her a solid whiff of Stiffler’s Mom, if Stiffler’s Mom had been both ill-educated and a substance abuser. She was high on whatever meds she’d stolen from her most recent client. Izzy could see the drugs, along with the blurring effects of alcohol, in her out-of-focus eyes.

The woman didn’t open the screen to hug Danny or Eden, despite the fact that it had been well over a year since she’d seen either of her children. Of course, her hands
were
full.

Yeah.

“Is Ben here?” Eden pushed.

Her mother turned to scream back into the house. “Greg, is Benjy here?”

Just what they needed—Greg adding his personal brand of crazy to this nightmare.

Izzy stepped forward, reaching out to nudge Danny, who was clearly overwhelmed, and not in a good way. “Hey, man, why don’t we just go in and look around?”

Danny snapped back to life. “Yeah, I’ll do it,” he said, opening the screen. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

His mother stepped back, gesturing with her drink. “Knock yourself out.”

“You’re not letting them in, are you?” Enter Greg, limping out of the kitchen, with a bottle in his hand. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on back in the hospital, days ago. Classy, all the way.

Eden took an involuntary step back, and Izzy stepped toward her, putting a hand on her back, even as Jenni refreshed the grip she had on Eden’s hand.

“You,” he said, peering out through the screen at Eden, his eyes narrowing. “You fornicating slut—”

Izzy didn’t need to move, because Dan was already there, on the same side of the screen as the dirtbag.

“You’re not allowed to call her that,” Dan said as he grabbed Greg by the front of the shirt and pushed him up against the wall. The bottle fell, but it didn’t break, and Ivette—another class act—went scrambling for it, apparently unwilling to waste a precious drop. “Not in my house.”

Greg was too skunked to know when to S-square, because he neither sat the fuck down nor shut the fuck up. Not that he
could
sit down, with Dan’s arm against his throat. Still, he could’ve managed the second
S
. Instead he sputtered and flailed and said, “This isn’t … You can’t … This is
my
house!”

“Daniel Gillman, you stop that, right now,” Ivette chimed in as if he were an unruly kindergartner, but the sudden parental tone simply didn’t cut it.

Dan ignored them both as he turned to Izzy. His face was composed, but his voice was tight and his eyes betrayed his soaring levels of stress. “Zanella, do you mind …?”

“I’m on it,” Izzy said, going up the steps and pulling open the creaky screen.

“And who is this?” Ivette asked, moving to block Izzy, shades of Mrs. Robinson radiating from her body language as she apparently noticed him for the first time.

“I’m your son-in-law,” Izzy said. “Mom.”

The M-word made her recoil, and Izzy moved past her, even as Greg chimed in with another chorus of, “I don’t want him in here!”

“You’re welcome,” Izzy told him because the bottle Ivette was now holding was one of the ones he’d sent.

He searched the house quickly and thoroughly, but none of the rooms were locked and all of them were empty. Still he checked every closet and even sifted through piles of laundry.

No Ben. No sign of him, even. No used vials of insulin in the trash or out on the counter in the kitchen—no insulin in the refrigerator at all.

There was, however, a mysteriously cleared-off kitchen table—odd because every other surface in the house was filled with clutter.

Hmm.

Izzy started opening cabinet doors, and hit the jackpot when he opened the cold oven to look inside. There was a rusted cookie sheet on the top rack, upon which sat a vast pile of pill bottles, all prescribed to one George King—presumably Ivette’s former hospice patient. Someone—probably Greg, crafty devil that he was—had started transferring the various medications into snack-sized zipper-shut baggies, where they would be, no doubt, easier for him to sell on the street.

Felony drug charges, anyone? Possession, perhaps, with intent to distribute?

Izzy took out his cell phone and snapped a few photos, careful to get pictures that clearly showed both the labels and the fact that the bottles were nearly full. Then he took one of the bottles and one of the
baggies and slipped them into the pocket of his cargo shorts, because sometimes photographic evidence simply wasn’t enough.

Then he closed the oven door as quietly as possible, acutely aware that while
his
childhood had been unconventional, and while his own parents had been woefully inattentive, and his brothers had often been overly rough and frequently less than kind, he’d never had to deal with addicts and their ensuing criminal activity. And maybe Ivette hadn’t always been this way, at least not while Dan was growing up. In fact, she probably hadn’t.

Yes, his and Eden’s older sister, Sandy, had been a real mess, which had to have been hard to live with. And they’d all constantly dealt with the stress of Ivette’s cheating while their father was away.

But from what Izzy could tell, Ivette’s drug problem hadn’t started until after the loss of their home and their livelihood from the post-Katrina flooding. Danny had long since gone into the Navy by then, but Eden had still been a young teenager, and Ben? He’d been just a little boy.

And somehow, Ben had managed to remain one of the nicest, sweetest kids Izzy had ever met, despite his having to live day-to-day with
this
kind of bullshit horror show. But maybe his sweetness
wasn’t
such a mystery because despite that hell, he’d had Eden to love him, to protect him, and to raise him right.

Even though, through most of that, she’d been just a kid herself.

Out front, the conversation was growing more heated.

Get your dirty hands offa me!
Greg.

Why would Ben be here, anyway?
Ivette.
Greg said he was staying with you!

Jenn’s voice, an indiscernible murmur.

Then Ivette again, louder:
Danny! You got
married,
and you didn’t even
tell
me! You couldn’t wait for me to come home so I could be there?

Izzy exhaled hard, resisting the urge to rush out there and offer Jenn a thousand dollars to slap the bitch for him, knowing how badly it must sting for Eden to hear her mother say that—after Ivette had flatly turned down their invitation to attend Eden’s own wedding.

The best thing Izzy could do was finish up quickly so he could get Eden the hell out of here.

He continued to scan the kitchen, and he finally saw what he was looking for—a cell phone out on the counter. He couldn’t tell if it was Greg’s or Ivette’s, but when he flipped it open—it was a fairly standard low-budget model—he could access the phone’s recent history, where there was a list of calls that had been either made or received. The phone wasn’t sophisticated enough to differentiate between the two, but he quickly deduced that it was Greg’s phone, because there was no record of any calls to or from Danny.

But there
were
quite a few calls—dozens, in fact—made yesterday, before midnight, to the same four numbers—one of them identified with Ivette’s name—starting in the midafternoon.

He’s gay, Mom
. Eden’s voice from out front.
He was
born
gay. You can’t change that. You can only make him hate himself and really screw him up
. I
think he’s perfect
.

Jenn:
I do, too. He’s really a terrific kid, Mrs. Fortune
.

It was nearly 0130, but hey. It was no skin off of Izzy’s nose if the peeps on the other end of those numbers woke up thinking Greg was drunk-dialing them.

He went down the list of mystery numbers, hitting
TALK
.

The first got him an automated message system for the State of Nevada’s Child Protective Services office. The second was an answering machine for the Church of the Righteous Redeemer. The third?

Bingo. But bingo in a really bad way.

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