Bullet in the Night (12 page)

I’d finished writing and was pushing the file aside as the door opened and Kirk strode in behind Ellen. He eyed my office as if sizing it up for a prison break, circling the room twice before choosing the chair closest to the door.

In response to my hello, Kirk’s face worked itself into an ugly glare. I noted his day’s growth of beard. Maybe he didn’t feel like he belonged to the daily-shave class yet. At least he’d dressed neatly in a short-sleeve broadcloth shirt and belted black jeans.

Ellen scurried back to her outer office. I fought the urge to follow her.

Instead I said, “You seem uneasy, Kirk. Are you okay being here? I mean, it’s not scary is it? You’ve had counseling before and have an idea what to expect at least.”

He shot me a cold stare. His voice when he finally spoke resembled a growl. “Truth is, I don’t buy this counseling crap. How can talking fix hurts from the past? Words aren’t worth a...” He caught himself. “...a darn.”

I forced a smile.
Then two of us are not completely eager at this moment, Kirk.
 I kept my reaction, hardly a professional response, to myself. “I hope you’ll give our counseling a chance and begin to trust me as you did Lenora.” I felt like a pediatrician talking a child past normal immunization age into getting shots.

“Whadda you expect you can do?” He spoke with the enthusiasm of a rapper at a violin concert.

I picked up my notepad. “Let’s get underway and see.” I swiveled my chair closer to him. “I know the basic data on your adult life from the foundation’s file, Kirk. A brief walk through your earlier years might be helpful. Let’s start with your first clear memory?”

Kirk’s face darkened. He sat silent a few seconds. “That’s easy. Dad beating Mom is my strongest. Sorta became his weekend sporting event.” His tone was almost matter-of-fact, but his pain was palpable.

“How terrible for her and you, Kirk. Did she ever report him?”

“No. A couple of times neighbors reported a ruckus. Whenever the police came, Mom would deny what happened, never pressed charges. Dad musta known she wouldn’t ’cause he kept at it.”

I shook my head. “How sad.” Stories like this were way too common.

“When I was fourteen I had enough size on me and got the nerve to fight him. I’ll never forget his look the night I pulled him off Mom. He threw me across the room, but I came right back at him and let him have it good. He woulda known the day was coming, if he wasn’t so dumb.”

“Was he a drinker?”

“Binged mostly on weekends. Drunk, he was no match for my size and strength.”

“What happened after you beat him up?”

“Scared the… I mean, scared him good. I didn’t just beat him; I threatened to kill him if he touched her again. He left, and we never saw him again. As far as I was concerned, he died that night because I wished him dead and wanted him to be.” Kirk narrowed his gaze, maybe checking to see if I was shocked.

“Then what?”

“My mom, my sister, and me stayed together a couple of years. Funny thing, after a while I became as much of a tyrant as my dad, except for I never hit either of them.” He lowered his head. “When I was fifteen, Mom had enough of me. My sister was older than me, and she’d already taken off. I don’t remember much else about family stuff.”

“Have you been able to forgive your dad for the way he hurt you, most likely not even knowing the harm he was doing to his children?”

“Forgive?” He rubbed the hair on his forearm. “You had to bring that up. When Lenora visited me in prison she talked about forgiving all the time. Said I had to or I’d be drinking poison every day. Wouldn’t ever be free inside or be able to help others.”

“And?”

“Dunno. I had a lot of thinking time in prison. Even went to a retreat inside. A priest heard my confession and helped me see that my old man was doing the best he could. I let it go at that.” Kirk looked up sharply.

“And your mom?”

Hardness formed in his facial expression. Had it reached his soul? “Moms are supposed to be kind and gentle and loyal. Mine wasn’t.”

“She gave you life, didn’t abandon you, kept you fed and cared for until you could provide for yourself. That’s huge.”

“Isn’t that what moms are supposed to do?” He fiddled with the stretch band on his watch, an old scratched Timex, snapping it in and out.

“Not all do.” I shook my head slowly and sighed. “But we try to forgive them.”

“Mine turned me out as soon as she could. I read in the Bible respect is what kids owe parents. I tried to forgive, but I’ll never forget. You make it sound like something simple. It’s not.” Kirk twisted in his chair as if trying to wiggle out of his emotions.

“I don’t mean to make it appear like it is. Relationships are tough, but they do get easier when you strip layers of blame away. It’s incredibly hard, but if you can focus on the good God puts in people and choose to forget the bad they did, you’ll be a lot healthier and happier.”

“I said I forgave her. Lenora knew ’cause I told her.”

“Good. Did you have any other family close by? Aunts, uncles, grandparents?”

“None I knew. Hey, my immediate people were problem enough.”

“How did you support yourself when your mom put you out on the street?”

Kirk pushed up his shirtsleeves revealing a curvaceous, tattooed purple lady decorating his muscular forearm. He flexed his muscle, and she moved. “I fended for myself, whatever it took. I never went hungry. I worked the streets with a buddy. I learned fast, had to or I wouldn’t survive. It’s not my fault I got screwed up. What else was I supposed to do?”

This wasn’t the time to bring up homeless shelters or church outreaches. “Kirk, you certainly had a lousy childhood. I don’t want to minimize that. However, I don’t buy the victim theory. You’re responsible for choices you made messing up your adult life. A bad start isn’t an excuse. People shake childhood abuse and dysfunction to become solid adults. We all stand before God to give account of one life—ours. Lenora must have told you this.”

“Yeah, I heard it.” Kirk looked me square in the eye for the first time. “Plenty.”

“What about other female relationships in your life?”

“I had a few girlfriends I crashed with off and on. Even got myself married in Chicago after a spell, but it didn’t last.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say, my career got in the way. Angie stood by me for a year, then left. Who’d want to stay with a loser like me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said she’d take me back in a minute if I’d straighten up but wasn’t gonna put up with what I made her live through no more.” Kirk brushed the back of his hand across his eyes.

“Sounds like a good woman.”

His tone softened. “She was. Not ’till Lenora came along did I get it. Lenora helped me; I gotta admit. Talked to me about stuff like self-dignity, achievement, and God making me for a purpose. By then it was too late for Angie.” He looked down.

Lenora’s warm voice echoed clearly in my head. My eyes blurred with tears, but I forced myself to concentrate on Kirk. “Where’s your ex-wife now?”

“She died in a car accident six months ago.” Kirk pronounced each word slowly like it was a knife cut. “Wouldn’t have been in that car if it weren’t for me. Woulda been home where she belonged.”

“I’m so sorry. You can’t blame yourself for what happened to your wife.” I dropped my pencil and bent to retrieve it to hide the image flooding my face. 
I hope you’re not responsible for what happened to Lenora either.

“I realize now how much she mattered to me. I’d give my right arm to have her back.” Kirk pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “I ended up in prison soon after Angie left me. They treated me like scum in there because I’d raped a woman once when I was drunk. Nobody’d talk to me.”

“When did you run into Lenora?”

“Inside the joint my last time.” Kirk shifted his legs toward the left side of his chair.

Guilty reaction? The words popped into my brain.

He studied his hands. “Is she doing any better?”

“Still touch and go.” I swallowed hard and rubbed my palm across my forehead, hating that my vibrant friend was connected to a mechanical breath-maker. “Tell me about your sessions.”

“She’d listen to me rant. Eventually Lenora linked me up with a guy from Prison Fellowship. He told me about this Jewish carpenter named Jesus who loved sinners of all types, no exceptions, and already died to serve my sentence for everything I did wrong. Weird, huh?”

“And wonderful.” I fingered the cross I wore around my neck.

“The guy gave me a Bible. I read it cover to cover, several times actually. First book I ever finished. The words of Christ got through to me, and I became a Christian. Lenora helped me understand what I read. She kept telling me, ‘You’re a human being created in the image of God; you’re worth something. It’s time to start acting that way.’”

A thrill swept down my spine. “Absolutely.”

“Yeah, so look what became of her. Check out the two women in my life who tried to help me. One’s dead; the other’s in a coma. I feel like I should wear a warning sign. Contact with Kirk Corsini is dangerous.” He patted his breast pocket where a pack of cigarettes was sticking out. “Is smoking okay in here?”

“I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind.”

He folded his hands in his lap. “I need to quit anyway. You should know helping me, something bad might happen to you. You better be careful.”

His words startled me. Was that a warning or a show of concern? “I’ll take my chances. Regardless, my welfare is not your responsibility. You do need to take charge of yourself, though.”

“Sure haven’t done a good job of that, have I? The police are itching to pin Lenora’s shooting on me and put me away for life.”

“If you’re innocent, you can fight and win, Kirk.”

“What chance do I have?”

“With God, there’s always hope.”

He sighed. “You sound like her. Lotta times Lenora told me ‘You’ve always got a prayer.’ Now she’s on her deathbed. What kinda God would allow that?”

An answer popped into my head, but I chose not to say it aloud.
One who sacrificed His own Son for you.
Instead I asked, “Kirk, is there anything else I should know about your life story?”

“That’s it. Not much of a story.”

I smiled. “Bad choice of words. Let’s talk about the evening of Lenora’s shooting.” I looked down, scanning the file in my hands for his arrival hour at Lenora’s.

“All I know is I was set-up. I just got out of prison a couple weeks before.”

“Who might have been aware ahead of time you were going to be at Lenora’s the night she was shot?” 

He shrugged. “Nobody I know. Had to be someone from the foundation.”

“Anybody hold a grievance against Lenora? Did she help any convict who then turned on her?”

Kirk twisted in his chair. “I been thinking ’bout that. Most people I know liked her, ’cept maybe one. Russell might have held a grudge. She wouldn’t give him a small business loan. Said the foundation wasn’t set up that way. He got pretty mad. Truth is I didn’t blame him.”

“She’d have wanted ex-cons to learn personal financial responsibility. Giving money doesn’t foster that.” I jotted down Russell’s name.

Kirk saw me writing. “I doubt he’d hurt her though,” he added hastily. Kirk’s hands began to tremble. “Lenora’s gotta make it out of that hospital. If she dies, I’m a goner.” He cleared his throat. “She’s gotta recover and tell who really shot her. I don’t mean to sound as if I don’t care about her. It’s not like that.”

“I bet there’s a lot of things you don’t mean. It’s good to be aware of what you say and how people interpret things, Kirk.”

“People like Lenora shouldn’t get hurt when they’re so good to others. Forget about me trying to forgive the guy who shot her.”

“Why are you sure it’s a guy? Do you know more than you’re telling me?”

“Would a lady do something like that?”

I tilted my head. “I don’t see why not.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The next morning, I called the hospital first thing. Tucker had added me to the list of people who could receive updates on Lenora. To my delight she could have visitors for brief visits even though still on a ventilator and heavily medicated. Maybe my presence in itself could cheer her, plus I wanted to pray for her in person.

With the van windows rolled down, I inhaled the fragrant autumn leaves. Nick’s favorite season is fall. Mine is summer, full bloom, and total life. Fall reminds me of change and death. 
But signifies new life to come
, God nudged into my thoughts.

I passed a girl in a farm field, probably six or seven, picking poppies. Around her age I’d plucked poppies from our garden and twisted them into necklaces. Flashy red fire gems I wore with my shoulders back, head high and haughtiness worthy of the Hope Diamond. I’d also stuff a handful of stems into my fist and hold them like a bride’s bouquet, thinking they were more exquisite than any in the florists’ windows. Having alcoholic parents meant I spent a lot of time alone with my imagination.

The present thudded back as I approached the medical center. The hospital was undergoing expansion. Construction trucks were everywhere. Finding a spot in the visitor’s lot took twenty minutes.

I’d already sent a flowering plant to Lenora’s room but didn’t want to visit without bringing another reminder of life. The sweet clerk inside the hospital gift shop appeared to be at least eighty. Her powdery skin was smooth like chalk, and her hair the color of honey. She greeted me with a warm smile. Permanent smile lines around her eyes etched a history of good humor.

Her ID tag read, Alda, Hospital Volunteer. She finished cleaning her eyeglasses, straightened to full height, smoothed her pink smock, and stepped from behind the cash register.

I smiled at her. This is what I wanted for Lenora and myself, too. To grow old while still serving people.

“May I help you?” Alda leaned forward to be of service.

“I’d like to take you home to be my grandmother.”

She laughed in a voice smooth as exquisite silk. I asked her recommendation for a bouquet of their freshest flowers.