Lacy's End (17 page)

Hector nodded. “I swear, Charlie. I’ll do the best job I’ve ever done.”

The two men regarded each other—Charlie judging Hector’s honor, Hector waiting for approval. Finally, they each nodded.

“Let’s get it done,” Charlie finally said.

The two men set about their tasks. Hector photographed, measured, transferred samples of blood into little test tubes, while Charlie took detailed notes on the size and location of each blood spot. He counted how many bloody footprints there were, how long the bloody drag marks were, and how large the hole in the wall was. Again, he noted, just the right size for Brenda’s head. With each sentence he wrote, his temper flared. He had to remind himself to stay focused and professional, and to distance himself from the personal aspect of the task.

After a while Hector stopped. “You know what you’re starting, don’t you?”

Charlie nodded. “Law and order to this corrupt town. And I dare say it’s long overdue.”

***

At the hospital, Peter rushed in through the front door, waving his badge at the security officer as he passed by. He leaned heavily on the duty nurse’s desk as he flashed his badge at her, causing her to pull back. She pushed the badge away and said, “I know who you are. You don’t need to go shoving that thing in my face.”

“Good. I want to see my wife,” he demanded.

The nurse was a large, rotund, heavily-bosomed African–American woman. She crossed her arms over her barrel chest, pursed her lips, then drew them into a pencil line, narrowed her eyes at the sheriff and said, “I don’t care who you want to see. This is a hospital, and the last I checked, your name wasn’t listed anywhere on my paycheck.” She pointed a finger toward his chest. “I don’t take orders from you. Now, do you want to try that request again?”

Peter rolled his eyes and sighed. “May I see my wife, please?”

She smiled, sardonically. “Better, but try it without the attitude.”

Peter gritted his teeth. “You’re trying my patience, young lady. I don’t think you realize—”

“No! You’re trying mine,” she interjected.

She tapped some keys. “Your wife is in post-op recovery,” she said.

He turned to leave.

“They won’t let you in.”

He turned back. “Why?”

“Because of the restraining order.”

“Screw the restraining order!” Peter yelled.

He marched off. The nurse nodded at a security guard, who stepped from his post and stood in front of the sheriff.

“Get out of my way!”

“No, Sir. I can’t do that.”

Peter eyed the guard standing in front of him. Tall—at least two inches on him, broad shoulders, strong jaw, arms the size of flour bags. He thought of his own physique. Although he worked out three times a week and was in decent enough shape for a man his age, he was no match for this man.

He turned back to the nurse. “May I at least talk to someone about her?”

She looked at him for a moment, set her eyes in a heavenward glance, thinking about the question. Then, finally, she picked up the phone and called the surgery area. “This is Crystal, down in admitting,” she said. “I’ve got Sheriff Waldrip here asking about his wife.” She narrowed her eyes, daring him to start something. “Yes, I know that,” she continued. “But he just wants to talk to somebody.” She hung up the phone. “They’re sending someone down. Have a seat over there.” She gestured to a ring of chairs surrounding a low table with magazines on it.

He paced for several minutes, but no one came. He sat down, picked up a magazine, scanned it, threw it back down, stood, stretched, and began pacing again. When ten minutes had passed, he wandered back to the admitting nurse. She saw him coming, reached under her counter, and slapped up a sign that read GONE ON BREAK BACK IN 10. She laughed when she saw him stamp his foot, but took her leave.

“You insolent!” he screamed. “I’m reporting you.”

“Can I help you, Sheriff?”

He turned to look into the face of a very young, very stern doctor. At least his white coat said he was a doctor. He certainly looked too young to have graduated from medical school.

He read his nametag. “Well, Dr. O’Brien. You certainly can. I was told my wife was brought here. I’m concerned, but nobody seems to want to give me a straight answer.”

“Your wife has suffered a severe beating—”

“You mean she fell,” Peter said, interrupting him.

“I may be young, but I’m not stupid—don’t play me for a fool. As I was saying, your wife has suffered a severe beating that re-broke one of the broken ribs from an earlier beating. One of the ribs punctured her lung. Fortunately, it wasn’t severe, and I was able to repair it with relative ease. She’s in recovery now. Her daughter is with her.”

“Lacy’s here? Can I see her?”

“That’s not my business,” he hesitated, looking him over, “Sheriff,” he finally settled on.

Peter sprang forward, grabbing the doctor by his tie. “Listen, you little twit. That’s my family in there, and you have no right to keep me from them.”

Crystal, having returned from her break, was across the room in two seconds flat, all two hundred and ten pounds of her, shaking with determination as she walked. She grabbed the sheriff by his belt and yanked him backward.

Surprised, the sheriff let out a yowl and landed flat on his back. Angry expletives erupted from him, ending with, “You black-assed cunt. You’re under arrest for assaulting an officer.”

Crystal shook her head as she loomed over him. “You can’t talk like that in here,” she said. “Now get your scrawny butt up and leave this hospital, before I call a real cop.”

She sauntered back to her desk, her hips swaying, her stockings making a swishing noise as her overweight-thighs rubbed together. Her short, white skirt barely covered her buttocks. Dr. O’Brien smirked, despite the injury to his manhood.

Peter jumped to his feet, shook his fist in the air as he screamed, “You can’t keep them from me. I’ll be back for them.” With that, he turned and stalked out of the hospital.

Dr. Petoro entered just as Peter was exiting the building. “Everything okay?” he asked Crystal.

“It’s all good, now,” she said. “Can you believe the nerve of that man? Coming in here all tough, throwing his badge around like it was some kind of shield from God.”

Just then, Crystal spotted the security guard sauntering down the hallway. “Mm-hm,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “It’s about time you showed up. Where the hell did you disappear to?” She waved off his  reply. “Never mind now, Russ. I did your job for you.”

Both doctors guffawed, delighted by the sight of Crystal scolding Russ as if he were a child, and Russ ducking his head as he rushed back to his post.

Crystal returned to her work. Dr. Petoro extended his hand to Dr. O’Brien. “Thanks for that.”

Dr. O’Brien shrugged. “I saw the pretty picture he painted on her face. No man has the right to do that to another person, especially if he carries a badge.”

“What’s your final prognosis,” Dr. Petoro asked.

“She’ll be okay. The puncture wasn’t as bad as it looked, once I got in there and cleaned it all up.”

“I thought for sure he had done some real damage.”

“Oh she’s going to hurt for a while, believe that, but she’ll get along.” He paused, thinking about something, not sure how to phrase it without coming off as a gossip.

“Spit it out, Blake. Obviously something’s on your mind.”

“Okay, Allen. Since you asked, I’m wondering what your relationship is with Mrs. Waldrip.”

He clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We’re strictly friends and barely that,” he added. “I feel the same protective pull as you. The woman needs help, and I’m in a position to give it. That’s all.”

Dr. O’Brien nodded slowly, not sure whether to believe him. “Be careful.”

“I will. Don’t worry. Sheriff Waldrip’s days of terrorizing those two are over.”

Lacy was sitting beside her mother’s bed when Allen returned to the room. She looked up and smiled when she saw him. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Everything’s fine, Lacy.” He indicated Brenda. “She’s still asleep?”

Lacy shook her head. “She woke up once but went back to sleep. Has my dad been here?”

He considered lying to her. She had been through so much lately—first her illness, now her mother’s beating. Sixteen-year-olds should not have to take on the world. But Lacy wasn’t just any sixteen-year-old. She had the style, grace, and maturity of a woman twice her age. Allen remembered his sister at that age. Boyfriends, sleepovers, and the latest dress style were the only things about which she had cared. When Pammy had gone off to college, he’d cried harder than his mother had, but Pammy hadn’t a care in the world. She was braving the next chapter in her life, the newest adventure—and she had embraced it. Allen couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for Lacy.

He looked at her with empathy. What right did he have to lie to her? “Your dad’s come and gone today, Lacy. He won’t be bothering you.”

She sighed with relief, nodding her head ever so slightly. “I’m sorry this happened, Dr. Petoro, but if I’m to be entirely honest, it was probably the only way Mom was going to get away from him.”

“I hope you two realize you don’t have to go it alone.”

“That’s what Angela says, too.”

“Angela knows her job. Listen to her.”

“He showed up at Angela’s apartment today.” Her mood had grown quiet, almost melancholy. “He tried to break in.”

He watched her for a moment, wondering if she was thinking of a father lost, or if she was counting her blessings that she still had her mother.

After a moment she said, “I’m going back to school tomorrow.”

“How do you feel about that?”

She shrugged as if it were no big deal. “I’m scared.” She looked up at him, hope in her eyes. “Do you think I’m well enough?”

“Your kidneys are in good working order.”

She frowned. “What about Mom? Shouldn’t I be here when she wakes up?”

“She’s not going anywhere, Lacy. And neither is your education if you don’t get back to school.”

“I could get a tutor. Or I could homeschool. Lots of kids are doing homeschool now. I’m bright. I get good grades. I could make it on my own.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, casting a lopsided grin. “You’ll be fine, Lacy.”

But she wasn’t fine at all. The next day she rose before the birds twittered. Unfortunately, for her, every cell phone in the entire student body was already twittering away.

“My God, Lacy,” Millie Watson said, ambushing her the minute she walked through the doors. “Where the hell have you been? The whole student body is talking about how your dad killed your mom.”

She had been propelling Lacy toward the bathroom, but now she stopped, grabbed both her shoulders and pulled her close, their eyes six inches apart as Millie looked into them. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me right away.” She pulled back, leaned on one leg and crossed her arms under her breast in a pouting stance. “I feel like we’re drifting apart.”

All Lacy could do was shake her head. “My dad didn’t kill my mom. Who started that rumor?”

Millie took out her cell phone, shoving it under Lacy’s nose. “See right there, plain as can be.”

Lacy took the phone from Millie and read the Twitter tweet.
Sheriff Waldrip killed his wife, and now Lacy is living in an orphanage
.

She sighed as she handed back the phone. She hoisted her book bag higher on her shoulder and resumed walking to her math class. “My mom’s in the hospital—she’s not dead, and I’m not living in an orphanage. I’m staying with Ms. Martin.”

“And you didn’t tell me, your best friend, all of this? I’m hurt.”

“You would have known ‘all of this,' she said, making finger quotes in the air, “if you had bothered to visit me in the hospital.”

“You know I hate hospitals.”

She scowled at her. “So do I, but I was stuck there, all alone, nobody but nurses and doctors poking me all day. Jake’s the only one who came to visit me.”

Millie gave her a strange look. “Who’s Jake?”

“He’s my new friend, and apparently the only one who cares.”

“How come I haven’t met him?”

They arrived at Lacy’s classroom. She stopped, shrugging as she said, “You’re not around when Jake is—that’s all.”

“Wanna hang after school?” Millie asked.

Lacy shook her head. “Can’t, I have to check on Mom, and then I have to go to work. I haven’t gone in almost a week.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Sure.” She pointed her thumb at the classroom. “I have to go. I’ll see you at lunch.”

She walked into the classroom just as the bell rang. All eyes turned to her, but she ignored them, sliding into her seat. A few of the kids smiled at her, trying to offer support—no doubt trying to get on her good side so they could get the scoop.

“Good morning, Lacy,” Mr. Braten said. “It’s nice to see you back on your feet again.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

She took out her math book, looked at the board to see what page they were working on. She found the page quickly enough and was surprised to discover she hadn’t missed all that much. In fact, by her estimate she should be able to catch up by the end of the week.

She caught a couple kids snickering a few times, but she tried her hardest to concentrate on her work. Halfway through the class, though, she had no clue where the teacher was attempting to lead them. She raised her hand.

“Yes, Lacy?” Mr. Braten asked.

She stood. “Would it be all right if I address the class?”

To her surprise, most of the kids stopped whispering and turned to look at her.

Mr. Braten hesitated. “Go ahead.”

“I just wanted to let everyone know that, no—my mother is not dead, and I do not live in an orphanage. I am, however staying with a friend while my mom recuperates. As soon as she is back on her feet, I will be living with her again. That’s all I have to say, except—can we please focus on calculus now, because I’m really not getting this.”

She sat down in her chair. Several students laughed, some flushed in embarrassment.

Mr. Braten tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a smile. “Okay. Well said, Lacy.” He addressed the class. “Everyone satisfied?”

When no one answered, he resumed his lecture.

Lacy thought she would have to repeat herself throughout the day. Thanks to Twitter, though, that wasn’t necessary. By lunchtime, the entire school knew about Lacy’s situation.

When she tried to find Millie, she noticed a new group of kids milling around her friend. She supposed they were trying to glean as much information as possible from her, seeing as how she was the “best friend” and all. What a joke. Lacy guessed it took a real tragedy to see who one’s true friends were. She sighed. To be fair to Millie, she would have to admit she had been pushing her away since Jake started coming around.

She bypassed the entire group and took off for her hiding place, hoping Jake would be there.

She sensed him long before she entered her haven. She approached cautiously. He was waiting for her just inside the entrance. “Don’t go in there,” he said, putting a hand up to brace her.

She pushed past him, stopping a few feet away. She turned tear-filled eyes toward him. “It’s all gone.”

He nodded, held out his arms, and wrapped his arms around her as she stepped in for an embrace.

“Everything’s changed,” she cried, soaking his shoulder as the tears slipped down.

His hand went up to cup the back of her head. She smelled like jasmine, reminding him of how delicate she was. “Some changes are good,” he said. He tilted her chin up so he could look in her eyes. “You’re changing, Lacy, and that’s a good thing. You’re so young, beautiful, bright, cheery, and full of hope. Good things wait for you outside your pain. You don’t need to hide in here.”

She hugged him tighter. “Don’t ever leave me, Jake. I couldn’t bear it.”

“I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

The bell rang, startling Lacy. She jumped, and both she and Jake laughed. She stepped back, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes with her sleeve. “I’d better go. I don’t want to be late for class on my first day back.”

He nodded. “I’ll see you later.”

She walked away with her head hung low. When she turned back to wave, he was gone.