Live Wire (26 page)

“Suzze visited you here yesterday,” Myron said as though talking to a slow kindergartener. “After that, she drove up to Kasselton and spoke to Karl Snow. Do you know who that is?”

Kitty closed her eyes and nodded.

“Then she went home and took enough drugs to kill herself.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Kitty said. “Not to the baby. I know her. She was killed. They killed her.”

“Who?”

Another “I won’t talk” shake of the head.

“Kitty, you need to help me figure out what happened here. What did you two talk about?”

“We both promised.”

“She’s dead now. That trumps any promise. You’re not breaking any trust here. What did she say to you?”

Kitty reached for her purse and pulled out a pack of Kool cigarettes. For a moment she just held the pack and stared down at it. “She knew it was me who posted that ‘Not His’ comment.”

“Was she angry?”

“Just the opposite. She wanted me to forgive her.”

Myron thought about that. “Because of the rumors she spread about you when you got pregnant?”

“That’s what I thought. I thought she wanted to apologize for telling everyone I slept around and that the baby wasn’t Brad’s.” Kitty met Myron’s eye. “Suzze told you that, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you thought I was some kind of whore? Is that why you told Brad it probably wasn’t his?”

“Not that alone, no.”

“But it contributed?”

“I guess,” he said, biting back the anger. “You’re not going to tell me that Brad was the only man you were sleeping with back then, are you?”

Mistake. Myron saw it.

“Would it matter what I said?” she asked. “You’re going to believe the worst. You always did.”

“I just wanted Brad to check, that’s all. I’m his older brother. I was only looking out for him.”

Her voice was filled with bitterness. “So noble.”

He was losing her again. Getting off track. “So Suzze came here to apologize for spreading rumors?”

“No.”

“But you just said—”

“I said that’s what I thought. At first. And she did. She admitted that she let her competitive nature get the best of her. I told her, it wasn’t your competitive nature. It was your bitch of a mother. First place or nothing. Take no prisoners. The woman was a lunatic. Do you remember her?”

“I do.”

“But I had no idea how crazy that bitch was. Do you remember that pretty Olympic figure skater from the nineties, what was her name, the one who got attacked by her rival’s ex?”

“Nancy Kerrigan.”

“Right. I could see Suzze’s mom doing that, hiring someone to whack my leg with a tire iron or whatever. But Suzze said it wasn’t her mom. She said that maybe her mom pressured her and so she cracked, but that it was on her, not her mom.”

“What was on her?”

Kitty’s eyes went up and to the right. A small smile came to her lips. “Do you want to hear something funny, Myron?”

He waited.

“I loved tennis. The game.” Her eyes had a far-off look to them, and Myron remembered how she was back then, the way she crossed the court like a panther. “I wasn’t that competitive compared with the other girls. Sure, I wanted to win. But really, since I was a little girl, I just loved playing. I don’t get people who really want to win. I often thought that they were horrible people, especially in tennis. You know why?”

Myron shook his head.

“There are two people in a tennis match. One ends up winning, one ends up losing. And I think the pleasure comes not from winning. I think the pleasure comes from beating someone.” She scrunched up her face like a very puzzled child. “Why is that something we admire? We call them winners, but when you think about it, they really get off on making someone else lose. Why is that something we admire so much?”

“That’s a good question.”

“I wanted to be a professional tennis player because, I mean, can you imagine anything more wonderful than making a living playing the game you loved?”

He heard Suzze’s voice:
“Kitty was a great player, wasn’t she?”

“I can’t, no.”

“But if you’re really good, really talented, everyone tries to make it stop being fun. Why is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why, as soon as we show promise, do they take away the beauty and make it all about winning? They sent us to these ridiculously competitive schools. They pitted us against our friends. It wasn’t enough for you to succeed—your friends had to fail. Suzze explained this to me, like I didn’t already get it. Me, who lost my entire career. She knew better than anyone what tennis meant to me.”

Myron stayed very still, afraid to break the spell. He waited for Kitty to say more, but she didn’t. “So Suzze came here to apologize?”

“Yes.”

“And what did she tell you?”

“She told me”—Kitty’s gaze moved past him, toward the window shade—“that she was sorry for ruining my career.”

Myron tried to keep his expression blank. “How did she ruin your career?”

“You didn’t believe me, Myron.”

He did not reply.

“You thought that I got pregnant on purpose. To trap your brother.” Her smile was eerie now. “So dumb when you stop and think about it. Why would I do that? I was seventeen years old. I wanted to be a professional tennis player, not a mother. Why would I intentionally get pregnant?”

Hadn’t Myron thought something similar recently? “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I should have known better. The pill isn’t a hundred percent. I mean, we learned that first week of health class in seventh grade, right?”

“But you didn’t believe that, did you?”

“At the time, no. And I’m sorry about that.”

“Another apology,” she said with a shake of her head. “Also too late. But of course you’re wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

“About the pill not working. See, that’s what Suzze came to tell me. She said she did it almost as a prank at first. But think about it. Suzze knew that I was religious—that I’d never have an abortion. So what would be the best way to eliminate me, her toughest competitor?”

Suzze’s voice from two nights ago.
“My parents explained to me that everything is fair in competition. You do whatever you have to to win. . . .”

“My God.”

Kitty nodded as if to confirm. “That’s what Suzze came here to tell me. She switched out my birth control pills. That’s how I ended up pregnant.”

It made sense. Stunning sense maybe, but it all fit. Myron took a second, let it all sink in. Suzze had been troubled two nights ago when the two of them sat on the balcony. Now he understood why—the talk about guilt, the dangers of being overly competitive, the regrets of the past—it was all a little clearer now.

“I had no idea,” Myron said.

“I know. But that doesn’t really change anything, does it?”

“I guess not. Did you forgive her?”

“I let her have her say,” Kitty went on. “I let her talk and explain everything in full detail. I didn’t interrupt her. I didn’t ask her any questions. And when she finished, I stood up, walked across this very room, and I hugged her. I hugged her hard. I hugged her for a very long time. And then I said, ‘Thank you.’ ”

“For what?”

“That’s what she asked. And if you’re on the outside, I understand the question. Look at what I’ve become. What, you have to wonder, would my life be like now if she didn’t change the pills? Maybe I would have gone on and been the tennis champion everyone predicted, winning majors and traveling the world in luxury, all that. Maybe Brad and I would have stayed together and had children after I retired, right about now maybe, and lived happily ever after. Maybe. But what I know for sure—the only thing I know for sure—is that if Suzze hadn’t switched my pills there would be no Mickey.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Whatever else happened—what other tragedies followed—Mickey makes up for it ten times over. The fact is, whatever Suzze’s motive, Mickey is here because of her. The greatest gift God ever gave me—because of what she did. So not only did I forgive her, but I thanked her because every day, no matter how messed up I get, I get on my knees and thank God for that beautiful, perfect boy.”

Myron stood there stunned. Kitty moved past him, back into the main room, and then across to the kitchen area. She opened the fridge. There wasn’t much but it was laid out neatly. “Mickey went food shopping,” she said. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No.” Then: “So what did you confess to Suzze?”

“Nothing.”

Kitty was lying. She started glancing around again.

“So why did she go from here to Karl Snow’s ice cream parlor?”

“I don’t know,” Kitty said. The sound of a car startled her upright. “Oh my God.” She slammed the refrigerator door closed and peered under a pulled shade. The car passed, but Kitty didn’t relax. Her eyes were wide with paranoia again. She backed herself into a corner, glancing about as though the furniture might leap up and attack her. “We need to pack.”

“And go where?”

She opened up a closet. Mickey’s clothes—all on hangers, shirts folded up top. Man, this kid was neat. “I want my gun back.”

“Kitty, what’s going on?”

“If you found us . . . It’s not safe.”

“What’s not safe? Where’s Brad?”

Kitty shook her head, pulling a suitcase out from under the couch. She started dumping Mickey’s clothes into it. Watching this strung-out heroin addict—there was no nicer way to put that—a strange yet obvious realization came to Myron.

“Brad wouldn’t do this to his family,” Myron said.

That made her slow down.

“Whatever else may be going on—and I don’t know if you’re really in danger, Kitty, or if you’ve fried your brain into a state of irrational paranoia—but I know my brother. He wouldn’t leave you and his son alone like this—you strung out and afraid for your life, real or imagined.”

Kitty’s face crumbled a piece at a time. Her voice was a childlike whine. “It isn’t his fault.”

Whoa. Myron knew to proceed slowly here. He took a half step closer to her and spoke as gently as he could. “I know that.”

“I’m so scared.”

Myron nodded.

“But Brad can’t help us.”

“Where is he?”

She shook her head, her body stiffening. “I can’t say. Please. I can’t say.”

“Okay.” He put up his hands. Easy, Myron. Don’t push too hard. “But maybe you could let me help you.”

She looked at him warily. “How?”

Finally—an opening, albeit a small one. He wanted to suggest rehab for her. He knew a nice place not far from the house in Livingston. That was where he wanted to bring her, try to get her cleaned up. She would go into rehab while Mickey stayed with him, just until they contacted Brad and got him up here.

But his own words haunted him: Brad wouldn’t leave them like this. So that meant one of two things. One, Brad didn’t know how bad his wife was. Or two, for some reason, he couldn’t help them.

“Kitty,” he said slowly, “is Brad in danger? Is he the reason you’re so afraid right now?”

“He’ll be back soon.” She started scratching her arms hard, as though there were bugs under the skin. Her eyes started darting around again. Uh-oh, Myron thought.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I just need to use the bathroom. Where’s my purse?”

Yeah, right.

She dashed into the bedroom, grabbed her purse, and closed the bathroom door. Myron patted his back pocket. Her stash was still there. He could hear the sounds of a frantic search coming from the bathroom.

Myron called, “Kitty?”

Footsteps on the front stoop leading to the door jarred him. Myron whipped his head toward the sound. Through the bathroom door, Kitty shouted, “Who’s that?” Working off her panic, Myron pulled his gun, pointing at the door. The knob turned and Mickey entered. Myron quickly lowered the gun.

Mickey looked at his uncle. “What the hell . . . ?”

“Hey, Mickey.” Myron pointed at his name tag. “Or should I say Bob?”

“How did you find us?”

Mickey was scared too. He could hear it in his voice. Anger, yes, but mostly there was fear.

“Where’s my mother?” he demanded.

“She’s in the bathroom.”

He ran over to the door, put his hand on it. “Mom?”

“I’m okay, Mickey.”

Mickey leaned his head on the door and closed his eyes. His voice was unbearably tender. “Mom, please come out.”

“She’ll be okay,” Myron said.

Mickey turned to him, his hands curled into fists. Fifteen years old and ready to take on the world. Or at least, his uncle. Mickey was dark, broad, and had that brooding, dangerous quality that made girls weak at the knees. Myron wondered where the brooding came from and then, looking at the bathroom door, figured that he already knew the answer.

“How did you find us?” Mickey asked again.

“Don’t worry about it. I had to ask your mom some questions.”

“What about?”

“Where’s your father?”

Kitty screamed out, “Don’t tell him!”

He turned back to the door. “Mom? Come out, okay?”

More sounds of the frantic—and as Myron knew, fruitless—search. Kitty started cursing. Mickey turned back to Myron. “Get out.”

“No.”

“What?”

“You’re the fifteen-year-old kid. I’m the adult. The answer is no.”

Kitty was crying now. They could both hear her. “Mickey?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“How did I get home last night?”

Mickey gave a quick glare back at Myron. “I got you.”

“Did you put me to bed?”

Mickey clearly did not like having this conversation in front of Myron. He tried to whisper through the door, as though Myron wouldn’t be able to hear. “Yes.”

Myron just shook his head.

Kitty asked, her tone nearly a fevered pitch now, “Did you go through my purse?”