Specter (9780307823403) (16 page)

“Her mother’s name really was Nancy. That would fit.” Thoughts fall into place. “No wonder the police couldn’t trace Sikes. He’d have another name.”

“Julie told you that he fought with her father. He must have threatened him, or Nancy. Maybe that’s why they kept moving and had to move so fast.”

Should I tell him the rest? It’s too long, too complicated. Not now. Not until after I sort it all out. Not until after I talk to Dr. Lynn.

“I’m so glad you came up with this,” I say. “I’m going to try to get Julie to open up to me tomorrow. She must know things she isn’t telling. I’m hoping I can get her to confide in me.”

He reaches over to take my hand, but I stand up. “Dave, she stuck to me like butter on bread today. I know she’s jealous of you and the time I spend with you. Right now I’ve got to make her feel she’s important to me.”

He stands, too. “So you’re telling me to go home?”

“I don’t want to, but I have to.”

He shrugs but doesn’t let go of my hand. “There’s one thing more. I went to the library this morning,
and I read whatever I could find in back issues of magazines and newspapers about Hodgkin’s disease and leukemia and other kinds of cancer. Do you know how much progress they’re making, Dina? Do you know they’re finding new things every day, that your chances keep getting better? You’ve got to want to fight.”

“How many knights were eaten before one of them finally killed the dragon? How many—?”

But his mouth is over mine, and I respond. Until I remember that it’s not fair.

“No, Dave.” I tug away from him. My voice is hoarse, and I’ve forgotten what else I was going to say.

“Dina, don’t hate yourself.”

I back away, reaching for the doorknob. “But I can’t help it. I do!”

There’s no time for him to answer. I’m inside the door, leaning against it, trembling. I don’t want to talk about it. Dave doesn’t understand how I feel. I wish with all my heart that he could understand.

Mrs. Cardenas looks up from her bowl of popcorn. “Where’s Dave?”

“He had to go home.”

“Before he had some popcorn?”

“The whole world is not waiting for popcorn,” Mr. Cardenas says, and he turns the television sound up.

“What did Dave want to talk to you about?” Julie asks.

“This is a good program,” I tell her, as I sit on the floor. “If we talk, we’ll spoil it.”

Before I go to bed, I get out my stationery box. It’s just where I had left it. I prop myself against the pillow, box on my knees, sheet of pink stationery on the box.
Dear Holley Jo
. The only words on the paper.
I met this really super guy named Dave. Tonight
—

But I don’t want to tell Holley Jo about the way I feel. For a while I need to keep all this to myself. I put the box on the floor and turn out the light.

Holley Jo, Holley Jo. Once again I’ll slip away and glide up the road and through the walls and into the green and yellow room. But tonight it doesn’t work. Tonight, until I sleep, I hold the smell of Dave’s skin and the feel of Dave’s lips. Tonight I don’t want to go away.

In the morning Mrs. Cardenas says, “It’s a beautiful day!” She puts a bowl of cereal before me and passes me a stack of buttered slices of raisin toast.

The kitchen window is wide open. The air holds the memory of the rainstorm, and it’s sharp and sweet.

“This is a good day to take a walk.” I can get Julie out of the house. Get her to a place where we can talk without anyone overhearing. “Julie, we haven’t walked to the lake yet. Why don’t we go this morning?”

Morning is a good time to begin things, to plan
things, even to end things before the day weaves itself into a heavy mass of problems and concerns.

Julie gulps down a swallow of orange juice. “Why don’t we go to the zoo?”

Her question takes me by surprise. “Because the zoo is too far away to walk.”

“You promised to take me to the zoo, and you didn’t.”

“Dave said he’d take us, but we planned that for the future.”

Julie takes a bite of toast. “I’ve never ridden on an elephant. More than anything in the world I want to ride on the elephant at the zoo. You said I could.”

“Be reasonable. How could we get to the zoo?”

“You can drive, Dina. Mrs. Cardenas could let us use her car.”

“Julie!”

But Mrs. Cardenas gives Julie a fond look. “I suppose I could do that. We have to be careful of gas, you know. It costs a lot now. But this one time. The zoo isn’t far.”

I wish Julie hadn’t done this. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cardenas. She shouldn’t have asked. We can wait until Dave takes us.”

Julie is looking at Mrs. Cardenas with eyes that are so pleading she reminds me of a miserable waif begging for pennies. I want a chance to talk to Julie, not the distractions of the zoo.

“It’s okay,” Mrs. Cardenas says. “I’ll pack you
a picnic lunch, and give you some spending money for the zoo and the little train.”

“Please don’t,” I tell her. “We can go another time.”

“No, no. Don’t worry. Now is a good time. It’s going to be a nice day, not too hot, no more rain.” She rinses off plates as she talks, stacking them on the drainboard. “The weatherman on TV said so, and I believe it, even though he’s usually wrong. You know, Arturo’s Jimmy would make a better weatherman because ever since he broke his arm in a baseball game, he can tell if it’s going to rain.”

She begins to putter in and out of the refrigerator, putting together a lunch for us. Julie is pleased. Well, maybe this will put her in a good mood. It might be for the best. I’ll need her cooperation to get the right answers.

“If you go early, it isn’t too crowded,” Mrs. Cardenas says. “So finish your breakfast, then get the map, and I’ll show you how to get there.”

Mrs. Cardenas gives me other instructions before we leave. “Be back before three o’clock. A woman is coming here to check things out. She has some papers to sign, and she wants to talk to both of you.”

“We’ll be here,” I tell her, and I climb behind the wheel, tucking the lunch bag on the floor next to me. Julie gets in, carefully holding a paper sack.

I’m watching streets, so it’s not until we are past
McCullough that I notice the paper sack is folded and on the floor. On her lap Julie holds her treasure box.

“Oh!”

Julie stares up at me, and I say, “You brought the box. I’m glad. Are you going to show me some of the things in it?”

“Yes,” she says. “Today is the time.”

I lean forward, following signs. Here’s a turnoff.
Zoo
. Over on the left. There we go. Up the road. “Look, Julie. Horses to ride. Did you ever ride a horse?”

“No. They’re too big. I don’t want to.”

“Did you ever ride ponies?”

“My father took me for pony rides a lot when I was little.”

She isn’t very big now. She sits stiffly on the seat, clinging to her faded, dented treasure box, and I feel a pang of tenderness toward her. So many mixed-up problems. But I know Dr. Lynn will be able to help her.

Around the curve to the right. We must be entering the park from a back road. We pass the train tracks and a small train that is chugging along.

Julie stares out the window. “I want to ride on that train.”

“There’s lots of time. Why don’t we find a nice, quiet place for a talk, and you can show me the things in your treasure box?”

“Not until after we ride on the train and the elephant.”

To the left is the entrance to the zoo. I park the car. Julie slides her treasure box under the seat.

“We’ll lock the car,” she says. She’s in charge all the way. The best thing I can do is go along with her plans.

She chooses the train first, and I buy the tickets at the little station. We sit together in a car with a pink-striped canopy top.
Plackety-plackety-plackety-plackety
over the rails, chugging and humming to the next station. Around the park. There are the horses again.

“Look, Julie! A squirrel!” Back to the station. Around in a circle. I wish Dave were with us.

We walk up the incline to the zoo, pay our admission, and go inside. There is so much to see.

“Find out where the elephants are,” Julie says. “I want to go right to the elephants.”

It’s her zoo, her show. Why did it have to be today? What’s on her mind? I can’t even guess.

There is the elephant with a platform of sorts on his back, and there is the line for the ride. I buy Julie a ticket, and she has already claimed her place in line.

“That looks like fun,” I tell her.

“I’ve never ridden an elephant,” she says so solemnly that it’s hard to keep from smiling.

Finally it’s her turn, and she climbs up to join the other children in the carrier strapped to the elephant’s back. She twists to look at me, and I smile and wave at her. She waves once, then turns to face forward. The elephant begins to move.

It’s a short trip around the compound. Her group climbs off as another group climbs on. Most of the children run to their mothers, but Julie walks to me, still solemn, something very much on her mind.

“Now let’s have lunch,” she says.

“But you haven’t seen the rest of the zoo.”

“I rode on the elephant. That’s all I wanted to do.”

“Are you sure? Because once we go out, we can’t go in without paying again.”

“Come on, Dina,” she says, taking my hand and leading me back the way we had come.

Picnic tables are scattered among the oak trees near the parking lot. I carry the lunch from the car and spread it out on a table deep in shade. Julie carries her treasure box.

Sandwiches, bananas, apples, and oatmeal cookies. How does Mrs. Cardenas expect us to eat all this!

There’s a Thermos of lemonade and some paper cups. I pour the lemonade and put a cup before Julie, who climbs on the bench next to me. She munches on a cookie and gulps the lemonade.

“Maybe it’s too early,” I tell her. “I’m just not hungry. I’d rather talk.”

“All right,” Julie says. She moves her empty cup aside and puts the treasure box in its place. She struggles for a moment with the metal lid, then pulls it off. This time she places the lid to one side.

There are not many things in the box. There is a small doll, some seashells, a picture postcard of
Sarasota, and another with a scene of sand dunes spiked with sea grass.

Julie holds up an inexpensive gilded chain. “See, I told you I had a gold chain,” she says. “My father gave it to me.”

“I remember. You said you could put your jade ring on it.” Her fingers are bare. “Julie, what happened to the ring?”

She doesn’t look at me. “I lost it.”

The pink glass dog is in the box, but she moves it aside and takes out a newspaper clipping from a Tulsa paper. It’s a picture of a pretty brunette woman dressed in a ragged costume. A man is standing beside her, but the paper has been torn on a diagonal, so his face is gone.

“That’s when my mother was in the play
Oliver
,” Julie says.

“She’s beautiful.” I read the caption: Nancy Gambrell as Nancy and William Kaines as Bill Sikes.

“Julie!” I’m confused. “This says that William Kaines— But I thought your father’s name was William Kaines!”

“No. That’s not my father’s name.”

“Your name is Julie Kaines.”

“It’s not. It’s Julie Gambrell.”

“But in the hospital they called you Julie Kaines.”

For a moment she looks bewildered. “No, they didn’t. They just called me Julie. That’s all.”

I stare at her. “They took it for granted. No one ever asked you your last name!”

A serrated leaf spirals down on the paper, and I brush it away. “Then the man in the car wasn’t your father.”

“Of course not,” she says.

I examine the yellowed clipping in my hands. “Julie, why is the photograph in the newspaper torn?”

“I tore off his head,” she says. “I hate Bill Sikes.”

“I think we’d better talk about Sikes,” I say slowly.

“You haven’t seen everything in the box yet,” she answers. She pushes it toward me. Again she calmly takes command.

There are two more snapshots, with a background of trees and a pond. The figures are small. A young man and a young woman. The man is holding a very young child with windblown silver for hair. Julie hands them to me.

“This is you with your parents?”

Julie nods.

Again I look at the photo of her father. “You look so much like him. What was his name?”

“Gordon Peter Gambrell.”

“Tell me more about your parents. Tell me about your mother.”

But Julie doubles over and holds her stomach. “I feel sick, Dina.”

“It must be the lemonade and cookie. Too much sugar. I should have made sure you ate a sandwich first.”

“No. I felt sick before I ate.”

“You didn’t say anything about it.”

“I thought it would go away.”

“I’ll take you home right now.” I’m up and packing the lunch back in the bag.

Julie curls into a little ball and moans.

“Do you want to go to the restroom?”

“I want to go to the hospital.”

“But Julie—”

It occurs to me that might be a good idea. If I took her home, Mrs. Cardenas would have to call the doctor, and we’d probably end up taking Julie to see him. This way she can be checked immediately, and if it is serious, she’ll have good care. And I can try to talk to Dr. Lynn. It’s more important now than ever that I talk to Dr. Lynn.

Julie must be feeling terrible. She doesn’t seem to care about her treasure box. I pack her things in carefully and snap the lid shut. “If you can stand up, I’ll try to carry you.”

“I can walk. Just help me.”

We struggle up the slight hill. My arms are filled with the bag of food, the treasure box, and Julie. “Here’s the car. Just a minute. I’ll get the door open.”

She leans heavily against me, and I nearly fall. “I want to lie down in the backseat,” she says.

“I’d feel better about it if you were in the front seat with me. You can put your head on my lap.”

“No.”

“Please, Julie. Get in the front seat.”

“I’ll get sick. It would be all over you.”

As though she’s proving her point, she retches. The important thing is to get Julie to the hospital, so I open the back door.