The Last Exit to Normal (17 page)

“No.”

“Good, then, because I’d bet every dollar I have that you’d end up missing if Dirk found out. Just one of those country mysteries, you know?” I paused, waiting for this to sink in. “Now I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to get up and grab another beer and think about what might happen if things don’t go your way. Got it? Because this didn’t happen. None of it did, and you’re going to go about your life and I’ll go about mine, and everybody will be happy.”

He didn’t answer, his breathing ragged as I let him go. He lay on his back, staring up at the trees. Then I was gone.

I called Quaverly when I got home. Dad and Edward were putting in another late night at the restaurant. The clock read ten-fifteen. Quaverly picked up. “Hey, Quaverly. Ben.”

“Ben-O. Got some news for you.”

“Spill.”

“They’re still in Vegas. New address.” He gave it to me, along with a phone number.

“How’d you find out?”

He laughed into the receiver. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be magic anymore.”

“So be it, buddy. Thanks.”

“Drop on by if you’re ever in town, huh?”

“Sure thing.” I hung up and stared at the phone number, picturing what I’d say to Jennifer Lindy about her son. Nothing worked.
Hey, my name is Ben and I know your son, Billy. He really wants to come live with you.
Or
Hey, your son is being abused by your ex-husband. He makes him pee in a jar when he’s living in the closet. Could you come pick him up?

Nothing seemed right. The phone wasn’t right. She’d blow it off. She’d say she was sorry, but that she couldn’t do anything. She’d hang up on me. She had a new life. Then I thought about kidnapping the kid and taking him to Vegas. That wouldn’t work; this wasn’t a movie. Then I decided what I had to do.

I had to tell it to her in person. I had to make her believe.

CHAPTER 22

“I
’m going.”

Static came over the line as Kim talked. “Ben, you aren’t serious. You can’t just drive to Las Vegas and ask Billy’s mother to come get him.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Call her. Tell her what’s going on.”

“You know as well as I that it won’t work.”

“Ben . . .”

“I have to do this, Kim, and it has to work. He thinks she hates him.”

Silence.

“You don’t know what it’s like to think your mom doesn’t love you, Kim.”

Silence, then a sigh.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Come with me to Las Vegas. I looked on a map. It’s only like thirteen hours if you drive fast.”

“I can’t. My dad wouldn’t let me.”

“You can if you don’t tell him, but you don’t want to come.”

“I do want to, but I’m not going to lie.”

“Then don’t. Leave him a note. Tell him you’re not running away, but that you have to perform a civic duty.”

She laughed. “I can’t, Ben.”

“Come with me. We’ll be back in two days, tops.”

She thought about it. “The only way I could go would be if Dirk came with us. Then my dad would say okay.”

I hadn’t seen him since hunting. “Is he pissed about the diarrhea thing?”

“He was for a while, but he decided to be a good sport when I reminded him he almost broke your shoulder.”

I imagined driving to Nevada with Dirk. “You sure that’s the only way?”

A smile lit her voice. “Yes. He does anything I want him to.”

“Okay. Fine by me, but we’re leaving in an hour.”

An hour later, Dirk pulled up in his humongous truck, and he had a humongous frown on his face. Kimberly sat, smiling, in the passenger seat. Dad and Edward were still gone. I hopped in the backseat. “Hey, guys.” I leaned forward and pecked Kim on the cheek. “Hey, Dirk. Want some coffee?”

He turned, ready to grab me, but Kim put her hand on his shoulder. “Dirk, you promised.”

I smiled. “Come on, Dirk, I nailed you fair and square.”

He shook his head, but I saw a smile on his face through the rearview. “Yeah, sure.”

I buckled up. “So, how’s the ass?”

That got him laughing. He fired the engine up. “You got gas money?”

I nodded. “Gas and food on me. Let’s go.”

He nodded, in surprisingly good spirits despite chauffeuring us to Las Vegas late night. Kim turned back to me. “What’d you tell your dad?”

“I left a note saying that you were pregnant and that we were going to Vegas to get hitched.”

Dirk scowled at me in the rearview mirror. I shook my head. “I’m so joking it’s incredible, Dirk. In fact, just knowing you made me sterile.” The truth was that I hadn’t said a word to anybody.

He drove on. “Tell me the story about this kid,” he said.

I did, and as I spoke, I noticed his profile relax. He hit the highway south, and nodded. “He’s really screwed up?”

“I don’t know. He’s just . . . shit, man, I don’t know. I guess I owe him.”

“You owe him?”

I smiled. “Not really. I just think that if I was him, I’d like somebody giving a shit about me. Besides, I’ve always wanted to pull a hell run to Vegas.”

Dirk cranked it up to eighty on the deserted highway. “You’re a different duck, city boy. That’s for sure.”

I watched the shadowed fields fly by. “You know the way?”

He nodded. “Sure do. Roads the cops don’t use, too.”

“Cool.”

CHAPTER 23

W
hen I woke up, the dash clock read six in the morning. The landscape flew by. Kim was sound asleep in the front seat, and a slow twang came softly through the speakers. “Hey, Dirk,” I whispered. “You tired?”

He spit into the ever-present empty Pepsi can in the cup holder. “You ain’t driving this truck.”

“Your choice, but I know how to drive, and I just slept.”

We drove a couple of miles in silence. Then he let off the gas and pulled over. We were in the middle of nowhere, and I mean
nowhere.
We switched, and he lay down across the backseat. I put the truck in gear. He sighed. “I don’t have to tell you what happens if even a bug hits this truck too hard. Go the speed limit.”

I didn’t smile. “Got it. Speed limit. I’ll wake you before we get into the city.”

He settled in. “There’s a map in the console.”

So I drove. I set the cruise at exactly the speed limit, and it was a solid hour before I relaxed even a little bit. I hadn’t seen a single car. Kim stirred, then opened her eyes. I smiled. “Hey, Sunshine. Good morning.”

She looked at me, then at Dirk sleeping in the backseat. “He let you drive?”

“I’m the dependable type.”

She stretched, opening a box of mini donuts and popping one in her mouth. We’d stocked up on junk at a roadside gas station the night before. She chewed, then washed it down with some Gatorade. “You think this will work?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “We’ll see.”

Hours later, I pulled off to the side of the road and woke Dirk. We were at the Las Vegas city limits, and being that I said I’d wake him when we got there, and also being that I had a suspended Washington State driver’s license that everybody had seemed to not ask about, I didn’t want to risk getting arrested. I swallowed my guilt. I’d told Dirk I knew how to drive, not that I had a license.

Vegas in the late morning was awesome, and I could only imagine what it would be like at night. Dirk took us through the Strip, and we were able to see all the hotels and casinos. The one that looked like a black pyramid was right up my alley. Dirk drove while I recited the address, and it took us forty-five minutes and a stop at a gas station to find the neighborhood, in a suburb.

We came to a gated entrance to a development called Moran Heights, and luckily the gates stood open. I looked at the houses. I’d expected to find a ho-hum neighborhood, but the only thing ho-hum about this one was nothing. The streets were wide, the gutters clean, and the houses big. “Looks like Mrs. Hinks is doing well,” I said.

Dirk searched the house numbers, winding around a corner. We passed a small park with a fountain in it. “Looks like,” he said. Then he slowed, pointing. “There it is: 2234.”

I looked. These were definitely cookie-cutter houses, probably nine or ten floor plans for the hundreds of houses in the development, but they were nice cookies. Three-car garages, multilevel, small front yards, old-fashioned lampposts strung along the sidewalks—this was yuppie suburbia to the max. A lady with a baby stroller walked down the other side of the street.

I studied the place. “We fit in here like a fart in church.” Dirk and Kim laughed. I unbuckled my seat belt. “Do you want to come, Kim?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

We walked up the driveway and then to the door, and I heard Dirk cut the engine. Kim took my hand. “Nervous?”

“Me? Naw.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, a little.” Our hands parted as I knocked on the door. We stood there expecting something we didn’t know, and after a moment, a lady answered the door. I blinked. Slim and small-featured, she looked young for a mom. Probably thirty or so. And pretty. Her hair was cut short and highlighted with blond streaks, and she wore beige slacks and a light green blouse of some sort. She looked at me, frowning, then looked at Kim. A moment passed. “Kimberly Johan? Is that you? What . . .” Her words trailed away.

Kim stepped forward. “Hello, Mrs. Hinks.”

Billy’s mother looked at the truck, fear in her eyes. “Mrs. Lindy.”

Kim blushed. “I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Lindy took a deep breath, then exhaled. “What are you doing here? Are you all right?”

Kim took the lead. “Yes.” She introduced me: “This is Ben. He and his dad are living with Miss Mae.”

Mrs. Lindy’s face fell.

I stuck my hand out. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” She shook it, and just like back home on my bed when I was thinking about what to say, nothing sounded right in my head. I’d thought about it for hours on the way down, but now, nothing came.

A moment of silence passed. Mrs. Lindy’s face went slack. “This is about Billy, isn’t it?”

I studied her face. “He needs you.”

She cleared her throat. “Come in.”

Kim and I sat at the dining room table. The house was immaculate. Mrs. Lindy offered us something to drink, and we both declined. She sat across from us. Kimberly smiled at her. “You look different.”

Mrs. Lindy nodded. Her eyes pierced mine. “Is he all right?”

I nodded. “He’s fine.”

A look crossed her face.

“Mr. Hinks doesn’t know we’re here,” I said.

She relaxed, but just a little bit. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. . . . Why are you here?”

“He needs you, ma’am. I’ve gotten to know him since we moved in, and—I don’t know. He’s a good kid, and he misses you. I guess I just wanted to tell you that.”

Her chin quivered for just a moment. “I miss him, too.”

“He thinks you don’t love him.” I looked at her, searching her face. “I guess I came here to find out.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “Of course I do.” She dabbed at her face; then both hands went to her stomach. She smiled through her tears: “He’s going to have a brother.” Then she looked away.

I smiled back, but it wasn’t sincere. Anger bubbled up in me, and it was directed at her. Here she was, living in a huge house with her fancy shit in it and wearing her expensive clothes while her son pissed in a jar in a closet. “Cool. Congratulations.”

“He’s abusing him, isn’t he?”

I decided that she deserved the truth—partly to let her know what her son was going through and partly to hurt her. To make her feel like a sorry excuse for a person. I explained the closet and the nonstop work and the strapping, laying down everything I knew, including the cemetery.

By the time I finished, she was staring at her lap, silently weeping, and I wasn’t too upset about seeing her this way. A long moment passed, neither of us talking. How could she sleep at night? Then she cleared her throat, wiped her eyes with a finger, and looked around her fine house. “You must think I’m a horrible person for leaving him.”

I shrugged. Maybe they didn’t have an extra bedroom. “I just came to tell you about your son, ma’am. It’s not my business.”

She swallowed, keeping her eyes on her lap. Then she straightened her shoulders, nodded to herself, and stood. “Stay here.”

Kim and I looked at each other, not saying a word, and a minute later Mrs. Lindy returned. She held a bulging manila envelope. She sat down, putting the envelope on her lap and taking a deep breath. “The last time Norman beat me, he cracked three of my ribs with an iron fireplace poker.” She sniffed, her words awkward and stilted. “That night I realized I would end up dead someday. I knew he’d end up killing me. He’d beaten me so many times I couldn’t keep count, and I couldn’t do it anymore.” She cleared her throat. “Billy’s bags were packed with mine when his father caught me leaving. He beat me again, told me he’d kill both Billy and me if I ever tried to take him, then beat me some more. Three hours later, at four in the morning, I walked out the front door with nothing, and I never went back.”

Tears filled Kim’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lindy, I . . .”

She shook her head. “There’s no excuse, Kimberly. Never. I left him with that man. I was twenty-three years old, scared out of my mind, and I didn’t know what to do.” She paused. “I spent years living on the streets. I hated myself, hated what I did to survive, and I stuck a needle in my arm as often as I could to hide from what I’d done to my son. I thought about him all the time, wondering. I did. But I couldn’t go back. I believed with all my heart that Norman would kill him if I did. Kill me.”

I looked at her, not understanding. “What happened?”

She smiled through her tears, keeping her eyes down. “I met a woman from an outreach center, and she helped me get clean. It took two years, and in that process I met my husband, Travis, and we cleaned up together.” She paused, and a deep kind of pain filled her eyes for a moment. She patted the envelope on her lap. “There’s a long story behind what led up to these documents, and it’s certainly not your burden.” She cleared her throat. “My husband and I have hired an attorney. We’ve been preparing to get custody of Billy for several months now, and we’ll be serving papers on his father soon.”

I wanted to melt for her. I wanted to hear the long story behind why it had taken so long to prepare to get custody of Billy, because the pain in those eyes was real. And maybe, I thought bleakly, my own mom felt that way when she talked about me. But another part of me saw only one thing. Excuses.

I remembered one of the things Miss Mae told me when we first met, and I was surprised how true it was. And how much it hurt. “A boy needs a mother,” she’d said in the kitchen, and I knew what it felt like to not have one. It was that simple. Cut-and-dried, no bullshit. I looked at her. “I don’t think any reason you have matters very much to Billy, Mrs. Lindy. I think he’s grown up thinking nobody really cares about him. Especially you.”

She swallowed, and tears rushed to her eyes again. She looked away. “I can’t change the past. I can only move forward.”

I nodded, knowing it was the mumbo-jumbo crap that counselors vomited when you didn’t want to pay your own consequences. My own shrink had told me that. I wanted to lay into her. Flay her alive. She was my dad and my mom all rolled up into one. The victim. The person with a finger pointed somewhere else. “Can I tell you something, Mrs. Lindy?”

She looked at me.

“My mother left me when she found out my dad was gay. I haven’t seen her since. Not even a birthday card. She pretends I don’t exist.”

“I’m sorry. I . . .,” she began.

I cut her off. “I hate her, Mrs. Lindy. I hate her because of what she did. And if you sit there and say you can’t change the past, that means I can never love my mother again. And I want to.” I paused. “Billy needs to love you. That’s all I came to say.”

I got up then, without waiting for a response. There was no response. “If you need any kind of testimony or whatever they do, I’ll do it,” I said.

She sniffed again. “Thank you.” She looked at me. “I don’t expect anybody to understand why I would leave my son, but I want you to know that I never stopped loving him. I never stopped thinking about him.”

I looked back into her eyes, and I saw my mom. “He thinks so.”