Unexpected Dismounts (28 page)

I stopped him dead in the middle of the lobby. “No,” I said.

“No, what?”

“No, we’re not going to play that game. And if you don’t get that, you can’t represent me.”

“They’re going to dredge up things in your past that didn’t even happen and make them sound like the truth.”

“Then let them.” The words freed themselves from the stuck place and flowed out. “If I’m capable in the present, there’s no need to bring up the past. Hers or mine.”

I waited for the protest. But Kade only grinned. “Chief warned me,” he said.

“About what?”

“He told me not to push you when you get that God-look in your eyes.”

I was still trying to respond to that when he spun out through the revolving door.

On Sunday, the HOGs and Hank and a team of physical therapists moved Chief into my house, traction and all. Although Desmond had offered his “place,” we turned the living room into Chief’s domain and the dining room into the PT area for the therapist to work with him when he came daily.

“Casa de Chief,” Nita said when she and Leighanne and the Sisters came to celebrate Palm Sunday with us.

“I don’t know nothin’ ’bout no casa,” Desmond said. “This here’s HOG Heaven.”

“Shall I have a sign painted?” Bonner said.

India looked at me in horror. I couldn’t keep a straight face.

“Let’s just call it home for now,” I said. “Y’all need to get those palms out so we can get started. I’ll get the bread.”

Bonner followed me into the kitchen. “For now?” he said.

“Slip of the tongue,” I said.

“You haven’t told Desmond you might sell?”

“No.”

“Chief? He might want to be making other arrangements in case somebody buys it right out from under his hospital bed.”

“I haven’t told anybody except Hank.” I set her homemade communion bread on the counter and leaned over it. “Last week I thought Ms. Willa was going to come through, but she wants me to use her money to get into some kind of war with Troy Irwin.”

Bonner looked at me over the tops of his glasses. “I thought you were already in a war with Troy Irwin.”

“I don’t know, Bonner. I just don’t feel like I can say the H-word anymore.”

“The H-word?”

“
Hate
. I mean, don’t put me in the same room with the man, but for as angry and frustrated as I am, I can’t go at this like an attack on him. You’re the one who told
me:
this has to be for God or I can’t do it. I physically can’t. I don’t know how to explain that to you.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “You look like you’re having an attack of appendicitis.”

“It feels more like labor pains.” I added quickly, “Not that I would know what that felt like.”

“Unless you tell me not to, I’ll just keep praying that we’ll get the funding for Sacrament Two and you won’t have to part with this place.”

“Do it,” I said. “Can I ask one more thing of you?”

“Anything. Except for me to change Chief’s bedpan. I draw the line there.”

“Will you keep me posted on Zelda? I haven’t given her any support. I know you go there, and that’s a lot. Still.”

“The girl’s getting more support than an eighteen-hour bra.”

“I’m sorry?”

Two splotches of color appeared on Bonner’s cheekbones. “Bad analogy. People have been to see her. The Sisters are over there praying with her every Sunday. I’m on the phone with her daily. Hank tried to take her communion but they put the kibosh on that.” He craned his neck toward me. “Allison? What’s with the tears?”

“I have no idea, Bonner,” I said. “Just hand me a paper towel, would you?”

We had our Palm Sunday celebration standing in a circle in my living room with our palms. Chief didn’t have much of a choice but to join us, parked as he was in the middle of it all. But I saw him listening, his eyes intense, as I talked about the week that lay ahead of us.

“It’s Holy Week,” I said. “The marking of Jesus’ last seven days on earth. Seven remarkable days. These days need to be remarkable for us too. There are feet to be washed, my friends. Many, many feet.”

“
Mmm-mmm
,” Mercedes said.

On Monday the physical therapist came to work with Chief. It was apparently grueling, because Chief let out so many groans I had to go out on the side porch to keep from, to use Desmond’s words, punching the therapist in the face.

That was where Troy Irwin found me.

I didn’t hear him coming. He must have coasted the Beamer into Palm Row. I considered diving back into the house, but it was too late for that. Troy stood at the bottom of the steps, hands in the pockets of his Dockers. That seemed to be the preferred posture for men who were trying to look like they didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t fooled. Troy Irwin always knew what to say.

He has feet, Allison.

I gritted my teeth.
I know. Really dirty feet.

“Out for a stroll, Troy?” I said. Even I could hear the icicles hanging from my voice.

“No,” he said. “I came to see you.”

He wore a white polo shirt and a matching long-sleeved thing tied around his shoulders with a casual air that must have taken him half an hour to achieve. His sandy-going-gray hair barely spiked in the wind coming off the bay, and the sleeves dangling across his chest were just as cooperative. He already had a tan.

“Been to the islands?” I said. Did civility covering disgust count as a footwashing?

“Just got back, and to some disturbing news. Do you have a minute?”

No, I thought. “Yes,” I said.

I nodded him toward the swing, but like every other person who wanted to take control of a conversation on this porch, he opted for the Adirondack chair. I leaned against the railing on Miz Vernell’s side. If I took a swing at Troy, she’d call the cops. I was counting on that for self-control.

“So what news has disturbed your world?” I said.

“I won’t go into all the ins and outs. I know you hate the corporate thing. So I’ll keep it simple.”

Nothing was simple with him, but I nodded.

“It’s come to my attention—” He stopped and tilted his head at me. “Do I really have to be this formal with you? It just feels wrong.”

“Whatever way you want to be it’s going to tick me off, Troy, so just get on with it.” Not nice, but it was better than a kick in the teeth. And it was honest.

“Right. I’ve learned that an attorney at the firm that represents Chamberlain is also representing a woman who’s trying to take your boy from you.”

I willed myself not to move.

“I don’t know the man personally, but he’s connected to me through …” Troy leaned forward, arms on his thighs. “Look, Ally, I don’t agree with most of what you’re doing. Matter of fact, I think it’s pointless. You know that.”

“You’ve made that clear,” I said. “And in some pretty threatening ways. The last time I saw you, you were smearing my reputation in the middle of 95 Cordova. The time before that you were threatening me at my best friend’s funeral. So forgive me if I’m not sure what else there is to say.”

“There’s this: I don’t think you adopting the boy
is
pointless. I actually think it makes a tremendous amount of sense.” He punched his knuckles softly against his mouth
.
“It’s ironic, isn’t it?”

“What?” I said.

“How much you hated having your father as your father, and how he was the only father I ever wanted.”

It was such a complete non sequitur it gave me whiplash, but I felt the Nudge to go with it.

“How was yours that much different from mine?” I said. “I always thought they were interchangeable.”

“I thought they were too. When I thought about them at all.” He eased himself back in the chair. “You and I were both allergic to our fathers as kids, if you’ll recall.”

My upper lip wanted to curl. “Only one of us was cured of that allergy.”

“There was one major difference between your father and mine. I saw it when I came back after college and sat down in the same office with the two of them.” Troy gazed at the ceiling as if he were watching the memory on video. “That’s when they told me Chamberlain had bought out Irwin. Not a merger. An acquisition.”

I hadn’t known that. Hadn’t actually cared. But the skin around Troy’s eyes was tightening. If we’d been playing poker, I’d have upped the ante.

I said, “My father didn’t give him a good deal, I take it.”

“It was a great deal. My father died a rich man. My mother’s in the best Alzheimer’s facility in the state.” Troy looked me full in the face, his blue eyes simmering. “The difference was, my father didn’t fight. I don’t care how good the deal was, he built that business up from nothing. He even forced me not to marry you when you were pregnant, just to save the reputation of Irwin Inc. And then he just let it go for money.”

For the flicker of a moment, I saw something real in Troy’s eyes. Not the real of a man who would wash the feet of a down-and-out human being, but the boy who would’ve held a pool party for them all and been the first one in. The boy with sunshine in his cowlick hair and dreams in his eyes. Real dreams.

When I blinked, it was gone.

“What does all this have to do with Desmond’s adoption?” I said.

“He ought to have the right parents. One at least. It can make all the difference.”

“Well, that’s one thing we agree on,” I said.

Troy twisted his ring. “This is something I’ve wanted to say for a long time. I’m sorry I made you get an abortion.”

I stopped breathing.

“You would have been a wonderful mother. That’s why I want to help.” Troy slanted toward me, forearms on his knees. “I can call this guy off, this Clyde Quillon. I can get the whole thing settled out of court. Forget Doyle and Rodriguez. Forget Judge Atwell. I can make it disappear.”

My insides were contracting so hard I had to clench the railing. This pain went too deep for me to grab at anything very much below the surface. I went for the shallow end. “How is it that you know every detail?” I said.

“I’ve told you this before, Ally: I make it my business to know everything about you.”

“And I’ve told you before: Don’t call me that.”

Troy spread out his hands. “What am I supposed to do, pretend the past never happened to us? Maybe you can, but I can’t.”

The sun caught his eyes and he had to look down—the way he used to cast his eyes away from me when he had to leave, to hide the longing because he couldn’t get enough of being with me. I trusted that back then, although even at sixteen I knew Troy Irwin had finesse he hadn’t even used yet. This wasn’t finesse. This was a full-out acting job.

It was pathetic, but I felt a wave of despair. Not my despair. His.

“What’s in it for you, Troy?” I said. I was surprised at the softness in my voice.

“Very little,” he said. He had the nerve to smile. “All I want in return is San Luis Street.”

“All you want,” I said. “All you want is everything.”

“It’s one block.”

“For now. I can’t fight you on West King. I don’t have the stuff. You’re going to take it over and there’s nothing I can do about it. So why my street too?”

“My street and your street can’t coexist. I need that property.”

“For Pete’s sake, how freakin’ rich do you have to be, Troy?”

“Look, I don’t have a black heart, Ally—Allison. I’ll relocate the program for you. I’ll build you a whole complex.”

“Where?” I said.

“I have three hundred acres outside Palatka. You can rehab all the prostitutes you want.”

“No,” I said.

His fists doubled. “What is so wrong with my money?”

“Your money’s not the problem.” I slid off the railing. “It’s the fact that you have no regard for these people as human beings that makes the whole idea of taking a nickel from you revolting to me.”

“I have regard for your relationship with the boy. And yet you’re telling me that you would pass up a guarantee that the adoption will go through because you have some principle.”

I took a breath and prepared to say the same thing I’d had to say far too many times. The thing that whisked valuable solutions right out of the room.

“It’s not my principle,” I said. “It’s God’s.”