Vicious (36 page)

She knew it would take a while before she felt completely rid of him.

Susan stopped folding the pullover, took it into the kitchen, and threw it into the garbage.

“So—Leo, how are you, son? How long were you in that hospital again?”

“Six days, Mr. Elliott,” Leo told the paunchy, squinty-eyed, sixty-something man. Mr. Elliott sat at the four-top with his wife and another couple, who were their guests at the country club. Dressed in his busboy’s mustard-colored jacket, white shirt, black tie, and black pants, Leo refilled their after-dinner coffees. “But I’m feeling okay now,” Leo said. “Thank you for asking, sir.”

Mr. Elliott reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out his billfold. “Well, I know hospitals cost money—even if you’re covered by some G.I. plan from your dad. Are you going to college next year?”

“Yes, sir, Western Washington up in Bellingham,” he replied.

Slipping his fat hands under the table, Mr. Elliott took some bills out of his wallet. “Well, here’s a little something to put toward school—and those hospital bills,” he said in sort of a stage whisper. Then he held out his hand for Leo to shake it. The folded-up bills were in his palm.

Leo set the coffee pot down on a nearby empty table and then shook the man’s hand. “Thank you very much, sir.”

Elliott patted his arm. “Merry Christmas, son.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Elliott,” Leo said. He smiled at Mrs. Elliott—and nodded to the guest couple, whom he realized were totally ignoring him. “Um, Happy Holidays.”

An hour later, he changed out of his uniform in the club’s employee locker room. As he zipped up the leather aviator jacket Jordan had given him, Leo felt a little pang of regret. He missed his friend.

Stepping out of the employee entrance, he saw the car waiting for him in the driveway turnaround behind the tennis courts.

Leo hurried up the driveway, jumped into the passenger seat, and kissed Moira. They’d been a couple ever since he’d gotten out of the hospital seven weeks ago. Hobbling in on her crutches, she’d visited him there every day. The two of them had achieved a kind of celebrity status because of what had happened. Some publishers and movie agents were even trying to get Moira to sign over the rights to her story, but she wasn’t interested. “I don’t want one of those
Gossip Girl
stars to play me. I’m holding out until they get Ellen Page to star in it,” she claimed, only half joking. Leo wasn’t getting any serious offers, which was too bad because he could have used the money.

They were a popular couple, especially at her high school. And now that Moira was off her crutches, they were constantly going out. Leo found himself spending what little free time he had with Moira and her friends from Holy Names—and their boyfriends. They had a regular routine of going out for late-night pizza at Pizza Ragazzi in the University District after he finished his shift at the country club on Saturday evenings. It was kind of heady to have a bunch of people catering to his schedule like that. At the same time, he wasn’t crazy about hanging around with a pack. Tonight it was just the two of them, thank God.

Leo told her about Mr. Elliott’s making a fuss over him and slipping him the money to put toward school—and the hospital bills. Then at a stoplight, Leo showed Moira the money: a five and two singles.

“Oh, my God!” she laughed. “What a cheapskate loser!”

Shrugging, Leo stuffed the money back in his jeans pocket. “Oh, he’s kind of a doofus, but he means well.” In fact, since his return to the country club, Leo had been getting lots of gratuities from club members who hadn’t paid any attention to him before. Now they knew his name, asked how he was doing and what his plans were for school. He wasn’t sure if it was a club member or not, but someone had even paid his first full year’s tuition and board at Western Washington University. That was over fifteen thousand bucks. It was arranged by some anonymous party through a Seattle law firm, which also sent him a cashier’s check for four thousand dollars. On the bottom left-hand corner of the check, it said,
For Schoolbooks & Supplies.

Moira would be attending Marquette University in Milwaukee. They hadn’t yet discussed the relationship challenges of attending schools half a continent away from each other. Though he didn’t say anything, Leo had a feeling she would end up breaking his heart before they even graduated. She’d say, “Let’s be friends,” and, damn it, they probably would be.

But until then, he’d enjoy being her boyfriend. Moira made him feel important. With her he was
somebody
. And under his class photo in the yearbook, it wouldn’t say
Pathetic Virgin
.

“I missed you today,” Moira said, watching the road ahead.

Leo smiled and studied her pretty profile in the dashboard’s light. She had one hand on the wheel, and the other on the console between them.

Leo put his hand over hers, and she didn’t pull away.

Not anymore.

Garfield’s varsity football team had lost by two points. So the overall mood of the crowd that cold December afternoon was pretty somber. The light, cold drizzle didn’t help either. Once the final whistle blew, the fans quickly cleared the bleachers.

During the game, he’d felt like he was onstage, sitting in the first row, half a bench length away from the cheerleaders. But with his crutches, he couldn’t make it up the bleacher steps. Last time he’d tried at one of these games, everyone had gawked at him and whispered to each other. So he sat there at ground level, very conspicuous with his leg in a fiberglass cast and his titanium crutches at his side.

Jordan stared out at the vacant, muddy football field. He could see his breath and felt the rain on his face. He could also see people staring at him as they passed by, so he put the hood of his navy blue slicker over his head.

He figured this sitting-on-the-sidelines business was a dress rehearsal for spring—and lacrosse season. The leg injury had benched him, permanently.

He’d spent three weeks in the hospital—unfortunately, not the same hospital as Leo. Jordan’s dad wouldn’t hear of him staying in a public hospital. It was only the best for his son. So Jordan had a private room, around-the-clock nurses, a TV, and a telephone so he could phone his friend.

After everything they’d been through, they should have been together. Apparently, Leo had thought he might be ticked off about the sleeping pills thing. But Jordan wasn’t angry, not really. In fact, one of the interns had told him the sedatives in his system might have saved his life. The pills Leo had given him had possibly slowed the bleeding and reduced some of the pain. Whether it was true or not, he passed the story on to Leo. It made his friend feel better.

They’d sprung Leo from Harborview Medical Center after six days. Jordan figured he could have gone home around the same time, but they transferred him to another wing at Swedish Hospital and kept him there for observation—in other words, to make sure he wasn’t crazy. During that time, he wasn’t allowed to use the phone or have visitors. He found out later that a ton of reporters had wanted to talk to him—along with some guys from the lacrosse team; Leo, of course; Moira; and even Susan Blanchette. She’d sent flowers with a card that simply said:
Thanks for saving my life. Get well soon. Susan Blanchette.

One of the stipulations to his release from the hospital was that he had to see a therapist twice a week. At least that was the consensus from the higher-ups, “the people who decide these things,” as his mom used to say. By the time he got out, Jordan learned that Leo and Moira were dating. Things were suddenly different. He didn’t see so much of his friend anymore.

He used to pick up Leo for school in the morning, but he couldn’t drive with his leg in a cast. So Jordan’s dad hired some limo service to chauffeur him to and from Garfield. As if he already didn’t feel like a freak, now he had a limo dropping him off at school.

Meanwhile, Moira drove Leo to school now. She took up nearly all of his time. Jordan actually had to plan ahead if he wanted to hang out with his best friend—and Moira almost always wanted to join them. It just wasn’t the same. He missed his friend.

Things felt different with his lacrosse teammates, too—or maybe he just felt isolated from them because he couldn’t play anymore. He’d never really gotten into being a big jock hero, but now that he’d been sidelined, Jordan kind of missed it. He felt so isolated. And of course, everyone knew his mother had been murdered by Mama’s Boy, and they all knew about him abducting Meeker, sinking his car in a swamp, and tying him up in his basement. One of his lacrosse buddies even asked him in a hushed voice: “Is it true you had that guy bare-assed down in your basement and you were torturing him?” They all knew about his early breakdowns, and the two extra weeks he’d just spent in the hospital under
psychiatric observation.
So a lot of the kids at school were treating him like a dangerous character.

It wasn’t just people at school either. Total strangers would stop and stare at him on the sidewalk or in the mall. Some of them would even walk up and ask, “Aren’t you Jordan Prewitt?” And then they’d ask about Mama’s Boy.

He talked about all this with his therapist, who said he was “in a better place” than he’d been last month. Jordan figured that meant he wasn’t so damn crazy—maybe just a little lonely. He and Leo had made a date to get together this coming Friday night. Moira had a girls’ sleepover and would be out of the picture, thank Christ.

It would be nice to see his pal again.

The rain seemed to come down a bit harder, and except for a few stragglers, the bleachers had emptied out. Jordan reached for his crutches, and saw a kid coming down the steps. The red-haired boy was about twelve years old. He was kind of a goofy-looking kid, wearing a yellow rain-slicker poncho. He walked toward him, but hesitated for the last few steps. The boy looked a bit apprehensive. Of course, he did. After all, he was approaching a guy everyone knew was a dangerous character. He used to be kind of a hero. But now, he was just kind of crazy. Jordan wondered if he suddenly said “Boo!” how quickly this curious kid would turn around and run.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw a forty-something guy who had to be the kid’s father. Standing under his umbrella a few tiers up, he had glasses and receding reddish-grey hair.

“Excuse me,” the kid said. “Are you Jordan Prewitt?”

Frowning, Jordan turned toward him and nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”

The boy in the yellow slicker nervously held out his hand. “I wanted to say hello—and—and—and thank you,” he said. “My name’s Andy Milford….” He glanced back at his father, and then at Jordan. “Eleven years ago, that guy killed my mother. My—my dad, he wanted me to thank you and shake your hand.”

Jordan knew the name. Pamela Milford had been abducted while pushing her ten-month-old baby in his stroller in Volunteer Park. He looked over his shoulder at the boy’s father. The man nodded respectfully and mouthed the words,
Thank you.

Jordan worked up a smile and nodded back. Then he looked the sweet, funny-faced boy in the eye and shook his hand. “It’s really great to meet you, Andy,” he said.

The father came down the bleacher steps. “Okay, Andy, let’s get a move on,” he called gently.

The boy turned and ran back to his dad. He hovered under the umbrella with him.

Jordan reached for his crutches again and caught the boy’s father looking at him. “Are you okay, Jordan?” the man asked, a little tremor in his voice. “Do you need any help?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Milford,” he said. “You and Andy have helped me enough already today. I’ll be okay.”

The father nodded at him once more, then turned and walked away with his arm around his son.

Jordan sat and watched them for a moment. “Yeah,” he whispered to himself, still smiling. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

She heard the movers’ truck churning as it pulled away from the curb in front of her new house. Susan stood in the living room. She wearily stared at the maze of stacked boxes amid her furniture—which, somehow, didn’t seem to belong in here. She was tired and hungry, and she missed the old duplex. She didn’t think this new place was ever going to be home.

Of course, when she’d taken one last look at the empty duplex this morning, she’d been flooded with memories of Walt and Michael and Mattie when he was a baby. Funny, she hadn’t thought at all about Allen Meeker, and the nights he’d spent there. Yet that had been her main reason for moving. Now it all seemed so pointless.

Allen had been the reason she’d pushed Tom away, too. Tom hadn’t called back since last week. He’d warned her that if she kept shooting him down, he would give up. And, apparently, he had. In her campaign to expunge Allen Meeker from her life and never make the same mistake again, there had been some heavy, unnecessary casualties.

Tom had been right. She didn’t feel she deserved to be happy. For a while, she’d even considered what some of those people on the Internet had said about giving the lawsuit money to the families of Allen’s victims. Instead, she’d paid off her hospital debt, put some away for Mattie’s college, and anonymously gave $20,000 to pay for Leo Forester’s first year of college. She figured it was the least she could do for not giving him a ride that night.

Another big chunk of the money went as a down payment for this stupid house.

Susan stared at the mess of a living room, and tears welled in her eyes.

“Mommy, are you crying?” Mattie asked. He’d been having a blast, running around the new house. She’d unpacked the linen, and with two sheets and the stacks of boxes, Mattie had already built a fort-tent in his bedroom. Now he stood at her side, gazing up at her. He seemed mystified, probably wondering how she could think all this wasn’t fun.

Susan managed to smile at him and then wiped her eyes. “No, sweetie, I just have something in my eye, that’s all.”

Taking a deep breath, she looked at all the boxes again and spotted a dolly one of the movers must have accidentally left behind. She also noticed two big boxes with
Christmas Stuff
and
X-Mas Tree
scribbled on the sides.