Twice a Child Page 13

  “Ugh. He went that route.”

  She allowed silence to build between them again, finding in their conversation some comfort, a connection.

  “Mom? Who’s Rosemary?”

  More silence. And then, in a small voice, “Rosemary. Did he tell you about her?”

  “No. Grandpa, well, Grandpa’s been kind of out of it, ranting, hallucinating—”

  “You poor thing, what you must be dealing with.”

  “—and one night—Joshua and I had to stay with him his first night in the hospital because he was so out of it—he heard this patient, way down the hall, moaning. It was awful, Mom, like she was dying. Grandpa sat straight up in bed. ‘What are they doing to Rosemary?’ he kept saying, it was scaring me. When I asked Eddie about it, he lost it. I mean, he put his head between his legs and rocked back and forth, crying.”

  “Did he tell you anything?”

  “He said he would, but he still hasn’t gotten around to it.”

  Tina stepped back inside the apartment. She felt a breeze coming from the bedroom, but didn’t remember opening the window. And then the sound of something crashing to the floor.

  She dove for Joshua, cradling him like a football. Her mother’s voice sounded like squawking on the open line, but she knew she had to get out of that apartment, now.

  A searing pain ripped through her shoulder, and she watched Joshua fall to the floor, his face splattered with blood. She could barely hear her own screams as she crawled to him, into a shadowy vision. Blood stained the carpet. Her mother screamed her name from a thousand miles away; Joshua cried out in fear and anger and hunger. Skinny legs in oversized white sneakers ran into the dining room, and she heard her purse drop to the ground, its contents scatter across the floor.

  She scooped Joshua into her with her good arm, shielding him from harm. The phone went dead.

  The last thing Tina saw before she blacked out was a child, no more than eight or nine, standing over her, eyes wild with shock. She had seen him earlier in the week: one of the kids splashing around in the murky water of the plastic pool, happy as any kid would be to feel the relief of anything wet on a punishingly hot day.

  In one hand was a wad of traveler’s checks, and in the other, lolling casually by his side, a pistol.

  twenty nine

  It’s a conspiracy. Look at them huddled behind the desk, they don’t think I notice them glancing over at me, they think I’m an old man. That’s how I planned it. That’s how I’ll bring Eddie to me, by making them all think I’m old and need help.

  “Mr. Lillo? We can’t reach your granddaughter or your son, and we need to move you to another facility. Is there anyone else we can call?”

  “Don’t touch me.” I need to go back to bed, I’m bone tired. What are they talking about, moving me? Maybe they have another project to put me on, this one’s getting old.

  White’s the color to wear these days, everyone’s got it on. Right down to their feet. The plant sure has changed over the years—like, when did that desk get installed and what’s with all the machines?

  “Am I in trouble, sister?”

  “We need to move you to another facility, Mr. Lillo, and we can’t get hold of either of these numbers.”

  They don’t look familiar to me either.

  “717-275-3542.”

  “And who would that be, Mr. Lillo?”

  “Mamie. My wife.”

  There she is: I knew I’d see her again. They’ve got her against that wall, making her do exercises, too. She’s got shoulder problems.

  “Hey, you can’t do that to her.”

  “Now you need to be minding your own exercises, Mr. Lillo. Strengthen your legs.”

  Is that my Mamie? She’s not all wrinkled like that.

  Well, finally. Some good music. You can’t dance to that other stuff. But this one, bet I can get her to dance with me.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Look at her blushing.

  “That’s quite a step you got going there, Mr. Lillo. Who’s your dance partner?”

  Son of a bitch wants to cut in. Not this time, no way.

  There he goes, giving that secret look to the boss. Like this morning, ganging up. They’re cooking something up, I feel it.

  “Mamie’s my girl.”

  “Mamie? That’s her name, okay. Well, at least you’re moving around a little. Do you like the music, Mr. Lillo?”

  He keeps calling me that. I bet he’s one of the public school boys, they’re always horning in on our girls. Charlie warned me about them.

  “Everyone likes this song.”

  “Do you know the name of it?”

  What kind of stupid question is that? They play it at every dance, it’s on the radio. “String of Pearls.”

  “You know the artist?”

  “Benny Goodman.”

  “And where are you right now, Mr. Lillo?”

  They keep looking at me like that.

  “I’m very tired.”

  “We can take you back to your room.”

  “Just take me home, thank you.”

  The dance must be winding down; everyone’s leaving.

  “Tell her to hurry up in there. I don’t want to lose her.” Why Mamie picked now to powder her nose—

  “Hey, hey! I’m waiting on my girl.”

  “I’ll tell her you already went back to your room, Mr. Lillo. You said you were tired. We’ll let you take a nap.”

  I don’t see anything except all these old people. Who let them into the dance?

  “Honey! Over here!” I hope she hears me, this damn voice of mine is so weak.

  “Who do you want, Mr. Lillo?”

  I need to sit.

  “I’m tired.”

  “I know. That’s why you need to keep moving so we can get you back to your room.”

  “What room? I don’t have a room at the Y, I have a home.”

  “You’re in rehab, Mr. Lillo.”

  Why am I in rehab? “Oh they probably closed the Y for some veteran’s function, again, huh? Well, a hospital’s as good a place as any to meet up with my Mamie. Say, can you let her know where you took me? She gets so lost, she can’t even find her way home and she’s lived on the same street for nineteen years!”

  School must have upgraded, got fancy with these elevators. Sure is crowded.

  Just go where they push you. Too damn tired to fight it.

  “Mr. Lillo says he wants to lie down. He’s been really cutting the rug down in rec.”

  I get it. I’m in a relay race, one keeps handing me off to the other. At least I’ve seen these people before. Well, as long as they don’t get too rough, I’ll go along with it. At least they got me back to the room.

  “So you were dancing were you?

  She’s taking off my pants. She can’t do that.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Lillo. I’m a nurse. I need to do this so you’ll be more comfortable. It’ll be our secret.”

  She’s got me cornered. Ah, well. “What do you think? Pretty impressive, ain’t it?”

  Someone slipped in here when I was taking a nap and damn if they didn’t slap this bunched-up thing on me. I told them I was going to get this guy some cigarettes, it would be a minute, and then they do something like this. I don’t have any pockets for the three cents he gave me, they can’t treat me like this, I need to tell someone—

  “I want to see the manager.”

  It’s like they all turned to stone. They’re gaping at me when they should be hearing what I’m saying. Maybe if I hold the damn thing up I’ll get some action around here.

  “I won’t stand for this!”

  That guy there shouldn’t take it, either. He’s all bunched up in his chair like he’s got a wad of cotton between his legs. They did the same thing to him. “Hey, buddy, they got you, too, you need—”

  I wish she’d quit pushing me.

  “Mr. Lillo, you’re naked. We need to get you back to your room.”

  “Yeah
, I’m naked. And I’m not going to take a crap in some goddamn diaper, then sit in it.”

  “Mr. Lillo! Wait, please, let me get you to a toilet!”

  Isn’t that where I am? I wanted to shit, that’s all. Not in a goddamn diaper.

  “Where’s Tina?”

  “Your granddaughter? We’ve been trying to reach her all morning.”

  “She’ll be here. She’s punctual. Like her grandma. Now, clean me up.”

  thirty

  Eddie found the apartment door unlocked. He hesitated to open it and walk in as if what he would see in that split second decision would change his life forever. Except for this little hiccup of his father and daughter in town, he liked his life just the way it was. He needed no reminders of the past.

  He pushed the door inches more, the smell of stale cheese mingling with mustiness. If that’s what he thought it was—that blotch in the middle of the carpet—then he wanted no part of it. Best to close the door, go back to the bungalow, and get some more sleep.

  “They all be sayin’ someone got kilt in there.”

  Eddie looked directly into the eyes of a young boy sitting on a purple bike with a pink banana seat. He wore only a pair of cargo shorts that made his legs look like a stick figure. His feet swam in pure white sneakers, untied.

  “Did you say killed?” Eddie’s head pounded; his mouth felt dry as dust.

  “That’s what I heard. Blood everywhere.”

  “Where did they go? The—uh—the people who lived here?” Jesus, he was asking a kid, what was he? Eight? Nine?

  “Ambulance came. Took ‘em away.”

  They stayed like that for a few minutes, the only sound between them the boy’s smacking bubbles which he would blow as large as his face and allow to burst over his nose, cheeks, and lips.

  “How do you know this?” Eddie surveyed the kid, still a boy, but poised to spring into adolescence. It was hard to tell anymore the exact age of kids with the baggy clothes and oversized shoes, scarecrows really.

  The boy shrugged. “Live here.” After awhile: “Got any money?”

  Eddie reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten. He was surprised to find it still there. “Uhura” left before he had woken up.

  “Here.”

  The boy smiled and threw back a quick thanks as he pedaled away.

  Inside the apartment, sofa cushions sprawled on the floor, their pillows slashed open, the stuffing spilling out. Half a pizza, a frozen one Tina must have made for supper, sat on the counter next to the sink. A package of opened Pampers sat on the table along with a baby blanket and a tri-colored soft toy. Eddie picked it up, felt it crunch between his fingers. He worked all three segments—the crunch, a squeak and rolling pellets—then hooked his finger in a plastic ring and twirled it around like a toy gun as he forced himself to look at the mess before him: a mahogany red stain in the middle of the living room carpet, an absorbed pool of his daughter’s blood.

  He sank to his knees, the sick rising in his throat.

  Something was missing. Eddie’s knowledge of crime scenes was limited to the occasional Law and Order or NCIS, God knows he made everything else up when he shot his vampire yarns. But wasn’t there supposed to be yellow tape all around the entrance? POLICE DO NOT CROSS and all that? This door was left unlocked, anyone could have helped themselves, and by the looks of it, already had. The bedroom drawers had been ransacked along with Pop’s luggage, opened and rifled through.

  The place had been looted, but he couldn’t tell if it had happened before or after an ambulance had arrived to . . . Who had called the ambulance?

  He forced himself to examine the patch again and as the thoughts raced through his mind, he sat on his haunches and drew deep, methodical breaths. A baby wouldn’t spill that much blood. There wouldn’t be a drop left. Right? This couldn’t be happening again. It was all wrong; he’d done nothing, just went about his business, followed his heart, hadn’t he? What was it Thoreau said? “Follow your heart and when you least expect it, you’ll be met with success.” Something like that.

  Does a baby have that much blood?

  Eddie sat down on the floor next to the stain. Children ran outside, shouting to each other, their feet smacking against the concrete. He stared at the stain.

  He ran as hard and as fast as he could to the steel plant where he knew Pop would be. Mom was getting her hair done and he never paid attention to where she said she went every Thursday. She just put him in charge of Rosemary until she came back. And usually—every day until this one—they had a great time. He’d put Soupy Sales on for her and she’d laugh so hard she sometimes slipped off her chair and he’d have to pick her up and position her again. After Soupy came Sally Star. He didn’t like her so he made sure Rosemary was surrounded by pillows in case she slid off her chair again while he used the half hour to flip through his dad’s Playboys in the basement. He hated tying her to her chair.

  Usually, he’d find her asleep or laughing at Shari Lewis and Lamb Chop, which meant he had spent longer than half an hour thumbing through the menu of beauties—a blissful arrangement of breasts that satisfied his adolescent cravings.

  Eddie, even at fourteen, knew there was no time to waste when he found his little sister slumped in her chair. He had felt a slight pulse at her neck, took her out of her chair, and for a moment contemplated carrying her to the plant, but it would have been too risky. He could have dropped her out of sheer exhaustion or she could have had another seizure. He had placed her on the sofa and arranged the pillows around her little body and beneath her on the floor in case she fell. He gently shook her once more—did her eyelids flutter? Her pulse was weak, but there.

  “I’m going to get help, Ro. I’ll be right back.”

  That run could have broken records, for when he arrived at the front office of Miller Metal Works, he could not stay still long enough to answer the receptionist’s questions. His legs refused to quit and he ran through the maze of halls until he found his father’s office, burst into the closed, glass-windowed door, and still he could not stop moving, his body propelling him first to the far corner, then the next, pacing like an expectant father.

  “What the hell, Eddie—”

  “It’s Rosemary. She’s not breathing right. I left her watching her show like I always do—Mom’s getting her hair done—and when I came back, she wasn’t breathing right.” He thought his heart would explode. His face flushed with shame. Why did he leave her? Why didn’t he call his dad? When he had come back to the family room and found his little sister slumped over the arm of the chair, he had wanted to run.

  Don’t let them find you . . . blame you.

  But it was Ro.

  She knew the truth, but she didn’t live long enough to tell anyone. After that, Mom and Dad didn’t look at him the same. They took down all the pictures of her, dismantled her bedroom and made it into a storage area. He was forbidden to talk about “the incident” for if he tried, if he leaked but one morsel of it at a family meal—where Rosemary’s absence was as palpable as her presence had been—his father’s hand would crash into his face.

  The door to Tina’s apartment creaked open. Through a blur of tears, Eddie made out a tiny figure: a woman in a pantsuit. Her hair fell in soft chestnut curls around her face. She rolled a red suitcase behind her. She froze at the sight of him.

  He wiped his eyes, tried to focus better. This woman looked terribly familiar, and for a minute, Eddie lost track of the present. All the feelings of entrapment began to rise within him, threatening to pinch off his air supply.

  Didn’t he get away from all this years ago?

  “I thought I’d see you at the hospital.” At the sight of the bloodstain, Marianne crumpled.

  Run.

  When her sobs became gasps for air and her only comfort was rocking back and forth with her arms tightly clasped around her, Eddie found a reserve of strength. He put his arm around her, felt the bones of her neck and shoulders quiver under his meaty arm. He had forg
otten how tiny she was.

  He wanted to explain. How he was so happy until Tina called him a few weeks ago to tell him she and Pop had made it out here to California. His place, where he deliberately made a life for himself that did not include a wife, a child, a grandchild, and an old man losing his mind.

  All was perfectly fine, life clipping along as it should.

  “What the hell did they come out here for?” Eddie handed his ex-wife a handkerchief, her face now crimson with distraught.

  “To find you. Frank insisted on seeing you.” She blew her nose and handed the hankie back to him. “He tried once, on his own. Didn’t make it past Reading. Tina put out an APB on him.” She launched into a new series of crying, this time grabbing hold of his shirt and burying her face in it.

  This had to stop. He had a movie to finish. He had a life to pick back up. All these people had been fine on their own until they came out here. Until they tried to find him.

  What could he possibly have to offer any one of them?

  “Why aren’t you with her at the hospital?”

  He pulled his arm away and realized the enormity of what Marianne had just said.

  “She’s not . . . dead?”

  A new flood of tears crowded any reason from Marianne’s voice. “What are you saying? That you wish she were? Well, that would make your life a lot easier, wouldn’t it? Oh my God, she was right about you. Last night, I heard it. She was on the phone with me when it happened.”

  Eddie paced the tiny kitchen, picking up the pizza that now resembled cardboard topped with melted plastic cheese.

  “What do you mean, you heard it happen?”

  “The gun. Tina was telling me that Frank is in rehab, that he had a stroke and wasn’t making much sense, and that she couldn’t ever get hold of you to talk to you, couldn’t find you most of the time. And when she did, you’d just up and run off when things got too hot.”

  The door was open. If he took five steps—he had been calculating—he’d be outside. Another ten or so and he’d be in his car.