Burning September (7 page)

In a better Russian accent, of course.

Whatever. 
She slammed the laptop closed, scrunched her eyes shut for a moment, then climbed to her feet. 
As far as I’m concerned, he was a big part of her death.  I hope that heart attack hurt. 
She swept a sheet of dark blonde hair over her shoulder and swished out of the room. 
Finish that history essay and let’s get the fuck out of here.  We’ll go to that stupid play Blake invited me to.

Branden,
I corrected. 

Let’s keep in mind while we’re there,
she called from the kitchen
, not to make fun of any of the actors.  Inevitably their family members will be sitting right behind us.

And any other mention of our mother came few and far between, sprinkled in with tarot lessons and when she taught me how to cook things from old recipes. 
You can tell English wasn’t her first language, huh,
she’d say, handing me the yellowed index card and bumping my shoulder with hers. 
But ain’t that penmanship gorgeous. 

“So I don’t know what you’re looking for from me.  If you want to know about our mother, you’ll have to ask Caroline. She actually knew her.”

He didn’t say anything for a while, just took a slow sip of beer, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other.  “She slit her wrists?”

“That’s what I’m told.”

“Caroline did the same thing.”

“Well, I guess she learned how pretty early on.”

“So she’s depressed like your mother was, that’s why she did it?  She decided to abandon her little sister, the one who needs her, who she’s moved heaven and earth in the past to care for and teach and love and protect?  She went against
everything
she’d
ever
done in the past to up and try to kill herself?  It doesn’t gel, Katya.  That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.” I didn’t have a ready answer, and he seemed to have expected it.  “So if I look at all her past behavior, I have to conclude that she didn’t do it because she wanted to die.  And people who attempt suicide without really wanting to die do it for attention, a cry for help, or manipulation.” He flicked his index finger against his thumb.  “None are optimal explanations.”

“Maybe she felt hopeless.  Like the deck was stacked against her.”

“Maybe she was banking on the fact that your mother committed suicide the same way, and it’d draw sympathy.” 

“I guess anyone trying to find the worst in someone would think that way.”

“That’s how a prosecutor will spin it.  They’re going to say she killed Brian because of jealousy and hatred, and she attempted suicide to get sympathy, or her family history of instability and self-harm got the ball rolling.  I’d like to know your thoughts on this, because I took one look at Caroline and knew she’d try to play me.  I figured you were less likely to.  If you want to help her, you need to help me.”

“How would she try to play you?”  He’d only seen her for ten seconds, according to Caroline.  That’s not even enough time to decide what you want for lunch.

Kyle looked back at the bar, running a finger down his sweating beer glass.  “You’ve had to have seen her in action before.  Look, I’m not saying she’s a horrible wretch.  She gave up half her life to take care of you; that takes a special kind of person.  But you’ve got to admit she’d turn up the charm if I sat down with her like I am with you.  She’d use her looks and anything else to try to wrap me around her finger.”

I fell back into the booth as the Lady in Red led out a particularly loud cackle.  Yes, Caroline would have tried charming Kyle in a heartbeat.  Why wouldn’t she?  It worked every time, without fail. 

“Fine.  Yeah, probably.  I think she would have tried.  But you have to look at it from her point of view.  Not that she’s spoiled or anything, but she’s never had a problem with men.  It’s hard for me to blame her in that respect.  Sometimes I think she can’t help it.”

“Trust me, she can help it.”  He pulled his briefcase closer and unsnapped the clasps.  “Well, I requested AT&T records, and they’ve gotten back to me pretty quickly.  If the police were hoping for some damning new information, they’re going to be surprised.”  He fished a stapled packet of papers out, uncapped a highlighter with his teeth, and ran a yellow line over a few chunks of text.  “On the date in question, her phone pinged off the same towers yours did, which proves both cells were in your place at the time of the fire.  It’s not firm proof of her innocence, but it helps her out in the long run.”

I didn’t bother telling him Caroline really had no use for much technology and often left her cell phone behind.  “Well, hey.  That’s good news.”

“The texts didn’t show anything suspicious, either.  Nothing during the month she and Brian broke up, no threats or anything like that.  Actually, the amount of texts alone is surprising.  Most women her age would average about five thousand a month.  She’s barely clocking three hundred.”  He shrugged and flipped a page.  “The last text she sent Brian went through in early July.  She said
K
in response to his
let’s meet up at my place at ten
.  Doesn’t seem like there’s any woman scorned angle.  The fire happening two months after the breakup works in our favor.  Hard to buy someone would wait two months after the fact to commit a crime of passion, which is what Detective—” he rifled through pages crammed in his briefcase— “Slater labeled it, in his professional opinion.”

Caroline had always been patient.  She knew when to relax, bide time, wait for an obstacle to disappear or move over an inch.  It made me think that the best poisons acted slowly.

If you’re interested in Gavin, why are you dicking around with study dates and coffee shops?
  I asked her after a month of her platonically hanging out with the only son of a newspaper mogul. 
There’s no way
he’s
not interested. 

Her honey eyes burned platinum behind a tapered candle as she shuffled the tarot deck.
  One day you’ll live long enough and realize a lot of men are insecure.  Friends first is a safer bet for now.  I wouldn’t want him to think I’m only interested in his money.

What she’d really been interested was a job at one of the papers Gavin’s father owned, but she claimed the way it fell into her lap had been nothing more than a happy accident. 
I do have a modicum of talent, you know.

I went with her to the
Times
building one day.  She had to speak to an editor about her latest article, and everyone who worked there had been abuzz by the fact Mr. Newspaper Mogul himself had made an appearance in the office. 

He never does that
, I heard some women whisper behind their hands while I pored over a book in reception. 
You think he’s going to fire someone?

He didn’t fire anyone, but he did spend an awful lot of time with my sister behind the cracked conference room door.  She made no mention of their conversation after collecting me from the lobby, but somehow, probably by magic, a lot of expensive jewelry began showing up in her vintage trinket box. 

They say patience is a virtue. 

“She didn’t stop for gas, either, and her only statement to the police was
would you stop fucking staring at me
? So.”  He swept the AT&T records into his briefcase and drained the remaining half of his beer.  “What I need from you is a list of possible character references.  I may have to set up meetings, see who can say anything helpful at trial.  Any ideas?”

“Sure.  Talk to Caroline.”

“Haven’t we been here before?”

“Yeah.  I recognize that Sinatra picture.”

“Katya.”  Kyle held up his empty beer glass and waved it at the bartender.  “I have a good reason not to do so just yet.  In the meantime, let’s call this a leap of faith.”

Right.  A leap of faith.  Like
Hamlet’s
Ophelia.

***

My eyes glazed the longer I stared at my English essay.  It didn’t help that the internet had crashed for the fifth time that evening, taking all my reading with it, and my demeanor had become more than a little ornery by the time my cell phone rang. 

“Boy, that’s a mighty sassy way to greet your BFF,” Caroline said after my grunted
hello
. 

“The stupid internet keeps crashing.  I need to look up information, and every time I manage to find a decent source, it all goes to shit.”

“The internet’s strongest in my room.  Try there.  How’s the TA gig going?”

“Okay, I guess. I met your friend Jeff.”

“You know, he can be
your
friend Jeff, too.”

I switched the phone to my other ear.  “I don’t even the know the guy.”

“How do you think you meet new people?  You’ve got to talk to him.”  

“Got any good ideas for character references?”

“You’re the queen of segues tonight?”

“It’s something your annoying attorney asked me to look into.  So who’s it gonna be?” I trudged up the stairs, the laptop wedged under my arm.  “Valerie Rasmussen, I’m guessing.  Anyone else?”

“Can we not talk about this on the phone?  They’re going to make me go to bed in like, five minutes.”

I groped for the light switch and flipped it on.  “It’s barely nine o’clock.”

“This is my second childhood.  Early bedtimes, a lot of primary colors, nurses who speak to you like you’re retarded.  Save the shop talk for a visit.  Today was your first TA session, right?  How was it?”

“Confusing.”  I collapsed on her bed and rolled onto my back.  A miniature chandelier hung in the center of the ceiling, light shattering onto countless strands of fake pearls Caroline had strung around the fixture, stretching to each wall.  The intricacy made my head hurt.  I shut my eyes.  “I didn’t understand half of what she said.  I’m glad she’s going to give me an answer key to grade tests.  I wouldn’t know any of the answers myself.” 

“It’s an advanced class, Debbie Downer.  Give it some time.  Listen to the lectures; things will come together.  I have all my old textbooks from those courses.  They’re somewhere in my room.”

“I have enough homework without doing extra for classes I’m not even technically taking.”

“Uh hello, that’s why you find a nice nerd who’ll help you out with the not-so-important ones.  You think all the pre-med princesses bother writing huge papers on
The Iliad
themselves?”

“I don’t know any pre-med princesses to ask.”

“You’ll be happier not knowing them.”

I flopped onto my stomach, tracing the gold leaf pattern of her bedspread.  “I thought you hated accepting charity and handouts.  Suddenly it’s okay for me to do so?”

She laughed. “I’m not saying you can’t use tools.  Even a chimp can fashion a spear.  It’s not like you’re going to a soup kitchen.  Everyone needs some help now and then.  All those guys will want is a little time to hang out, or whatever.  It’s called exchanging goods.  All the people who’ve helped me out got something in return.”

“What, like a blow job?”

“Kat!”  Her static sigh garbled the line.  “
No
.  Maybe you should quit school.  The college experience is making you cynical.”

I studied cynicism at her knee my whole life, and I’d learned from the best.

“Just read my notes, they’re probably inside those binders on my desk.  The textbooks are in the closet.  Jeff will help you.  All you gotta do is ask him.  He won’t bite.”  A muffled voice called from her end of the phone.  “I have to go.  But come see me soon.  I love you.”  She didn’t wait for my goodbye, and the dial tone droned in my ear.

I sat up, collected my laptop, and moved to the desk.  Post-Its of clashing colors papered the corkboard above it, covered in Caroline’s looping cursive. 
Carino’s at 8 p.m. Wednesday—red dress.  Concert review due Fri, 7 a.m.  Tell off landlord for broken A/C.  Remind K to register classes.  Bank of America login: CSMIRNOV_!1 password: goddamnpassword00. Whiskey Sour—1 oz lemon juice ½ oz Gomme syrup, dash egg white, 1 ½ oz bourbon whiskey.  PICK UP DRY CLEANING.

I’d put off checking Caroline’s account out of dread, but the first of the month was fast approaching.  The internet stuttered to life as I launched Google Chrome and pulled up the Bank of America website.  My eyes fluttered closed after I logged into the account.  One more second of not knowing how broke we were before I had to live in a cardboard box beneath a bridge. 

The box wouldn’t be necessary, I found when I’d summoned the courage to look at the balance.  One hundred, one thousand and one dollars and fifty-nine cents stared back at me. 

Caroline, while a great artist and writer, did not make enough to have that amount of money stuffed in her account.  She’d have had to work round the clock to have even a fraction of it. 

I’d always thought I knew her as well as I knew myself, but the mocking
101,001.59
had me thinking I knew her about as well as all those guys she’d briefly dated had.