The Last Family (40 page)

“Thank you,” he’d said.
Thank you? Why not I’m
sorry, forgive me? Help me because I hurt and I can’t do anything to feel better
.

“Get off me, you freak.” Her voice had been a hard whisper, a hiss.

And he had slapped her, and she had fled to their bathroom and locked the door. He had wanted to apologize, he had wanted to take it all back. He had been ashamed beyond belief. He had flown into a rage that controlled him completely, and he had destroyed the house like a drunken vandal. He remembered sobbing and railing at the injustice of life. He remembered the police banging on the door and finally coming in with their weapons drawn. The image of Laura holding the side of her face, which was swelling, and telling them that everything was okay. Then, through the fog of emotion, Thorne arriving and explaining to the cops what Paul had been through in Miami. He remembered that was why he had left. Anger and shame and the sure knowledge that she and the children were better off alone. Safer alone. He had known that he wasn’t good enough for them as he was. And he was haunted by a future that was lost.

He looked at Laura.
I love you … forgive me … God, please, Laura. I love you so much. I feel like I will die without a chance to start again … make up for what I’ve done to you, my children, to myself
. But he couldn’t say any of it. “You still have that pocket gun I gave you?”

“Yes. In a box in the closet.”

“I want you to get it and put it in your purse and keep it with you until this is over. I don’t want you to tell anyone, and I mean
anyone
, that you have it. Not my people, not even Reid.”

“Why not even Reid?” The softness in Laura died and was replaced with stainless steel. “Who the hell are you to tell me to keep something, anything, from him? He cares about me … us. I don’t even know who you are. You can’t even trust your own men. What’s going on here?”

“You share everything with him?”

“Did I ever keep secrets from you?”

We weren’t talking about me
. Paul shook his head. “No. I don’t imagine you did. I apologize.”

“I won’t mention it. I mean, if you really believe it’s best. You’re the professional. But I don’t like it.”

“I need to talk to the children.”

She frowned. “Well, Paul, you’ve already talked to your son. You remember, don’t you? I do. I found him staring out the window at three o’clock in the morning thinking about how wonderful the experience was. And Erin probably has a few things she wants to impart, but I doubt you want to hear them.”

“I’ve made some—”

“Mistakes, you weren’t really going to say mistakes, were you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s make this the last mistake, shall we?” She stood again. “Let me see if they want to say good-bye. Then, either way, I want you to just leave us in peace. A bunch of false promises will just.… You’ve already done enough damage for a lifetime.”

“I said I’ve changed.”

“What, you just read
Embraced by the Light
or
The Road Less Traveled
or something? Had a spiritual awakening, have you? Oh, Paul, give me a break.”

“No.”

“Do what you want, you always have.” She whirled and left the room, leaving only her scent lingering. Paul fought the urge to throw himself onto the bed and cry like a baby. Inside, where his heart lived, he did just that. He was sick with himself. Facing himself as she saw him was more painful than anything he had ever felt before. It was torture.

Erin was staring out the window when her father tapped at her door.

“What?” she said, her voice filled with irritation. “Is he still here?”

He opened the door and stuck his head in. “Erin, I wanted to say something to you. As your father.”

“You aren’t my father.” She lifted the picture of her
on Paul’s shoulders. He was smiling—her tongue was sticking out at the camera. “This was my father, but he’s dead.” She tossed the photo onto the bed, facedown.

“Erin,” he started. “I’m leaving in a few minutes. I wanted to say that I know what I have done to you, what I’ve been, and I hope the future can be different from the past.”

“It will. Because I won’t waste time caring about you anymore. I wasted a lot of days and nights thinking about … feeling responsible for.… Never mind. Why don’t you just get out of here? We don’t need you.”

Paul searched her eyes to see if she was serious or talking out of pain. He realized he didn’t know how to read his child’s eyes. He didn’t know who she was. He felt as if he had walked into a world where things reminded him of something he had once known, but where he was a stranger. He felt unwelcome—was unwelcome.
Why shouldn’t I feel like this?
he wondered.
These people don’t know me. Why did I think they would?

“Go away,” she said.

“Erin, pack some things,” Laura called from the hallway.

“I’m not going anywhere with
him.”

“We’re going to the
Shadowfax
. Your f—Paul is going”—she looked at Paul, who didn’t offer a destination—“someplace else.”

Erin turned her back and stood with her arms crossed. “Erin,” Paul said, “I … I hoped … Erin. I’m not very good at saying what I mean.… I …”

“That isn’t what Reb said. Reb said you were
very
good at saying what you mean. If you have anything else to say to me, drop it in the mail with the annual package. And, Mr. Masterson, I don’t play with dolls or stuffed animals anymore. Just so you’ll know.”

She turned her back on her father, dismissing him.

He left the room, turned, and stood with his back to Erin until Laura closed the door. “Want to see what Reb has to say?”

•   •   •

Reb was seated on his bed with his hands in his lap, a stern look on his face. He might have been waiting to take a spanking. Paul entered the room. Laura stayed in the hall.

“Hi, Reb,” he said. “Can I speak to you?”

“Hi, Daddy,” Reb said, smiling. “I didn’t mean to call you. I’m sorry I did it. It was a real bad thing to do.”

Paul walked over and sat on the bed beside his son. He looked at Laura, and she said, “I’ll be in the studio.” Then she closed the door.

“I’m sorry I went off on you, Reb.” He put a hand on Reb’s shoulder. “It was really, really mean of me. What you did was right.”

“Why’d you do it? ’Cause you were hurt?” Reb looked at Paul’s face, reached up, and touched the scar gently as if he thought a sudden move might frighten the tissue away. “It isn’t so bad lookin’.”

“It’s not that, exactly. I did it because I felt guilty. Of staying away. Of hiding from you. Other things … adult reasons.”

“You felt guilty all the time? Since when?”

“Since this happened.”

“It hurt, Mama said. You almost died.”

“Yes. It hurt. It hurt me worse inside than outside.”

“I don’t know what that feels like. Not at the same time, I mean. I know what guilty feels like, though. And pain, too.”

“Reb. It’s hard for me to say things … you know, personal things to people. Always has been. Sometimes I want to say the right thing and I can’t decide what that is. I can’t put my feelings into words. Sometimes even when I know the words, I can’t say them. It’s like there’s this wall inside me that I can’t make myself climb.”

“I do that. I mean, like when I didn’t have a daddy. Reid is a good daddy sometimes. He tries, but he isn’t used to kids. I guess we make him nervous. He keeps my secrets, though.”

“I want you to know something just between us, okay?”

“A secret?”

“Yeah, I think you might say that. Sure, let’s call it a secret. Reb, I love you and Erin as much as I ever loved anyone or anything, and the distance between here and there and between us because I haven’t been around doesn’t mean I love you any less. I need to tell you that I think about you guys every day. If it hadn’t been for the memories I had of you … before this happened … well, they kept me going. I can say that you saved my life more than once.”
Your old man knows the sharp taste of gun oil
.

“We never wanted to be away from you.”

“Well, Reb, you and I are going to be close from now on. I promise I’ll be a better father to you. And Erin, too … when she isn’t mad at me anymore.”

“Will it hurt if that bad man kills me?”

“Reb? Don’t be afraid of him. You have protection.”

“I mean, I’m not scared … if he kills me. I’m a guy … guys die all the time. But Erin and Mama? Is it true that only a coward hurts women?”

As true as anything there is
. Paul put a hand on Reb’s shoulder. “Reb, only the worst kind of coward hurts women. I promise you. I’m going to make it a full-blown, big-sky, cowboy promise like my Uncle Aaron used to make to me. I swear by the stars that no hombre beneath ’em is ever gonna harm one hair on your head.”

“You won’t let ’em?”

“Hey, cowboy, that’s a big-sky promise. He can’t hurt you now, ’cause I won’t let him. That’s the truth.”

“And you’ll always tell me the truth? Promise?”

“I’ll never lie to you.” He crossed his heart. “I’ll never lie to you again in word or deed.”

Reb poured himself into his father’s arms, and Paul hugged the boy, and once again it was all he could do to keep from crying out loud. He had never felt so empty and full at the same time. It was the most wonderful feeling along with about the worst. It was frustration and fear and love. He had forgotten what unconditional love was all about. But at that moment he remembered, and he knew something he had not allowed himself to think about. He knew exactly what he’d thrown away.

Paul dropped his voice to a whisper. “Reb. It’s a secret, but I’m going to Miami. After tonight, if everything goes as planned, you will all be safe from the bad man.”

“Promise?”

“I promise I’ll do everything that can be done.”

Paul found Laura in her studio, standing before a canvas holding a brush.

“Reb is okay,” he said. “I mean, I think we can build a relationship. It isn’t too late, I hope?”

Laura said, “I’d say that’s up to you. Kids are forgiving creatures.”

Are adults?
“I’m leaving. Gotta get into the air.”

Laura wanted to say something. She looked at Paul, and he knew she wanted to say something that she wasn’t going to say.
What?

“Anything else?” he said. “Anything?”

“Make sure Martin Fletcher can’t ever hurt another child.”

He nodded. “Martin Fletcher will never harm another child.”

Laura turned and began painting even as tears blurred her vision.
I hate you, Paul, I love you, Paul
. She resisted the voice that told her to go to him and throw herself into his arms.

Paul was fighting the urge to turn her around and pull her close. He took a deep breath, turned, and walked out, the cane tapping the time of his steps. Rainey joined him in the hallway.

She heard the front door close and sat down in a chair and sobbed.

Outside, Thorne held Paul’s door open as he climbed into the car.

“I’ll call in a van to take them to the boat,” Thorne said.

Paul fixed a gaze on him. “Forget it.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll do this. I have to check it out myself—nothing personal. You get back inside and guard them close. I’ll get some help here in a little while. Stay put for now.”

“But your flight.”

“I’ll take care of this before I fly out. I’ve got time.”

Thorne watched the car until it was out of sight. The agent looked up at the sky where the clouds were being pushed northward at impressive speed by the incoming wind. It made him feel dizzy to watch them. He could smell rain in the air. Thorne saw a tight schedule lining up for the evening.

41

E
VE WAS STANDING ON HER PORCH BESIDE A SUITCASE
. T
HAT MORNING
Mr. Puzzle had been picked up by the garbage truck as Eve had frowned at the collector through the kitchen window. Larry lost the five dollars he had bet Sierra that Eve would have a change of heart and get the animal out of the can.

Eve was wearing a glen-plaid cloth coat. A scarf printed with a violent fury of flowers, vines, and greenery covered her hair and shrouded her face like a hood. She had the wicker purse locked to her chest when the yellow cab pulled up in front of her house. The driver stepped out and walked toward the porch.

“Airport, ma’am?” he said.

“Get this.” She tapped the suitcase with her toe. The driver lifted it and carried it to the car. She followed five feet behind and watched as he placed the case on the floorboard and pushed it in.

“Drive carefully,” she admonished from the backseat. Larry Burrows smiled to himself and pushed the ill-fitting cab-driver’s cap back. He had watched her dress on a black and white, he hadn’t been ready for the savage ferocity of the scarf and the effect of the rhinestone-encrusted cat’s-eye glasses with deep green lenses. Her brilliant red lips seemed to float angrily in the center of the luminous white oval of face. The look was withered movie star fleeing the press after a scandal of epic proportions—or a deranged, over-the-hill geisha.

“Taking a trip?” Larry asked.

“I don’t answer personal questions from servants,” she snapped. “USAir.”

Good grief
, he thought.
Servants?

After a ride conducted in complete silence, Larry pulled the cab against the curb under the USAir sign.

She handed him a twenty, which was worn almost white in places. He tried to hand her the change, but she waved it off. “That’s for you. You drive okay and you’re quiet.”

She turned and handed her ticket to the porter while Larry climbed into the cab and drove away past the other airline entrances.

At the end of the next airline’s entrances he pulled over, opened the trunk, and traded the knit shirt, golfer’s jacket, and chauffeur’s cap for a blue button-down, a navy blazer, khaki slacks, and loafers. Then he put on a pair of horn rims and slicked his hair down, using some cream from a tube and a thin comb. He lifted a briefcase, closed the trunk, and entered the airport. A police officer stepped from the curb and got in and took the cab, which had been borrowed from local vice’s motor pool. Stephanie was waiting for Larry and hooked her arm in his. Minutes later they were at the gate a few feet away from where Eve sat clutching her purse and staring at the waiting airplane’s tail section through the windows.