Unexpected Dismounts (23 page)

I couldn’t blame him. With her hair brushed and swinging down her back and her sweet figure clad in jeans and a top that didn’t offer her breasts up as a condiment, she looked like a different person than she had the night of the rape. She was still teeming with history beneath her caramel skin, however, and I didn’t want Nicholas to get his hopes up about how forthcoming she was likely to be.

“Officer Kent needs to ask you some more questions,” I said. “Are you up for it?”

It was my turn to be astonished. “I remembered something just today, just when I was waking up.”

She still had her back to us, and I put my hand up to Nicholas. He nodded.

“What did you remember?” I said.

“I remember a profile.” Ophelia turned as if to demonstrate. “It was no features, you know, just black.”

“Like a silhouette,” I said.

“Yes. That’s the word.”

“Can you describe it?” I said.

“It was handsome,” she said. “But ugly.”

I could feel Nicholas all but groaning.

“Handsome because of the nose and the chin, but ugly because—of what he did.”

Ophelia’s eyes filled, and I knew we were about to lose her into her pain again. I could feel my
self
falling, for that matter. But I had an idea.

“Desmond!” I said.

“I’m sleepin’,” he answered from the bedroom.

“Wake up. I have a job for you.”

Nicholas looked at me quizzically as I vacated the seat and nodded at Desmond, who appeared in his bedroom doorway.

“You’ll need your sketchbook,” I said. “It’s police business.”

I held my breath as he disappeared back into his room, but he came out with the book under his arm and a pencil behind his ear. He nodded at Nicholas and took his place on the chair, all with a glimmer of his cocky self in there somewhere.

“Ophelia’s going to describe a person to you,” I said, “and we need for you to draw it as best you can from her description.”

He squinched his cheeks up to his eyes. “I don’t get to see this person Imma be drawin’?”

“No,” I said. “Is that a problem?”

“Yeah, it’s a problem, Big Al. I always got to see who I’m drawin’.”

Something about that didn’t ring true, but I didn’t have time to go there. “Just give it a try, okay? Ophelia, why don’t you sit where Officer Kent is …”

For the next several minutes, Nicholas and I watched as Ophelia closed her eyes and, judging from the tightness of her forehead, strained to see that handsome-ugly profile yet again. Tears slipped from under her eyelids, but she finally began her description.

Hair smooth, only coming up like fingers right in the front.

Forehead that ended at his regular nose.

“Ain’t no such thing as a regular nose,” Desmond told her. “You gon’ hafta looka here at what I’m drawin’ and tell me is it right.”

From that point on she stood at his elbow, making the picture with her fingers and watching as Desmond transferred it to the paper. After several false starts, she watched him sketch and shade for a long time until she gasped and grabbed for the table. I caught her before she made it to the floor.

“That’s him!” she said. “That’s him, Miss Angel!”

“Okay, you did good,” I said. “You did great. Desmond, can you help Ophelia into the living room and stay with her till I get there?”

“You need the big chair, Miss Ofeelins,” Desmond said as he took her from me—with far more therapeutic expertise than a twelve-year-old should have.

“There you go,” I said to Nicholas.

He shook his head at the drawing. “It’s pretty amazing that he can do that, but I don’t know how much it’s actually going to help us. Like you said, it’s just a silhouette. Unless we see this guy standing sideways in a dark alley.”

“Don’t you think that’s exactly where we
are
going to see him?” I said.

He scratched at his head. “I don’t know. I keep thinking about how she said he dropped her off in front of your house. I don’t see some West King Street wino driving her here. Besides, not to sound racist, but does this guy look African American to you?”

“Not typically, no. Whatever that is. Okay, so it’s a long shot. Do what you can with it. I’m going to make a copy and give it to a guy I know. Maybe he can get them to print it in the paper.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Y’know what, Nicholas,” I said. “Luck has nothing whatsoever to do with it.”

My phone rang and I held up a finger to him. “We’re not done,” I said. “Hello, this is Allison.”

“Miss Chamberlain, it’s Doug Doyle.”

Nicholas Kent and everything else around me disappeared down a tunnel.

“What is it?” I said. “What’s wrong?”

“No, it’s good news,” he said. “Your Chief is awake.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Doug Doyle stopped me at the nurse’s station, and it was all I could do not to knock him down and trample over him so I could get to Chief. But then my stomach turned over and I grabbed his sleeve.

“What’s wrong? Is there brain damage?”

“No—”

“What is it—why won’t you let me see him?”

His face fought a smile. “I’m going to let you see him. I don’t think I have much choice.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“You just need to keep it low key,” he said. “He still doesn’t remember much.”

“Will he know me?”

He looked at the nurse behind the counter.

She glanced up from her computer. “The first thing he said when he opened his eyes was, ‘Where’s Allison?’”

Dr. Doyle let the smile win. “I think that’s conclusive.”

“So …”

“Don’t ask him a lot of questions, and if he drifts off to sleep, that’s okay. We want him to rest. I know it seems like all he’s been doing is resting, but it’s a different kind.”

I left him giving the neuro-lecture to the nurse and bolted for Chief’s door. I stopped just inside, and I closed my eyes, and I felt the pain in my gut release, just enough so that I could breathe. Just enough to hear—

It is good, yes?

Yes, God, it is very, very good.

Chief’s face was as mushy and soft as a three-year-old’s in those first fuzzy moments after a nap. His eyes stayed closed long enough for me to wish I could crawl in with him, and pull him onto my lap, and kiss the backs of his hands. When he opened them, all I could do was grin.

“Where have you been, Classic?” he said.

“Don’t give me grief, dude. I’ve been here every day. I can’t help it if you waited for me to leave before you finally decided to wake up.”

“I know.”

“You know what?” I heard my voice threatening to crack.

“I know you were here. But you never stood across the room.”

I laughed like the teenager I never was and went to the bed. His hand groped for mine.

“How’s our boy?” he said.

“Ornery as ever,” I lied. “He’s just about milked all the sick leave he’s going to get out of that broken collarbone.”

“They weren’t lying then. He wasn’t hurt that bad.”

Not physically,
I wanted to say.
But, Chief, he’s not the same.

I was glad his eyes fluttered closed because I knew he would have read it in mine. I blew out some air.

“Your bike,” he said, eyes still shut. “Was it totaled?”

“Yes. That’s the last time I’m letting you ride it. And just so you know, I still have yours.”

He opened his eyes to slits and gave me a half smile.

“I’m not riding it, though,” I said.

“You can. You should. You can do it.”

“Are you sure you’re not still in a coma?”

He squeezed my hand. It was surprisingly strong, that squeeze. The need to hold him, all of him, pounded in me, and I had to do something, even if it was wrong.

“You said you knew I was here,” I said. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“No. I just knew when you were here and when you weren’t.”

My Adam’s apple rivaled Desmond’s as I swallowed. “Y’know, I hate to repeat myself—”

“Had a personality transplant while I was asleep, did you?”

“Jack?” a male voice said behind me.

I wasn’t that crazy about Detective Kylie under any circumstances. Right now, I could have ripped out his nose hairs.

“Just need to ask you a few questions,” he said.

He nodded at me as if he expected me to step out, which would have taken an act of Congress at that point. I didn’t move from my spot next to Chief, which necessitated Kylie going to the other side of the bed. In the meantime, Chief’s eyes closed.

“What’s the matter?” Kylie said. “Is he out again?”

“Must be,” I said. “Darn the luck, huh?”

“Classic,” Chief said.

Kylie shot me a look and leaned over Chief.

“Just need to ask you about the accident and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“I don’t remember anything.”

Kylie’s eyebrows met over his nose. “Nothing?”

“I feel like Humpty Dumpty.” Chief’s voice grew drowsy. “Everything about that day is lying on the ground around me and I can’t put the pieces back together again. Don’t bother with the king’s horses and the king’s men.”

“I don’t follow,” Kylie said.

Chief didn’t answer. His breathing was restful and easy and rhythmic.

“He’s just asleep,” I said.

“Which is right where we want him to be.” The nurse from the station stepped briskly to the foot of the bed. “The doc says no more talking until tomorrow. Let him get a good night’s sleep and you can pick it up from there.”

As Detective Kylie left, I wondered if he’d be able to pick up anything at all. I wasn’t quite believing Chief remembered absolutely nothing. I might not have known that he had an ex-wife or that the HOGs were his only family, but I did know Chief’s honest, no-nonsense voice, and that whole thing about Humpty Dumpty? That wasn’t Chief at all.

I turned toward the door.

“Classic?” Chief said.

“Yeah?”

“Bring Desmond tomorrow. I want to see him.”

“You’ve got it,” I said.

I didn’t tell him that Desmond had been surprisingly willing to let me come alone. That wasn’t the Chief-worshipping Desmond either.

Hank met me on the side porch when I got home in the van.

“I’m going to go ahead and take Desmond,” she said. “I think you still ought to go out to dinner with Bonner.”

“We’ll see.”

“Um, and you have a visitor.”

Her tone stopped me midway to the door. “Who?”

“Vickie Rodriguez.”

“Vi—she’s not in there talking to Desmond, is she?”

“No, he’s in the shower. But she
is
talking to Ophelia.”

“No.”

“Yes. I tried to get rid of her.”

“No, it’s okay. It was only a matter of time.” I tried not to go completely concave as I added, “Yeah, please take Desmond.”

“I won’t bring him back until you give me the all clear.”

I left her to Desmond and made the dreaded walk to the living room. Walk, nothing. I might as well have been riding a roller coaster.

Vickie sat on the edge of the couch, observing the room like it was a crime scene. Ophelia was nowhere in sight.

“If you’re looking for Miss Sanchez, she went up to help Desmond find a clean towel.”

Why did the floor not open up and swallow me into the pit I was going to end up in anyway?

“Well, he’s male,” I said. “They can never find anything, even if it’s right where it always is.”

“She seemed to know its location just fine.”

I sat in the striped chair. The chair-and-a-half was where I let myself be vulnerable. This was no time to be putting myself there.

“Look, I know you know she’s staying here right now,” I said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

She shook her head, still as sleek as before. Come to think of it, she might also be wearing the same outfit she had on the last time. Or maybe she just lived in a closet and wound herself up everyday.

“I’m here because I’ve had a visit from Priscilla Sanborn and her attorney,” she said. “You’re acquainted with Ms. Sanborn, I understand?”

I forced myself not to sink back in the chair. “She came by here about a week ago.”

“And you didn’t think it would be a good idea to call and tell me she intended to try to get custody of Desmond?”

“I thought she might just be blowing smoke, especially when I didn’t hear from her again.”

“It’s more than smoke. She’s serious about this.”

I pressed my fingers to my temples. There was no point in trying to keep up the front. “She can’t take him, can she? We do have Geneveve’s signed document.”

“I hope that stands up in a court hearing.”

“A hearing? I thought we were just going before the judge, a formality, you said.”

“It’s an entirely different ballgame when someone contests the adoption. This woman is going all the way.”

“You have to stop her!”

“How am I supposed to do that when you have a woman living upstairs who was recently raped? Whether she is a former prostitute or not isn’t going to make much difference.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Our office received an anonymous tip, which, honestly, I was going to ignore until the Sanborn woman showed up. I really wish you had told me.”

“Would it have made any difference?”

“I wouldn’t have been blindsided. I wouldn’t have had to sit there looking like a complete idiot while she ran down a list of all the reasons that you are an unfit mother.”

“I’m not!”

“I know that!”

A vein stood out on her forehead, which was now scarlet. I was stunned.

Vickie pressed her palms together at her chest, and for a moment I expected a
namaste
to escape from her lips.

“Please hear me,” she said, voice once again perfectly modulated. “I want to see Desmond with you. But I’ve just seen too many good adoptions go south because things got misconstrued. I have an obligation to you and Desmond to keep everything absolutely aboveboard. Do you see?”

I nodded.

“If you want to keep your son, you’re going to have to find another place for Ms. Sanchez.”

I felt my head tilt. “It’s black and white, isn’t it?”

“In some aspects, yes.”

“I don’t even know if I can think that way anymore.”

“That’s my job,” she said. “If you’ll give me what I need to do it.”

I tried to smooth out my forehead with my hand. “I’m sorry I put you in a bad position with Priscilla Sanborn. I know what’s it’s like to be, what did you call it?—blindsided by her.”

Vickie stood up and eased invisible wrinkles from her pencil skirt. “Well, you’ve had a few other things on your mind. How is Jack, by the way?”

“Out of his coma,” I said, “and thankfully there’s no brain damage. He was as cryptic as ever.”

“Good. I imagine that’s what you love about him.”

I was still staring at her, gape-mouthed, when she added, “Do you have someone else to represent you?”

“We haven’t gotten that far. He just woke up today.”

“Let me know. Yes?”

She watched me until I nodded. And then I watched
her
from the front door until her Mini Cooper—not the car I would have put her in—disappeared from Palm Row. She was definitely human after all. I wanted to tell Chief.

While I was still standing there, Bonner drove up. It wasn’t until then that I realized Hank’s car was gone, which meant she and Desmond must have stolen out like thieves while I was talking to Vickie. I knew Bonner was going to be disappointed, but I really didn’t feel like going out to dinner. Maybe he’d settle for leftovers with Ophelia. Heaven knew there were plenty of them. Hank had cooked enough food that week for Desmond and me to live on for a year.

If we had a year.

I turned from the doorway to get the cramping pain under control. When I went back to greet Bonner, he was already inside, and he wasn’t alone. India stood next to him.

A rather diminished version of India. While she wore the usual class-act outfit and her hair was its customary mass of enviable waves, her eyes looked washed out, and there was a pallor to her skin that made her seem to have aged ten years since the day of the Feast. But, then, hadn’t that actually been about a decade of anguish ago?

“Oh, honey,” she said. “Do you forgive me?”

I just held out my arms to her and she fell into them. Nearby, I heard Bonner blowing his nose on his inevitable handkerchief.

When India pulled away from me, she held me at arm’s length. “We have a lot to talk about,” she said, “but we need to get down to business.”

“What business?” I said. “Come on, give it to me. Nothing can surprise me at this point.”

“Liz Doyle called me,” Bonner said. “Vickie Rodriguez called her—”

“Bottom line,” India said. “You need a place for Ophelia, and I want to take her home with me.”

I was wrong. I was surprised, enough to sink to the old church pew in the foyer and stare.

India knelt beside me and folded her hands on my knee. “I know I don’t have your wisdom,” she said. “And I’m not one of the Sisters or the NA people. I haven’t been through what they have. But, darlin’, I think I can help Ophelia.” She glanced downward. “Unless you don’t think I can.”

I ran my hand across her head. “There is nobody in the world who would be better for Ophelia. Nobody. Just one thing though.”

“What?”

“Do I need to go ahead and order your casket?”

The glow shimmered back into her eyes. “No. I don’t think I’m gon’ drop dead after all.”