The Accident Page 5

  I wasn’t stupid.

  Darren Slocum entered from the dining room. Trim, about a head taller than Ann and about the same age, but with prematurely gray hair. His high cheekbones and deep-set eyes gave him an intimidating look, which probably came in handy when he pulled people over for exceeding the Milford speed limits. He thrust out a hand. His shake was strong, just this side of painful, establishing dominance. But building houses gave you a pretty good grip, too, and I was ready for him, putting my palm firmly into his and giving as good as I got, the son of a bitch.

  “Hey,” he said. “How’s it going.”

  “Jesus, Darren, dumb question,” Ann said, wincing and looking apologetically at me.

  Her husband shot her a look. “Excuse me. It’s just something you say.”

  I gave my head a “Don’t worry about it” shake. But Ann wasn’t ready to let it go. “You should think before you talk,” she said.

  Oh what fun. I’d arrived in the middle of a spat. Trying to smooth things over, I said, “This is really good for Kelly. She’s had no one to hang out with but me for two weeks, and I haven’t exactly been a barrel of laughs.”

  Ann said, “Emily’s been at us and at us to have a sleepover and she finally wore us down. Maybe it’ll be good for everyone.”

  The girls could be heard in the kitchen, giggling and fussing about. I heard Kelly shout, “Pizza, yes!” Darren, distracted, looked off in the direction of the noise.

  “We’ll take good care of her,” Ann said, then, to her husband, “won’t we, Darren?”

  He snapped his head around. “Hmm?”

  “I said we’ll take good care of her.”

  “Yeah, of course,” he said. “Sure.”

  I said, “I see you’re selling your truck.”

  Darren brightened. “You interested?”

  “I’m not really in the market right—”

  “I can give you a hell of a deal on it. It’s got the three-ten horsepower engine and the eight-foot bed, perfect for a guy like you. Make me an offer.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t need a new truck. I wasn’t even going to get anything for Sheila’s totaled Subaru. Because the accident was her fault, the insurance company wasn’t going to cover it. “Sorry,” I said. “What time should I pick Kelly up?”

  Ann and Darren exchanged glances. Ann, her hand on the door, said, “Why don’t we have her call you? You know how silly they can get. If they don’t get to sleep in good time, they won’t exactly be up at the crack of dawn, will they?”

  When I pulled the truck in to my driveway, Joan Mueller was looking out her front window from next door. A moment later, she came outside, stood on the front step. A boy about four years old peered out from behind her leg. Not hers. Joan and Ely had had no children. This little guy would be one of her charges.

  “Hey, Glen,” she called as I stepped out of the cab.

  “Joan,” I said, planning to head straight into the house.

  “How are things?” she asked.

  “Managing,” I said. It would have been polite to ask how things were with her, but I didn’t want to get into a conversation.

  “Do you have a second?” she asked.

  You can’t always get what you want. I walked across the lawn, glanced down at the boy and smiled.

  “You know Mr. Garber, don’t you, Carlson? He’s a nice man.” The boy hid another moment behind her leg, then ran back into the house. “He’s my last pickup,” Joan explained to me. “Expecting his dad along any minute. Everyone else has been by. Just Carlson’s dad and that’s it, then I’ll have my life back for the weekend!” A nervous laugh. “Most people, they seem to pick up their kids early on a Friday, they get off ahead of schedule, but not Mr. Bain—Carlson’s dad—he works right to the end of the day, Friday or not, you know?”

  Joan had a way of rambling on nervously. All the more reason why I had hoped to avoid a chat.

  “You’re looking well,” I said, and it was half true. Joan Mueller was a good-looking woman. Early thirties, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her jeans and T-shirt fit her like a second skin, and she filled them well. If anything, she was a little too skinny. Since her husband’s death, and starting an off-the-books child-care operation in her home, she’d lost probably twenty pounds. Nervous energy, anxiety, not to mention chasing after four or five children.

  She blushed, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, you know, I’m on the move all the time, right? You think you’ve got them all settled down in front of the tube or doing some crafts and then one wanders off and you get that one and then another one’s on the go—I swear it’s like kittens in a basket, you know?”

  I was only a couple of feet away from her and was pretty sure I could smell liquor on her breath.

  “Was there something I can help you with?”

  “I—well, um—I’ve got a tap in the kitchen that won’t stop dripping. You know, maybe sometime, if you had a second, but I know you’re busy and all—”

  “Maybe on the weekend,” I said. “When I have a minute.” Over the years, especially during other periods when work was tight, I’d done small jobs, unrelated to the company, for our neighbors. I’d finished off the Muellers’ basement on my own a few years back over a month, working every Saturday and Sunday.

  “Oh sure, I understand, I don’t want to cut in on your free time, Glen, I totally understand that.”

  “Okay, then,” I said, smiled, and turned to leave.

  “So how’s Kelly getting along? I haven’t had her here, after school, since, you know.” I had the feeling Joan Mueller did not want me to go.

  “I’ve been picking her up every day after school,” I said. “And she’s at a sleepover with a friend tonight.”

  “Oh,” Joan said. “So you’re on your own tonight, then.”

  I nodded but said nothing. I didn’t know whether Joan was sending out a signal or not. It didn’t seem possible. Her husband had been dead for some time, but I’d lost Sheila only sixteen days ago.

  “Listen, I—”

  “Oh, look,” Joan interrupted with forced excitement as a faded red Ford Explorer whipped into her driveway. “That’s Carlson’s dad. You really should meet him. Carlson! Your dad’s here!”

  I had no interest in meeting the man, but didn’t feel I could vanish now. The father, a lean, wiry man who may have been in a suit but whose hair was too long and straggly for him to have a bank job, came up the walk. He had a kind of slow swagger. Nothing over the top. The kind of thing I’d noticed in bikers—I’d had one or two work part-time for me over the years—and I wondered whether this guy was a weekend warrior. He looked me up and down, just enough to let me know he’d done it.

  Carlson slipped out the door, didn’t stop to greet his father and headed straight for the SUV.

  “Carl, I wanted you to meet Glen Garber,” Joan said. “Glen, this is Carl Bain.”

  Interesting, I thought. Instead of “Carl Jr.” his kid was named Carlson. I offered a hand and he took it. His eyes darted from Joan to me. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

  “Glen’s a contractor,” Joan told him. “Has his own company. He lives right next door.” She pointed to my house. “In that house right there.”

  Carl Bain nodded. “See you Monday,” he said to Joan, and went back to his Explorer.

  Joan waved a little too enthusiastically as he drove off. Then she turned to me and said, “Thank you for that.”

  “For what?”

  “I just feel safer having you next door.”

  She gave me a friendly look that seemed to go beyond neighborly as she retreated into the house.

  FOUR

  “What’s it like?” Emily asked.

  “What’s what like?” Kelly said.

  “Not having a mom. What’s it like?”

  They were sitting on the floor in Emily’s bedroom amidst piles of clothing. Kelly had been trying on Emily’s outfits and Emily had been modeling the clothes Kelly’d com
e in, and the one extra outfit she’d packed. Kelly had been asking if they wanted to swap tops for a week when Emily blurted out the question.

  “It’s not very nice,” Kelly said.

  “If my mom or dad had to die, I think I’d pick my dad,” Emily said. “I love him, but it’d be worse for your mom to die because dads don’t know a lot of things about stuff. Do you wish it was your dad instead?”

  “No. I wish it hadn’t been anybody.”

  “Wanna play spy?”

  “How?”

  “Have you got your phone?”

  Kelly had it in her pocket and dug it out. Emily said, “Okay, so we hide in the house and try to get pictures of each other without the other person knowing about it.”

  Kelly grinned. This sounded like fun. “Like, just pictures, or video?”

  “You get more points for video.”

  “How many?”

  “Okay, you get one point for a picture, but you get one point for every second of video.”

  “I think it should be five points,” Kelly said. They debated this briefly, and came up with five points for each picture and ten points for each second of video.

  “If we both hide at the same time, how do we find each other?” Kelly asked.

  Emily hadn’t considered that. “Okay, you hide first, and then I’ll try to find you.”

  Kelly was on her feet. “You have to count to five hundred. And not five, ten, fifteen, twenty, but one, two, three—”

  “That’s too much. A hundred.”

  “But not fast,” she stressed. “Not one-two-three-four but one, two, three—”

  “Okay! Go! Go!”

  Kelly, phone firmly grasped in her fist, tore out of the room. She ran down the hallway, wondering where to hide. She looked quickly into the bathroom, but there really wasn’t anywhere good there. If she was home, she could stand in the tub and draw the curtain across, but the Slocums had a shower with a glass door. She opened a door that turned out to be a linen closet, and the shelves came out too far to squeeze in.

  She opened another door and saw a bed the same size as the one her parents slept in, although now her dad had the whole thing to himself. The spread was off-white and there were tall wooden posts at all four corners. This had to be Mr. and Mrs. Slocum’s room. It had its own bathroom, but again, the shower—the best place to hide—had a glass door, and the tub was wide open without a curtain.

  Kelly ran across the room and opened the closet. It was jammed with hanging clothes, and the floor was littered with shoes and purses. Kelly stepped in, nestling herself into the shirts and dresses that enveloped her. She didn’t shut the door all the way. She left a two-inch gap so that when Emily came in, she’d be able to film her poking about the room. And then, when she opened the door, Kelly would scream, “Surprise!”

  She wondered if Emily would wet her pants.

  She tapped her phone and the screen illuminated. She activated the camera function and pressed the video icon.

  Her foot nudged against something. She thought it was a purse. Something inside it jangled. Kneeling, she reached her hand in, felt what she thought had made the sound, and took it out.

  She heard some motion. Through the crack, she saw the bedroom door open.

  She tucked the item down into her front pocket. She kept her phone in her hand.

  It wasn’t Emily coming into the room. It was her mother. It was Ann Slocum.

  Kelly thought, Uh-oh.

  She wondered whether she’d get in trouble for hiding in the woman’s closet. So she kept very still as Emily’s mother came around the bed and sat on the edge. She reached for the phone on the bedside table and punched in a number.

  “Hey,” she said, holding the receiver close to her mouth. “Can you talk? Yeah, I’m alone … okay, so I hope your wrists are okay … yeah, wear long sleeves until the marks go away … you were wondering about next time … can do Wednesday, maybe, if that works for you? But I have to tell you, I’ve got to get more for … expenses and—hang on, I’ve got another call, okay, later—Hello?”

  Kelly wasn’t getting even half the conversation, what with Mrs. Slocum whispering so much. She listened, holding her breath, petrified she’d be discovered.

  “Why are you calling this … my cell’s off … not a good time … kid’s got someone sleeping … Yeah, he is … but look, you know the arrangement. You pay and … something in return … mark us … down for a new deal if you’ve got something else to offer.”

  Ann Slocum paused, glanced toward the closet.

  Kelly suddenly felt very frightened. It was one thing, hiding in a friend’s mother’s closet. That might make Mrs. Slocum angry. But hearing her private conversations, that might really make her mad.

  Kelly dropped her arms to her sides and held them rigid, soldierlike, as though this might magically make her thinner, less noticeable. The woman started talking again.

  “Okay, where do you want to do this … yeah, got it. Just don’t be stupid … end up with a bullet in your brain—what the—”

  Ann Slocum was looking right into the crack now.

  “Hang on a sec, there’s someone—what the hell are you doing in there?”

  FIVE

  I was sitting, having a beer, looking at the framed picture on my desk of Sheila and Kelly winter before last, bundled up against the cold, snow on their boots, wearing matching pink mitts. They were standing in front of an assortment of Christmas trees, the one on the far left the one we eventually chose to bring home and set up in the living room.

  “They’re calling her Boozer,” I said. “Just thought you should know.” I held a hand up to the picture, warding off any imagined rebuttals. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear a damn thing you have to say.”

  I drew on the bottle. This was only my first. It was going to take a few more to get where I wanted to be.

  It was lonely in the house without Kelly. I wondered if I’d be able to sleep when it came time to hit the sack. I usually found myself getting up around two, coming down to the living room and turning on the TV. I dreaded going upstairs, sleeping in that big bed by myself.

  The phone rang. I snatched the receiver off its cradle. “Hello.”

  “Hey, Glenny, how’s it going?” Doug Pinder, my second in command at Garber Contracting.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “What are you doin’?”

  “Just having a beer,” I said. “I dropped Kelly off a little while ago at a sleepover. First night here without her, since.”

  “Shit, you’re on your own?” Doug said excitedly. “We should do something. It’s Friday night. Get out, live a little.” Doug was the kind of guy who’d have told Mrs. Custer, within a week of her husband’s last stand, to get herself down to the saloon, hoist a few, let loose.

  I glanced at the clock. Just after nine. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty beat.”

  “Come on. Doesn’t have to be a going-out thing. I’m just sitting around here doing nothing. Betsy’s gone out, I got the place to myself, so get in your truck and mosey over. Maybe rent a movie or something on the way. And bring beer.”

  “Where’s Betsy?”

  “Who knows. I don’t question when good things happen.”

  “I’m just not up to it, Doug, but thanks for the offer. I think I’m gonna finish this beer, have another, watch some television, and maybe go to bed.”

  The thing was, I put off going to bed most every night. It was the place that, more than any other, reminded me of how different my life now was.

  “Can’t mope around forever, my friend.”

  “It hasn’t even been three weeks.”

  “Oh, well, yeah, I guess that’s not very long. Look, no offense, Glenny. I know sometimes I come across as insensitive, but I don’t mean it.”

  “It’s okay. Look, nice talking to you, and I’ll see you Monday morn—”

  “Hang on just a sec. I should have brought this up at work today, but there wasn’t really
a moment, you know?”

  “What is it?”

  “Okay, here’s the thing. I hate to ask, honest to God I do, but you remember, a month or so ago, I asked you for a bit of an advance?”

  I sighed to myself. “I remember.”

  “And I really appreciated it. Helped me over the hump. You’re a fucking lifesaver is what you are, Glenny.”

  I waited.

  “So, thing is, if you could find it in your heart to do that again, I’d be in your debt, man. I’m just going through a little rough patch at the moment. It’s not like I’m asking for a loan or a handout or something, just an advance.”

  “How much?”

  “Like, a month? Next four weeks’ pay now, and I swear, I won’t ask again.”

  “What are you going to live on for a month after you pay off whatever it is you have to pay off?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got that under control.”

  “You’re putting me in an awkward position, Doug.” I felt the hairs rising on the back of my neck. I loved this guy, but I wasn’t in the mood for any of his bullshit right now.

  “Come on, man. Who pulled you out of that burning basement?”

  “I know, Doug.” This was the card he most liked to play now.

  “And really, this is the last time I’m gonna ask. After this, things’ll be totally cool.”

  “That’s what you said last time.”

  A self-deprecating chuckle. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that. But really, I’m just trying to sort out a few things, waiting for my luck to change. And I think that’s going to happen.”

  “Doug, it’s not a matter of luck. You’ve got to face a few realities.”

  “Hey, like, it’s not like I’m the only one, right? The whole country’s in the financial dumper. I mean, if it can happen to Wall Street, it can happen to anybody, you know what I’m—”

  “Hang on,” I said, cutting him off. “It’s the other line.”