“How is she now?”
“Sarah? She seems all right, but it’s hard to know.”
“And Katy, what do the doctors-”
“She’ll be okay. They pumped her stomach. It’s a good thing we got back when we did or more of that crap might’ve gotten into her system. They’re keeping her here for observation.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” he said. “I’ll keep a man posted outside her door for the duration.”
“Thanks, but I doubt they’ll try anything here. Too many people around.”
“Let’s hope so. Listen, I better go talk to that biker in there, but don’t forget our appointment later this morning.”
“It’s a date.”
We shook hands. This time he gave my hand back promptly.
Sarah was waiting for me outside the treatment cubicle when I went back inside. She’d been strong through all of this, but now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the fear and exhaustion were showing through. She was white, her eyes shot red with blood. For the first time in her life, Sarah looked old. Welcome to adulthood.
“Dad, you’re bleeding. Your shoulder.”
“Oh, that,” I said, pulling my shirt around to look. “No, that’s somebody else’s blood. A guy who had a motorcycle accident, put his hand on my shoulder.”
For some reason, that was the last straw. Sarah broke down. She fell into my arms and began sobbing.
“Shhhhh, kiddo. It’s okay. Everything will be okay. Shhhhh…”
When she was a little girl and would come crying about scraping her knee or some kid in her class making fun of her red hair, those words were magic. Now when I said them, she simply cried harder. Had she finally outgrown the magic, I wondered, or was it that the magic wouldn’t work if the magician no longer believed in his powers?
Later that morning, I was quite amazed at how easily I rattled off the litany of secrets and sins to Sheriff Vandervoort. Yet, rattle them off I did. No hedging, no holding back, no compromising, no spin, just the raw, unvarnished facts. I suppose most of the people in my life knew some of the details of my involvement with the Maloneys, but drips and drabs of reality, no matter how sordid or saintly, never amount to the whole truth. And regardless of what people say, there is only ever one truth of things. There are different versions of reality, not of the truth.
Vandervoort now knew more about what had gone on between the Maloneys and me than anyone on the planet besides myself. By the look on his face, I wasn’t so sure he was happy to hold the honor. It was a tossup as to whether Pete seemed more horrified by the revelation that Francis had once raped and beaten a transvestite prostitute or that he had once encouraged Patrick to commit suicide.
“Christ… I’m not sure which I want to do more, throw up or take a shower,” he said. “Do Katy and Sarah know any of this?”
“Not the real details, no. I’ve carried this shit around with me for twenty-two years. It ruined my marriage and that’s where the damage has to stop.”
“I’ll do what I can. The thing is, I can see why someone might hate the father. And lord knows there’s plenty of people who hate fags-sorry, gays, but that doesn’t explain why this is going on. This has got to be about you,” he said.
“That’s the assumption I’ve been working under since it all started.”
“Any ideas?”
“Too many, unfortunately.”
“Anyone from around these parts?”
“Only the longest of long shots,” I said.
“Yeah, like who?”
I hemmed and hawed a little.
“Look, Moe, I’ve cut you way more slack than-”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Secret keeping becomes second nature.”
“Names.”
“There’s Katy’s first husband, Joey Hogan, for one. I’m going to see him right now. Unofficially, of course.”
“Of course. Who else?”
“Woman used to cut hair at the Head Shop, Theresa Hickey.”
“Hot blond, married to a city cop, right?” Vandervoort asked, already knowing the answer.
“That’s the one.”
“Forget her. My big sister Mary knew Theresa Hickey. She dumped the cop years ago and moved down to Jupiter, Florida, with some rich guy owns race horses. She hasn’t been back here since.”
“Tina Martell?”
Vandervoort smiled sadly at the mention of her name. “Sure I know Tina. She owns Henry’s Hog over-”
“I know the place. Outside of town, over the tracks, right?”
“That’s the one.”
“She owns it?” I asked.
“Her old man left it to her. What’s old Tina got to do with this?”
“Probably nothing,” I said, “but remember when I was telling you about how Patrick had gotten a few girls pregnant?”
“Tina?”
“Yeah, Tina.”
“Well, fuck me. I can’t quite picture old Tina and Patrick. You know, Moe, for a-for a gay guy, this kid got a lot of-”
“It’s testament to how hard it was for him to come to terms with who and what he was.”
“I guess.”
“I gotta get to the hospital. They’ve moved Katy into a room and I want to make sure all the bases are covered.”
“Room 402,” he said. “You’ll find a deputy outside her door.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
“Remember, Moe, keep me posted.”
Just as Vandervoort had promised, there was a deputy outside Katy’s door. It was Robby, the young deputy who had stood out in the rain with me at the Maloney family gravesite. He smiled at noticing me and, I suppose, at the chance of conversation. There are aspects of police work that can be mind-numbingly dull. None duller than guard duty. The deputy assured me that everything had been quiet, that the only people to enter the room were nurses and doctors and not too many of them. As a matter of courtesy, I asked the deputy if I might not take a look myself. He liked that I asked.
Katy was asleep, but unnaturally still. I don’t know, maybe that was my brain talking and not my eyes. Her attempted suicide had changed everything. For all our years together, I had assumed Katy was a rock, that she could bear anything. Only once, when she miscarried, did she break down. Even then, I thought she recovered well and had gotten back to the business of life quicker than most. But now I wasn’t so sure I knew who my ex-wife had been all those years. Had she misled me or had I misled myself? Did I see who she wanted me to see or did I see who I wanted to see? Had she hidden the pain from me or had I blinded myself to it?
I thought about lifting the sheets to see if her wrists were restrained, considered consulting the attending psychiatrist to find out if Katy was sedated or if her sleep was a natural reaction to the trauma. I did neither. It was all I could do to swallow up the guilt I was already feeling. I knew I couldn’t handle anymore revelations about the myths of our marriage, not now, not yet. When I walked back past Robby, he called out to me. Something about last night’s Mets score, I think. For some reason it just made me angry, really angry, but not at him.
I started toward Joey Hogan’s house. Joey, what kind of name is that for a grown man, for chrissakes? Joey was Katy’s ex. Now, I suppose, first ex is more accurate. Not that I had anything against him. On the few occasions fate had thrown us together, he had been more than cordial, friendly really. He was a stand-up guy who cared so deeply for Katy that if another man made her happy, well then, that was okay with him. They had been high school sweethearts. Katy grew out of it, but Joey never did. As Katy said, she agreed to marry him for all the wrong reasons. He was loving. He was handsome. He was a good provider. It was time.
“You don’t marry a man because he scores well on some stupid test,” Katy had said many times. “Marriage isn’t about a checklist. It’s about passion.”
I wondered if she would still feel that way when she got out of the hospital and took stock of the last twenty years of her life. In any case, there wasn’t any passion left between Katy and Joey by the time they took their vows before Father Blaney. And moving into his parents’ house right after the wedding hadn’t exactly enhanced the chances of their rekindling any dormant high school sparks. Their divorce had been relatively painless, at least for Katy, and had come as a relief for the both of them.