“No. But he could have.”
“I’m not myself these days, Cass, not thinking straight. One minute I function more or less normally, the next I’m half crazy, the next I’m like a teenager in heat. Schizoid. That’s not an excuse, just an explanation, such as it is.”
Cassie sighed and said, “I feel the same way.” Then she touched his face, tenderly. “You look so tired.”
“Exhausted.”
“Sleep now, both of us.” She flicked off the lamp.
In the darkness, on the edge of sleep, holding her and hating himself, he thought: Keeping them safe, that’s all that really counts. No matter what it costs me, no matter what it takes...
11
Sunday Morning
On the patio after breakfast, last night’s mist already burned off and balmy spring smells in the crisp air, Cassie and Angela inside out of earshot.
“Is there anything you want to tell me, Eric?”
“Like what?”
“About yesterday.”
Pause. “You mean Rakubian?”
“Yes. Rakubian.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Eric said. Looking him straight in the eye. “All that stuff stored in the garage... I admit it really freaked me. I felt like driving straight to the city and beating the shit out of him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I didn’t. Kept my cool and went for a long ride in the opposite direction. I suppose you were afraid I might’ve done something stupid?”
“I’d stand behind you if you did, you know that.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“No, you’re not.” You’re an adult liar and pretender, just like your old man.
Eric was silent for a time, that brown-study silence that always made Hollis a little uncomfortable. “Poor Angie,” he said at length. “Every time I look at her, see how afraid she is...” He shook his head, as if shaking off a painful mental image. “What’s the use talking about it? We’ve talked it to death.”
Hollis sat back, watching his son brood. Outwardly, Eric seemed all right. His eyes were clear, as though he’d slept well enough; hands steady, body language more or less normal. But inside? Frightened, worried... yes. Heartsick? Probably. Remorseful? Maybe. The same emotions Hollis himself was feeling — and concealing. The two of them sitting here as if this were any Sunday morning at home, one not a murderer, the other not an accomplice after the fact, yesterday any Saturday rather than a turning point in both their lives. Hiding the truth from each other because neither could bear to face the other with it.
His son, his flesh and blood — a killer. How do you reconcile a thing like that? Answer: In an evil time, evil things happen — good people are driven by both external and internal forces to do things they would never do in ordinary circumstances. Maybe that was a rationalization, not really an answer at all, but there was no other way to look at it that would allow him to hold himself together. He was a sadder, more bitter, somewhat diminished man today, and he suspected Eric saw himself in the same way.
Rakubian’s death made no real difference in how he felt about his son. Still loved him as much as ever, would do anything to protect him. Twinges of disappointment and shame, no denying that, but none greater than his own. He could live with what Eric had done. But could Eric?
Conscience and anger management, those were the keys. The anger was something they could talk about, but at another time — not this close to all that had happened yesterday. For now, they’d each keep their secrets and go on telling the lies they’d have to tell...
“Dad? You okay?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Funny look on your face. Like you’re in pain.”
“Just thinking about Angela and Kenny.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
Hollis asked, “You planning to drive back to San Luis today?”
“No, I thought I’d leave in the morning when they do. Make sure they get on the road okay. I only have two Monday classes and I can blow them off.” Pause. “Your prostate giving you trouble?”
He frowned at the abrupt change of subject. “What makes you ask that?”
“The way you walk, sit, the look you get sometimes — like just now.”
One secret he didn’t have to keep any longer, at least from Eric; one lie he didn’t have to go on telling. “Yes, it’s giving me trouble.”
“Same symptoms?”
“Mostly.”
“What does Dr. Otaki say?”
“I haven’t been to see him recently.”
“Christ, why not?”
“Too many other things on my mind. But I’m going to make an appointment this week. You haven’t said anything to your mother about this?”
“Uh-uh. I guess you haven’t, either.”
“I didn’t want to worry her. I’ll tell her after I see Otaki, have a new batch of tests run.” But it occurred to him that if the signs had been obvious enough for Eric to pick up on them in just a couple of days, they surely must have been obvious to Cassie all along. Then why hadn’t she said anything?
“Will you let me know the test results?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“No reason. Making sure, that’s all.”
They had nothing more to say to each other after that. Just sat there sipping coffee and not making eye contact — conspirators alone with their secrets in the spring sunshine.
When he was sure Gloria had had enough time to get home from church, he shut himself inside the garage and called her on his cell phone. Trip to Tomales Bay canceled: he wanted to spend the day with Angela and Kenny, he said, since she’d decided to leave tomorrow. Gloria was sympathetic. She said to give them her love, she’d pray for them every day. Pray for Eric and me, too, Hollis thought. We’re the ones who need it now.
He made quick work of emptying the Lexus’s trunk. Pick and shovel into a corner of the garage behind some other tools; Colt Woodsman into the locked storage cabinet; overalls and galoshes and gloves and soiled khaki shirt and Cal Poly blanket into a trash bag. He stuffed the bag into the bottom of one of the trash barrels.
Nothing left to do now but wait.
Sunday Afternoon
Two visitors, to say good-bye to Angela and Kenny.
One was expected. During breakfast she had said tentatively, “Ryan is going to drop by this afternoon. He asked and I said I thought it’d be all right. Please don’t be angry with me, Daddy.”
“I’m not angry.”
“He won’t stay long. Just to see Kenny again before we go.”
Hollis promised he’d be civil to Pierce and he meant it. Little enough in the way of a favor, if it would help ease her through the next twenty-four hours. She seemed raw-nerved today — not because of the long drive to Utah or the prospect of living with strangers, he thought, but because she was apprehensive that Rakubian might show up at the last minute, do something crazy before she could escape. He longed to take her in his arms, tell her she never had to be afraid of David Rakubian again, tell her escape was no longer necessary. Keeping up the pretense was almost as painful as what Rakubian alive had put them through.
The other visitor, the first to arrive, came unannounced. Gabe Mannix. Hollis was in his study with Kenny playing Pokémon on the computer. The boy was much less animated than usual; resigned to the move — Angela had had a long talk with him — but not really understanding or liking the idea.
“I don’t want to leave you, Granpa,” he’d said, his thin arms tight around Hollis’s neck. “I wish I could stay here with you and Granma.”
“I wish you could, too. But it’s only for a little while.”