“Got it.”
I felt a momentary shiver of relief pass through my body. I wasn’t being completely worthless. I started toward the door to go down to Ronnie’s room. I intended to keep the police away from him if I could. I didn’t know how, but I meant to try. But Paul came through the door before I left the room. We almost bumped into each other, and when I saw him I didn’t care about the fight or the things he had said to me. It didn’t matter. I was just glad to see a friendly face, a comforting face.
But the strain showed on him again. He looked as ashen and grave as he had in the wake of Mom’s funeral. He entered the room and came right over to me. He sat in the chair next to mine and draped his arm over my shoulder. He pulled me close. I smelled shaving cream and mouthwash, smells that reminded me of my dad. I let him hold me. We didn’t say anything to each other right away. We just sat like that. I closed my eyes.
When he finally released his grip, I straightened up. Paul’s eyes were red rimmed, either from crying or a lack of sleep or both.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “The police… and Ronnie…”
“I mean the other night,” he said. “I said some awful things. I shouldn’t have said them.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I got my back up. I do that sometimes. You know that.”
“You’ve been very good to your mom and Ronnie,” he said.
“Not as good as I could have been, but thanks.”
“I think we’ve all been negligent here,” he said.
He reached up with his right hand and wiped a tear from his eye. His hand shook as he did it. That combined with the poor color of his skin made him look older than I’d ever seen him look. It was as though the past week had accelerated his aging process like a time-lapse film. If things kept going the way they had been going, he’d look like a centenarian soon.
“What did the police say?” he asked. “Did they tell you anything?”
I related my conversation with Richland, leaving out the shitty comments he’d made at the end about Ronnie not respecting my mother’s authority. Paul didn’t need to hear about that. Then I told him about my conversation with Ronnie from the night before, how he hadn’t answered when I’d asked if he had hurt Mom.
“Why wouldn’t he answer me, Paul?” I said. “I know Ronnie can be moody just like anybody else. Lord knows moodiness and reticence run deep in this family. But he brought it up. He said, ‘They think I killed Mom.’ And when I asked him if that was true, when I gave him a chance to put my mind at ease and deny that, he wouldn’t take it. He didn’t say anything at all. He didn’t admit it, but he didn’t deny it either.”
“I don’t know,” Paul said. “I bet they pressured him or coerced him. Hell, they’ve had him cooped up here, alone basically. Anyone would say anything to get out of here. Or he might just say something to get people off his back.”
“That’s what I said. I told the detective that people with disabilities might say anything to please an authority figure.”
“You wouldn’t have to have a disability to do that,” Paul said.
I knew he was right. And yet there remained unspoken things between us, things I didn’t dare bring up. I didn’t bring them up because I didn’t want to risk having another fight at a time when we needed each other the most. I didn’t want to bring them up because, on some level, I didn’t want to know whether he harbored the same doubts about Ronnie that I did. I suspected he did. Why else would he have advised my mother to have Ronnie sent away after one of his outbursts? He saw Ronnie more than I did. He must have understood him better in some ways. And I just wasn’t ready to see into all of those dark corners.
“I’m going to see him,” Paul said.
“I was just about to. They wouldn’t let me before, but I called Frank Allison. I want a lawyer here to deal with this.”
“Good.” Paul looked at me a long moment, his tired eyes growing angry. “That’s bullshit,” he said. “We can see him if we want.”
“Richland said no,” I said. “He said everything is too delicate right now. I guess he means the case, but Allison said to not let Ronnie talk.”
Paul looked away. “He’s in the hallway—Richland. He didn’t even look at me when I walked down here. He just pointed to this room. You know, he waves those hands around like he’s corralling butterflies or something. He was talking to a nurse or doctor.”
“I wish Detective Post were here,” I said. “At least I could talk to her a little. At least she seems human.”
“She’s a woman,” Paul said. “She has a lighter touch. She listens. Or pretends to.”
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s both go down there.”
As if his ears were burning in the hallway, Detective Richland came through the door. He nodded at both of us as though we were friendly acquaintances, then took a seat. I’m sure he didn’t notice, but I didn’t grant him the courtesy of eye contact. I looked at a spot on the wall above Richland’s head. I bit back on my anger.
“I want to see my nephew,” Paul said. “Something isn’t right here.”
“I’ve already explained to Ms. Hampton that I can’t let you do that right now. I was just on the phone with someone from the county attorney’s office. They certainly don’t want any family members going in there and confusing the story your nephew has to tell.”
“Confusing it?” I asked. “Are you saying we’d try to get him to lie?”
“It’s best to just keep things simple right now.”
“Our lawyer is on the way,” I said. “He requests that you stop talking to Ronnie.”
“Detective,” Paul said. “I need to talk to you.” His voice sounded level and calm, strangely so given the circumstances. It fit Paul’s demeanor since Mom’s death—sober and a little detached. He’d really only showed a full spark of life when he yelled at me in the cafeteria. “Could we speak somewhere?”
“We can speak right here if you have questions,” Richland said. “I don’t want you all to feel this is adversarial. I’m aware of the issues surrounding your nephew’s condition—”
“It isn’t a condition,” I said.
“Well—”
“‘Condition’ suggests an illness,” I said. “Ronnie doesn’t have an illness. He has a disability.”
“Okay,” Richland said. He reached up and adjusted his shirt collar. “I understand that. I’m trying to be sensitive to the issues that come up.”
“I was hoping we could speak alone,” Paul said.
That sentence landed in the room like a lead weight. Richland looked at me, and I looked at Paul. Paul had his eyes steadily placed on Richland, waiting for a response. He acted as if I wasn’t in the room anymore.
Richland took a long time to answer. Then he said, “Sure. If you would like to, we can speak alone.”
But I wasn’t going to be cut out of the conversation. I wasn’t going to get up and leave the room, not if they were talking about the fate of my brother. I had no idea what Paul wanted to say to the detective that I couldn’t hear, but I didn’t intend to make it easy for him. I remained rooted to my spot, as obstinate and stubborn as a child.
Richland read my body language. He said to Paul, “Would you like to speak out in the hallway? Why don’t we do that?”
They both rose from their chairs and went through the door, trying to leave me alone in that little room again. Paul turned back to me before he walked out. “Just wait,” he said. “I’ll take care of this, okay?”
But I decided not to sit still for being banished. I pushed myself up out of the chair and followed them into the hallway. Paul and Detective Richland were standing just a few feet away from each other, the difference in their heights striking. Paul looked like a child. When they heard me come through the door, they looked up. Disappointment crossed Paul’s face, but I didn’t slow down. I brushed right past him, heading for Ronnie’s room.