But Ken didn't know – how could he know? She just felt… worthless without Larry. And the beatings… it wasn't Larry, it was her. Couldn't she bring the beatings on? By behaving badly? Oh, the beatings hurt, but they also were what made her feel she was in control of something. Larry gave her that, didn't he? Well, didn't he?
It was like the time she was planning the party for Matt's fifth birthday. Larry was even letting them have kids come over from Matt's class, which he normally didn't like because – it wasn't their fault but kids just had no respect for property. Larry said the way to avoid things getting ruined was you didn't let kids get the opportunity. If something got ruined because of a kid, it was the parents' fault – you could bet on that. Like supposing you let a bull loose in a china shop – well, who's going to blame the bull? Is it the bull's fault? Of course not, Larry said.
Anyway, back to the party. Telling Ken about it when he asked if she was worried Larry would ruin the party by getting mad when the kids were there. She had said, "Look, this isn't an out-of-control situation, Ken. You're always talking about control. Well, I'm in control here." And she'd been right because she knew that Larry had been getting the really tense way he got before he exploded. So three days before – it was a Wednesday and the party was Saturday – she had dinner late, and Matt wasn't ready for bed when Larry got home so he had to help with that after a long tiring day with patients. And then she'd worn this cheap K-mart robe that she knew he hated. And when he complained she said something back at him, so she'd brought it on and he hit her pretty bad a few times.
But then – the good part – he was all fine for the party, and there wasn't any scene, and she'd controlled… another Ken word… when it would all happen. So to say that as long as she stayed with Larry she didn't have any power – well, Ken just didn't see it, or maybe he just couldn't understand it.
But okay, the hitting was getting worse. More frequent. That was a problem. It wasn't as easy to cover – she'd have the bruises on her face now, instead of just her stomach and her legs like before. Lately, more and more, it had been on the face, and that really did bother her. Her face was who she was.
When she'd been a girl she stared at her face in the mirror for hours, getting the expressions right, the way she looked when she said certain things. Now they were all second nature – the sort of pout and the frown and the quick smile.
So Larry hitting her face – that had to stop. It really had to. Last time it had gotten to that, that was when she'd gone away, run away, if she were being honest, and Larry had come and gotten her. He'd do that again, no doubt about it. He'd even said he'd kill her if she tried.
Like, he said, if she were with another man – same thing, he'd kill her.
Would he really? Maybe he would. He was strong, he did get out of control. An accident could happen. A bad accident. So she had to do something – talk to him, maybe, right afterward. That's when he listened the best. She'd just tell him he had to stop hitting her face.
Ken was right about this one – here she wasn't in control. She even hated Larry now, sometimes. Really hated him and knew it, admitted it to herself. That part was scary.
Or if it ever spilled over onto Matt. If Matt was there while Larry got crazy. She wouldn't let Larry hit Matt, even if he just got in the way, between them or something. If he did that, if that happened…
Whatever happened to her, come right down to it, she deserved it. Why else would it happen? But Matt was different. He didn't bring things on. He was a trusting and honest little boy. She wouldn't ever let Larry hurt him.
Except how could she stop him? That was the question – if it ever started, how could she stop him?
14
On Saturday, July 10, Hardy was bouncing six-month-old Vincent on his knee, singing to him at near the top of his lungs. He was forty feet above the ground, perched on the three-foot parapet that surrounded the roof of Moses McGuire's apartment house.
Moses was taking it easy lately. When he finally gave up on the idea that Hardy was going to get tired of the law and come back to bartending at the Shamrock he hired a new guy, Alan Blanchard, to take over Hardy's old shifts, and this gave him lots of time to pursue his other interests, which for several months now could be summarized by two words: Susan Weiss.
It was early afternoon, the sun shone in a blue sky, there was a slight warm breeze from the east, and Susan was sitting next to Hardy on the parapet. She was an intense dark-haired cellist with the San Francisco Symphony. She wore her hair pulled back in a ponytail and looked about Frannie's age, although she was eight years older. She wore a tank top, shorts and sandals.
Moses was with his sister at the Weber turning ribs. Hardy passed his boy to Susan, who started cooing into his face. Frannie took it all in. Her glance finally came to rest on Susan. "Don't let her hold too many babies. That's how it starts."
Moses tugged at his bottle of Sam Adams. "How she looks is how it starts," he said, "then the other things happen."
"Well, the other things can produce babies. I have it on good authority."
Uncharacteristically, Moses took a moment to answer. "I tell you, Fran, she makes me think about it."
This didn't make Frannie unhappy – she liked Susan and had to admit she was lovely, although Moses was in his mid-forties. But she had to know. "Are you serious?"
Moses trotted out his usual bartender answer: "No, I'm Alpha Centauri – Sirius is the Dog Star."
Frannie basted his arm with some barbecue sauce, then looked gravely at her big brother. "This isn't an engagement party, is it?"
"It's not even a party." Moses was licking the sauce off. "It's just a lunch."
Hardy and Susan stood. Susan was holding Vincent to her, rocking him as she walked. Frannie heard her humming tonelessly. "I warned you," she said quietly to Moses.
"Of what?" Hardy had his arm around his wife.
"You weren't even supposed to hear that. I wasn't even talking to you."
Hardy kissed her ear. "Well, which was it?"
Moses butted in. "She thinks Susan's going to want a baby of her own just because she's holding one."
Susan nodded. "She may be right." She held Vincent away from her, making a face at him that he rewarded with a beaming grin. "Oh, God, someone like this little guy." She put her shoulder against Moses, leaning into him. "Isn't he cute?"
Baleful, McGuire put his arm around her. He appeared to be studying the baby. He shook his head. "No, he looks like Hardy. Now Rebecca, my niece, she's cute. She resembles my sister, who in turn looks like me."
During this witty exchange, Hardy stood up to take the opportunity to kiss his wife, but Moses stopped him. "Uh, uh. No tongues."
"What do you mean, no tongues? Daddy and Mommy have tongues." It was Rebecca, over to join the party. She looked up at the adults, worried about where their tongues had gone.
"Uncle Moses is being silly," Hardy said. "Bad. Bad. Bad Uncle Moses."
McGuire squatted down. "In most societies, Beck, the uncle is revered above all other relatives. The psychic damage your father is trying to do to you by this display is incalculable should you take any of his nonsense to heart." He smiled sweetly at her, gave her a kiss.
"I still think this guy's cute," Susan said. "Do you mind if I hold him a little longer?"
Frannie gave her brother a knowing look, said it was okay with her, as long as she wanted.
There was a little beeping sound.
"What's that?" Moses asked. "Don't tell me an actual relative of mine has a beeper?"