“Oh, yes I can, missy.”
Her mother’s face was getting red. Seriously, Tenley wished this whole thing had never happened, but her mother had started it, and now it seemed like it was impossible to undo. And maybe it was time for the shit to hit the fan. They’d all tiptoed around the whole thing for so long, maybe they all needed to face reality. Whatever reality was now.
Tenley stepped into the hall, slammed her bedroom door closed with one yank of her arm, and in another swift motion, opened the door to Lanna’s room. Sacred, sacred Lanna’s room. There the pristine white bedspread lay unwrinkled over a float of pillows, lacy and lacier, and a smiling teddy bear perched, reclining, on top of them, endlessly grinning at the emptiness.
“She’s gone,” Tenley said. Her voice sounded different than it ever had. She picked up Teddy, held it at her mother, accusing. “This is a stuffed bear, an old stuffed nothing bear that used to be hers, and you keep it. Why?”
Tenley hurled the bear across the room. It bounced off the silver-and-white wallpaper and landed on a tufted stool, then toppled to the pale blue carpet. She couldn’t believe she was doing it, it was kind of a tantrum, but the pretending should be over. Over! She wanted a life, her old life, her real life. When she mattered.
Her mom leaped across the room, grabbed Teddy, clutched the stupid stuffed thing to her chest. Shouldn’t she have clutched her daughter? Comforted her? Wouldn’t that have been the right thing to do?
“See, you care about the bear more than you care about me. It’s still all about Lanna, right? Your dear Lanna. Why did you even have me?”
Tenley found the knob of the closet door, pulled it open. A puff of lavender and cedar scented the room.
“What are you doing? Don’t-” Mom, still clutching the smiling bear, held out the other hand as if to stop her.
Hell, nothing was going to stop her. Tenley felt her chest get tight. The way it did when the police came to tell them about Lanna. The way it did at the funeral.
She could barely see now. Her mind was short-circuiting as she stared blindly at the rainbow of Lanna’s clothes, all lined up like that in the closet, all the whites at one end, blacks at the other, colors in the middle. She reached in, grabbing, wild, not caring, yanked out hanger after hanger, using both hands, crazy upset, she was crazy upset, but whatever, whatever, whatever.
She threw the hangers to the floor, the curved metal tangling the silk and cotton and knits. She knew she should stop. But the space behind her eyes was white, and all she could see was the past, and how it had killed her future. Unless she just-stomped it all out. Talked about it. Until her mother faced it.
“Give this stuff away,” she yelled, or whispered, she didn’t really know. And all she could hear was her mother sobbing, having sunk to the floor, her hands clawing through the chaos of fabric and hangers, trying to unscramble it. “Make room in our lives!”
23
“Where? When?” Jake knew it was bad form to answer his cell at the dinner table, but he was a cop, and sometimes these things were life and death. People understood that. He’d reluctantly taken his hand from Jane’s leg-touching her had been the only good moment of this entire evening so far-when he saw the caller ID: DeLuca. He hunched his shoulders, shielding the conversation.
“What’s his condition?” Jake asked. This was the last thing he’d expected. “Wait-he was on the street? Walking? Walking where? Hang on, okay? I can barely hear you.”
Jane touched his shoulder, head tilted, eyes narrowed, inquiring. Hang on, he lifted a finger at her. She’d been with Bobby Land in the alley. Did she know anything about him? From what DeLuca was now saying, that kid had been mugged only a couple blocks from police HQ.
“But I just saw him-” Jake stopped midsentence, calculating. He’d raced out of HQ to get to the restaurant, not exactly lights and sirens, but fast enough. Jake stood, putting a contrite expression on his face.
“Sorry, you all, excuse me, one moment,” he said, and headed to the restaurant’s back corridor, away from the bustling waiters and the buzz of conversation.
“So he was walking?” Jake covered one ear with a hand, and DeLuca’s voice finally came through.
“Yeah, on Vernon Street, looks like, possibly on the way to the T, ya know?” D said. “He’s in bad shape, gotta say. Iffy, I gotta say. Transported to MGH. I’m almost to his room. How long till you get here?”
“Fourteen minutes. Twelve, maybe.” Jake estimated the time, the Beacon Street traffic. He thought about what must have happened to Bobby Land, whose day, Jake was certain, had not in any way turned out as the young man expected. “Next of kin?”
“Yeah, we’re looking, but so far nada. There’s a blue billion Lands in Boston, not to mention the burbs and Cambridge, and he’s got no ID on him now. We’d have gotten it when we interviewed him, but that never happened. Remember? Hewlitt’s legal stooge got there first, and it was adios.”
“What the crap is up with the ID thing?” Jake said. John Doe No. 1, the dead guy, and John Doe No. 2, maybe-tattooed guy, hadn’t had IDs either. He eyed the dinner table across the crowded restaurant, saw Jane now leaning toward Robyn, who had her cell phone up to her ear. Gracie and Lewis must be close by now, and though he’d regret-in a parallel universe-missing the dinner, this was duty calling, and undeniably socially acceptable.
“I know, but if the kid was robbed, they’d take his wallet and ID, right? Kinda SOP for a bad guy, Harvard,” DeLuca said. He’d never let up on the Harvard thing, like Jake was the only cop who’d ever graduated from there. “They probably tossed it, they always do. We’ll find it, no sweat. You on the way?”
Jake stared at the wall, envisioning what might have happened. Bobby Land at the cop shop, waiting, he has a phone, maybe. Okay. Hewlitt and lawyer, whoever, meet with him and “make it right.” Do they give him money? They both leave HQ, where do they go? Land then leaves HQ, Jake encounters him in the lobby. Jake leaves, gets in his cruiser. Land leaves, walking. And then-
“Jake? Earth to Jake.” DeLuca’s voice in his ear.
“Here’s my thing,” Jake said. “How’d anyone know Land would be there? On that street, at that time?”
The sounds of the restaurant swirled around him, DeLuca silent, as Jake walked toward the table, pausing to let tray-balancing waiters go by, then stepping aside to let a harried-looking young woman carry a fussing pinafored toddler toward the bathrooms. He’d need to say his good-byes and make it right with Jane. And everyone. There’d be other times. He hoped.
“Maybe they didn’t know,” DeLuca finally said. “Maybe it was random.”
“Yeah.” Possible. But unlikely. “Two-three blocks, you said, from HQ? A ratty-looking kid in a stupid T-shirt? Why would anyone jump him? There? And then? Hey, is there surveillance video?”
“Yeah, I-hang on,” DeLuca said.
Jake arrived at the table. All eyes were on Robyn, talking into her cell, then frowning, then talking again.
“Jane?” he whispered, leaning close to her. She turned, looking up at him. She’d shredded the white cocktail napkin that had been under her water glass. A nest of damp paper crumbles littered the place mat in front of her. “I’ve got to-”
“Better hurry, Jake,” DeLuca interrupted. “I’m here. And the doc is saying it looks bad.”
Jane turned, feeling Jake’s hand on her shoulder. He was still on the phone. Why wasn’t he sitting down? Wonder if it’s about Curley Park? Could she ask him?
“You’ve got to-what?” she replied. He hadn’t finished his sentence, but now Jake was listening to someone on the phone again, a concerned look on his face, eyeing the door, clearly looking for a way out of here. Well, who wasn’t?