Cruel and Unusual - Cornwell Patricia - Страница 15
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- 15/73
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“It was eighty degrees when I left Miami this morning,” “You'll freeze walking out to the car.”
“It's physically impossible for me to freeze while walking to your car unless you're parked in Chicago.”
“Perhaps you have a sweater in your suitcase?”
“You ever notice that you talk to me the same way Grans talks to you? By the way, she thinks I look like a 'pet rocker.' That's her malapropism for the month. It's what you get when you cross a pet rock with a punk rocker.”
“I've got a couple of ski jackets, corduroys, hats, gloves. You can borrow anything you wish.”
She slipped her arm in mine and staffed my hair. “You're still not smoking.”
“I'm still not smoking and I hate being reminded that I'm still not smoking because then I think about smoking.”
“You look better and don't stink like cigarettes. And you haven't gotten fat. Geez, this is a dinky airport,” said Lucy, whose computer brain had formatting errors in the diplomacy sectors. “Why do they call it Richmond International?”
“Because it has flights to Miami.”
“Why doesn't Grans ever come see you?”
“She doesn't like to travel and refuses to fly.”
“It's safer than driving. Her hip is really getting bad, Aunt Kay.”
“I know. I'm going to leave you to get your bags so I can pull the car in front,” I said when we got to Baggage. “But first let's see which carousel it is.”
“There are only three carousels. I bet I can figure it out.”
I left her for the bright, cold air, grateful for a moment alone to think. The changes in my niece had thrown me off guard and I was suddenly more unsure than ever how to treat her. Lucy had never been easy. From day one she had been a prodigious adult intellect ruled by infantile emotions, a volatility accidentally given form when her mother had married Armando. My only advantage had been size and age. Now Lucy was as tall as I was and spoke with the low, calm voice of an equal. She was not going to run to her room and slam the door. She would no longer end a disagreement by screaming that she hated me or was glad I was not her mother. I imagined moods I could not anticipate and arguments I could not win. I had visions of her coolly leaving the house and driving off in my car.
We talked little during the drive, for Lucy seemed fascinated by the winter weather. The world was melting like an ice sculpture as another cold front appeared on the horizon in an ominous band of gray. When we turned into the neighborhood where I had moved since she had visited last, she stared out at expensive homes and lawns, at colonial Christmas decorations and brick sidewalks. A man dressed like an Eskimo was out walking his old, overweight dog, and a black Jaguar gray with road salt sprayed water as it slowly floated past.
“It's Sunday. Where are the children, or aren't there any?” Lucy said as if the observation incriminated me in some way.
“There are a few.” I turned on my street.
“No bikes in the yards, no sleds or tree houses. Doesn't anybody ever go outside?”
“This is a very quiet neighborhood.”
“Is that why you chose it?”
“In part. It's also quite safe, and hopefully buying a home here will prove to be a good investment.”
“Private security?”
“Yes,” I said as my uneasiness grew.
She continued staring out at the large homes flowing past. “I bet you can go inside and shut the door and never hear from anyone never see anyone outside, either, unless they're walking their dog. But you don't have a dog. How many trick-or-treaters did you have on Halloween?”
“Halloween was quiet,” I said evasively.
In truth, my doorbell had rung only once, when I was working in my study. I could see in my video monitor the four trick-or-treaters on my porch, and picking up the handset, I started to tell them that I would be right there when I overheard what they were saying to each other.
“No, there isn't a dead body in there,” whispered the tiny UVA cheerleader.
“Yes, there is,” said Spiderman. “She's on TV all the time because she cuts dead people up and puts them in jars. Dad told me.”
I parked inside the garage and said to Lucy, “We'll get you settled in your room and the first order of business after that is for me to build a fire and make a pot of hot chocolate. Then we'll think about lunch.”
“I don't drink hot chocolate. Do you have an espresso maker?”
“Indeed I do.”
“That would be perfect, especially if you have decaf French roast. Do you know your neighbors?”
“I know who they are. Here, let me get that bag and you take this one so I can unlock the door and deactivate the alarm. Lord, this is heavy.”
“Grans insisted I bring grapefruit. They're pretty good, but full of seeds.”
Lucy looked around as she stepped inside my house. “Wow. Skylights. What do you call this style of architecture, besides rich?”
Maybe her disposition would self-correct if I pretended not to notice.
“The guest bedroom is back this way,” I said. “I could put you upstairs if you wish, but I thought you'd rather be down here near me.”
“Down here is fine. As long as I'm close to the computer.”
“It's in my study, which is next door to your room.”
“I brought my UNDO notes, books, and a few other things.”
She paused in front of the sliding glass doors in the living room. “The yard's not as nice as your other one.”
She said this as if I had let down everyone I had ever known.
“I've got plenty of years to work on my yard. It gives me something to look forward to.”
Lucy slowly scanned her surroundings, her eyes finally resting on me. “You've got cameras in your doors, motion sensors, a fence, security gates, and what else? Gun turrets?” “No gun turrets.”
“This is your Fort Apache, isn't it, Aunt Kay? You moved here because Mark's dead and there's nothing left in the world except bad people.”
The comment ambushed me with terrific force, and instantly tears filled my eyes. I went into the guest bedroom and set down her suitcase, then checked towels, soap, and toothpaste in the bath. Returning to the bedroom, I opened the curtains, checked dresser drawers, rearranged the closet, and adjusted the heat while my niece sat on the edge of the bed, following my every move. In several minutes, I was able to meet her eyes again.
“When you unpack, I'll show you a closet you can rummage through for winter things,” I said.
“You never saw him the way everybody else did.”
“Lucy, we need to talk about something else.”
I switched on a lamp and made certain the telephone was plugged in.
“You're better off without him,” she added with conviction.
“Lucy.. “
“He wasn't there for you the way he should have been. He never would have been there because that's the way he was. And every time things didn't go right, you changed.”
I stood in front of the window and looked out at dormant clematis and roses frozen to trellises.
“Lacy, you need to learn a little gentleness and tact. You can't just say exactly what you think.”
“That's a funny thing to hear coming from you. You've always told me how much you hate dishonesty and games.”
“People have feelings.”
“You're right. Including me,” she said.
“Have I somehow hurt your feelings?”
“How do you think I felt?”
“I'm not sure I understand.”
“Because you didn't think about me at all. That's why you don't understand.”
“I think about you all the time.”
“That's like saying you're rich and yet you never give me a dime. What difference does it make to me what you've got hidden away?”
I did not know what to say.
“You don't call me anymore. You haven't come to see me once since he got killed.”
The hurt in her voice had been saved for a long time. “I wrote you and you didn't write back. Then you called me yesterday and asked me to come visit because you needed something.”
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