“You think it might have been Dad?”
“I can’t think who else would take an interest.”
I saw him lift his head like an animal. “I hear a car engine running.”
“You do?” I listened carefully but heard nothing except the rustle of wind in the trees. “Where’s the sound coming from?”
He shook his head. “It’s gone now. Over there, I think.”
I peered over at the darkened side street he was pointing to, but there were no signs of life. The widely spaced streetlights created shallow pools of wan illumination that served only to heighten the deep shadows in between. A breeze was moving through the treetops like a wave. The rustling conveyed something shy and secretive. I could hear the patter of light rain in the uppermost leaves. Ever so faintly, at a distance, I thought I picked up the sharp tap of heels, someone walking purposefully away into the gloom beyond. I turned back. His smile faded slightly when he saw my face. “You’re really spooked.”
“I hate the idea of being watched.”
Behind us, I noticed the clerk in the store was staring steadily in our direction, probably puzzled by our behavior. I flicked a look at Michael. “Anyway, we better get back. Juliet’ll be wondering what’s kept us.”
We set off, walking rapidly. This time I made no attempt to slow Michael’s pace. I found myself glancing back from time to time, but the street always appeared to be empty. In my experience, it’s always easier to walk toward the darkness than away from it. It wasn’t until the front door closed behind us that I allowed myself to relax. Even then, an involuntary yip seemed to escape my lips. Michael had moved into the kitchen with his grocery bag, but he peered around the doorway. “Hey, we’re safe, okay?”
He came out of the kitchen carrying the Pampers and a carton of cigarettes. He headed for the bedroom, and I was not far behind him, doing a quick step to keep up. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know if your father tries to get in touch. I’ll give you my card. You can call me anytime.”
“Sure.”
“You might warn Juliet, too,” I said.
“Whatever.”
He paused dutifully while I fumbled in my handbag for a business card. I used my raised knee as a desk, penning my telephone number on the back of the card, which I then passed to him. He glanced at it with no apparent interest and put it in his jacket pocket. “Thanks.”
I could tell from his tone he had no intention of calling me for any reason. If Wendell tried to reach him, he’d probably welcome the contact.
We went into the bedroom, where the baseball game was still in progress. Juliet had moved into the bathroom with the baby, and I could hear her voice reverberating through the bathroom door as she prattled nonsense at Brendan. Michael’s attention was already glued to the set again. He’d sunk down on the floor, his back against the bed, turning Wendell’s ring, which he wore on his right hand. I wondered if the stone changed colors, like a mood ring, depending on his disposition in the moment. I took the box of Pampers and knocked on the bathroom door.
She peered out. “Oh, good. You got ‘em. I appreciate that. Thanks. You want to help with his bath? I decided to put him in the tub, he was such a mess.”
“I better go,” I said. “It looks like the rain is just about to cut loose.”
“Really? It’s going to rain?”
“If we’re lucky.”
I could see her hesitation. “Can I ask about something? If Michael’s dad came back, would he try to see the baby? Brendan is his only grandchild, and s’pose he never had another chance?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. I’d be careful if I were you.”
She seemed on the verge of saying something but apparently decided against it. When I closed the bathroom door, Brendan was gnawing on the washrag.
16
Drops began to dot my windshield as I hit the 101, and by the time I found a parking space half a block from my apartment, the rain had settled into a steady patter. I locked the VW and picked my way through accumulating puddles to the front gate, splashing around to my door, which opens onto Henry’s back patio. I could see lights on at his place. His kitchen door was open, and I picked up the scent of baking, some rich combination of vanilla and chocolate that blended irresistibly with the smell of rain and drenched grass. A sudden breeze tossed the treetops, sending down a quick shower of leaves and large drops. I veered off toward Henry’s, head bent against the downpour.
Henry was easing a blade through a nine-by-nine pan of brownies, making parallel cuts. He was barefoot, wearing white shorts and a vivid blue T-shirt. I’d seen pictures of him in his youth—when he was fifty and sixty—but I preferred the lean good looks he’d acquired in his eighties. With his silky white hair and blue eyes, there was no reason to imagine he wouldn’t simply keep on getting better as the years rolled by. I rapped on the frame of his aluminum screen door. He glanced up, smiling with pleasure when he saw that it was me. “Well, Kinsey. That was quick. I just left a message on your answering machine.” He motioned me in.