S is for Silence (Kinsey Millhone 19)

At the house, he pulled into the driveway and put his car in the garage. Mentally he shook himself off, struggling for control. He had a part to play. He couldn’t let Violet ruin his home life as she’d ruined his work. He let himself in the house. The hall smelled of cabbage that had cooked half a day. He wanted to weep. He couldn’t even look forward to a good meal at home. Livia, with her heavy hand and glum notions about food, served nearly inedible fare-mackerel loaf, creamed chicken on waffles, tapioca pudding that looked like a clot of egg-infested mucilage spawned by a fish. He’d eaten it all, every variation on a theme, sometimes too frightened to inquire what it was.

“Daddy, is that you?”

“Yes.”

He peered into the living room. Kathy was sprawled on the couch, her heavy legs flung over one end. She wore white shorts and a T-shirt, both inappropriate for someone her size. She had a strand of hair in her mouth and she was sucking on the end while she watched television. The Howdy Doody Show. Talk about a waste of time. A cowboy marionette with freckles and a flapping mouth. You could even see the strings that generated his movements, his wobbly boots dangling on tippy-toe as he pranced across the screen.

Chet took off his sport coat and hung it on a peg in the hall. What did he care if the shoulder got pulled out of shape? He undid his collar button and loosened his tie. He had to get a grip. But fifteen minutes later, as he was sitting down for supper, Livia made a half-assed remark, saying how ridiculous it was that the South Korean president, Syngman Rhee, called on Christians and non-Christians to pray for peace.

He stared at her, instantly incensed. “You think it’s ridiculous the war might come to an end? After we’ve lost thirty-three thousand U.S. troops? Where the hell is your head? Rhee’s the guy who released twenty-seven thousand North Korean POWs less than two weeks ago, sabotaging armistice talks. Now he’s softened his position and you want to sit there sneering at him?”

Livia’s lips tightened to such an extent he was surprised she could speak. “All I’m saying is there’s no point in non-Christians praying for peace when they don’t believe in God.”

“Non-Christians don’t believe in God? Is that what you think? Anyone who doesn’t go to your personal church and worship your personal deity is some kind of heathen? Livia, you can’t be that idiotic.”

He could tell she was offended, but he really didn’t care. Cheeks stained with indignation, she snapped his dinner plate on the table in front of him with a force that nearly cracked it in two. He looked down at the meal, which consisted of a main dish and a side of cabbage that had boiled so long all the color had cooked out. He pointed to the entree. “What’s this?”

Livia sat down and arranged her napkin in her lap. “We’re having International Night. The first Friday of every month. Kathy prepared the dish and I think it’s lovely.”

“It’s Welch Rabbit,” Kathy said, happily, already lifting a fully loaded fork to her lips.

“Welch? There’s no such place as Welch. Are you out of your minds? This isn’t rabbit. It’s cheese goo on toast.”

“Would you sample a bite before you judge, or is that too much to ask after Kathy’s worked so hard?”

“This is shit! I can’t work a full day and sit down to a meal like this. There’s no meat.”

“Please watch your language. There’s a young lady present.”

He pushed his plate back. “Excuse me.” He left the table and went into the downstairs powder room, where he pulled out his flask and downed the remaining vodka in six swallows. It wasn’t nearly enough, but maybe he’d managed to survive the next fifteen minutes without going berserk.

He returned to the table and began to eat, trying to imagine how normal men behaved. Husbands all over America must be sitting down to dinners just like this, with wives and daughters like the two he faced. How did they do it? Making small talk? He could do that. Clearly there was no point discussing world peace. He glanced at Kathy, not looking too closely as she tended to chew with her mouth open. He said, “I saw your friend today.”

“Who?”

“Liza.”

“Oh.” She was so intent on stuffing her face, he wondered if she’d heard.

“Whatever happened to her?”

Kathy flicked him a look. “Nothing. Why’d you say that?”

“Six months ago the two of you were like Siamese twins, joined at the hip. She dump you or what?”

“No, Dad. She didn’t dump me.”