J is for Judgment (Kinsey Millhone 10)

“Lord knows she wasn’t pushing for it. She wanted to have the baby, and she needed financial help, but it’s not like she insisted on making things legal. That was Michael’s idea. I’m not sure it was a good one, but they’re doing okay.”

“Has it been hard on you to have them living here?”

She shrugged. “For the most part, I’ve enjoyed it. Juliet gets on my nerves now and then, but mostly because she’s so damned uncooperative. She has to do it her way. She’s the expert on every subject. This at eighteen, of course. I know it comes out of her own insecurities, but it’s irritating all the same. She can’t stand my help, and she can’t tolerate suggestions. She doesn’t have a clue about motherhood. I mean, she’s crazy about the baby, but she treats him like a toy. You ought to see her when she bathes him. It’s enough to make your heart fail. She’ll leave him lying on the counter while she goes off to get his diapers. It’s a wonder he hasn’t rolled off half a dozen times.”

“What about Brian? Does he live here as well?”

“He and Michael shared an apartment until this latest incident. Once Brian was sentenced and started serving his time, Michael couldn’t afford to keep it. His job didn’t pay much and then with Juliet, he simply couldn’t manage. She’s insisted on staying home since the day he married her.”

I noticed how neatly she substituted emphemisms. We were not discussing an unplanned pregnancy, a hasty wedding, and the subsequent financial muddle. Gone were the jail escape and the major shooting spree. These were episodes and incidents, inexplicable occurrences for which neither boy appeared to be responsible.

She seemed to pick up on my thought process, quickly shifting the subject. She moved out into the hall and grabbed the vacuum, hauling it in behind her on lustily squeaking casters. My aunt always said a canister vacuum was useless compared with an upright. I wondered if this was the central metaphor in Dana’s life. She found the closest electrical outlet and pulled out enough cord to plug it in….”Maybe it’s my fault what Brian’s been through. God knows being a single parent is the hardest job I’ve ever faced. When you’re penniless at the same time, there’s no way you can win. Brian should have had the best. Instead, he’s had nothing in the way of counseling. His problems have been compounded, which is hardly his doing.”

“Will you talk to them for me? I don’t want to interfere, but I’m going to have to talk to Brian.”

“Why? What for? If Wendell shows up, it’s got nothing to do with him.”

“Maybe so, maybe not. The shooting in Mexicali was all over the news. I know Wendell read the papers down in Viento Negro. It seems reasonable to imagine he’d head back in this direction.”

“You don’t know that for a fact.”

“No. But just suppose it’s true. Don’t you think Brian should be told what’s going on? You don’t want him doing something foolish.”

She seemed to take that in. I could see her turning over the possibilities. She removed the upholstery attachment and clicked the rug and floor nozzle into place, adding the extension wand in preparation for vacuuming. “Hell, why not? Things couldn’t get much worse. The poor kid,” she said.

I thought it better not to mention that I was picturing him like a piece of bait in a trap.

In the office alcove below, the phone rang. Dana launched into a description of Brian’s misfortunes, but I found myself listening to her canned message as it came wafting up the stairs. The live message followed at the sound of the beep, one of her bridal clients with the latest complaint. “Hello, Dana. This is Ruth. Listen, hon, Bethany’s been having a little problem with this caterer you recommended? We’ve asked the woman twice for a written cost-per-person breakdown of the food and drink for the reception, and we can’t seem to get a response. We thought maybe you could give her a call and light a little fire under her for answers. I’ll be here in the morning and you can call me, okay? Thank you. I’ll talk to you then, babe. Bye now.”

I wondered idly if Dana ever told these young brides the problems they were going to run into once the wedding was over with: boredom, weight gain, irresponsibility, friction over sex, spending, family holidays, and who picks up the socks. Maybe it was just my basic cynicism rising to the surface, but cost-per-person food and drink breakdowns seemed trivial compared to the conflicts marriage generated.

“…a real helper, generous, cooperative. Winsome and funny. He’s got a very high IQ.” She was talking about Brian, the alleged teen killer. Only a mother could describe as “winsome and funny” a kid who’d recently broken out of jail and gone on a killing rampage. She was looking at me expectantly. “I have to get on with this so I can reclaim my bedroom. You have any other questions before I get on with the vacuuming?”