L is for Lawless (Kinsey Millhone 12)

When I woke, I could hear Ray and Laura talking in low tones. Somehow the murmuring took me back to the car trips of childhood, my parents in the front seat, exchanging desultory remarks. That's probably how I learned to eavesdrop originally. I kept my eyes closed and tuned in to their conversation.

Ray was saying, "I know I haven't been any kind of father to you, but I'd like to try."

"I have a father. Paul's already been a father."

"Forget him. The guy's a turd. I heard you say so."

"When?"

"Last night in the car when you were talking to Kinsey. Said he criticized the shit out of you growing up."

"Exactly. I had a father. So why do I need two?"

"Call it a relationship. I want to be a part of your life."

"What for?"

"What for? What kind of question is that? You're the only kid I got. We're blood kin."

"Blood kin. What bull."

"How many people can you say that about?"

"Thankfully, not many," she said with acid.

"Skip it. Have it your way. I'm not going to force myself on you. You can do what you like."

"No need to take offense. This is not about you," she said. "That's just how life is. Let's be honest. I've never gotten anything from men except grief."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence."

The conversation trailed off. I waited a suitable few minutes, then yawned audibly as if just rousing myself. I sat up in the backseat, squinting out at the countryside as it whizzed past the car windows. The sun had come out, but the light seemed pale. I could see rolling hills, carpeted in dull November green. The grass was still alive, but all the deciduous trees had dropped their leaves. The barren branches created a gray haze as far as the eye could see. In some areas we passed, I could see hemlocks and pines. In summer, I imagined the land would be intensely green, the hillsides dense with vegetation. Ray was watching me in the rearview mirror. "You ever been to Kentucky?"

"Not that I remember," I said. "Isn't this supposed to be horse country? I expected blue grass and white fences."

"That's closer to Lexington, northeast of here. The fences these days are black. Over in the far eastern part of the state, you have the coal fields of Harlan County. This is western Kentucky where most of the tobacco's grown."

"She doesn't want a travelogue, Ray."

"Yes, I do," I said. She was always taking cuts at him, which made me feel protective. If she was going to be the bad daughter, I was going to be the good. "Show me on the map."

He pointed to an area north of the Tennessee border, between the Barren River Lake and the Nolan River Lake. "We just passed through Bowling Green, and we got Mammoth Cave National Park coming up on our left. We had time, we'd do the tour. Talk about dark. You go down in the caverns, when the guide turns out the lights? You can't see for shit. It's blacker than black, and it's dead quiet. Fifty-four degrees. It's like a meatpacking plant. Three hundred miles of passageways they've found so far. Last time I went was maybe 1932. A field trip in school. Left a big impression on me. When I was in prison, I used to think about that. You know, one day I'd come back and take the tour again."

Laura was looking at him strangely. "That's what you thought about? Not women or whiskey or fast cars?"

"All I wanted was to get away from overhead lights and the noise. The racket's enough to drive you nuts. And the smell. That's another thing about Mammoth Cave. It smells like moss and wet rocks. Doesn't smell like sweat and testosterone. It smells like life before birth… what's the word, primordial."

"Geez. I'm sorry I have to go back to California so soon. You're talking me into it," I said dryly.

Ray smiled. "You joke, but you'd like it. I guarantee."

"Primordial?" Laura said with disbelief.

"What, you're surprised I know words like that? I got my GED. I even took college classes. Economics and psychology and shit like that. Just because I was in prison doesn't mean I'm a fool. Lot of smart guys in prison. You'd be surprised," he said.

"Really," she said, sounding unconvinced.

"Yeah, really. I bet I can work a sewing machine better than you, for starters."

"That wouldn't take much," she said.

"This is very uplifting sitting here talking to you. You really know how to make a guy feel good about himself."