A Woman of Valor, page 14
But now, far more than her need to maintain radio silence with her father, she needed the car.
She considered renting one and sparing herself the grief, but she couldn’t afford it, and most rental companies wouldn’t lease to someone under 25. Or borrowing one, but the only person in town who trusted her enough was Beth, and she needed hers for work.
So she took a city bus to her old westside suburban neighborhood and walked up the cul-de-sac to her childhood home. The modest two-story Cape Cod blended in among a dozen more carbon copies of it on 70-foot tree-lined lots. She paused at the driveway that led to the closed garage, which she and Chad had converted to a gym, her private escape during her teen years. She’d moved out of her bedroom—too many awful memories associated with that space—and often slept on a cot in the garage. Now, her car slept there.
Val glanced at her surroundings. Nobody had mowed the grass in months. Large blotches of gray leaked through on the siding where the old blue paint had flaked off. Clumps of moss curled the charcoal-colored asphalt shingles on the roof. At least a week’s worth of bills and catalogs clogged the mailbox.
She trudged up to the front door and pressed the doorbell. Listened for the twin four-note bars of the traditional singsong greeting to play.
Seconds passed. Nothing.
She pressed again. Still no sound. Dammit. She rapped her knuckles on the glass pane of the old aluminum storm door. It rattled open with a painful squeak. She pushed it aside and knocked on the white metal-clad door. Waited.
Nothing.
Val sighed. She fished out her keys, found the right one, inserted it into the lock. It still worked. She pushed open the door.
“Dad? You home?”
No sound.
She sighed in relief. Maybe he was away, and she wouldn’t have to face him after all.
She stepped inside. The place smelled of mildew and rotting fruit, and dust tickled her nostrils. The old sofa remained in front of the picture window, facing the 40-inch flat-screen TV, the only thing close to new in the place. Chairs that used to match the sofa had disappeared. Empty Pabst Blue Ribbon cans lay scattered around an overflowing ashtray on the battered coffee table, along with a closed pizza box. She lifted the cover. Hawaiian pizza, cold and stale. Might have been last night’s dinner. Or last Friday’s breakfast. Hard to tell.
Val wandered into the kitchen, unsurprised by the mess she found there, or the smell, twice as pungent and eye-searing as in the living room. She scanned the kitschy plaque on the wall that sported four hooks, each labeled with one family member’s name. Chad had made it in shop class, a place for everyone to hang their keys.
Empty.
She pulled on the handle to the junk drawer. Halfway open, it got stuck, rattled with a metallic clash, and bounced back shut. She tugged it open part way and worked her hand inside to push aside whatever kitchen implement blocked the damned thing from opening—
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
Val froze at the sound of her father’s scratchy voice, at first not wanting to turn to see him. Then she chided herself for being childish and summoned up the most enthusiastic smile possible, under the circumstances. She freed her hand from the drawer and faced him.
The man slumping his round, stooped body in the doorway looked nothing like the father she pictured in her memory. Wearing baggy pants and a wife-beater T-shirt, Michael David Dawes bore no resemblance to the tall, athletic, well-dressed businessman, brimming with the confidence she remembered from her youth. Nor even the gaunt figure of her teen years. His hair, always black and cut in a conservative over-the-ears 1950s style, now streamed out in dry, white bursts as if he’d been electrocuted. Angry red blotches dappled his tanned skin, and his dark brown eyes seemed lost inside their deep sockets.
The voice, however, she recognized. It belonged to the former vice-president of Ashford Machine and Dye, who doubled as soccer coach and scout leader, and who’d once attempted to raise her.
“Dad. I meant to call, but—”
“But you knew I wouldn’t answer.” He coughed, not bothering to cover his mouth, and the aroma of cheap bourbon overpowered the stench of the dishes rotting in the sink. “Well, come here. Aren’t you going to give me a hug, after all these years?”
Her stomach lurched, and her muscles tightened in recoil. He couldn’t be serious. Could he?
Dad stepped toward her, arms wide. Dammit. She held her breath and kept her arms by her side, letting him wrap her up for a moment. Then she wiggled free.
“I came to get the Honda,” she said, not making eye contact. “I’m going to visit Chad in Danbury.”
“Assuming it still runs. Yeah, I figured you weren’t here to see me.” He stumbled over to another cabinet and pulled open a drawer. “I think the keys are in here.” He rummaged through, stealing a glance at her after a moment. “That drawer’s broken.”
“I, uh...Dad, it’s not like we’ve kept in close touch, right? I graduated from UConn, by the way.” The words rushed out of her, faster than she could think.
“Good for you. About time. Chad told me you got a job.” He stopped rummaging and glared at her, his eyes glowing. “On Clayton P.D.” Suddenly he seemed alert, almost sober.
Like he always did when he was angry. When he accused her of lying, or holding back information. Like every time they ever discussed what had happened with Milt.
Goose bumps spread over her skin, and she rubbed her bare arms for warmth. Stepped away from him, for safety. “Th-that’s right. I always said I would.”
Bang! The drawer crashed shut, and her father’s face lurched to within inches of hers. “Are you fucking crazy?” he seethed, spittle spewing from his clenched teeth. “It’s not enough they killed my brother? You’ve got to go join those stupid sons-of-bitches too? What are you trying to do, kill me?” He slammed his fist on the counter, sending dishes and silverware flying.
Val dodged a fork that flew by her nose, just in time, and stepped out from under his hot gaze. She kept her hands in front of her, her voice calm, and focused on him while speaking. “I didn’t do it to hurt you. It’s what I’ve always—”
“Because you think you can find all the big bad bogeymen who scared you as a little girl, and what? Lock them all up? Kill them? Is that what you want to do?” He lurched toward her again, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. “Yeah, I heard the news reports about what you did. Killed a man. Are you proud of yourself now?”
“I acted in self-def—”
“Hah! I’ve got half a mind to call them and tell them what your agenda is. Maybe that’ll convince them you have no business being a goddamned cop. Putting a gun in your hands and a badge on your chest has to be the craziest goddamned thing this city has ever done!” He gave her a final shake and pushed himself away, supporting himself with stiff arms planted on the filthy counter, his body shaking, wracked with sobs.
Val stood there, watching him cry, not knowing what else to do. Her father's anger stunned her, and his threats frightened her. Would he do such a thing? He seemed crazed enough to try. But how would the department react if he did?
Fear soon gave way as a familiar ache crept up inside her. She’d only seen Dad cry twice before. The last time was when Mom had left. He’d sobbed, like he did now, his whole body expressing sadness, the grief taking over, crushing him. The all-encompassing nature of his despair had surprised her, and the violence of it had alarmed her.
The first time was after she told them both what Milt had done.
No sobbing then, though. More quiet and stoic, just shedding of a few tears. Since she’d never seen him cry before that—or any other grown man—she assumed that’s how men wept. Thought nothing of it.
Funny. She remembered Dad crying, but not Mom. Surely she must have—
“Well,” he said with startling abruptness, standing erect for the first time, “I guess I’d better find you those keys.”
“Dad, I—”
“No, fuck it. Take the car. Go on, get out of here.” He fished around in the drawer again, the one that opened, and tossed her a key chain with the familiar black fob, sporting the stylized “H” in bas-relief. He stared at the floor, sniffled, wiped his nose with his finger.
She took a breath and steadied her voice. “I’m sorry that I haven’t visited. I just—”
“Valorie, don’t, okay? Just go. Please.” He waved at the air, shooing her.
“No. Dad, listen. I should have called more. I admit—”
“More? Try ever.”
Val clenched her fist, shutting her eyes for the count of three, then opened them again. “I invited you to my graduation. Left you a voice-mail. You didn’t respond, and you didn’t come.”
“I wasn’t feeling good.” He coughed again.
“Yeah. I figured.” She sighed. “You can call me, too, you know.”
“I don’t even know your number,” he said, his voice harsh. “Where you live. Nothing. I know nothing about you, except that you’re trying to get yourself killed. Well, if that’s what you want, go ahead. I won’t stop you.”
She shook her head, fighting the angry words bubbling up inside. “I’ll call you when I get back in town—”
“Spare me the lies, okay? Just go off to your broth—”
“Spare you? Jesus!” With that, her restraints dissolved, overcoming the discipline she’d fought to maintain. “You have a lot of nerve. Who’s the one who refused to believe what that asshole ‘family friend’ did to me? Who told people that the reason I had to stay home from school, and go to the hospital, is that I had the mumps—the fucking mumps!” Her breathing grew ragged, her voice shrieking.
“Stop it!” he yelled, hands over his ears. “Shut the hell up!”
Val raged on, barely cognizant of his interruption. “Who refused to call the cops on a goddamned child molester who raped your own fucking daughter? Who’s the goddamned liar? Huh? Is that me, Dad, or am I describing you?”
She glared into his eyes, which she suddenly realized were only inches from her own. She let go of him, not having been fully aware that she’d grabbed him by the shoulders, had shaken him in teeth-rattling fashion. Had overpowered him—her own father. Her once big, strong, confident father.
Who now collapsed, mouth agape, his back against the wall, sliding to the floor, tears once again wetting his cheeks. “Get the fuck out of here,” he said, and closed his eyes.
Chapter Seventeen
Val’s hands stopped shaking only after she pulled into Chad’s driveway. Her tension melted away to zero when she spotted her pig-tailed five-year-old niece bouncing into view through the picture window of the sprawling 1980s-era ranch house. Alison’s muffled shouts escaped the closed doors and windows. “Mommy! Mommy! Auntie Val is here!”
Val waved to her niece from the driveway. Ali had grown so much. Val needed to visit more often.
The door opened before Val reached the front door. Kendra, Chad’s auburn-haired wife of seven years and Val’s personal nominee for sainthood, met her with a warm hug. “Your brother’s still at the office, trying to finish up his monthly billings,” Kendra said. “Come on in, I’ve warmed up a pot of fresh apple cider.”
“My favorite!” Val followed her inside, shaking her head in admiration of Kendra. Her spotless house, beautiful children, and perfect skin alone could get her woman of the year. Plus her career as a violinist heralded increasing local acclaim, even occasional mentions in the New York papers. She raised Ali while Chad had attended law school and maintained a model-slim figure even after two pregnancies. Val doubted there was anything she couldn’t do.
Ali squeezed one leg of each woman. “Pick me up!” she squealed. Val scooped Ali into her arms.
“Ali, get down,” Kendra said. “You’re too big for Auntie Val to be carrying you.”
“Auntie Val is strong!” Ali said. “Me too, Auntie Val. Look! Watch me!” She jumped to the floor and counted off push-ups. “One, two, three...” She made it to ten before rolling exhausted onto her back. “I did twelve yesterday. Robert Keene can only do seven!”
“My little athlete.” Kendra rolled her eyes and grabbed Val’s suitcase. “Chad told her about your track medals and ever since, all she wants to do is beat the boys at everything. Ali, honey, why don’t you show Auntie Val the guest room while I check on the baby?”
Val followed the bouncing child down the hallway, laughing at the five-year-old’s boundless energy. She longed to collapse onto the guest bed and kick off her shoes, but Ali tugged at her arm as soon as Val’s suitcase hit the floor. “Auntie Val, do you want to see my room?” Ali said.
“Sure.” Val let Ali drag her farther down the hall.
She wasn’t prepared for the scene that greeted her there. Instead of Barbies, stuffed animals and pastel pinks, Ali had packed the room with action hero figures and posters from cop movies and TV shows she could never have watched. Val’s academy graduation picture took prominence on her dresser. Right behind it, Uncle Val’s smile gazed out in uniform from a silver frame. A toy water rifle lay on the floor at the end of her bed.
“Oh, my God,” Val whispered.
“Look what Mommy and Daddy gave me to wear for Halloween!” Ali pulled a dark blue vest from her closet with a silver badge pinned to the chest. “Daddy said it’s just like the one you wear!”
“I see you’ve gotten the tour.” Kendra stood at Val’s elbow, holding Darwin, their six-month-old, in a bundle of pale blue blankets against her chest. “Here’s the little rascal that made me miss your UConn graduation.” Kendra had suffered complications while carrying him and spent much of her pregnancy bedridden. Dar entered the world at ten pounds, three ounces, and twenty-three inches long—tall, like his mother. “Almost ready to break your track records,” Chad had joked to Val at the time.
“He’s beautiful,” Val said to Kendra. “I love those clear blue eyes. And he’s gotten so big in the last two months!”
“Pkew! Pkew!” Ali pointed her water gun at the baby, pretending to fire on him. “Got ya!”
“Ali.” Kendra’s voice grew stern, but no louder. “What have I told you about pointing guns at people? Please put that away.”
“But all police ladies have guns,” Ali said. “Don’t they, Auntie Val?”
Val squatted down to Ali’s eye level. “Only after a lot, lot, lot of training and passing very hard tests,” she said. “Have you taken your water rifle safety test yet?”
Shaking her head, her lips set in a dramatic pout, Ali set the gun on her toy chest. “Will you play with me?” she asked.
“Of course,” Val said. “In a little while.”
“Let Auntie Val rest a bit,” Kendra said. “Why don’t you read one of your picture books?”
“I want to play cops and robbers in my new Halloween costume!” Ali tugged on Val’s leg. “Can I be the cop and you be the robber?”
Val laughed. “Sure,” she said. “I could use a little role reversal.”
“Yay!” Ali ran in tight circles around the two women, flapping her arms in excitement. “Okay, you hide outside, and I’ll come find you. Don’t run away, or I’ll have to shoot. Just like on TV!” She dashed out of the room, singing unintelligible words from what Val guessed was a cop show theme song.
Val stared after her, not knowing whether to laugh, cry, or pass out.
***
To give Kendra some relief, Val sprung for pizza for dinner, to Alison’s delight. It arrived a few minutes after Chad did. Kendra and Ali fetched plates, silverware, drinks and napkins while Val and Chad caught up in the living room.
“How are you feeling?” he said. “About...everything?”
“Still numb,” Val said, taking a seat on the sofa. “Part of me can’t believe I took away a man’s life. It’s such an awful power we have, and I’m not even used to the idea of having it yet. Another part of me is still getting over the fact that he shot at me—tried to kill me. If he...I could be dead.” Her throat grew dry, and she sipped her tea for comfort.
“It worries me,” Chad said, sitting next to her. “The risks of your job, I mean.”
“You know,” Val said, “I always wanted to be a cop. I never thought about what it would be like to have—done this.” She paused and glanced at Ali, now dressed in her little police officer uniform, helping set the table.
“Well, I hope we can help you forget about it for a night,” Chad said. “I see you had no trouble getting the car out of Dad’s garage.”
“Not exactly,” she said in a low voice. “Dad didn’t fight me over the car, but he did on everything else. Even on my choice of becoming a cop, which I’ve talked about my whole life.”
“I’m sorry,” Chad said. “I guess I can take the blame for him bringing that up.”
“That wasn’t the worst of it.” She stared at her feet and lowered her voice. “We got into it over...what happened ten years ago. The stupid cover stories, the lies, all of it.”
“Holy cannoli,” he said. “The first time you two have spoken in five years—and that’s what you talk about?”
“I wouldn’t say we ‘talked’ much,” Val said. “Shouted and cried, mostly.”
“I don’t know what amazes me more—that Dad talked about it, or that you did,” Chad said. “He spent so long denying it ever happened. You told no one about it for weeks afterwards, and after it all blew up, you—”
“Sh!” Val said, spotting Ali returning to the living room with an armload of napkins and a liter bottle of Coke. “Later.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, Val.” Chad shook his head. “There’s always a reason not to discuss it.”
