Picture Perfect Page 13

  “Telling the judge would be a big mistake. Pop has a major problem with authority figures.”

  “But that’s not rational.”

  “Drunks aren’t exactly known for being rational,” Nick said. “Besides, what could your dad do if Mom won’t press charges? Back in Houston our neighbors called the cops a couple of times when they heard Mom and Pop fighting, but Mom told everybody to mind their own business. She thinks one day Pop will just magically decide to stop drinking and everything will be perfect.” He shook his head. “I love her a lot, you know? But sometimes I hate her because she’s living in a dreamworld.”

  We listened to the music. When the band finished the first set, Nick stood. “I have to go. Pop promised to take Jacob trick-or-treating, then backed out when his friends called. I told Jacob I’d take him, and it’s getting pretty late for him.”

  “I could come with you.”

  “Really?” His smile nearly broke my heart. “That would be so great, Phoebe. I’ll grab Jacob, and we’ll meet you in front of the gym. Ten minutes, okay?”

  We hurried back across the grass and into the glow of floodlights outside the gym. A group of kids had gathered near the entrance, talking and laughing. Nick loped across the street and disappeared into the dark. I checked my watch. It was only a few minutes past nine. I figured we’d take Jacob on his extortion mission and I’d be back at school in plenty of time for Dad to pick me up at ten thirty.

  A car rounded the corner and screeched to a stop at the curb not ten feet away. I looked up as Beverly jumped out of the car and ran through the crowd, calling my name. I knew then that something was terribly wrong. In the few seconds it took her to reach me, my first thought was that Zane had wrecked his car or been hit by some crazy person out drinking and driving.

  “Beverly?” I pressed my hand to my chest to keep my heart from jumping out. “What’s wrong?”

  I was already starting to cry when she put her arms around me and said, “Phoebe, honey, it’s your dad.”

  One summer Daddy and Mama decided that their kids should see the U.S. capital, and we headed for Washington, D.C. After we’d toured the important buildings and the monuments to Washington, Lincoln, and Jefferson, we drove all the way to Connecticut to see one of Daddy’s old friends from his law school days. Mr. Sawyer (“Sawyer the lawyer,” Shyla called him) lived in a white house with a rolling green lawn surrounded by a crumbling stone wall that looked as if it had been there since God was a baby. Here and there you could see gaps in the wall where one of the gray, moss-furred stones had fallen out. When I asked Daddy why the whole thing didn’t collapse, he said that when one stone fell, the others shifted to keep the rest in place.

  As Beverly and I raced toward the hospital, the neon signs and orange Halloween lights in the store windows passing in a blur, I thought back to the year that Shyla had first gone off to the university and we’d had to adjust to an empty place at the dinner table. Shift. When Mama left, we shifted again, trying to fill the space her going had made in our lives. Now Zane and I were leaning on our father, the only constant we had left. If we lost him, the Trask family, what was left of it, would crumble and fall.

  “What happened?” I asked as we neared the hospital and Beverly slowed to turn into the parking lot.

  “He was working late, and when he went out to his car, a gang of thugs jumped him. They beat him pretty bad, but he was able to call me. I called the paramedics and the police.” She took a ticket from the automatic gate and tucked it into her purse.

  “But he’ll be okay, right?”

  “I hope so, honey.”

  As soon as Beverly had parked, I was out of the car and racing for the door to the emergency room. She came in right behind me and told the nurse at the desk that we were there to see Judge Trask, and we took the elevator to the second floor. The waiting room was not much bigger than my room at home. It had a ratty sofa, a coffee table littered with old magazines, and a couple of orange plastic chairs. In the corner sat a vending machine and a coffeemaker. The TV bolted to the wall was tuned to a football game, the sound turned all the way down. I watched the fans silently cheering their team.

  A doctor strode down the hall toward us, his white coat flapping loose behind him. When he saw Beverly, he said, “Mrs. Trask?”

  “No, I’m a family friend. This is Judge Trask’s daughter.”

  The doctor barely nodded to me.

  “Is my dad okay?” My voice sounded high and strange in my ears.

  “He has a concussion, a broken collarbone, some lacerations on his face and hands, a couple of bruised ribs. We’re waiting on the X-rays to check for internal injuries, but I’m hopeful that the head wound and the broken collarbone are the worst of it.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “He’s fairly medicated. He may not be able to talk much, but you can see him.”

  The doctor led us down the hall to a dimly lit room. We went in, and the sight of my father swathed in white and attached to a bunch of machines just about did me in. Tears streamed down my face as Beverly and I approached the bed.

  “Daddy?” I bent over him and spoke above the beep-beep-beep of the machines.

  “Feebs.” His eyes opened. “Don’t cry.”

  “Who did this, Daddy?”

  His head moved back and forth on the stark white pillow. “Too dark. Couldn’t see.”

  “Sum-nuh,” Beverly said softly. “We should phone your wife and your other children. Do you have their numbers somewhere?”

  “I have them,” I said, reaching into my purse for my cell phone.

  “No,” Daddy said in a surprisingly strong voice. “Don’t call Beth.”

  “But Mama has to know!” I said. “She’ll want to come home.”

  Daddy sat up in bed, and the doctor hurried over. “Judge Trask, lie still. You’ll pull your IVs out.”

  “I don’t want my wife to know about this!” Daddy said. “Not yet.”

  “All right,” the doctor said. “Calm down and we’ll talk about it later.”

  He turned to Beverly and me. “He should rest. You can wait outside if you want.”

  We went back out to the waiting room, and I punched in Zane’s cell number, but when he answered, I started bawling so hard I couldn’t talk. Beverly took the phone and explained what had happened. I heard her tell him to drive carefully, and she hung up.

  “He’s on his way,” she said. “Shall I call Shyla for you?”

  “Okay.” As much as I hated the way Beverly had intruded into our lives, I will admit that right then it felt good to have an adult in charge.

  I listened as Beverly called the coffeehouse and asked for Shyla. A couple of minutes later she hung up and said, “Shyla’s leaving Austin right now. She’ll be here before morning.”

  Beneath the stark hospital lights Beverly looked pale and drawn. She put her arm around me, and despite myself, I leaned into her soft, warm shoulder.

  “Now,” she said, “what should we do about calling your mother?”

  Even though I wanted my mother more than anything, I said, “Daddy will be really mad if we go behind his back. I guess we should wait, like he said.”

  “I suppose you’re right. He doesn’t seem to be in any immediate danger.” She peered into the glass coffeepot. “I could use some coffee, but not this sludge. I think I’ll go down to the cafeteria. Want to come?”

  “I’d rather wait here for Zane.”

  “All right. I won’t be long.”

  She got on the elevator. The door whooshed shut. I sat down on the threadbare sofa and thumbed through a magazine, but the words danced on the page. My emotions were a mishmash of fear, relief, and fury at whoever had hurt my dad.

  A grizzled old guy shuffled into the waiting room and sat down across from me. He took off his baseball cap, picked up the TV remote, and flipped through the channels, watching the montage of silent images flash past. Finally he shrugged, muttered, “Nothing to watch,” and fell asleep sitting up
right in the chair.

  A nurse walked by, flipped the channel back to the football game, checked the score, and left. A few minutes later the elevator doors opened, and Nick got off. I jumped up. “Oh, my gosh! I’m sorry! I was supposed to go trick-or-treating with you.”

  “That’s not important right now. Are you okay? How’s your dad?”

  That was just like Nick to focus on what was most important. My eyes welled up. “He looks awful! Who would do something like this?”

  “It’s pretty cowardly.” Nick dropped onto the sofa, pulling me down beside him. “Are you here by yourself?”

  I explained that Beverly had picked me up at school and now we were waiting for Zane and Shyla. “But how did you know?”

  “It was all over the local news when I got Jacob home from trick-or-treating. Will Harte gave me a ride over here.”

  “I’m glad you came.”

  He laced his fingers through mine. “I had to know that you were okay.”

  We watched the silent football game for a few minutes. People came and went on the elevator. A couple of nurses strolled by. A phone rang. Beverly came back from the cafeteria with her coffee and a soft drink with crushed ice for me. I introduced her to Nick, and she said, “I’m happy to meet a friend of Phoebe’s. If I’d known you were here, I’d have brought you something. But there’s soda in the machine over there if you’re thirsty.”

  “That’s okay.” Nick stood. “I have to go. Mom will worry if I’m out too late.”

  “How will you get home?” I asked.

  “It’s not that far. I can walk.”

  “Are you sure?” Beverly asked.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m used to looking out for myself.”

  I walked with him to the elevator. “Thanks for coming. I’m sorry about trick-or-treating.”

  “It’s no big deal. There’s always next year, right?”

  In spite of the situation with Daddy, I felt a thrill just knowing that Nick was thinking that far ahead into our relationship.

  “Yeah. We’ll make up for it next year.”

  He pushed the button to summon the elevator. When the door slid open, he said, “See you.”

  Then he was gone.

  Beverly curled up on the sofa, one leg tucked under her, and sipped her coffee. “Nick seems very nice, Phoebe, and more mature than most boys his age.”

  I thought about everything Nick had to deal with at home. Trying to keep your father from killing your mother would make a person grow up in a hurry. I wanted so badly to help him and hated that I was sworn to silence. I sipped my soft drink.

  The elevator dinged, the doors opened yet again, and Zane and Ginger rushed into the waiting room, still dressed in the pirate costumes they’d worn to the party. “Where’s Dad?” Zane asked.

  I pointed down the hall. “He’s asleep. Shyla’s coming home, but he won’t let me call Mama.”

  “That’s crazy.” Zane looked pointedly at Beverly, who said, “I agree with you, Zane, but your father was quite insistent he doesn’t want your mother contacted just yet.”

  “I want to see him.”

  We started down the dim, hushed hallway. “He looks pretty bad,” I warned.

  Beverly opened the door to Dad’s room, and we tiptoed in. Zane gasped when he saw Daddy lying beneath the tightly drawn sheets. Bathed in the glow of the beeping monitors, Daddy’s bruised and bandaged face was a sickly shade of green.

  “Man,” Zane whispered. “Somebody really did a number on him.” He turned to Beverly. “Do the cops know who did it?”

  “I don’t think they know anything yet, but they’ll find out, Zane. And whoever did this will pay.”

  “Damn right they will.” Zane gripped Daddy’s bed frame so hard his knuckles turned white.

  “Zane?” Ginger whispered. “I hate to bring this up, since we just got here, but it’s getting really late. If I miss my curfew—”

  “I know.”

  “We should all go home,” Beverly whispered. “Your daddy will sleep till morning anyway, and we’re exhausted.”

  We went out to the parking lot. Zane left to take Ginger home, and I got into Beverly’s car. When we pulled into the driveway ten minutes later, the house was dark. Beverly let the car idle in the driveway. “Want me to come inside with you, sugar?”

  Knowing that whoever had attacked Daddy was still out there made me nervous, but I didn’t want to show it. “That’s okay. Zane will be home in a few minutes.”

  “If you need anything, just holler.”

  “I will.” I got out and shut the car door. “Thanks for everything.”

  She waited while I unlocked the door and switched on some lights. Lucky came charging out and jumped up, whining and wagging his tail. I poured him some food and drank a glass of milk while he ate.

  Then Zane came in and tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter. “That was close! Mr. T. was practically standing in the driveway with his stopwatch when we pulled in.”

  “I hope Ginger told him you had an emergency.”

  “Yeah. He’d already heard it on the news. He says the cops are talking to three guys who were hanging around the bars downtown. Apparently, one of them was bragging that they’d gotten even with the judge.”

  Three guys in a bar. My stomach dipped. Nick’s dad and his friends had been out tonight. And hadn’t Nick said his father had a problem with authority figures?

  “What?” Zane said.

  “Nothing. You want some milk?”

  “Nah, I just want to get out of this ridiculous costume.”

  He started up the stairs. “Are you going to bed?”

  “I can’t sleep. I’ll wait for Shyla.”

  Zane went upstairs, and I took Lucky outside. While he sniffed around, I watched clouds sliding across the hunter’s moon and wondered who had hurt my dad. Even though, with some people still fuming about the trial, there were plenty of candidates in Eden, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that Nick’s father was involved, which would be just one more disaster in my rapidly deteriorating life.

  Lucky pawed the door, and we went back inside. I grabbed a pink-and-white afghan Mama had knit when I was a baby, and curled up on the couch with Lucky. I flipped through the sports channels and the movie channels, then checked out the Beauty Channel, but nothing captured my interest. I fell asleep listening for Shyla’s car.

  When I woke up, sunlight was streaming through the window, and she was in the kitchen making breakfast. Lucky was sitting beside the fridge, hoping for a handout.

  “Hey,” she said softly when I sat up. “Are you okay, kiddo?”

  “I guess so. What time did you get here?”

  “Around one o’clock. You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you.”

  I yawned. “You’ve been up all night?”

  “Pretty much. I called the hospital to check on Dad as soon as I got in, and then I flaked out for a couple of hours. I’m okay.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Still out like a light, which is probably the best thing right now.”

  She took eggs and butter out of the fridge. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  “Go see if Zane wants to eat. I’m only cooking once.”

  “I definitely want to eat,” Zane said from the doorway. He waved to Shyla. “Hey, sis.”

  “Hey, Zaney-brainy.”

  “Don’t call me that. I hate it. Besides, you’re the brainy one around here.” Zane opened the fridge and got the OJ carton.

  “Actually, I’m beginning to question my own intelligence.” Shyla broke a bunch of eggs into the skillet and loaded bread into the toaster. “A person would have to be crazy to take a full class load, plus a job at Jazz-n-Java, plus start an internship in the senator’s office.”

  “Congratulations!” Zane said, pouring three glasses of orange juice. “Dad says those internships are hard to come by.”

  “I was lucky. Dad about busted his buttons when I t
old him I got it.”

  We were quiet then, thinking about our father. Shyla spooned the scrambled eggs into a serving bowl and got out a platter for the toast. We sat down just as Beverly appeared with a thermos of coffee and a basket of baked goods.

  “I brought you something to eat,” she said when Shyla opened the door for her. “I thought you’d be too worn out to cook.”

  “That’s nice of you,” Shyla said, “but we’re fine. I’ve just made toast and eggs.”

  “Oh. Well, why don’t you take these anyway. The pastries will keep for a while.”

  I was positive that Beverly was waiting for Shyla to ask her to come in and eat with us, but finally Beverly said, “I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’re anxious to get to the hospital and see. your father.”

  “Yes,” Shyla said, taking the basket from Beverly. “Thanks for thinking of us.”

  Shyla closed the door and set the basket on the counter. We finished our breakfast, got dressed, and drove to the hospital.

  Daddy wasn’t in his room when we got there; the nurse said they had taken him to get more X-rays. We sat around the waiting room for more than an hour before we saw an orderly pushing Daddy’s wheelchair down the hallway.

  Shyla ran down the hall and tried to hug him, but the tubes and the tall metal pole the orderly was pushing along beside him got in the way.

  “Careful,” the orderly said. He was a huge guy with a shaved head, a neat brown beard, and a plastic name tag that said MIKE.

  “Shyla!” Daddy said. “You didn’t have to drive all this way.”

  Shyla planted a kiss on his head. “I had to see for myself that you were okay.”

  “I’m going to be fine.” Daddy still looked awful, but he seemed stronger. And there was good news from the X-rays: no more broken bones. “They’re letting me out of here tomorrow,” he said after Mike had settled him into his bed.

  “But the doctor says you’re to stay in bed for the next ten days,” Mike reminded him. “You lost quite a bit of blood. Your collarbone needs time to heal, and you don’t want to take a chance of fracturing those ribs.”

  Daddy waved his hand the way he did in court when he got impatient with a lawyer. “I have too much to do to lie about doing nothing.”