Childless: A Novel (32 page)

Matthew rubbed
the patch of irritated skin that had formed beneath the metal bracelet he had been forced to wear around his ankle. The tracking device was gone. But the itchy reminder of his virtual incarceration made him boil with a fury he couldn’t have suppressed even if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t want to. He had every right to be angry, every reason to hate. But hate whom? Everyone!

He hated Maria Davidson. He would have given anything to make her happy. But she’d lied to him. Betrayed him. Pretended he had a chance with her. It was all a lie!

He hated Tyler Cain. The detective had said he believed Matthew. So why hadn’t he let him off the hook? Why suggest the police arrest him for sending a few harmless letters?

He hated the police. They knew full well Matthew hadn’t murdered the judge. Why force him to wear a digital dog leash until they got to the bottom of the case? They had already asked him every possible question. He had no more answers to give: no idea who might have written the final letter, why the person had used Matthew’s pen name, or how the person had mimicked his earlier letters to near-perfection.

He hated whoever had written those letters.

And Matthew hated his professor. The detective had said Thomas Vincent had helped them connect the dots to Matthew’s interest in Manichean philosophy. Dr. Vincent was no priest, and certainly no saint. But he still should have kept their conversations confidential.

Matthew had even decided to hate Judge Santiago. Why hadn’t he issued a favorable opinion on the NEXT appeal? If he had done so sooner all would have been well. The judge would still have been alive and Matthew would have been able to access the money in his mother’s estate. Money that rightfully belonged to him!

The sound of Reverend Grandpa’s stupid bell rang again in Matthew’s ears. He had been ignoring the sound for five minutes. Let the old man get his own dinner for once! Or go hungry. Maybe then he’d think twice before poking fun at matters he was too muddleheaded to grasp.

“Such a tragedy,” Reverend Grandpa had said while watching the news about Judge Santiago’s demise.

Matthew had looked in the old man’s direction, at first holding his tongue. But that didn’t last. He was in no mood for passivity. He needed to win at something. Why not demolish the Bible-thumping fool in a head-to-head debate? “It’s not a tragedy. Death is freedom, the spirit’s escape from a decaying body.”

His anger boiled again at the recollection of words his former mentor had taught. But the words were still true, even if the man teaching them wasn’t.

“Nonsense!” Reverend Grandpa retorted. “The body is every bit as sacred as the spirit. Human beings aren’t ghosts. We’re embodied spirits.”

“You should have thought of that before you drove your car into a ditch,” Matthew said. “Now look at you. A worthless body that’s nothing but a burden…on you and everyone else. The real tragedy is you taking up space and using up money that could help Marissa, Isabelle, and Peter.”

Matthew could tell the old man felt the sting of rebuke. He wanted him to. Matthew hated Reverend Grandpa.

The bell continued ringing. Matthew finally got up with a huff and walked into the room where he had left the old man fifteen minutes before.

“What?”

“I don’t think this is going to work out any longer.”

“What are you talking about?”

The old man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I think we need to end your contract.”

The old man was firing him? It figured. Why not add CANNED to Matthew’s growing list of the week’s calamities, right after DUMPED, FRAMED, and ARRESTED?

He wouldn’t give Reverend Grandpa the satisfaction.

“Fine. I quit!” Matthew shouted while turning toward his room.

“I didn’t mean right this second,” the old man said with alarm. “I meant we should pick an end date and—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” Matthew said, walking back toward his client. “I’m telling you that I quit. Today. Right now! Consider this your ten-minute warning. Find some other bump-on-a-log babysitter.”

Matthew went to his room to pack a bag of his most important items. He would return for the rest of his things once he got settled in, where? Who knew? Someplace. Anyplace that wasn’t here.

Screw the police! He was innocent. They had no right to know where he went.

Screw Maria and Professor Vincent! They no longer deserved his admiration.

And screw Reverend Grandpa! He could find someone else to fix meals and change oxygen tanks.

Matthew heard a loud thud coming from the other room. His first impulse was to rush toward the sound. He instead spent several more minutes throwing socks and T-shirts into an open travel case and stuffing his toothbrush and shaver into the side pocket. He checked the bag. Then he checked it again. It appeared he had everything needed to make a dramatic, immediate exit.

As he moved back down the hallway Matthew heard panicked wheezing. He let the bag fall to the floor, then rounded the corner. That’s when he saw Reverend Grandpa on the floor reaching desperately in Matthew’s direction. His hand held the detached portion of an air tube that must have been damaged when the old man tried lunging toward a walker sitting three or four feet beyond.

No sound of escaping air came from the oxygen tank. The time Matthew had been packing would have been more than enough for it to empty itself.

The old man pointed frantically down the hall. Matthew remembered the extra tank stored in the bedroom closet. But he hesitated, giving himself two seconds for an uncommon sense of clarity.

Why prolong the inevitable? The old man should end his misery.

The family needed his dwindling resources.

Every reasonable person would call Reverend Grandpa a debit, someone who should volunteer for the greater good.

For Marissa’s good.

Who needed a clinic or transition form? The old man’s death, no matter how achieved, would bring the same result.

A reduced burden on society.

And a spirit free to thrive.

Matthew looked back toward a man afraid to do what was right. He needed Matthew’s help. Matthew’s courage.

He thought of the questions that would be asked. Why hadn’t Matthew been around to prevent the accident? Simple. The old man had fired him. He’d left at the client’s insistence.

He wondered how Marissa would react to the discovery. Would she suspect him of neglect? Worse? Perhaps. But she would be too relieved, too grateful, to contradict Matthew’s explanation.

Then he thought of the kids. What if the boy or Isabelle found the body rather than Marissa? Would little Pete ever speak another word? He forced the question out of his mind. A greater good often comes at a price. Peter would be fine. In time.

Matthew retrieved his bag and walked quickly toward the door. He did his best to ignore the sounds of tortured suffocation. A transition would have been so much easier. Swift. Painless. Dignified. But the old man had made his choice.

Then Matthew made his exit.

As the door closed behind him Matthew stood on the front porch. In the sudden stillness he inhaled deeply, the fresh evening air offering a measure of calm to his rapidly beating heart. He instinctively turned back, his fingers wrapping themselves around the handle. He paused. This was a defining moment of belief. Walking away was right. It was compassionate. If by some small chance he was wrong, Reverend Grandpa’s God could intervene. He was a God, the old man had said, who had cared enough about physical bodies to assume one. A God of miracles who could prevent his demise, or even raise him from the dead.

He released the handle, his heart racing even faster. He recalled a similar moment from a year before when he had lent his mother courage she didn’t possess. When he had watched her take her final breath. He felt the rage of resentment rising within. Her transition, while setting her free, had brought him none of the promised results.

No college fund.

No Maria Davidson.

No real hope of a teaching career.

If the Supreme Being cared about his creation, loved his children, why hadn’t he done anything for Matthew’s mom? Or for Matthew? Or for the old man suffocating on the floor within?

He took a step off the porch and looked into the evening sky. Then he added one more name to his growing list.

Matthew Adams hated God.

“Pleased to
meet you, Beth,” Troy said after standing to greet the woman who was apologizing for running behind schedule. Julia smiled warmly from her chair while joining thirty seconds of polite but meaningless small talk about the traffic and warm temperatures.

Austin Tozer and his partner, the woman Amanda had called Hen, appeared to resent Beth’s presence, rolling their eyes impatiently in reaction to the ritual of social etiquette. A cold glance suggested this wasn’t the first time the couple had met the child welfare agent.

Troy returned to his wife’s side at a kitchen table that retained a sticky residue. Julia imagined the couple hastily clearing away dishes in reaction to the doorbell. It would have been much better to meet in Troy’s office. More professional and more like home turf. But she had eagerly accepted the demand they meet at Austin’s home. Julia was just glad the couple had agreed to get together, no matter how reluctantly.

As Beth Morris settled into her chair, Austin made a preemptive strike. “I don’t want to lose Amanda.”

It was what Julia had feared after three calls in the prior two days. During the first conversation Austin had loved the thought of getting rid of Amanda so that he and Gwen could live a normal life, whatever that meant. By the second call his posture had softened considerably from that of a fed-up guardian stuck watching a she-brat to that of a sentimental brother inseparably linked to his precious little sister. He had suggested postponing the conversation but backed down when Beth Morris sent a message insisting they proceed as scheduled.

“We’ve grown very close,” Austin continued. He shot a glance toward his partner as if hoping she would mouth his next lines. “I love Amanda, and so does Gwen.” Austin took Gwen’s hand clumsily as if realizing he had omitted the scripted gesture. “She’s like our daughter. She needs us.” He seemed to cringe as Gwen’s fingers squeezed firmly. “And we need her,” he added.

Julia couldn’t believe her ears and didn’t believe Austin’s words. She glanced at Beth, who was jotting notes onto a tablet. Then she looked at Troy, who winked reassuringly in her direction.

Troy had been remarkably receptive to what Julia now feared had been an impulsive idea. She should have given him more time to grieve the disheartening news of their infertility. And that’s exactly how she described it. Not
his
infertility.
Their
infertility.

“I can’t get pregnant,” was all she had said. It wasn’t a lie. But the whole truth, she feared, would destroy her husband. Right or wrong, she couldn’t allow that. So they held each other and cried themselves to sleep. Julia waited until morning to mention fostering. She waited until lunch to say anything about Amanda Tozer, a name Troy didn’t recall from her dark zones story.

“I changed her name in the feature,” Julia reminded him. “She needs a real family. She needs a daddy.”

Now, two days later, they found themselves sitting across the table from two conniving opportunists. Austin and Gwen must have done some research on Troy’s and Julia’s past successes before crafting a scheme to make money off of Amanda’s departure.

“I understand how you must feel,” Troy said in response to Austin’s prepared speech.

Julia wanted to call Austin’s bluff. But she held her tongue, trusting her husband’s instincts.

Troy continued, “It must be difficult to contemplate losing your sister so soon after saying goodbye to your mother.”

It clearly hadn’t occurred to Austin to connect the two losses. “Yes. Yes it is.”

“Very difficult,” Gwen added while wiping an invisible tear from her cheek. “She’s a wonderful girl.”

Beth Morris looked up from her pad. “Where is the wonderful girl?” she asked. “I thought she was supposed to join us. I’d like to get her perspective since she’s old enough to speak into this decision.”

“She’s still at school,” Austin said uncomfortably.

Beth glanced at the time. “The school day ended an hour ago.”

“She rarely comes straight home,” he said. “Besides, I don’t think it would be wise to include her just yet. I mean, we are discussing sending her away from her home.”

“Are we?” Beth asked abruptly. “I thought you said you had changed your mind.”

Austin sent a panicked look to Gwen. “Well, that’s not exactly what I meant.”

Beth looked back at her notes. “You said, and I quote, ‘I don’t want to lose Amanda.’”

“That is what you said,” Troy added.

“What he meant to say,” Gwen interjected, “is that losing Amanda will be more difficult than we realized at first.”

Julia fumed quietly at the lie. They wouldn’t miss her in the least!

“So you are open to the idea?” Beth asked.

“Well, yes,” Austin replied. “But we were sort of hoping to reach an agreement of some kind.”

Gwen’s eyes became daggers pointed toward her partner’s loose tongue.

“An agreement of some kind?” Beth asked. “Could you be a bit more specific?”

“You know,” Austin said hesitantly, clearly in unscripted territory.

“No, Mr. Tozer, I don’t know. Please enlighten me.”

“My mother’s transition instructions placed Amanda’s share of the money in trust. We receive interest on that investment to cover the cost of raising her. When she’s old enough we are supposed to use the principal as a college fund.”

“How much will she receive?”

“Um, well, it’s not
quite
that simple,” Austin stammered. “Our expenses have been much higher than anticipated and my employment history has been less lucrative than we had hoped. So—”

“So you borrowed against Amanda’s share of the money,” Julia finally said, no longer able to restrain herself.

Beth’s head shot in Austin’s direction. “Is that true, Mr. Tozer?”

Austin squirmed uneasily.

“Do you have any idea what it costs to raise a girl like Amanda?” Gwen interjected in her partner’s defense. Then her eyes zeroed in on Julia. “I realize our bills would be pocket change to some people. But they keep us pretty stressed.”

Julia started to react, but Troy stepped in.

“I’m sure it’s been very expensive,” he said. “But those expenses will only rise the longer Amanda stays with you. Won’t you let us help?”

Austin’s eyes brightened as if Troy had finally caught his skillfully concealed hints. “Help? Help how?”

“What was the total value of Amanda’s share of the inheritance?”

“Fifty thousand dollars,” Gwen said without delay, a number far higher than the meager sum Austin had implied during his interview with Julia.

Troy appeared momentarily surprised by the sum, then continued setting the trap. “As you know, Mr. Tozer, my wife is writing a feature story about people in dire economic circumstances thanks to the financial meltdown.”

Austin nodded.

“I read the portion about you, although your name isn’t used. I told her I thought the story would be much more powerful if it included a photograph of you and Gwen.”

“Really?” Austin’s partner said. “You think so?”

“I do. And, of course, it would be best to use your real name.”

“Of course,” Gwen agreed.

Troy looked back at Austin. “Mr. Tozer, what if I paid you a lump sum for permission to use your real name and photograph in that story?”

It took Julia a moment to follow Troy’s lead, wondering where on earth he planned to get that kind of cash. Then she understood.

“That’d be perfect,” she added enthusiastically. “The syndicate always prefers real names and photos when possible.”

“I suppose we could do that,” Austin answered warily. “How much?”

“Mr. Simmons,” Beth said in an effort to take control of a conversation clearly moving out of bounds, “I don’t think it prudent to continue this—”

“Please, Ms. Morris, just one thing more,” he interrupted. “Julia, tell him what you found.”

Julia reached into her shoulder bag to retrieve a tablet.

“What?” Austin asked. “What did you find?”

“I believe you know a private investigator named Tyler Cain. Is that right?”

Austin squirmed in his chair while receiving a threatening glower from Gwen who, Julia recalled, had been furious after Austin hired Tyler to spy on her.

“Well, he provided me with some information he thought might prove useful to my story.”

“What sort of information?” Gwen asked.

“Apparently you subscribe to several rather graphic pornography services.”

Austin blushed in Beth’s direction. Julia looked at Gwen. She appeared unfazed by the revelation.

“And?” he asked defiantly.

“And your preference options include early adolescent girls.”

Austin swallowed nervously while Beth looked disapprovingly in his direction.

“And that you’ve selected hair color and body styles remarkably similar to Amanda’s.”

“Let me see that,” Beth ordered while reaching toward Julia’s tablet.

“Now wait just a minute,” Austin said while getting up from the table. “My entertainment options are nobody’s business but my own!” He glanced sheepishly in Gwen’s direction. “It’s perfectly legal material.”

“It may be legal, Mr. Tozer,” Beth said sternly. “But these preference options raise very serious questions about your suitability as a guardian for a child who matches your parameters.”

Austin cursed. He grabbed a bunched-up napkin from the kitchen counter and threw it furiously toward the wall. It fell limply onto the floor.

“Take her then,” he finally said. “Who needs her anyway?”

A moment passed before Beth Morris broke the silence. “Mr. Tozer, are you saying you will not protest the Simmons’s request to pursue foster adoption of Amanda?”

He looked toward Gwen. Her eyes threatened. He no longer cared.

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

His shoulders sank in defeat as he began leaving the room.

“Mr. Tozer. Can I ask one last question?” Julia asked.

He nodded, his face still looking toward the door.

“Where can we find Amanda?”