God, he was tired.
Just as he started drifting off, a sound.
He opened his eyes to find she’d awoken. There, inches from his own, her blue eyes blinked, looked around. He started to laugh, blink back tears.
“What happened? Where am I?” she asked.
“You’re with me, Mouse. You’re with your dad.”
Delilah let sleep take over again.
The gods have given us a gift, Elisabeth, he would say. This time. We have to treat this tiny person with more care. No smoking around her. No leaving her with strangers. Next time, Elisabeth. Next time, who knew?
His speech wasn’t to be. His ex-wife was already marching into the room, a policewoman behind her. Elisabeth was shaking mad. Spitting mad. Sweating, flushing, sputtering mad.
“How could you?” she said, standing to the side of the door so the policewoman could hear, see. “You bastard. You were supposed to pick her up.”
Victor was stunned. “Yes, at five. This happened much earlier, three-thirty…”
“We agreed you’d get her at three. None of this would have happened if you were remotely dependable.”
It was what Elisabeth did. Bent the facts to suit herself. “Me? You left her with that stoner again, didn’t you? That trust-fund loser that calls himself an artist.”
“Ian’s a good person. Don’t you knock him.” For the first time, her eyes lighted on Victor’s daughter. Their daughter. She rushed to Delilah’s bedside, kissed her all over her face, all over her gashes, slashes, and bruises.
The policewoman was busy taking notes. Every once in a while, she glanced up at Victor, then scribbled some more.
“I trusted you,” Elisabeth said to Victor. “How could you not show up, you garbage excuse for a father—”
“Keep your voice down,” Victor said, nodding toward Delilah, who had fallen asleep again. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“He didn’t show,” she said to the police officer. “So typical.”
“It isn’t true. Elisabeth has a tendency to bend stories—”
“How did you find out?” asked Elisabeth.
“Delilah gave them my number. She was lucid at first, walking around and asking for—”
“And you didn’t even have the decency to call me,” Elisabeth spat. “I had to find out from the neighbor.”
“How was I to know this responsible friend of yours, this Ian, didn’t stick around and wait for the ambulance! Left her with a neighbor.”
“Don’t you start on Ian. You’re the one who went AWOL!”
she shouted loud enough to wake up Delilah. The child curled in a ball and began to sob. “Get out,” said Elisabeth, stroking her daughter’s head. “Now!”
“But…”
The policewoman stopped her note-taking and came closer. “I think it’s best,” she said to Victor, “if you come with me. Let’s let the family get settled—”
“The family?” he said, raising his voice for the first time. “I’m her father.”
She stepped into the room and took his arm. “If you’ll come down the hall, I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Victor stared at Delilah, who stared back while her mother piled extra flannel sheets on top of her. “Please, sir.”
Victor blew Delilah a kiss and followed the officer out of the room, his daughter’s wrecked wings in his hand.
Lila sat in the gloom of her father’s bedroom, cross-legged at the foot of his bed. His sleep was so deep she leaned closer to check his breathing. The story, the memory, had exhausted him. Every now and then she kissed his forehead, the back of his cool hand.
Lila was calmed to the core. The truth about her father remained unchanged. He was, and always would be, the man she grew up believing him to be. The man willing to move the sun and the moon for the sake of his girl. Sure, he moved the sun too close and scorched the moon in the process. He wasn’t perfect. He was a criminal. But the man wasn’t evil.
Interesting too that his long-term memory was largely undisturbed. Though, she’d researched enough about Alzheimer’s in the past months to know the past was usually the last thing to go.
What struck her after he’d finished his story, however, and she’d thought very little of it at the time, was that her mother had bought her another bike. Not three months after the accident, which—the doctor was right—Lila did not remember. They’d been on Yonge Street, passing the huge Canadian Tire store, so white and red and out of place in charming, upscale Rosedale. There in the parking lot, with lavender streamers waving from the handlebars, was a white girl’s bicycle with a purple racing stripe along the frame.
If she’d known, if her parents had told her about the accident and explained she was not to ride a bike until the following spring, if they’d revealed where on earth her own bike had gone, Lila wouldn’t have begged. She wouldn’t have crossed her arms, dropped down to the hot pavement, right there in the stream of Torontonians flowing in and out of the store, and announced she wanted that bike more than anything else on earth.
Then Elisabeth, being Elisabeth, wouldn’t have pulled out her wallet and said, “Then you’ll have it. No child should be without a bike.”
Elisabeth and her hippie parenting.
It was against the hospital’s orders. Victor, being Victor, was far too paranoid to let her risk another fall. Maybe he’d planned it, maybe he’d snapped, but he grabbed Lila and fled.
He thought he was saving her life.
Who knew? Maybe he had.
Elisabeth was the last parent on earth likely to follow through on stringent rules when it came to child safety. She could see that. Elisabeth had always been the child herself,
far more likely to plop her daughter on a bed and tell her to see how high she could jump than to set her in front of the TV in the name of cerebral immobility.
Elisabeth and Kieran were due over any minute. The plan had been that Elisabeth and Victor have a bit of face time, then Elisabeth leave Kieran with Lila for a sleepover while she gave herself some time to recover from the trauma of confronting him. Whether she’d be recovering in Finn’s uninspired arms was anyone’s guess.
The meeting between the parents couldn’t happen. Not now. Victor was in a delicate state, needed this rest, and Lila wasn’t about to let anyone make it worse for him. She checked the clock again.
Kieran’s suitcase was not what you’d expect. First of all, it weighed enough that she might have had a cadaver stuffed inside. Second, it was shiny gold and covered in the letter G. G’s on the handle, G’s on the pocket, and big brassy G’s as zipper pulls. The sort of thing an aging diva might wheel through LAX while wearing sunglasses and metallic baseball cap to create the impression she wanted to travel undetected.
When she caught Lila staring at it, Kieran made a face. “Mummy bought it.” The child stood at the top of the walkway with the suitcase and surveyed the grounds. It had stopped raining and the yard looked especially green, all wet and dripping in the bourgeoning sunlight. Still, the child was unimpressed. “The pool doesn’t look so clean.”
“It isn’t. More of a pond, really. I still float in it. Or I used to. Now I wade in it.”
Kieran had wandered down to the yard. She stopped in front of the weathered green shed, then looked up to her sister at the road’s edge. “How do you get your car in here? It’s way far down.”
“It’s not a garage. Just a shed. Where we put the garbage cans and rakes and stuff.”
Elisabeth had climbed out of her car and started down the steps. Lila had tried to get hold of her mother before she headed over, but it had been too late. “Go inside and explore, sweetie,” Elisabeth called. “It’s like a haunted barn or something. If I were a child, I’d make it my magical playhouse. Find a special corner inside and spy on everyone outside.”
“I used to do that. But now it’s pretty ramshackle,” said Lila. “There are boards with rusty nails poking out; there might even be a hornets’ nest under the eaves. I’ve seen some action in the far corner.”
“See, that’s what’s wrong with the world today. Children aren’t allowed to be children. No one grows up anymore having used their imagination. They’re all sitting on their computers living a virtual life because of all that ‘might’ go wrong. Look at you—people thought I was permissive because I let you roam around the neighborhood. But it wasn’t a stranger who destroyed our lives, was it?”
Lila closed her eyes for a moment and willed herself not to jump to her father’s defense. Now, in front of Kieran, wasn’t the time. Instead, she tucked her blowing hair down the back of her sweater and moved closer. “The bike’s in there, Mum. She’ll find it.”
Elisabeth raised her brows and smiled. Nodded and feigned zipping her lips and throwing away the key.
Turned out it didn’t matter. Kieran eyed the rusted hinges and the missing planks of wood and turned up her nose. Instead of considering the magic or the hornets, she sighed and started toward the house, disappeared inside.
“Mum,” said Lila. “I tried to call you. It’s not a good time for you to meet with Dad. I’m happy to watch Kieran, but you guys can’t have it out today. He’s sleeping now.”
“No problem. I don’t mind waiting for a bit.” Elisabeth smiled sweetly.
“You can come in, but I can guarantee he’ll be out for another couple of hours. He’s sleeping more and more in the day.”
“Okay. Let him sleep.” Her mother was unusually accommodating. Lila hadn’t expected it. Elisabeth took in the view, her face dreamy. “You know, this place is starting to grow on me. Has a certain eccentric sort of Los Angeles charm, don’t you think? And the location is divine. I was just reading that these properties go for millions. Even if they’re”—she sniffed and looked around—“not kept up.”
Elisabeth’s approval irked Lila.
“I want you to live with me, sweetheart.”
Lila looked up. “You mean move into your place? It’s a two bedroom.”
“I don’t have much time left here. What I’d really like is for you to come with me. Let’s all go home for Christmas.”
“But Dad—he can’t be here alone. He’s not well.”
“Delilah. It’s time to stop thinking about your father.”
To stop herself from reacting, Lila reached into the mailbox to pull out a handful of bills and a folded flyer. A notice from the neighborhood committee announced that the coyote with the torn ear was suspected of helping himself to a few local cats. Residents were warned to keep an eye on
small children and pets for the time being, and rest assured, the committee was seeking assistance in dealing with the coyote threat and expected a swift and effective resolution to the problem.
Slash, like Victor, was doomed.
The house was quiet. Soft feminine voices could be heard from the back room, where Lila had likely stationed her mother and the little girl while he slept. Victor padded into the bathroom to relieve himself, unwilling to attract attention by flushing. He had to move quickly, before one of them wandered into the kitchen in search of a snack.
Sixty seconds later, he was up on the street. Clearing out of the house had been easy. The only thing he’d taken was his wallet and his doctor’s phone number scrawled on a scrap of paper. Victor stood under the unlit streetlamp and looked back at the house, his heart thumping from his dash up the hill.
The cab’s engine rattled and banged, and the driver opened the passenger-side window. Victor could smell garlic on the man’s breath. “You coming or what?”
Victor cast a final look toward his castle, his land, the daughter who waited inside. Took one last peek at his car and frowned when he noticed the neighbors’ white Prius was parked too close again, after three separate warnings,
written
warnings, that Victor had taken great care to compose. Moving nearer, he bent over and noticed another chalky ding in the side of his car, precisely where the hybrid’s door had swung open too wide. Again. He tried to wipe off the smudge, but it was paint from the Prius’s door. Jesus Christ.
The buzz of chatter from the cabbie’s radio, then, “Come on, man. I don’t got all day. You called me for five and it’s twenty past.”
Victor ignored the man. He searched his pockets for keys and came up with nothing but his metal sunglasses. They would have to do. Holding them folded, temple edge out, he walked around the Prius and gouged the paint from nose to tail, around the back and up to the front grille again. That would teach them.
“What the…?” The cabbie looked shocked. “You crazy?”
Victor climbed into the backseat, pulled the sunglasses on, and barked, “I’m not paying for a psychiatric evaluation. I’m paying you to take me to thirteen-fifty-eight North Wilcox Avenue.”
E
LISABETH SLIPPED INTO
the kitchen, where she refilled her mug with hot tea, then reached for the milk. She looked up when Lila came into the room. “Well, I suppose you’re right. That father of yours is going to sleep all afternoon. You’re sure you don’t mind Kieran staying?”
“Not at all. I promised her we’d play hide-and-seek. Dad’ll be up soon anyway. Best if you go.”
Her mother rooted through the drawer for a teaspoon and stirred the milk into her tea. She set the spoon on the table and drank. “I’ve put up with so much from that man.”
“He’s not himself, Mum.”
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. I was positive he’d be a no-show today.”
“Then why set this all up?”
Elisabeth pulled on her sunglasses. “It was a test. If he spoke to me, apologized, it might have swayed me a little. But if he took the coward’s way out, if he avoided seeing me, it would make my decision simple.”
Lila knew the answer but had to ask. “What decision?”
She downed the rest of her tea and scooped up her purse. “Sweetheart, I’m meeting my lawyer at the police station. No more waiting. I’m having your father arrested. Today.”
Just like that, Elisabeth was gone.
It wasn’t so surprising, what her mother had planned. What left-behind parent wouldn’t do the same thing? Her ex-husband had committed a terrible crime. To her, to any parent victimized in this way, a crime that was unforgivable. It was right that he pay and that Elisabeth receive some sort of closure for what she suffered.
So why did Lila feel like throwing up?
Kieran wandered into the kitchen. “I’m bored. Can we play hide-and-seek now?”
“It’s not a good time, Kier.”
“But I’m bored.”
“There are markers in my room. Paper, too, under the bed. You can bring it all in here and draw me a picture.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then go check my dad’s room. He should be waking up any minute now.”
“I did already.”
“And? Is he up?”
Kieran wound her arm through the chair back and tipped her head sideways. “He’s not even there.”
Lila stood up and marched out of the room. “That’s not possible. Of course he’s there.”
Kieran, energized by her discovery taking on such unexpected importance, bounced along behind her. “Nope. He’s not.”
With the rest of the house being empty, Victor not being in his room was a very real cause for concern, especially after his lapse into the past earlier in the day. Lila flew through his room, his bathroom. Sure enough, he was gone. Stupidly, she stared at his rumpled sheets. “This isn’t good, Kieran. My dad’s not well.”
“I once had an earache.”
Lila shook her head, trying to think of where he might go. She heard loud voices from up somewhere nearby, on the street maybe, and glanced out the window to assure herself Victor hadn’t taken the car. The Datsun’s grille stared down at her, which meant he was on foot.
“I had to take banana-flavored medicine.”
“Can you just please not say anything for a second? I’m trying to think if I should call nine-one-one or if he’s just out for a short walk.”
“How do you call nine-one-one?”
Lila looked at her, annoyed. “Take a guess.”
“Are you devatsated about your dad?”
“It’s devastated, and where did you learn that word?”
“You said it at the park. If I got abducted. Did you like
the color of your Find Delilah Web site? Did you like all that red? I didn’t.”
“Seriously, Kieran. I need a few minutes here. Go. Go do anything else but talk to me for a bit.”
The girl sunk down into the chair and picked at the table’s edge. In her usual severe attire, she looked even more morose. Perhaps quietly contemplating how best to handle the situation. What would yield the more desirable result—continue to badger her big sister until she agrees to a game of hide-and-seek, or go plunk down in front of the TV all by her lonesome and wait things out? But at the same time, Kieran appeared far too young to make such a premeditated decision and might just resort to that old childhood standby—tears. As if inhabiting the body of a seventy-year-old woman, Kieran pulled herself to her feet and said maybe she’d like some art supplies after all. Some scissors. Markers.
“That’s a good idea,” said Lila. “Do a little arts and crafts.” Lila gave her the safest pair she could find—a pair of blunt-ended fingernail scissors—a near-empty roll of masking tape, and a tin of colored Sharpies, and watched her sister trot out of the room.