Vicious

“I give a crap when people are saying on the Internet that I’m a terrible mother,” she admitted, standing in a kitchen full of boxes.

“You’re a good mother and a good person,” he replied. “Just ask anyone who actually knows you, Susan. Hell, that’s how Rosie and I figured out Shaffer was lying that night. He sent word that everything was okay and you were at the rental house—and he or Allen would pick up Mattie at the store. I saw the house was empty, yeah. But that could have been a mistake. I knew he was lying, because that story didn’t sound like you at all, Susan. You’re way too kind and considerate to have left your son with Rosie that long and not come back to explain or apologize in person. And you’re too good a mother to have sent some cop or your boyfriend to pick up your child. In the short time I spent with you that day, I figured out that much about you. It’s why I want to see you again. I think you’re pretty wonderful.”

“Well, that’s sweet of you, Tom, but—”

“I’m not being sweet, I’m being honest,” he interrupted. “Listen, do you need any help moving next week?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’ve hired some movers.”

“Well, I’d like to check out your new digs in West Seattle,” he said. “Let me pick you up and take you and Mattie out to dinner, maybe Jak’s Grill or Buddha Ruska for Thai. You said the new place is on Forty-sixth and Alaska, right? They’re both pretty close by.”

“Now just isn’t the right time, Tom,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I—I hear Mattie crying. He must be up from his nap. I really should go—”

“You like me, don’t you?” he interrupted.

“Yes, of course I like you, but—”

“Well, if you keep shooting me down, I’m going to give up. And that would be a real shame—for all parties involved. What’s going on, Susan? I mean, do you really believe those idiots on the Internet? Do you really think you don’t deserve to be happy? Is that it?”

“Tom, I don’t have time for this right now, I really don’t. Mattie’s crying—”

“All right, fine. Take care, Susan.” Then he hung up.

Frowning, Susan clicked off the line and then wandered down the corridor. Stacked boxes, a big mirror, and some framed pictures were on the floor against the wall. She caught her reflection in the mirror. Dressed in old jeans and a frayed black sweater, and her brown hair in a ponytail, she didn’t look very much like a millionaire. She just looked tired and sad.

She continued down the hallway and poked her head into Mattie’s room. Nestled under a throw, he slept soundly on his bed, holding his Woody doll under his chin.

She’d explained everything the best she could to him the day after Allen was killed. Mattie seemed to understand, but still asked about Allen from time to time. Just yesterday, he’d asked while she’d been emptying out his closet: “If Allen wasn’t a nice person, why did you want to marry him?”

Sometimes, he sounded so much older than his age. And this had been one of those times. Susan had put some toys in a packing box, and then she’d sat down on his bed with him. “Well, sweetie,” she’d said. “There are bad people out there, and sometimes they can fool you into believing in them. That’s what happened with Allen. He fooled me into thinking he was a nice man. But I know better now. I’ve learned to be more careful. Sometimes, it’s hard to admit when you’ve made a mistake. But that’s the only way you can move on and make sure you don’t repeat the same mistake. Do you understand?”

Mattie had nodded pensively, and then he’d squinted up at her. “Do you think my dad could beat up Allen?”

Sometimes, too, he sounded just like a four-and-a-half-year-old.

Now, Susan watched Mattie sleep for a few moments. She heard the dryer bell go off. Weaving around stacks of boxes, she shuffled into the laundry room off the kitchen. She started to unload the dryer and fold clothes. Susan came across a sage-and-black striped pullover she’d bought about a year ago. She remembered how Allen really liked the way it looked on her.

She knew it would take a while before she felt completely rid of him.

Susan stopped folding the pullover, took it into the kitchen, and threw it into the garbage.

“So—Leo, how are you, son? How long were you in that hospital again?”

“Six days, Mr. Elliott,” Leo told the paunchy, squinty-eyed, sixty-something man. Mr. Elliott sat at the four-top with his wife and another couple, who were their guests at the country club. Dressed in his busboy’s mustard- colored jacket, white shirt, black tie, and black pants, Leo refilled their after-dinner coffees. “But I’m feeling okay now,” Leo said. “Thank you for asking, sir.”

Mr. Elliott reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out his billfold. “Well, I know hospitals cost money—even if you’re covered by some G.I. plan from your dad. Are you going to college next year?”

“Yes, sir, Western Washington up in Bellingham,” he replied.

Slipping his fat hands under the table, Mr. Elliott took some bills out of his wallet. “Well, here’s a little something to put toward school—and those hospital bills,” he said in sort of a stage whisper. Then he held out his hand for Leo to shake it. The folded-up bills were in his palm.

Leo set the coffee pot down on a nearby empty table and then shook the man’s hand. “Thank you very much, sir.”

Elliott patted his arm. “Merry Christmas, son.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Elliott,” Leo said. He smiled at Mrs. Elliott—and nodded to the guest couple, whom he realized were totally ignoring him. “Um, Happy Holidays.”

An hour later, he changed out of his uniform in the club’s employee locker room. As he zipped up the leather aviator jacket Jordan had given him, Leo felt a little pang of regret. He missed his friend.

Stepping out of the employee entrance, he saw the car waiting for him in the driveway turnaround behind the tennis courts.

Leo hurried up the driveway, jumped into the passenger seat, and kissed Moira. They’d been a couple ever since he’d gotten out of the hospital seven weeks ago. Hobbling in on her crutches, she’d visited him there every day. The two of them had achieved a kind of celebrity status because of what had happened. Some publishers and movie agents were even trying to get Moira to sign over the rights to her story, but she wasn’t interested. “I don’t want one of those Gossip Girl stars to play me. I’m holding out until they get Ellen Page to star in it,” she claimed, only half joking. Leo wasn’t getting any serious offers, which was too bad because he could have used the money.

They were a popular couple, especially at her high school. And now that Moira was off her crutches, they were constantly going out. Leo found himself spending what little free time he had with Moira and her friends from Holy Names—and their boyfriends. They had a regular routine of going out for late-night pizza at Pizza Ragazzi in the University District after he finished his shift at the country club on Saturday evenings. It was kind of heady to have a bunch of people catering to his schedule like that. At the same time, he wasn’t crazy about hanging around with a pack. Tonight it was just the two of them, thank God.

Leo told her about Mr. Elliott’s making a fuss over him and slipping him the money to put toward school—and the hospital bills. Then at a stoplight, Leo showed Moira the money: a five and two singles.

“Oh, my God!” she laughed. “What a cheapskate loser!”

Shrugging, Leo stuffed the money back in his jeans pocket. “Oh, he’s kind of a doofus, but he means well.” In fact, since his return to the country club, Leo had been getting lots of gratuities from club members who hadn’t paid any attention to him before. Now they knew his name, asked how he was doing and what his plans were for school. He wasn’t sure if it was a club member or not, but someone had even paid his first full year’s tuition and board at Western Washington University. That was over fifteen thousand bucks. It was arranged by some anonymous party through a Seattle law firm, which also sent him a cashier’s check for four thousand dollars. On the bottom left-hand corner of the check, it said, For Schoolbooks & Supplies.

Moira would be attending Marquette University in Milwaukee. They hadn’t yet discussed the relationship challenges of attending schools half a continent away from each other. Though he didn’t say anything, Leo had a feeling she would end up breaking his heart before they even graduated. She’d say, “Let’s be friends,” and, damn it, they probably would be.

But until then, he’d enjoy being her boyfriend. Moira made him feel important. With her he was somebody. And under his class photo in the yearbook, it wouldn’t say