“I still can’t believe any of this,” I say, watching Ava across the room.
“Eileen has no business being thrown in a cage with a bunch of criminals. Don’t you worry. Carmen will get her out.”
It sounds like Des is trying to calm herself as much as she is me. Thing is, Mom’s charges are as severe as you can get. Kidnap and murder. North Bay doesn’t have a lot of crime. It’s mostly civil violations. I’ll read about a domestic abuse arrest in the paper from time to time, but there aren’t random shootings and stabbings. There’s more activity in the summer months, but that’s usually tourists getting a little too bold.
“What do you think about all this?” I ask, needing some honest input from someone who knows Mom as well as I do.
“Which part?”
“Do you think the things people are saying about her could be true? Do you think she kidnapped me? Murdered my biological father?”
Des turns, reaching into the ingredients’ galley for toppings. Did she turn intentionally? I wonder. She literally doesn’t want to face me.
“I have no reason to think any of it’s true. The Eileen I know isn’t capable of such violence.”
“You’ve been friends with Mom for a long time. Since we moved here. Did she ever talk to you about where we lived before? Did she tell you anything?”
“Nothing about kidnapping and murder.”
Again, her subdued reaction tells me she’s deflecting. She knows something but won’t say what. “Des, I need someone to be honest with me. I need answers.”
She turns around, keeping her eyes low. “When I met Eileen, all I saw was a young mother and her bright-eyed little girl. It was obvious she didn’t come from much, but she needed a place to stay, which is why I rented her the apartment. I assumed she’d been through something, but she never told me what. And I didn’t ask.”
“But what about after that? You’ve been friends for over thirty years. She never opened up about her life before North Bay?”
“Friends tell each other everything. Better friends know when to stay quiet.”
Des is a confrontational person, but she’s not nosy. Damn it. I believe her when she says she didn’t pry into Mom’s past. Still… surely… there must be something.
“Did she tell you about my father?”
“She said he wasn’t in the picture. Said it was just the two of you.”
That’s the same thing she told me. That my father took off when she told him about the pregnancy. They were both young, and I was better off not having him around. When I asked for a name, she refused to tell me. Half my life I’ve suspected there was more to the story, but as with any other lingering questions about my childhood, I let it go. Out of respect for Mom and all she’d done for me. Now the police are saying Mom murdered my real father. They’re saying she had to kill him in order to take me.
And that woman. Baby Caroline’s mother. I can’t imagine her pain. Losing a husband. Losing a child. Never knowing what happened until your daughter was already grown, an adult and mother herself. An entire lifetime stolen. Whoever did that to her is a monster, but I can’t believe Mom is that person.
“Do you think the police have arrested the wrong woman?”
Des has the raw pizza centered on a wooden spatula. She slides the pizza into the industrial oven and the door creaks closed. After setting the timer, she walks toward the table. She’s about to sit, when a loud noise startles us.
Clack.
We jump, turning toward the front window where the sound originated. Something has been thrown against the building. I can’t tell what it is. Some kind of fruit, possibly. It’s a mushy mound slowly sliding down the glass.
“Son. Of a. Bitch.”
Des investigates, opening the front door and using a nearby broom to slide the mass to the ground. I can hear another commotion outside. It sounds like voices and footsteps. Des closes the door and pushes the lock.
“What was it?” I ask.
“A bunch of hooligans,” she says, still looking out the window. “There’s some press out there, too. They know we’re in here now.”
Press. They’ve found the restaurant. How much longer until they show up at the condo? The Baby Caroline story is gaining traction. I fear what people will have to say about Mom. And me.
“Close the blinds,” I say.
Des pulls the tassel beside each window, until the blinds are flat from floor to ceiling.
“They’re the ones I don’t get,” she says. “They’re not impacted by any of this. Don’t they realize real people are hurting?”
“They don’t care, Des.”
She sits next to me, her arms outstretched across the table. “Whatever they say about Eileen doesn’t matter. Your mom is the best friend I’ve ever had. She doesn’t have it in her to do the things they’re saying.”
Des is loyal to a fault. I feel the same way. Unless…
“Do you think she did it?” I ask, dryly. I can’t ignore the fact that the police wouldn’t have made a move after so long unless they had solid evidence. “Do you think she was so desperate for a baby she kidnapped me? Attacked my mother? Killed my father?”
“The only mother you’ve ever known is Eileen.”
“I know that. But do you think she did it?”
“I don’t know.” It hurts her to say this. Again, she’s honest. “If she did, I’m sure she had her reasons. Either way, it won’t change how I feel about her.”
The timer behind the counter dings. Des seems thankful for an escape. She might wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she’s not one to talk about them. Beside me, Ava is now asleep. I’m happy the fruit thrown against the glass hasn’t disturbed her the way it did us. None of this bothers her the way it
