“How’s work, Mom?”
“Not too bad.”
“Where’s Rusty?”
“Cheyenne tonight, I think it was. He’ll be home next week.”
“And it’s, uh, working out?”
“No complaints.” Linda sipped her tea, gazed at him over the rim of the cup. “What about you?” she said.
“I’m okay.”
“That’s good to hear,” Linda said. “Is your stuff in the car?”
“No.”
She put down her cup. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, Mom.”
“Are you home or not?”
“I’m home right now. But there are things I’ve got to take care of.”
“Like what?” Linda said. Wyatt looked at her. Could he imagine this decent and kind person at some earlier stage in life firing a gun at 32 Cain Street? No. But Mr. Wertz the lawyer suspected that Sonny Racine had been covering for someone, and Mr. Rentner had heard rumors of a girlfriend. His mom had been the girlfriend, pregnant with him, waiting on a marriage that never happened.
“What’s wrong, Wyatt? Is it that girl Hildy was telling me about? Greer something-or-other?”
Wyatt gazed down at the table.
“Listen to me,” his mom said. “There’s a big, big difference between sixteen and nineteen. A girl of nineteen-any girl, she could be perfectly nice-is coming from a place you know nothing about, Wyatt, way past your ability to handle. I’m not talking about just you, but any sixteen-year-old-”
He looked up. “All right, Mom. I get it.”
Linda sat back a bit. “You’re in some kind of trouble.”
“I’m not.”
“Is she pregnant?”
“No.” But even as he spoke, Wyatt realized he really had no idea of the answer to that question, also had no idea what Greer would want to do about it if she was. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.”
Linda shook her head. “It’s so weird that anyone could change this fast.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You. I used to trust you completely, believe every word you said. What’s happened?”
“Nothing.” He got up, opened the fridge. Cammy’s lunch box-blue with a pattern of red dogs-was on the top shelf, tomorrow’s sandwich already made. Wyatt took out a soda, drank it down, suddenly very thirsty. He turned to Linda.
“Where were you the night of the crime?” he said.
Her forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “What crime?”
He gazed at his mom. Sonny Racine’s girlfriend, yes, but there was just no way. He started to think, If I can’t trust her, who can I trust? but then the fact of Rusty intervened, complicated things. Could he trust her when it came to Rusty? Maybe there wasn’t one single person who could ever be trusted completely in anyone’s life. But no matter what, he couldn’t play investigative reporter or detective or anything like that with his mom.
“I’ve seen him,” Wyatt said. “Sonny Racine.”
Tea slopped over the rim of Linda’s cup. “What are you talking about?”
“In the visiting room at Sweetwater State Penitentiary.”
She put the cup down; it rattled in the saucer. “Why would you go and do a thing like that?”
“Why wouldn’t I? He’s my father.”
“Haven’t we been through this? He’s not a father to you. Rusty’s the one who-”
“I don’t want to hear about Rusty.”
“Don’t raise your voice. Cammy’s sleeping.”
They were both silent for a few moments. Coyotes shrieked, not too far away.
Linda’s eyes narrowed. “This…this visit of yours,” she said. “How did that come about?”
“It’s complicated. He found out I was in the area and called me.”
“How would he find out something like that? How would he get your number?”
“I told you it was complicated. But that’s what happened.”
“How? I don’t understand. Take me through it.”
“Why, Mom? That’s not what matters.”
“This girl’s involved, isn’t she?”
“So?”
“So? Just the fact you can say that means you don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t want you going back there, on no account.”
“Don’t you want to know how he is or anything?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not interested.”
“But you were interested in him back then.”
“That was before I knew what he was really like, obviously.”
“What was he really like?”
“How can you even ask that question? An innocent woman got killed and her baby got mutilated. What more do you need to know?”
What more did he need to know? That was the question, right there. “Suppose he was innocent?” Wyatt said.
Linda dismissed the idea with a backhand wave. “Of course he told you that. They never admit guilt.”
“That’s what he said-that inmates never admit guilt.”
“A kind of admission, then? Is that what you’re saying? I don’t get it.”
“No. It’s really the opposite, you know, like practically telling me to doubt. I guess that’s why I’m starting to believe.”
“Believe what?”
“That he was innocent. Maybe he wasn’t even there.”
“Not even there? Did he say that?”
“No.”
“He admitted he was there-that was never in question,” Linda said. “And even if he didn’t do the actual shooting, he’s every bit as guilty.”
“Come on, Mom. That’s just what the law says.”
“And I say it, too. Think of that poor mother. Think of the baby.”
Wyatt met his mom’s gaze but couldn’t hold it. If she’d been at 32 Cain Street, if Sonny had covered for her, then she was a gifted liar and he didn’t know her at all. “How did you find out about that night?” he said.
Linda closed her eyes. “I’ll never forget,” she said. “I was asleep. This was in the apartment I had then over on Bates Street-Sonny stayed there when he got weekends off from the construction. Knocking woke me up. I answered the door and there was a cop with a search warrant. Donnie Reeves. He’d been three years ahead of me in school.”
That was that. The whole protecting-the-girlfriend theory was out.
Her eyes were open now, and watching him closely. “By the way,” she said, “you asked me that same question two different ways. Any explanation?”
Wyatt almost laughed. He had a smart mom. And-he almost went further, almost found himself thinking he had a smart dad, too. The urge to laugh disappeared fast. “I’m just trying to understand.”
“I got together with a guy I didn’t really know,” Linda said. “That’s all there is to understand.”
“Why don’t you want to hear how he’s doing?” Wyatt said.
“I just don’t.”
