“How was your day?” My mother asked when I walked into the house. One look at my face, though, told her all she needed to know.
“How’s Dad?” I asked instead of answering her. I had thought about my father all day, and I wanted to make sure he was ok.
“I’m fine,” Dad said as he emerged from the living room into the hallway. “You should see the fix-up job they did on our window.”
“I saw it from outside,” I replied, hanging up my coat. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“That’s what I’ve been doing all day,” Dad grumbled, pushing fretfully at his sling. I could sympathize after so recently being in one of my own. I was about to say something when my cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Chen? It’s Detective Bradley. Ms. Drake still won’t talk. We’ve been interrogating her on and off for most of the morning, but she hasn’t said a thing.”
“Her lawyer allowed you to do that?” I asked in surprise. From what I’ve seen on Law & Order, the lawyer wouldn’t allow the cops to ask much of anything.
“She didn’t lawyer up after all,” Detective Bradley said, sighing deeply. “We started on her early in the morning, but she won’t say a word. I just wanted to let you know.” He hesitated before adding, “I shouldn’t be saying this, but I’m pretty sure she’s the one. When they won’t talk, it’s because they have something to hide. Most cons are eager to tell everyone how innocent they are and how they were set up. Her not saying a word is pretty damning.”
“She did get caught red-handed,” I pointed out. “There wasn’t much she could do about that.”
“Well, we’re pretty certain that we have our killer. I’ll call you as soon as we get her to confess.” I didn’t like the way he phrased that, but I couldn’t help but be grateful for his persistence. Idly, I wondered what it was that changed his mind about me, but I didn’t much care as long as it worked to my advantage.
“What did they have to say?” My dad said, his face looking drawn.
“Welcome back, Bea. Long time, no see.” Antoinette greeted me with a smirk on her face, her usual expression. She fluttered her hand at me so I would notice the rock sitting on her finger. It was a large garnet and looked like it’d be a bitch to wear.
“My mother tried to kill herself by slitting her wrists three months after we buried Rachel. She waited until after I visited her so she could see me one last time. Fortunately, she cut them the wrong way—many people do, you know—and a neighbor dropped in to see how she was doing. The neighbor had a key and let herself in. When she found Mom, she rushed her to the hospital. They were able to save her, but just barely. That’s it for Ferguson history 101.” Rafe picked up his burger again and started eating. I had no idea what to say after such a revelation, so I didn’t say anything. On the one hand, I was sorry I had asked, but on the other, it was time. If we were going to be serious, then I had to know more about him. I was only sorry that his past was so unhappy. I thought of a question to ask, but I wasn’t sure if I should push it. Me being me, I did.
Amidst her ranting and raving, the sound of sirens were heard. I couldn’t tell if they were coming from the phone or directly from outside, but it really didn’t matter. The cops were here which meant they’d put a stop to the insanity. Through my phone, I heard the voice of Detective Bradley shouting for Shannon to put down her weapon. Shannon screamed, but did not indicate whether or not she was going to comply. Her phone cut off, so hopefully the detectives had winged the bitch. I poked my head around the corner into the living room and was relieved when no shots flew by—or at my head. After ascertaining that she wasn’t shooting any longer, I glanced down and saw my father on the floor, slumped against the couch, holding his arm. Blood was flowing freely, and his face was white.
“Father, please be with Linda as she makes her journey back home.” The priest was droning on and on, and it was obvious that he hadn’t known Lydia as he spoke about her in the most generic terms possible. Besides, she wasn’t a Christian, so I doubted that God would be guiding her anywhere. Even if God were, perchance, to waive the Christian-only requirement, it was way too late to accompany her. Her soul was wherever it had been going by now as she’d been dead for over a week.
“The first time I met Brian, something zinged through me. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he felt the same way.” A faraway look came into her eyes and despite the serious circumstances, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “After that, we made excuses not to spend time together, but Linda insisted. She wanted me and Brian to get to know each other, so we gave in for her sake. Every time I saw him, I felt the same pull.” Mrs. Rodriguez stopped.
I decided to check my email as I hadn’t bothered for the past few days. I wasn’t one of those people who compulsively checked her email several times a day, feeling blue if nobody sent me anything. I viewed it more as a nuisance than anything else—a necessary evil, if you will. I sat at my mom’s computer and powered up. It was slow going only using one hand, but I did the best I could. I accessed my Yahoo! account and noticed that I had fifteen new emails. Most of them were advertisements from Yahoo! which I promptly deleted. There was a few emails from Liza who liked to email me during her workday when she got bored. I opened them up and saw that they were forwarded joke emails. She knew I hated forwarded emails, but she sent them to me, anyway. I deleted them without even looking.
“How was your day, dear?” My mother greeted me as I knocked on the back door again. Even though there were fewer reporters out front, I still didn’t want to deal with them. I never understood people who talked to the media in the midst of a horrible tragedy. The only thing I’d say to those vultures was, ‘Get the hell out of my face before I kill you’—otherwise known as, ‘no comment’.
I leaned against the wall, thinking about Shannon and Aaron. They had been a couple ever since they met at the U ten years ago. He had been a philosophy major; she, a fine arts major. They were one of those couples who simply belonged together. You could tell it when you looked at them and you envied them for it, but you didn’t get in their way. I met them a year ago at a cabaret. I had been performing—it was an Asian event, and I did a piece on the role of Asian women in American cinema. I was in my element, mimicking all the stereotypes foisted upon Asian women by aging white males with geisha-girl fetishes.