“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.
“How’s your mother now?” Rafe kept eating, and for a minute, I was sure he wasn’t going to respond.
“She pulled herself together,” he said after a pause so long, I was afraid I’d have to repeat the question. “After years of beating herself up and periodically trying to kill herself, she decided to live. For me.” He smiled a smile devoid of real warmth. “She kicked my father way to the curve and refused to see him again. She works as a waitress in New Jersey; she gets by.”
“What about you?” I blurted out, my tongue running away with me. It’s just that after six months of hearing nothing of his past, I wanted to know everything I could. “Do you ever see your father?”
“No,” Rafe said, his eyes flashing. “If that asshole ever tried to approach me, I’d fucking kill him myself.” He forced himself to calm down before continuing. “He wouldn’t try to contact me, anyway. He never had much interest in being a father.”
I wisely shut up because I knew the laws of diminishing returns. The more I hounded him, the less he would tell and the more he would resent me for asking. I had learned more about his past in the last ten minutes than I had in the entire time we’d been dating. I absentmindedly bit into my now almost inedible cheeseburger. Something Rafe had said had struck a nerve. Not personally, but in relation to the case. I frowned and replayed the conversation, but I couldn’t remember what it was. Rafe and I finished our food in silence before returning to the waiting room. My mother was in the same position she’d been in when we left. Mona and Michele were gone.
“Let’s go through it one more time,” Detective Bradley said, sounding bored. We were running through what had happened when I went out to the car and almost got shot, and this was the fourth time I had told the tale. I didn’t know what else he wanted me to say because it wasn’t that dramatic. At least Detective Sands hadn’t come, which made me happy.
“Well, here we are,” Brian said, flicking on the lights. “Home, sweet home.”
“Beezus, you have got to listen to me.” My mother was on me the minute I walked in the door. She was on her second martini which meant it was a rough day for her. “Frieda told Zelda that that boy you got fired, what was his name? Your boss’s nephew—he’s pretty angry at you. When they talked to him about it, he couldn’t stop cussing you out. Called you the ‘b’ word and the ‘c’ word.” It took me a minute to translate. I knew what the ‘b’ word was—what woman didn’t?—but the ‘c’ word? When I figured it out, I cringed. That was one of my least favorite words.
“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’.
“What the fuck?” Rafe jumped up from his chair and stared down at me. “She was wearing your costume?” He started pacing, keeping his eyes pinned to me. “You sit there so calmly telling me about your coworker being murdered and don’t bother telling me until now that it could have been you? What are you, out of your fucking mind?” His voice had risen appreciably as he ranted. I said nothing, knowing from experience that I had to let his machismo cool down a bit before attempting to have a rational dialogue. I slipped on my inscrutable Asian face, folded my hands on top of the table and waited.
“Rather strange coincidence, isn’t it?” Antoinette interjected, cutting her eyes to me. “The day you two switch costumes, Lydia is murdered.” Although she was purportedly speaking only to me, her voice carries clearly across the crowd. I flushed, but didn’t answer. I figured it was better to save my words for the police than to waste them trying to defend myself.
“Hey, girls!” Delia Booth bounced over, and I do mean bounced. She wasn’t wearing a bra as usual, and her thirty-eight double-Ds were very happy to see us. She’s the newest edition to our happy animal family, and she’s still perky after working at this shit-hole for two weeks. She must either be lobotomized or strung out on Valium. Her dark brown hair was perfectly in place as was her makeup, even though she had just finished the same shift as Lydia and me. She smiled a thousand-watt smile while covertly studying herself in the mirror.