The Sitter Page 19

  Stunned, his heart revving, Larry knew he had to be cool. Like there was nothing wrong going on. “Hi Sport, know where the key to this thing is?” The box was resting on his chest. Kevin saw it and his eyes opened wide. Shit! He should have tried to hide it.

  “That's Stevie's box!” Kevin said in a loud voice. “That's his base--”

  In one fast and fluid move Larry sprang to his feet and lunged for Kevin. He swept him up, holding him with one arm while covering his mouth with a firm hand.

  Oh-fuck-oh-shit-oh-Christ! Have I blown everything?

  He saw then with even more alarm that Kevin was scared out of his mind, staring up at him with wide, fearful eyes.

  Gotta-be-cool-gotta-be-cool!

  “Hey, little guy--no problem. Nothing wrong here, Sport. Just thought I'd have a look at the cards. No big deal. Gotta keep quiet though Kev, we don't want to wake your mom up, do we?”

  Kevin was rigid in his arms, staring up at him. Larry shook him, trying to jar a response out of him. “You have to be quiet, Kevin.” he whispered firmly. Understand?” Kevin nodded slightly, eyes huge. “I'm going to take my hand away now,” Larry said. “Do not make a sound.” Slowly, he removed his hand from Kevin's mouth.

  As he set the boy down, Larry saw the red imprint of his hand around Kevin's mouth.

  Oh shit! I hope to God that disappears.

  He knelt and gathered the boy's tense body into his arms. “It's OK Kev,” he said, his mouth against Kevin's ear. “Didn't mean to scare you. It's just...if we wake your mom up, she might not let us play together again, you know?” He sighed heavily. “I'd really hate that, wouldn't you?” Larry pushed him away a little to see if he was getting anywhere with the kid. More tears. “Kev, I'm sorry--so sorry!” Larry was stunned to realize that he really was sorry.

  He crushed the boy to his chest, his own eyes filling with tears. “Please forgive me,” he heard himself plead. “Will you, Kev...will you please forgive me?”

  Kevin gave a little hiccup and pushed himself back from Larry. “I...I guess so.”

  Relieved, Larry grinned at him and ruffled his hair playfully. “Thank you, Sport. Thank you very much.”

  Kevin offered a small, tentative smile. Too small, Larry thought. “What are you doing in here, anyway?” he asked. “Mom doesn't like--”

  “I know, I know. I just...well, I couldn't sleep. So I thought I'd come in here for a while just to hang out, you know?” He waited, but there was nothing from the little guy except more of that wide-eyed stare. “You couldn't sleep either?”

  “My tummy hurts,” he said.

  Larry smiled. “C'mon. Let's go back to the tent and try again.” He picked Kevin up and walked back to the bed where he leaned down and straightened the quilt and turned off the light. While doing that, he managed to kick the metal box back under the bed.

  In Kevin's room, Larry lay the boy down in the tent and settled himself next to him. He pulled the sheet up over the two of them. After a few minutes, Larry decided he'd better at least try to cover his tracks.

  “Better not say anything to your mom about our visit to Stevie's room,” he said. “She might get upset. And, we don't want that to happen.” He slid an arm under Kevin's shoulders and pulled him closer. “You understand?” No answer. Larry guessed he'd already fallen asleep.

  He lay quiet, trying to relax. He indulged in his favorite fantasy, the one where he was in this family...his family now. In this fantasy, Larry has acquired tremendous power. In that little delicious slice of time before he nodded off, he was lighter than air, floating. He could fly through walls, soar over Pine Flats, anything!

  He could fuck Jeannie if he wanted to. Although he hadn't quite worked out how that would play out in his future with the family. And, never mind the fact that he had never successfully fucked anyone in the real world. In his new world, however, there would be no problem.

  Shall I? Fuck you, Jeannie? Larry's hand went to his groin while his mind conjured her naked image.

  Wednesday, November 15th

  Catherine was moved beyond words that she and Emma had been accepted as members of the Perfect Peace Chorale. Now that she thought of it, Catherine didn't know of anyone who wanted to sing who had not been accepted, but still, her joy was great. The Chorale--under the direction of the multi-talented Father Warren--would be giving a concert of Christmas carols for the congregation on Christmas Eve. Last Sunday at the church in the desert the group had chosen the carols, and the first rehearsal would be held on November 22nd.

  The selected program was an ambitious one, consisting of six carols in all. It would start off with a rousing rendition of 'Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer' and end with the traditional and stirring 'Joy to the World.'

  “Emma, do you know what my favorite carol in the program is?” Catherine asked her friend. “It's 'Bring a Torch Jeanette Isabella'.” She beamed at Emma. “It's so...I don't know...so holy. The part about the mother being so beautiful and--”

  “Ah, Ah,” Emma's surprisingly strong alto boomed out into the room. “Beautiful is the mother. Ah, ah, beautiful is the child.”

  Catherine smiled, her eyes welling with tears. “Christmas music is so emotional,” she said in a tremulous voice. “You have a lovely singing voice, Emma. Such wonderful...timbre.”

  “Thank you, Cathy-girl.”

  They were in Emma's living room which had gradually, these past few days, come to resemble an indoor herb garden and cosmetic lab. The old lady grew various types of herbs in pots and harvested them for use in organic cosmetics such as facial washes and toners. Emma had discovered a book explaining the benefits of making these concoctions, and she favored the recipes designed to minimize wrinkles. Catherine had soon become an enthusiastic participant.

  Mint, lavender, comfrey and other herbal delights in various amounts and combinations were ground to powder with a pestle and mortar and infused with a little almond oil to make suitable lotions. Each morning the ladies would gather the herbs and set to work grinding. A bit of the oil then and they would apply the lotion to their faces, necks and arms.

  Around mid-day, after a substantial snack of cheddar and crackers, they would retire to the card table for a drink or two, their ongoing game of gin rummy, and a skin-care miracle. At the end of such a day, they would agree that their skin did indeed look at least somewhat better--a step back in time, so to speak.

  Catherine's life these days would be absolutely perfect if it weren't for those nagging worries about Larry. And they were getting worse. She couldn't get a good night's sleep for all her worry.

  “I want you to take a quart of this home with you, Cathy-girl,” Emma said gesturing toward the bottle on her hutch as she sat down with Catherine at the card table. “It's Dewar's and it's not bad for a mid-priced Scotch.”

  “Emma, that's so gracious of you! I'm going to say no, however. I don't think Larry would be very happy to see it in our kitchen. He thinks I drink a bit much, you know.”

  “Who cares what Larry thinks?” Emma said, shuffling the cards vigorously. “He lives in your house, Cathy-girl and if you want to have a drink, then you can jolly well have a drink!”

  Catherine was silent. She realized with alarm that she was close to tears. Emma slid her chair close to Catherine and put a strong arm around her shoulders.

  “I've been watching you, Catherine Cutler. Something very wrong is going on with you. You tell me what it is,” Emma ordered, “right now.”

  “Oh Emma... ” The tears came then and they felt wonderful--a welcome release. “I don't really know what's wrong,” Catherine mumbled, a little embarrassed at revealing this emotional side of herself. “I can just feel Larry leaving me...detaching. With school, and him over at the Connors sometimes, I really don't see much of him. He even spent the night there--Halloween night.” She wiped her eyes with the tail of her blouse. “But the thing is, Emma...I don't think he's telling me the truth about...things.”

  The old lady was quiet, listening.


  “I ask him about things and I think he just tells me what he thinks I want to hear. And, a deputy came to see us--a deputy sheriff.” Emma's eyes narrowed like they did when she studied her cards at gin. “Oh, Emma,” Catherine laughed, remembering, “Such a handsome fellow! Thick blonde hair like yellow-white corn silk!”

  Emma fixed her with a stern eye, as good as telling her to get on with her story.

  “It seems that poor Kennedy girl--the one Larry had the run in with--is still missing. My, that's been a while ago, hasn't it?” At this news Emma's eyes became mere slits and she nodded slowly. “Anyhow, this deputy wanted to check with Larry to see if he had any idea where the girl might be. Well,” she waved a hand in the air shooing away that annoying idea. “Of course Larry didn't know anything. Since their...misunderstanding, the two of them are hardly friends, after all!” She had explained Jordan's complaint about Larry to Emma and now her words hung in the silent room, and she wished Emma would say something.

  “It's unsettling, you know--a law man coming to your home to question your boy and all... ”

  “Yes, yes indeed,” Emma offered finally. She took a healthy swallow of her drink. “Families are strange,” she mused. “Over time they seem to acquire a shape--a form all their own--for better or worse. And, many times,” she stared intently at Catherine, “it's the worse.” She paused, apparently deep in thought. Catherine was confused and wondered if she had been entirely wise in baring her soul to her friend.

  “The boy is disrespectful, Cathy-Girl. Sometimes, just by listening to you, I get a sense of...well...danger from him.”

  Danger? From Larry? Ridiculous! Catherine's body was suddenly awash with heat, and her fingers and toes were clenched. How dare this woman judge Larry!

  “Emma... ” Catherine could barely speak. “Teenage boys are rarely respectful! All those hormones rushing through them--”

  “All the more reason to keep a firm grip on the boy,”

  Emma said. “Forgive me, Cathy-Girl. I love you and I simply have to speak my mind.”

  “I know you mean well... ”

  “Do you remember my telling you about my brother Ned?” Emma asked.

  “The one who saw the devil?”

  “The very same. I never liked Ned much until he got sick. He was five years older than me, and treated me mean when we were little. But when he was seventeen he got very sick. I don't know what it was, some kind of fever I think. It made him very tired and he spent a lot of time in bed. He lost a lot of weight, and along with it he lost his meanness--his need to bully me. I can still see him, lying there in his bed, looking so frail, so...pitiful.

  “I started reading to him. Hours I spent reading to that boy. I got so I loved those hours, and apparently he did too because he always made a fuss when I had to quit and always made me promise I'd read to him the next day.” She paused for a swallow and rested a hand companionably on Catherine's arm. “The point is we got to be good friends you see, not just brother and sister.” She sighed. “When he was twenty-two, right before we saw the devil, he was accused of rape.”

  “Lor-dee,” Catherine whispered.

  “Well, that was preposterous!” Emma said and Catherine nodded her head in vigorous agreement. “Certainly not. Not Ned. But, and this was a huge 'but', he didn't have an alibi. So... ” Emma gave her friend a merry grin, “I gave him one.”

  “No,” breathed Catherine.

  “Yes. Of course I did. Ned was innocent, no doubt about that. But not being able to account for himself at the time in question, he couldn't prove it. So I proved it for him! Because he was my brother, yes, but much more importantly he was my friend. A friend I absolutely knew could never rape anyone, you see?” She squeezed Catherine's arm for emphasis. “I told the police I was with Ned that night and that we played gin rummy until 2:30 A.M.”

  A heavy silence settled over the two of them as Emma paused, reflecting. To Catherine, it went on too long.

  “Sometimes it still bothers me that the real rapist was never found,” the old lady said finally, her voice thoughtful. “I lied, yes. But you see that was the right thing to do. Since I knew Ned was innocent--the path I needed to take was clear.”

  Catherine wondered at Emma's blind faith in her brother. She arranged her face in what she hoped was an expression of respectful interest.

  “I'm telling you this story, Catherine, because it is the opposite of your situation...the other side of the coin, you see? In yours and Larry's situation...yes, he is your son. But--and this is a very serious 'but'--you are not absolutely sure of his innocence in the Jordan Kennedy matter, and, dear Catherine, Larry may not be the honest young man you think...you hope him to be.”

  Catherine was shocked. The conversation had somehow gotten completely away from her. “I didn't really say--”

  “Yes, you did.” The old lady said, her eyes impaling Catherine. “You have described to me a very uneasy relationship between you and Larry. Plus the fact that he has placed himself in jeopardy, first with the Connor boy's death, and now the disappearance of Jordan Kennedy. Hard facts to face, I know--”

  “Emma... ”Catherine's heart pumped crazily as she realized she never should have opened up to Emma, at least not on this topic. The woman didn't know Larry at all, Catherine assured herself; she had no contact with him, had no real idea what he was like. “Larry is not--”

  “All I'm saying, Cathy dear, is that you would do well to watch the boy.”

  Emma leaned closer and Catherine felt trapped. Gravity pulled at the folds of flesh in Emma's face; she was a gargoyle spouting unwanted, false wisdom.

  Catherine forced herself to remember that Emma was very old and had a tendency to get carried away with her ideas. Take, for example, the fact that she was now raising an entire family of sacrificial rabbits in her backyard. She had even asked Catherine how much blood she thought an adult rabbit might yield! Thank God she hadn't told the dotty old lady about Larry accidentally hitting her that night.

  “He needs a caretaker, Cathy-Girl that much is clear. You can be friends with him later on in life. In the meantime, you can question him on his actions so you can make your own decisions. Some boys need more help than others, you know,” Emma continued, and Catherine wondered if she would ever shut up. “It isn't always easy for a young man to be honest with himself.”

  “About Ned,” Catherine began. She had decided to voice her suspicion. “Didn't you ever wonder--- ”

  “Guidance.” That's what mother's are for,” Emma said. “I've never had the joy of being a mother. But I'm thankful I can now know the joy of helping you to be a good one--a good mother.” Eyes shining with tears, Emma pulled Catherine over and hugged her so hard she almost toppled the two of them onto the floor.

  As outrageously wrong about Larry as Emma was, Catherine knew she was lucky to have such a devoted friend. And employer. Lucky indeed. Maybe 'blessed' was the better word.

  “Come on Cathy-girl,” Emma said, dealing out the cards. “It's time I beat the socks off you at Gin. Again.”

  *****

  Larry was peddling his bike furiously as he hurried from school to the Connor's. Even though it was only the 15th of November he needed to figure out what to give Jeannie for Christmas. Steven too. Kevin would be easy--he'd love anything Larry gave him. Even though he'd been kind of spooked that night in Stevie's room, Larry knew the little guy was still crazy about him.

  But Jeannie...she was still a problem. She'd let him stay over Halloween night, but he could practically see the suspicious wheels turning in her pretty head when he was anywhere near her. He cared a lot about Jeannie. Always had, always would.

  Wouldn't be doing this at all if it wasn't for her. Steven's support, the family part--terrific, yeah. But Jeannie was the one...

  Her gift had to be something special, something personal, but not too personal. He had to move slowly with Jeannie--to build her trust. The 'slowly' part was hard, and becoming more so. A real nightmare now, living with
Catherine and her crudeness, her endless questions about what he was doing and who he was doing it with. To go home to her after being with his real family was painful.

  He arrived at the Connor's, and carried his bike around back to the deck. He saw Jeannie's car, knew Steven was probably at the Y with Kevin. He knocked at the back door...no answer. Larry felt okay about letting himself in with the key Steven had given him because he was, after all, expected. He was to mow the back lawn and trim the shrubs that bordered the yard. Steven had told him he could help himself to the soda in the fridge, and he found a six-pack Dr. Pepper there. Popping the can, he took a satisfying gulp and walked out of the kitchen.

  “Jeannie?” he called, not wanting to startle her with his presence. No response. He called her name again. It occurred to him he might be alone in the house. A shiver of pleasure ran through him. Maybe he could sneak a look in Stevie's room again.

  The phone rang, startling him. He stood, waiting for Jeannie to pick up. She didn't. A stupid move maybe, but he went to a phone on a table just inside the living room, and lifted the receiver. He would be helpful and take a message.

  “Hello?” Nothing. “Connor residence.”

  “Larry?” A female voice, familiar. “Is this Larry?” Harsh, insistent. It was that fucking Bertie McQueen.

  “Yeah,” he said, heart thudding against his shirt. What was he so nervous about? He hadn't done anything wrong. “Mrs. McQueen?” She'd told him not to call her Bertie. That had been a while ago, when she'd told him his services as a gardener would no longer be needed.

  Silence. Then, “Put Mrs. Connor on please.” A command.

  “Sure,” Larry said helpfully. “I'm not sure she's here, but I'll see. I'm here for some yard work,” he said, hoping to explain his presence. He almost went on to say that Steven had told him to help himself to some soda, but he knew he'd sound like an idiot. He hated Bertie McQueen!

  Larry took the stairs two at a time and jogged to Jeannie's bedroom door. It was closed. Pausing to get his breath, he tapped lightly. No answer. He tapped again, listening. He had never been in the master bedroom, and the thought excited him. Quietly, he opened the door slightly.