The Orphan (9 page)

‘Chad’s always calling her. They’re glued to their phones.’

But her conviction was falling apart. She began to open herself to the possibility, and soon remembered another event, years ago, when Raya was still in elementary school. Beth picked her up one day at three o’clock, and Raya was gloomy, non-communicative. Beth asked her what was wrong, did she have a bad day, did something happen? And Raya only shook her head and said her teacher was sad because her husband was sick. ‘With what?’ Beth asked her ten-year-old daughter.

‘I dunno, but it’s very serious,’ Raya had said. ‘He needs an operation.’

Beth let the topic go and didn’t think much about it in the coming days. But two or three weeks later she stopped by the school to drop off a math workbook Raya had forgotten at home. She caught up with Mrs Lambert in their homeroom while the class was out to their morning musical appreciation session. Iris, as the parents were allowed to address her, seemed more downcast than usual, pale and tired, and without thinking it through first, Beth had touched the sleeve of her sweater and asked, ‘How is your husband doing? Raya mentioned that he hasn’t been well. I hope it’s nothing serious.’

Iris Lambert, who was only in her late fifties but seemed to have aged fifteen years since the last round of parent–teacher conferences, recoiled. Her lips parted and she glared at Beth with a combination of alarm, resentment and fear.

‘He’s… no, he’s not well. His heart is failing.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Beth said, feeling she had offended the teacher.

‘But how did she know?’ Iris Lambert said. ‘I haven’t spoken of this to anyone at all. Not here, not to the faculty, and especially not with the children.’

‘Oh. Is that – are you sure?’

‘We haven’t even told our own children. My goodness, Robert was diagnosed just two days ago. It was a terrible shock. A terrible, terrible shock.’

This revelation silenced them both. It was unlikely in the extreme that Raya had been around Robert Lambert, ever, let alone in the past few days. Even if she had, little girls don’t look at middle-aged men and sense oncoming heart failure. More importantly, the day Raya had been so sad and made the comment was more than three weeks before. If Mr Lambert had just been diagnosed two days ago, then something very strange had transpired.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand either,’ Beth said, wanting to get out of the classroom and the direct line of Iris’s reprimanding gaze as soon as possible. ‘Kids are strange like that sometimes. They pick up on things —’

‘No one knows,’ Iris said, her sadness made worse for this uninvited conversation. ‘No one knows, don’t you see?’

At which point Beth had apologized again, then handed over the math book and hurried away, making an excuse about being late for an appointment.

She hadn’t thought about that unresolved incident for years, but it seemed damning now. She looked up at Darren. He could see it in her.

He nodded. ‘I bet you if we put our heads together and really pored over this, we could come up with a list. A long list. Sometimes when she —’

Beth put a hand up, warning him to slow down. She had a headache. The coffee had been a bad idea, so early and on an empty stomach.

‘Even if we’re prepared to believe something like that, which I am not, what does that have to do with what happened this morning? These texts? With your nightmares?’

Darren surprised her with his answer. ‘I have to tell you,’ he paused, raising his bandaged hand. ‘This cut? I wasn’t just opening a package. I didn’t want to scare you earlier, but now that we’re talking.’

‘Oh God,’ she said.
What now?

He told her about seeing the light on in the shop, his fear of an intruder. Then he told her of the mystery bike, the Cinelli, how it had arrived by unknown delivery, the strange spell it had cast on him.

She interrupted him. ‘You think someone broke into the shop?’

‘No, not now. The alarm was deactivated. I probably forgot to lock up.’

She raised an eyebrow, not trusting his memory.

Darren waved her off. ‘Nothing was missing, okay? Everything was as I had left it. Don’t worry about that. My point is, once I saw everything was okay, I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, so I decided to build this bike. I was opening a bundle of this cloth all taped together, holding the pedals. That’s when I cut myself. But right after I finished, something happened.’

Beth did not like the look on his face. ‘Something besides you cutting yourself?’

He frowned, concentrating. ‘It was confusing. I wasn’t really myself, like I wasn’t really there. I thought I was tired, groggy. I may have lost track of time, because I remember waking up around one-fifteen, but when I came back inside it was almost seven, and I really don’t think I spent six hours out there. But when I finished, the wheels began to turn. I didn’t spin them. I was standing a good ten feet away, but they just started turning. And it really seemed like someone was in there with me.’

Beth felt something inside her tying itself in knots. ‘What do you mean, “someone was in there with you? The wheels began to turn.” What does that mean?’

‘I mean, I wasn’t alone. When I turned around, the shop was empty, except there was this bright white light. I could feel him. A boy. It had something to do with the bike, I think, with me assembling it. I felt him standing right behind me. I heard him laughing. And when I turned around to see him, I got this… glimpse. And then I fainted. Come to think of it, that’s probably where all the time went. I could have been conked out for hours. Didn’t feel like it, but —’

‘Who?’ Beth said. Her skin was crawling. ‘For God’s sake, who are you talking about? What glimpse? Who is this boy?’

Darren looked at her as if it were obvious. ‘The boy. The one Raya heard crying. The texts were talking about a boy, she said. What if he was there with me before he… reached out to her?’

Beth couldn’t speak for a moment. ‘You’re trying to tell me that the two of you experienced some kind of, what, event?’

Darren looked into her eyes, and she saw something in them very different than everything she was feeling right now. He didn’t look scared or distracted any longer. He looked interested, almost excited.

‘You’re scaring me. I can’t believe this. I won’t.’

‘I know how it sounds, but what else could it have been? I felt him there, the bike was moving. She gets these messages in her phone because, I dunno, that’s the best way to “get in touch” with her. That’s her point of focus, right, the phone? And you searched the house and didn’t find a boy anywhere.’

‘And you think because Raya gets these hunches, that sometimes she sees things that have happened or are going to happen, you think this boy texted our daughter? Why? From where? The future, or some kind of “other side” nonsense?’

‘I don’t know. You’ve seen those shows on TV. Isn’t that sort of how it works?’

‘That’s TV. This is our home!’

‘Hey.’ Darren moved closer to her, took her hands in his. ‘No one said he was dangerous, honey. Maybe he’s just some lost kid. Maybe he used to live here.’

‘Well, that’s comforting. Do you realize what you’re saying?’

Darren nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess I do.’

For a moment, Beth wanted to slap the calm right off his face.

Instead, she stood up. ‘I’m going to take a shower. I have things to do today. Please don’t share your theories with our daughter. I don’t want you upsetting her more than you already have.’

She turned the water on much hotter than usual, but ten minutes later, her skin turning pink from the spray, she still felt cold.

Raya emerged from her boutique suite a little after ten, looking rested and in good cheer, as if the texting episode really had been nothing but a bad dream, one that she had already broken down like a cardboard box and heaved into the recycling bin of her resilient mind.

‘Morning, darlin’,’ Darren said. ‘I thought you were going to sleep in.’

‘Can’t. Chad’s on his way to pick me up.’

With this news, Darren’s pride in her independence was dealt a moderate blow. ‘And where is Chad taking you today?’

‘Uhm, to school?’ Raya went to the fridge and retrieved her morning bottle of water and a single pack of string cheese. ‘Last day, remember?’

‘You sure you’re up for that?’ her mom asked, joining them from the other side of the breakfast bar. She had just finished dressing for work.

‘I want to get my yearbook signed and I can’t miss the luncheon.’

Beth fidgeted with an earring and fluffed her hair out of her collar. ‘What’s the luncheon again? Is this for one of your classes?’

Raya looked up at the ceiling as if maybe God was up there and could explain why her mother was so dense. ‘I told you. The girls and I have a reservation at Ten-Ten?’

‘Oh, right. That’s cute. Do you have money?’

‘Brasserie Ten-Ten?’ Darren said. ‘The French place on Walnut?’

‘Yes,’ Raya said without looking at him.

‘That pretentious, overpriced little joint where all the perverted business-
men
go to drink their lunch?’

Raya ignored him and moved closer to her mother, dangling cheese into her mouth. ‘You said I could use your card.’

‘What’s wrong with McDonald’s?’ Darren said. ‘Hell, how about Chili’s? I’d spring for that.’

Raya gaped at him in horror.

‘What’s wrong with Chili’s? Those fajitas are darn tasty.’

‘Uhm, everything?’

Beth opened her wallet and thumbed out a Visa. Raya pinched the corner of the card daintily and beamed at her mother. ‘Thank you.’

‘Only for you,’ Darren said. ‘Don’t go picking up the tab for the whole damn table.’

‘It’s her last day, honey. Give her a break,’ Beth said, but the look she gave him was the real warning: Your daughter had a rough night. If buying lunch for a dozen of her friends helps her forget about the disturbance, that’s a cheap price to pay.

‘Yeah, Dad, give her a break,’ Raya said. She stuck the cheese in his hand and skipped off to her shower.

Darren watched her go, munching down the rest of the string cheese. ‘It’s like it never happened. She’s coping very well, I’d say. Thanks to Chad.’

Beth heaved her bag onto her shoulder. With all her woman stuff and her laptop and files, it looked like it weighed fifty pounds. ‘I’m not getting into this again.’

Darren gave her a hug, kissed her hair. ‘We’re fine. You, me, her.’

Beth kissed him on the neck. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you too.’

‘What are you doing today?’

‘What do I do every day?’

She looked back at him before entering the garage. ‘Play with bikes?’

He nodded. ‘Play with bikes.’

‘Be careful.’

Darren nodded. ‘I’ll call you in a bit. Maybe a late lunch of our own downtown?’

Beth made a face, wrinkling her nose.
Maybe, probably not
.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Look at this weather. A glass of wine on the deck at the West End. Oysters at Jax. Be good for us.’

‘Send me a text.’ Beth closed the door behind her.

‘That sounds like a date,’ Darren shouted.

The doorbell rang.
And that must be the Amazing Chad.

‘Daddy, will you get the door?’ Raya called from her bathroom.

‘Don’t be so eager,’ he yelled back. ‘And close the damn door.’

Darren walked around the living room and into the foyer. He opened the door.

‘Morning, Chad.’

‘Oh, hey, Mr Lynwood. How are things with you?’

‘You can call me Darren, Chad. Remember?’

‘Oh yeah, cool. Thanks. Is, uhm, Raya here?’

‘She’ll be a minute. Come on in.’

Chad was a decent enough guy, seventeen going on thirteen except for his height and clothing. Kid went six-two or six-three to Darren’s five-nine, but this wasn’t what annoyed him. Nor was it the fact that Chad wore cuffed slacks and oxford shirts year-round, often with a blue or khaki sports coat and striped tie, for no reason at all, with calfskin driving loafers and no socks like some fraternity pledge let out for a Memorial Day barbecue with alumni donors. It wasn’t Chad’s prep-school haircut, either, with the close-cropped sides and the tuft of curls that dropped over his forehead just so.

What annoyed Darren was the way Chad always ducked his head and lowered his shoulders when speaking to his girlfriend’s father. It was something between a nervous tic and a parody of the respectful bow of greeting so prevalent in Asian cultures, with an added tremor. Chad bobbed and quivered and juked and jived as if Darren had on several occasions beaten him with a bamboo cane. Darren was never quite convinced that the whole broad-smiling, apple-cheeked, yes-sir, no-sir act wasn’t a kind of barely repressed rage, a subliminal
Screw you, old man, I’m taking your daughter out for a date that’s gonna last all night, and it’s gonna get real.

‘Can I get you something to drink?’ Darren said, leading the boy to the kitchen, away from anything that could be construed as in the direction of Raya’s bedroom-bathroom suite.

‘Oh, okay, that’s very kind of you.’ Chad took one of the barstools at the serving counter. He removed a pair of Persol sunglasses from his breast pocket, breath-steamed the lenses and began to nervously polish them with his tie. Today’s was yellow with orange stripes.

Darren stood with the fridge door open. ‘Orange juice, milk, Pellegrino, coconut water, whattya like?’

‘Would you happen to have, maybe, a Diet Coke?’

Darren peered into the bottom shelf. ‘We would.’

‘That’d be perfect, if it’s no trouble.’

Darren popped a can and filled a glass with ice.

‘Would you by chance have any lemon?’ Chad said, wincing theatrically.

Darren blinked at Chad as he opened the fridge for the second time. What do you know, two lemons in the door, right where Chad could see them, probably saw them the first time, gave him the idea, so, basically no way to lie and turn him down now.

‘As a matter of fact.’ Darren set a lemon on the cutting board, dug a knife from the drawer, and began to slice in swift strokes that clocked on the board, the entire act drawing attention to the gauze and medical tape around his thumb.

Chad didn’t mention it. He said, ‘Raya got me into that. I don’t know why, but it’s just not the same without a lemon. I probably sound like a snob, huh?’

Darren took the opportunity to laugh. ‘It’s fine. Actually, this sounds good. Mind if I split this can with you?’

‘Please do,’ Chad said. ‘I already had one this morning.’

Darren filled another glass with ice, split the soda two ways, and threw a lemon wedge in each. He carried them to Chad and raised a half-hearted toast.

‘Thank you, sir. Darren, I mean.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Well, maybe the kid wasn’t full of beans. Maybe he really was this nice. He should give his daughter the benefit of the doubt, shouldn’t he?

‘So, last day of school,’ Darren said, wishing Raya would hurry up so he didn’t have to stand here and entertain Chad all morning. He wanted to go have a look at the Cinelli and clean up the blood. See if the bike had any new surprises in store for him today. ‘That must be exciting. Just one more year and then it’s off to the big leagues.’

Chad had a mouthful of cola and could only nod before swallowing. ‘I’m glad this year’s over. I’m just sorry it had to end this way.’

‘This way,’ Darren said.

Something in Chad’s face changed. Guilt or regret pulling his mouth tight. ‘Oh. I guess you didn’t hear. Raya doesn’t know yet either, then.’

‘What doesn’t Raya know?’

Chad set his cola down and wiped his lips. ‘School’s cancelled, sort of. They’re not letting anyone in. Students who were already there for first and second period are stuck. The place is in lockdown.’

Darren squared his shoulders. ‘Please don’t tell me another dumbass brought a gun to school. Didn’t we already have a couple of those this year?’

‘No, well, I don’t think so. Maybe there was another threat, but that wasn’t the main thing.’

‘Jesus, what’s the main thing?’ For the first time this morning, he understood why Chad’s nervousness seemed more exaggerated than usual. The kid was scared. Something had shaken him up.

‘One of our teachers, Mrs Kavanaugh, she taught history.’ Chad took another quick sip. ‘She was… they’re saying she was killed.’

‘At school?’ Darren was feeling a bit shaky himself now, imagining how close they had come to sending Raya into whatever little CNN Situation Room event had gone down at Boulder High this morning. The name Kavanaugh rang a bell but he didn’t have the same grip on the faculty that Beth did. ‘This happened today, this morning?’

Chad shook his head. ‘No, no, sorry. She was home. I don’t know who it was or why or anything, really, but her husband, too. And her son. His name was Josh.’

‘Someone killed them. The whole family?’

‘Like one of those home invasion things,’ Chad said. ‘I heard, well, the rumor is, it was really bad. Gruesome. There was some kind of ritual, like Satanist stuff. Mrs Kavanaugh and Josh were found in the living room. Her husband was found in the shower, like mutilated or something.’

Darren tried to picture that. ‘The cops catch who did it?’

‘No, not yet. It’s all over the news and the radio, but when I was on my way over they said they were still searching around town.’

‘They closed the school?’ Darren was trying to decide if this was normal.

‘I guess her son was pretty messed up. Josh. The guys he runs with, they’re being questioned. Like, maybe there was some motive to get back at his mom for something. I don’t know any of those guys, so I don’t have a clue, but I guess the school doesn’t mess around anymore, not when there’s any suspicion and the people are still on the loose.’

‘People. So the police think there were more than one.’

Chad nodded, then seemed to get lost in his own mind for a minute.

‘Jesus,’ Darren said. ‘I thought you were coming to take Raya to school.’

‘Oh, no. No way, sir. I came to make sure she didn’t go. And she really liked Mrs Kavanaugh. I thought I should tell her in person.’

Darren regarded Chad with a swell of gratitude and newfound respect.

‘Or maybe you want to tell her?’ Chad said. ‘Whatever you think is best.’

Then Darren remembered. A few weeks ago. Raya talking about her upcoming history final. ‘Mrs Kavanaugh. She was Raya’s history teacher.’

Chad’s eyes brimmed and he blinked back tears.

Darren took a deep breath and walked around the counter. He put a hand on Chad’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘You’re a good kid, Chad. I appreciate you coming here to look out for her. We’ll tell her together, okay?’

Chad nodded. ‘Okay.’

They had shared a breakthrough. If Beth was here to see it, she would have called this a new level of intimacy or something sensitive like that. Darren smiled to himself, thinking that, for once, he wouldn’t have teased her for saying so.

‘I just don’t understand,’ Chad said. ‘I mean, what’s wrong with people? How hard is it to be a decent human being?’

Darren reclaimed his position behind the bar, in the kitchen, which seemed more appropriate for the next phase. The man-to-man complaining part.

‘You’d be surprised,’ he said.

‘My friends and I sort of joke about it, but stuff like today? It makes you wonder.’

‘Yeah, what’s the joke?’

Chad tossed down half his drink. ‘Just, basically, the big things. No one is perfect, but how difficult is it to not be a terrible person? We always say, How hard is it to
just not do that
? Like, how hard is it to
just not
steal another man’s car? How hard is it to
just not
rape a village in Africa? How hard is it to
just not
shoot a whole grocery store full of people? How hard is it to
just not
throw your baby in the trash —’

‘I get it,’ Darren said.

Chad was red in the face, forcing himself to wind it down. ‘I mean… seriously.’

Darren nodded. ‘World’s full of wickedness, Chad, plain and simple.’

‘People are fucking stupid!’ Chad blurted, then froze, looking very much like he wished he could reel his words back in. ‘I’m sorry. Excuse me, Mr Lynwood.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Darren said. ‘You’re right. People can be shi… a disappointment. But here’s the thing, Chad. If you can remember this, and stick to it, say, ninety per cent of the time, you will pretty much pave your own way.’

Chad was gazing at Darren as if he were about to impart the meaning of life. Darren felt a little foolish, but what the hell, the moment called for such proclamations. They needed something to feel better about.

‘The truth is,’ he said, softening his voice, ‘most people aren’t stupid. Some are, no question, and they can’t help it because they were born that way. We can forgive these folks, because they don’t have a choice, and even dumb people can give something back to the world. The problem is, too many people – not all, not even most, but too many people – are weak. They’re not strong like you, Chad. And Raya, and my wife.’

‘And you,’ Chad cut in. ‘You’re strong.’

Darren sniffed. ‘Maybe. I can be when I need to be. My point is, we all have weaknesses, but this is not the same thing as
being
weak. Most of the problems in the world, the real corruption, happen because too many people aren’t strong enough to resist whatever will make them feel better
right now
. I’m talking about everything from petty criminals to the ones we put on a pedestal. Look at our institutions: government, the church, Wall Street, professional sports, Hollywood, you name it. It’s everywhere, people grabbing for as much as they can get, by any means necessary, and when they get caught, which they always do, eventually, what do they do?