Listen

  “Nice of you.” He grinned. He looked at Jenna, who was still seated, staring at the TV. “You okay?”

  She rose, taking her plate off the coffee table. “Just tired. I’m going to shower and go to bed, okay, Mom?”

  Kay took her plate and embraced her. “Sure, baby. Whatever you want.”

  “I gotta do my homework,” Hunter said, leaving his plate and bounding upstairs.

  Damien retrieved the plate off the coffee table and followed Kay to the kitchen. “When is that kid going to learn to put his dishes up?”

  Kay smiled as she rinsed Jenna’s in the sink. She glanced up the stairs, then turned off the water and faced Damien. “Reverend Caldwell wanted to see how we were doing.”

  “Did he show up?”

  “Show up? No, he called. Why?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What’s the latest on Mike Toledo?”

  “Wanted a lawyer, wouldn’t talk. They’re getting a warrant to search his house. That’s the last I heard. Lou called me and said they’re confident this is their guy. Now they just have to prove it.”

  Kay sighed, fiddling with the edge of the dishcloth. “Does Jenna seem all right to you?”

  “Why?”

  “She seems sad to me.”

  “She’s been through a lot.”

  “Yeah, but she bounced back, was doing great. Lately she seems very mellow.”

  “Have you talked to her about it?”

  “I’ve dropped a few hints, but she always says she’s fine.” Kay threw the dishcloth on the counter. “Will you try?”

  “You know me. I never know what to say—”

  “Just try. Please. I want her to know she can talk to us.”

  “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Kay hugged him, pressing her cheek against his. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay. If it turns out to be Mike Toledo, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  Kay stepped back. “It will mean justice, and that’s what Frank would’ve wanted. He would also want you to continue living your life.”

  Damien couldn’t stop the tears.

  Kay wiped them with her hands. “I know how much you miss him,” she whispered.

  Damien pressed his wrists to each eye. “Yeah. I do.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll go upstairs, talk to her.”

  “Thank you.”

  Damien headed up the stairs and turned toward the kids’ rooms. He was just about to knock on Jenna’s door when he heard the shower running in the bathroom. He forgot. With every year that went by, ten minutes was added to the shower time. She was up to an hour now. It could be a while.

  He decided to chat with Hunter while waiting. He tapped on the door and turned the knob.

  As it cracked open, he saw a familiar sight . . . Hunter scrambling toward his desk, nearly knocking over his chair, practically diving for the mouse. Within seconds, he stood upright, working hard at mustering up a casual expression. “Hey, um, Dad.”

  Damien felt flustered, yet deep inside there was some resolve building, something that told him it was time to confront the situation. Frank was no more, and even with Frank’s assurances that he’d talked to Hunter, Damien realized in that instant that there was nobody who could talk to Hunter except him. He was the father, and no matter how uncomfortable it got, he had to do it. He should do it.

  Damien held his son’s gaze, which soon dropped to the carpet and one untied sneaker. “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Damien’s courage quavered. He took a moment to compose himself. “There’s something on that computer you don’t want me to see, isn’t there?”

  “No . . .” Hunter’s attention shifted to his computer. He stepped forward as if he were guarding a small animal.

  “Look, I’m not mad. Disappointed, yes. But not mad. The truth is that I should’ve talked to you about this myself. Much earlier. I was afraid I wouldn’t know what to say. How to handle it well. And though Frank was always like an uncle to you, I should’ve talked to you myself.”

  Hunter’s eyes widened with each word. He stood completely still, barely even blinking.

  “You should be able to talk to me about these things. And I’m sorry I’ve come across as a father you can’t talk to.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  That was all he wanted to know, whether or not he was in trouble? Damien crossed his arms. “Do you think you should be in trouble?”

  “Um . . . I think . . . I’d like to explain.”

  Damien tried not to smirk. This ought to be good. “Fine.”

  “I know the rules, and I know I’m not supposed to be doing this. But you don’t understand what I’ve been going through and how helpless I feel against everything.”

  Damien bit his lip. How to spin this? Spin it? No. This was real life, with a real kid. It was time Damien connected on a deeper level. He walked over to Hunter’s bed and sat down, patting the empty space next to him. “Come sit down with me.”

  Hunter obliged, sitting next to his father with a slouch that made osteoporosis look healthy.

  “Here’s the deal. I do know what you’re going through.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure. What you’re feeling is not unnatural. Every guy goes through this, and in and of itself, it’s healthy. But when you take these urges and allow them to get out of control, by taking them places you know you shouldn’t go, then you’ve got a problem.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following.”

  Oh, brother. How specific was he going to have to get? He glanced at Hunter, who was staring at him. He offered a small smile. “Okay, see, every guy is tempted with this. And with the Internet, it’s so much easier to get. Back in my day, we had to actually have the nerve to go into the gas station and buy a copy. And then you had to try to hide it so your mother wouldn’t find out.”

  By the expression on Hunter’s face, Damien thought he was maybe saying too much. But what else could he say? He couldn’t dismiss this or turn to anger. What good would that do? “All I’m trying to say is that it’s normal to . . . It’s just not okay to get involved in. Not in our house. Son, once you look at those images, you can never take them back. They’re in you forever.” Damien paused to take a deep breath and look at Hunter, whose face was still frozen with shock. “What? Am I being too forthright here?”

  “What are you talking about?” Hunter asked.

  “Pornography. What were you talking about?”

  “The MySpace page I opened. I know I’m not supposed to have one, but I needed one.”

  Damien jumped to his feet, holding his stomach and his mouth at the same time. “That’s what you were talking about?”

  Hunter’s eyes turned worried. “Can’t I explain? Please?”

  “Yes, of course.” Damien tried not to sound as relieved as he felt. So the kid opened a MySpace page? Damien wanted to run around the room and do a little dance. But he had disobeyed, so Damien tried to look as stern as possible.

  Hunter slid off the bed and slowly moved to his computer, watching Damien closely as if he was afraid of a sudden move or a possible lecture on the female anatomy.

  Damien stood near Hunter as the kid typed something into the address bar. A page appeared.

  “That’s not you,” Damien said. “And that’s not your name.”

  “I just pulled a pic off the Web and made up a name.”

  “Why?”

  More typing, then a new page came up. Hunter pointed to a block of writing. “Read this.”

  Damien scanned it. Something about a bratty girl. The language was inundated with a lot of profanity and lewd comments. “What is this?”

  Hunter turned in his chair, a serious expression on his face. “It’s about Jenna.”

  “What?”

  “They’re talking about Jenna.”

  “Jenna isn’t named.”

  “I know. You have to read more on this page to know it’s her. But they’
re talking about her. All over the place. Smearing her name.”

  Damien looked at Hunter, then back at the screen.

  “It’s just a few girls,” Hunter said. “I know who they are. They’re the ones that hung out with the two that were arrested.”

  “So they’re targeting Jenna because . . .”

  “She told. They know she’s the one that told the police where to find Gabby.”

  Damien stood upright, gasped. “How?”

  “I’m not sure. I think it was mostly just a lucky guess. Jenna stopped hanging around them, and they decided she was the one that went to the police.”

  Damien shook his head, staring at the screen.

  “But look what I’ve been doing.” Hunter beckoned him closer. “It’s like a cyber blast. I’m working to control the first page that appears on Google when Jenna’s name is entered. So I’ve started blogs and a MySpace page and have linked up with any positive mention of her name, which is easy to do with alerts. Anytime her name is mentioned on the Web, I’m alerted. Then I sort of manipulate the information so that only positive remarks show up on the first page of Google. It’s kind of a way to manage your online reputation. And I think it’s working. Over the past few days, there has been way less activity. A lot of the people who were talking about her before are losing interest. But I’m not stopping until this thing dies down completely.”

  Damien quit staring at the screen. He couldn’t take his eyes off his son. Emotions welled up as he watched him talk.

  Hunter glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”

  His voice cracked. “I’m just proud of you. You’re amazing.”

  Hunter looked away. “It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a very big deal. Does Jenna know?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure she does. It’s hard to hide from this kind of thing.”

  “No, I mean, does she know what you’re doing for her?”

  “Please don’t tell her. She’d freak out and get all emotional and stuff. And who wants a little brother handling your bullies, you know?”

  Damien nodded. “I see what you mean.”

  “So this stays here?”

  “I promise.”

  “Thanks. Oh, and I promise I won’t tell anyone about your porn problem.”

  “What? No! No, there’s no porn problem. It was just an example. Those magazines, that was a long time ago, like when I was younger, way younger.” Damien took a breath. He was rambling.

  An awkward moment passed. Hunter looked at Damien with a worried expression, indicating he thought there still might be some repercussions or perhaps new confessions.

  “Finish up your homework,” Damien said, then walked out, closing the door behind him. He leaned against the wall for a moment, catching his breath and chuckling a little. Well, at least he got the pornography discussion out of the way.

  He listened for the shower. It had stopped. He walked the length of the hallway to find the bathroom vacant. Jenna’s bedroom door was closed. He tapped lightly. “Jenna?”

  No answer.

  He hesitated before opening the door. He wasn’t sure he could go another round of “It’s pornography—wait, no, a MySpace page” again.

  He nudged the door, cracking it open slightly, just enough to see the lights were off and Jenna was in her bed. She didn’t even stir.

  “Jenna?” he whispered.

  She didn’t respond. Her breathing was slow, peaceful.

  He crept across the wood floor to the edge of her bed. He stared at her for a long time, remembering how he watched her sleep when she was a little girl, curled tightly around a giant panda he’d given her when she was four. He’d liked to watch her sleep, brush her tangled hair off her face, rub her cheek with the back of his hand.

  He imagined, though, that now she was not quite the deep sleeper of her childhood.

  Instead, he knelt down on the small, fluffy circle rug by her bed. As he clasped his hands together, the feeling of helplessness that caught him up in constant fear melted away. He knew he had no control over this situation, and there was nothing worse to feel than helplessness over a child.

  But in the darkness of her room he was reminded that helplessness was often a portal to God, because rarely did the fragile, self-serving human pray for things in his complete control. He knew he’d been brought to his knees, and he willingly stayed there, his forehead laid against the side of her mattress. He prayed boldly, calling on the God he’d rarely thought about in the last few years. His small attempt at churchgoing was hardly enough to reconcile himself to his God. Yet he knew without a doubt, despite his absence, God would not be absent and that He was waiting even now to help.

  “God help her,” Damien whispered. “God help me. Help us. Help Marlo.”

  28

  The bright morning sun brought only dark thoughts for Damien. As the smell of rich, fresh coffee wafted through the offices, Damien sat in his chair, contemplating revenge.

  And there was so much to avenge for, he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around specifics for any of them. Instead, he played with the ideas, one after another, until he needed a refill on his coffee.

  Walking to the break room, he remembered his prayer the night before, that God would help his daughter. He’d slept soundly, as if he were a small child handing over his biggest care to a parent. But with morning came a rush of anger and fear that had not left his side for a moment.

  He’d thought he might talk to Jenna at breakfast, but she didn’t look in the mood for conversation, so he stayed silent. They all did.

  Damien couldn’t just stand aside, though. He couldn’t watch his daughter be brutalized by other people’s words. As a kid who’d been bullied himself, he once wished they would’ve just beaten him with sticks and stones. It seemed far less painful than the words that followed him around like a torturing spirit.

  It had lasted only one year, but it gave a lasting impression. In college he’d decided he would use words for good, not bad. That was the beginning of his journalism career.

  Returning to his desk, he decided he was going to have to confront the principal and teachers and get this thing taken care of. Maybe these girls didn’t tie another girl up, but the fact that they continued to defend those who did was almost as disturbing.

  He wondered if he should consult Kay. She wasn’t a confrontational person. But she also didn’t like having her children messed with. He hadn’t told Kay what he’d learned from Hunter. Not yet, anyway.

  He grabbed his keys off the desk and lifted his jacket off the back of the chair. He couldn’t wait a second longer. He couldn’t watch his daughter suffer anymore.

  His desk phone beeped, and a crackling voice came through. “Damien?”

  “Yeah, Edgar?”

  “I need you in my office.”

  “Look, I was just getting ready to—”

  “Now.”

  * * *

  Kay put on an aqua velour jogging suit. She messed with her hair for a moment and decided to take out her diamond earrings. She was not at all sure how to dress for this . . . whatever this was. She put on a small amount of makeup but no lipstick. She removed her watch and kept on only her wedding ring.

  She lingered by the kitchen phone, wondering if she should call Damien, ask if this was the right thing to do. She picked up the phone but then heard a car in her driveway. Peeking through the kitchen window, she hung up the phone and grabbed her purse.

  As Kay walked down the front steps of her home, her feet felt like lead. What was she doing? Why was she doing this? It seemed like such a bad idea, but here she was, opening the car door and sliding into the passenger’s seat like they were going for brunch.

  “Hi,” Jill said with a sad smile.

  “Hi.” Kay closed the door and clutched her purse on her lap.

  “I’m so happy you said yes,” Jill said, reversing the car and backing out of the driveway. “I honestly didn’t think you would.”

  Kay swallowed, trying to calm h
erself and rationalize this. Yet it still seemed like a bad idea. Perhaps it was curiosity that caused her to be here. Or maybe a hope that she could help solve Frank’s murder.

  Kay tried to get comfortable. She was glad the windows were tinted.

  “You don’t understand what it’s been like for me,” Jill said, staring forward as she drove. “Nobody will talk to me. People are leaving horrible messages on my answering machine, like I’m somehow involved. It’s been hell.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kay said softly.

  “And I hate him.” Her voice was steely, harsh. “I hate him so much.”

  “You think he did it?”

  Jill’s chin quivered. “Yes, I do. And that’s what we’re going to find out.”

  Kay tried to take a silent, deep breath. “I’m here for you. I want to help in any way I can, but I still don’t understand why you asked me to come. How will this help?”

  “You don’t understand the kind of man he is. He’s got this horrible, mean side to him. A side that’s out for himself and only himself. It’s what allows him to have this kind of affair without any regard for his family. It’s what makes me think he’s capable of doing what he did. But,” Jill said, glancing at Kay for an unusually long few seconds, “he is also someone else. He can be very charming. Very convincing. I’ve fallen for this side of him so many times.”

  A pause in the conversation caused Kay to rethink this. She still had time to back out.

  Then Jill continued. “I suspected, you know. That he was having an affair. I questioned him: ‘Where were you? What took you so long?’ But he has this charm. And so often it makes perfect sense. It only makes me look like a paranoid freak of a wife.”

  “So, you think me being there is going to help?”

  “He knows he can play me. He knows what I want to hear. But he doesn’t know you, so he doesn’t know how to play you.”

  “I’m not sure I can be of any help,” Kay said.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Jill replied. “Just be there with me. I need someone by my side.”

  It was a small thing to ask, to have someone stand by your side. How could she not? “Okay, sure. I understand.”