Suggestion of Death Page 6

  “Congratulations. Was it a good sale?”

  “Any sale is a good sale, but yes. Pat will be happy when she sees the size of the extra check—plus I caught up some things. What have you been up to?”

  “Same-o. With classes ending I’m trying to decide what to do with my summer.”

  “No summer school this year?”

  “Taking some time off and just being a ne’er-do-well. Might help my sister out a little.”

  “She could use the help. I’m fixing to go over there today, but to do some research, not to work. Want to go with me?”

  “Say, will you ask that young fella to bring over the teapot and then you can tell me what you’re working on.”

  “Where is Tex anyway?” Jim asked as he got up to get Ethan’s tea.

  “Doctor. But don’t worry, just her annual physical.”

  Turned out the young guy behind the counter was Tex’s grandson and a psychology student that knew Ethan from the university. He quickly brought a pot of strong-smelling tea over.

  “Professor, just made you a fresh pot.”

  Ethan nodded his thanks and the guy retreated. “So, Jimbo, what’s your idea? You look like you’re chomping at the bit.”

  “Well, I’ve got something in mind. I’m going to check on a few more things at the library, but I’m thinking of doing a series of articles on why men don’t pay child support.”

  “Been done to death.”

  “But I’ve got some ideas on how to make my articles different. Interview the mothers and get their side and interview the fathers and get their side. It’s been in the news for years. Deadbeat dads and why they abandoned their families. Deadbeat dads and why they didn’t pay their child support. Why they didn’t visit. Why they didn’t seem to care about their kids. What the government was doing to collect the money. Innovative ideas to get fathers to pay.”

  The only thing Jim hadn’t found online was an article on the father’s perspective. Why did fathers abandon their families? No one had ever asked a father—except in a threatening way. How did fathers feel about all the bad press they’d received? What solutions did fathers have to the dilemmas in which the children found themselves? He was certain he was on to something. All he had to do was find someone who was interested in publishing an article from the fathers’ viewpoint and then find the subjects to interview. He explained all that to Ethan.

  “You got a magazine in mind?” Ethan cupped his tea and sipped as he watched Jim.

  “I’ve got some more work to do on that end at the library—magazine, newspaper, or even internet-type publishers. Need to find a paying market. Got to find a paying market.”

  “I don’t know, then you’ve got to find subjects who’ll talk to you. You thinking about hanging around the courthouse and catching men as they come out of court or out of jail?”

  “Very funny. I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

  “What about the women? Where are you going to find the women, same place?”

  Jim began to doubt himself. “I know this is a good idea. I’ll think of something.”

  “You could run it past Pat.” Ethan’s eyes sparkled.

  Jim’s guts tied themselves into knots. He blew out a long breath. “No way. Why would I? She’ll say it’s stupid.”

  “Tell her you want to interview her.” Ethan toyed with a wadded up napkin next to his teacup.

  “I don’t want to interview her. But I just thought of something. Maybe she could find me some women to interview from that WiNGS group.”

  “Whoever that is.”

  “Yeah, it’s this women’s support group, ever heard of it?”

  Ethan shook his head. “But if it’s a group she’s a member of, that’s perfect. So see, run it by her. If she wants you to make money, I’ll bet she’ll help you.”

  “Yeah,” Jim said, “maybe I will.”

  * * * *

  The following Friday, when it was his weekend to get the kids, Jim showed up at Pat’s a few minutes early to question her about WiNGS. When she answered the door, she looked like she was getting ready to go out. Her perfume—that scent of spring flowers he knew so well he could find her in the dark—flew through the screen door like a jet stream. He broke out in a sweat and clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything he shouldn’t.

  “You’re early.” Her eyes flitted from his face down his body.

  Jim suppressed a shiver. What was that look about? “You gotta date?” His hand shook for just a moment, and he pulled it from the screen door.

  She wore a pair of tight, faded jeans, a pink T-shirt with sparkly things on the chest, and a pair of pink and green glittered sandals. Her hair, which she’d cut even shorter since the last time he’d seen her, was still wet, and her make-up was only half done. She was hot. He had to rein in his thoughts. He wouldn’t want her to know how he’d like to spend the evening.

  “Your hair’s cute, if you like short hair.” But it wasn’t as sexy. Again, he kept his thoughts to himself. She’d just get mad if he said what he was thinking. She knew he’d always liked it long, the way it flowed around her face and neck. Alluring. That’s what it had been.

  “It’s easier when it’s short.” She swung the screen door wide and walked off like a woman on a mission.

  He closed the door and followed her. “That a new shirt? It’s pretty.”

  She stopped at the hallway. “I decorated it myself. Listen, I’ve got to dry my hair. You want to wait for the kids in the living room? They’re still packing their bags. Or you can help them if you like.”

  He reached out his hand and then dropped it. “Can I talk to you?”

  She squared off with him, her eyes gleaming like the bling on her shirt. “I’m trying to get ready to go out.”

  Her voice sounded impatient, and he hadn’t even told her what he wanted yet. The old sick-to-the-stomach feeling came back on Jim, and he put his hand on his abdomen. Yes, he was jealous. He had no right to her anymore but couldn’t help feeling a possessory interest. “So you do have a date?”

  “Uh-uh, a meeting. It starts in forty-five minutes, and it’s on the other side of town, do you mind?”

  Jim swallowed a lump of relief. “Can I talk to you while you’re getting ready?”

  “If you have to, but honestly, Jim. Can’t it wait until another time? I have to do my hair and finish my make-up.

  “It’s not like I’ve never seen you do those things before.”

  “How’re we going to talk over the blow dryer?”

  “Yell.”

  She beckoned at him. “Come on then.”

  He followed her into the bathroom and put the toilet lid down, sitting on it. The temperature in the room had to be around eighty. It smelled of her perfume mixed with her favorite shampoo. Memories of those first few years rushed him. She’d bring her shampoo into the kitchen and lean forward over the sink and he’d wash her hair. He’d run the warm water and fill a glass and stand so close behind her that they were practically one as he poured glass after glass of water over her long flowing hair. He’d lather it up and she’d laugh and he’d hold her tight as he rinsed it, trying not to let the water run down her back. Except every once in a while when they’d get too playful and then they’d both get soaked. And one thing would lead to another. And another. Now he almost laughed at the memory, but one look at Pat’s face made him shove the memories aside. She was so serious. What was up with her?

  “By the way, thanks for the extra check.” Her voice was thick, as if it were difficult for her to thank him.

  “You’re welcome. It was for an essay I took a chance on. But that’s why I want to talk to you. I’ve got an idea for a magazine article I want to run by you.”

  Her eyes drilled through him. “Like you used to do with stories,” she said, her eyes reverting to the mirror.

  When she started the hairdryer, he picked up her brush and held it out to her. Would she think his idea was dumb? She was very opinioned and let him know what she
thought. He was sure this would be no different.

  She flipped her head down and brushed her hair into her face, shaking her head. Jim had a moment to look at her body without her seeing and had to take a deep breath to calm his libido. Shit, he still felt the same. It’d be a lot easier if he didn’t.

  “Since I’m doing more freelance work I’ve got to come up with lots of ideas,” Jim yelled, “but I’ve got to make some more money, and I figured this might be the way to do it.”

  “Okay, so what’s the idea?” She put down the brush and fluffed her short hair with one hand, holding the blow dryer in the other, and staring into the mirror as though admiring her reflection.

  He rested his ankle on his other knee. “I need your help.”

  “I said okay, Jim.” She turned from side to side, looking at her hair in the mirror over the sink.

  His pits grew moist. The silence grew long as he thought about how to phrase it. She was so defensive one minute and the next, friendly. If he said it wrong, she might quit being friendly.

  She turned off the dryer. “Something the matter?”

  “Okay, don’t get pissed.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “I have to know what it is first.”

  He felt like a child confessing to his mother, afraid of her reaction but knowing it had to be told. “True. All right. Well, you know how the focus everywhere is on how fathers aren’t paying their child support, and a lot of single parent families are headed by women on welfare?”

  “Yeah. I’m real familiar with that.”

  “Don’t get sarcastic. Anyway, I thought I’d write an article or maybe a series of articles on how fathers feel.”

  “How fathers feel about their children being on welfare?”

  “No. From different fathers’ perspectives. For example, that Mr. Johnson who was ahead of me in court. I want to talk to him and find out why he got so far behind. Was it his fault or was he a victim of circumstances? How does he feel about having to go to court every month for what may be the rest of his life? That sort of thing.”

  “My first inclination is to make an ugly remark like ‘Who gives a shit?’”

  “That’s a great attitude.”

  “You asked. But seriously, that’s an original idea. You may have something, Jim.” She put her finger to her lips. “I’m trying to be fair and unbiased about this. You might really have something.”

  He warmed to the topic. “See, I could do a series. Not only because I’d make more money that way, but also because I could do some interesting research. A different slant on the statistics. Stuff like that.” He felt more confident now that her reaction was positive. “I’m thinking maybe the information could be used somehow to help solve the problem.”

  She fanned herself with her hand. “God, it’s hot in here.” Peering at herself closely in the mirror, she asked, “Why are you telling me all this?” She picked up a small brush and began stroking powdered blush on her cheeks.

  “Like I said, I need your help, honey.” He waited to see if she’d react to his use of the word honey.

  Pat cocked her head.

  His chest filled with air. He might have pushed it a little with the honey comment, but he got the sense she wasn’t as hostile toward him as she’d been in the past.

  She pursed her lips and seemed to stare straight through him. “What do you want now?”

  “Don’t be like that. It’s nothing difficult. See, what I want to do is interview women like you who are on the receiving end of child support.”

  “Supposed to be on the receiving end, you mean.”

  “That hurt, that really hurt.”

  “Okay, sorry. You want to interview women and ask them what?”

  “To be perfectly honest, I wondered if you would talk to some of the women in that WiNGS group and see if they’d give me an interview about why the children’s fathers quit paying.”

  She crossed her arms. “You said this was going to be from the man’s viewpoint.”

  “It is. But I want to interview maybe half a dozen women. Get their side. Find out what questions they sincerely would like their ex-husbands to answer. Get at what they’re like and what they think the problems really are.”

  “And then get their husbands’ sides, is that it?”

  Jim nodded. “You got it. That would be the introductory article. A statement of the problem from several women’s perspectives.”

  A smile danced at the corners of her mouth. “You want to interview me?”

  “I don’t think so.” He feigned a smile back. He could just imagine what she’d say and what he’d say and things would get worse between them again. No way.

  “Don’t blame you.” She closed one eye and lined it, then the other.

  “Don’t you think this is a really good idea?”

  “Yes, but Jim, I’m not sure some of the women would talk to you. They’re very angry. Especially the ones whose ex-husbands have gotten out of jail on a technicality.”

  “Would you ask them?” He lowered his head and looked up at her over the top of his glasses.

  “Well, I guess. If it might mean you’ll be able to pay your support, why not?” Her laugh was not all that pretty.

  “Is that where you’re going tonight? A WiNGS meeting?”

  “Yep. But it’s a board meeting.”

  “You’ve been elected to the board? That was quick.”

  Shrugging, she said, “Anyway, I wanted something to keep me active. That’s it.” She dropped her mascara into her make-up bag and ruffled her hair. “I’m ready.”

  They were in the same exact setting they’d been many times before. Did she feel anything for him? Any nostalgia at all? He wanted to say something, but she hadn’t sent out any sign she’d be amenable. For a moment, he thought he saw something in her face, then it was gone. He stood. “So you’ll ask some of them the next time y’all have a regular meeting?” He followed her to the doorway of the bedroom where she picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder.

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll ask the board whether I can make a general announcement, okay?”

  “Great. Hey, is it a real board? I mean is WiNGS a nonprofit?”

  “I guess so. I’m not sure. Why?”

  “You’d better find out. You may be biting off more responsibility that you want. Who are the other officers?”

  “Nobody special. Just women in the same situation as me. Some are really dirt poor, too. Not capable of earning anything other than minimum wage. Some are more like me, just making it on their incomes.”

  “Is Judge Lopez on the board?” He’d like to know just what her involvement with the whole thing was. Was she a founder? A donor?

  She shook her head. “No. There’s an advisory board made up of people like her. Important people in the community. It’s just for show, though. They have maybe one meeting a year, and that’s an appreciation luncheon. Mostly they lend their names.”

  “Do they have any handouts or anything like that?” Maybe he could find out who they were from the printed material. Maybe he could somehow use the information for his article.

  “Sure. A brochure thingy.”

  He followed her into the kitchen where she laid her purse down.

  “It’s here someplace. Kids,” she shouted. “Your dad’s here. Come on.” She found the pamphlet and handed it to him.

  Jim looked it over. The front matter had the name of the organization and the acronym. The address was a church out in the country. “Whose phone number is this?”

  “It’s an answering machine except when someone is at the church.”

  Inside was a description of support services that were available to women. Referral to various agencies. Free legal advice. Referral to low rent housing. Jim looked over the back of it. It all appeared normal. He didn’t know what he had expected. “Can I keep this?”

  “Sure. You’re acting weird, though, I gotta tell you.” She reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of w
ater.

  Before he could respond, the children came in, each of them lugging a suitcase. “Hi, kids,” Jim said and bent over and kissed and hugged each of them. “Ready to go?”

  Patrick hollered, “Yeah,” and pounded the air.

  Jeanette nodded, silent. She set her suitcase down in front of her father.

  “Your books inside?”

  “Yes. Are we going back to the library tomorrow? I need more.”

  He tousled her hair. “Sure.” When he got a good job, he’d buy her an e-reader and take her to the library to learn how to load books on it. Until then, he’d continue to take her to check out books. He pulled out the suitcase handle and set it on the floor so she could haul it behind her.

  “Well, I guess we’d better be running along.” He herded them toward the door. Pat held it for them.

  “Give me a kiss,” Pat said as they started to leave. “Have a good time with Dad.”

  Each child reached up and gave her a hug and a kiss.

  Jim pushed on the screen. “Thanks for all your help. I have a feeling about this project. I think it’s going to be a great success.” He followed the kids outside.

  “I hope it works out. By the way, in case you’re interested, remember Deputy Wink from Judge Lopez’s court?”

  “Yeah. How could I forget her?” He wished he could forget her, and that awful odor of decaying roses that surrounded her.

  “She’s the president of the WiNGS board. You might want to interview her.”

  Jim’s stomach heaved. He followed the kids down the steps and glanced over his shoulder at Pat. “I don’t think so.”

  Pat looked at Jim’s expression and burst out laughing. She was still laughing when she pushed the door closed.

  Chapter Seven

  They call them compliance hearings if you’ve already been to court once, and the day before Jim’s first one, he phoned Mrs. Peterson of the district clerk’s office to see if he could skip it since he’d given Pat extra money.

  “Let me look you up in the computer, Mr. Dorman,” Mrs. Peterson said in an I-can’t-believe-you-have-the-nerve-to-call-and-ask voice. After a few moments, she returned to the line. “The Attorney General has given you credit for your extra payments, sir, but you now owe more than you did last month.”