Page 72 of Shame the Devil
“You don’t want to,” he said.
“No. I don’t. I always thought, you know …” A long, long pause.
“Yeah?”
She took another drink of chocolate milk and didn’t look at him. “That I’d be married this time. That it’d be different. You don’t want to know all this, though. I’d say I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m keeping it, but I obviously am, or I’d have had the abortion already. It’s getting late for that now, and it definitely feels too late. I’m not fifteen anymore. I know there’s no magic that makes things not true. I didn’t know I was pregnant for a while, because I had spotting, and the pill makes your periods lighter anyway. I was tired, but I thought maybe I was just depressed about my life. Something you also didn’t need to know, but there you go, I just told you anyway. I found out for sure a few weeks ago. And I … I’m about to turn thirty-five. Whatever I thought would happen in my life, this is what actually did. I don’t want to do this alone again, the timing’s horrible, my life is all wrong for it, but this is probably my last chance. And I keep thinking …” Another deep breath. “Dyma. How that was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but then it was Dyma. It was too hard, and I did so many things wrong, but there she is, and she’s great.”
He tried to think of something to say, something to feel besides the ceiling falling on his head, and couldn’t.
She said, “I’m not trying to trap you. Whatever you think.”
“I get that,” he said. “Hence the DNA test. If it’s mine …” He waited a minute, felt the pressure building in his chest, and didn’t sense any brilliant words coming to him. “I’ll do my best to do the right thing,” he finally said. It came out a little robotically. Not exactly sincere.
His phone buzzed again in his pocket. He said, “Sorry. Hang on,” and pulled it out.
Annabelle.
Four missed calls.
He told Jennifer, “I need to take this. It’s my sister. Hang on. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll … we’ll figure something out. I’ve got this.”
“No,” she said. “This time,I’vegot this. But I think I’m going to need your help. Financially. If it’s yours.”
He heard her, thought,Financially would be the easy part,but he couldn’t think about it any more right now. He needed a timeout, which was why he was walking toward the kitchen again and hitting the redial button.
Annabelle picked up on the first ring. “Harlan?” Her voice sounded breathless.
He had prickles on his arms, a lightness in his head. “What?”
“Harlan.” She was crying, all of a sudden. Great gasping breaths.
“Annabelle,” he said. “Tell me.”
This time, he was calling the cops. He didn’t care if they didn’t want to do anything. He’dmakethem do something.
“The police came,” she said. “A … a while ago. I’ve been trying and trying to call you. They took Dad. They read him his rights and everything.”
Not bad news, then. “For what?” he asked. Drunk driving, he was guessing. Maybe something else, some kind of cheating with the business, or on his taxes. Good. Step One to getting Annabelle out of there. The situation had kept bugging him, these past year. It was the same, and it wasn’t. He could tell it wasn’t. It was worse.
“They found a body,” she said. “In a car.”
Drunk driving for sure. He’dkilledsomeone, though?
Too many emotions in his brain. Annabelle’s. Jennifer’s. His. He had to get control of this.
He focused like it was the fourth quarter, with the championship on the line.Figure out what you have to do, and do it.“OK. What did they say, exactly?”
“They … the social worker … she’s still here. Because I’m a minor. She said murder. Harlan …” Some more unsteady breaths. Who had their dad hit? Who had he killed?
Oh, God. Let it not be a kid.
“The car …” Annabelle finally said. “It was where they’re building the new shopping center. On the Deane Road land. Dad was so mad when Mr. Boyd sold it a couple years ago, remember? He’s been mad about it ever since. Because Mr. Boyd got a lot for it, and Dad thought he should have held onto it after all. He said he got cheated, but how could Mr. Boyd have known the developer would want it? It was just regular land.”
“OK,” he said. “What else?” The cold was enveloping him now. He always paced when he talked on the phone, but now, he couldn’t move.
“They hit it with the excavator,” Annabelle said. “The car. When they started digging out the site. And then they called the cops. It was a … it was a Taurus. And there was somebody in the front seat.”
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.
