Stealing Night Read online

  The knocking intensifies as I creep toward the front door. Finally, I shout, “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me,” replies the exasperated, breathless voice of my sister.

  I drop the bat and open the door. She looks worse than I’ve ever seen her. Even a few feet away, I can smell booze, lots of it, and she’s swaying back and forth, eyelids fluttering.

  “Lily,” I say, reaching out to her.

  “You’re not her dad,” she shouts.

  “Keep it down and come inside.”

  “I’m here to get my daughter, bring her home where she belongs.”

  I can already hear neighbors waking up through the paper-thin walls of the multi-plex. Nerves shot, I plead, “Keep it down, Lil. Come inside and I’ll make some coffee.”

  “I don’t want your fucking coffee, and I don’t want your fucking charity. You’re my little brother, and I’m s’posed to take care of you, not the other way ’round.”

  “Come on, Lily. Come inside and we’ll talk.”

  “Where’s Nora? Where’s my baby? I wanna take my baby and go, get as far away from this place as I can.”

  “It’s late, Lil. She needs sleep. Come in. Stay the night. You can take her home in the morning, when you’re sober.”

  “I’ll take her whenever I damn well please. She’s my daughter. Not yours. You’re my brother—my baby brother.”

  “Momma,” Nora says, stepping into the living room.

  “Baby,” Lily chokes, kneeling down and holding out her arms. “You wanna come home with Momma, don’t you?”

  Nora shakes her head and moves behind me for protection. “What’s wrong with her?” Lily demands.

  I’ll say this for Lily: she’s done a fair job of shielding her daughter from the monster she’s capable of being. She picked a fine time to drop the mask.

  Lily glares at me, still on her knees, looking like some kind of hunched-over witch in an old horror film or a Shakespeare revival. “You’re turning my girl against me, aren’t you?” she wheezes.

  “Lily,” I plead, “stay the night and we can talk in the morning. You’re in no shape to—”

  “Fuck you,” she says, then lunges at me, scratching and clawing.

  Nora screams and runs into the bedroom.

  “I’m calling the police,” Sam Winslow, the guy who lives next door, shouts from outside.

  “Stop it,” I scream, but Lily keeps coming, hammering me. I wrap her tightly in my arms, carry her outside, and slam the front door.

  “Give me my daughter,” she cries through cheap wood.

  “The police will be here any minute,” I say. “Do you want them to search you for drugs? Do you want to go away for a while?”

  Silence.

  “Come back tomorrow,” I say.

  But she’s already gone. I can hear her car peeling away and Nora crying in my room.

  * * *

  As I explain everything to two county cops, all I can think about is the money in the other room. Can they see it on my face? Are they making mental notes to get a search warrant? Still, I manage to articulate the situation, and they nod and express something approaching genuine concern.

  “You have any idea where your sister went?”

  “Either home or back to her boyfriend’s,” I answer.

  “Boyfriend’s name?”

  “Craig Strickland.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “sorry to say it.”

  This goes on for another few minutes, until the cops thank me for my time, remind me to keep the volume down (clearly for the benefit of the eavesdropping neighbors), then leave.

  Nora’s curled up on the couch, shell-shocked. I’ve never seen her like this. I sit on the edge of the couch and grab her foot. “Bear,” I say.

  She unwraps herself from her blankets and looks at me, and I can see she’s crying.

  I take her in my arms and whisper assurances. “Everything’s going to be all right.” But why should she believe me if I don’t even believe myself?

  “I’m learning,” she mutters into my ear.

  I tighten my embrace and say, “That’s okay,” wishing she didn’t have to grow up so soon.

  Thursday

  Chapter Nine

  We slog through our morning, eating cereal, watching television, hardly saying a word. Summer’s back in full swing, my AC-free apartment sweltering. Fans rattle and hum in the living room and bedroom windows, but little good they do.

  My head throbs, and I think about going into the bathroom to smoke one of my few remaining cigarettes. No. I don’t want to leave Nora alone. Her condition is critical in my estimation, and I need to stay with her, careful not to push. When she’s ready to talk, I’m ready to listen.

  A former boy band member is showing the audience of some talk show how to make authentic linguini when my cell phone chirps. I pull it out of my pocket. The incoming call is from an unknown number. The time is 10:21 a.m. I almost let the call roll to voicemail, but curiosity gets the best of me.

  “Hello,” I say.

  “Is this Jack Lewis?” a commanding female voice asks.

  “Yeah, this is Jack.”

  “Mr. Lewis,” she says, “This is Dr. Phyllis Marshall from Memorial Hospital in Seward. Your sister, Ms. Lily Lewis, has you listed as her emergency contact. Do I have the correct person?”

  “Yes.” I say, barely breathing.

  “Let me assure you, Mr. Lewis, that your sister is under my care. That said, she was injured early this morning and was rushed to our facility.”

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  This gets Nora’s attention. Eyes wide, she approaches

  “I can’t comment on that, Mr. Lewis, hospital policy, but I will tell you that we’ve made the decision not to admit her to an ICU in Lincoln. That should give you some indication of her prognosis. Are there any other family members you’d like us to contact, or will you be able to handle things on your end?”

  “I think I’ve got it covered,” I say. “If I may ask, what happened?”

  “Mr. Lewis, I wish I could tell you more, but I think it’s best if your sister explains the rest to you and your family.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

  “Good day, Mr. Lewis.”

  Nora’s in my face. “Momma?” she asks. “What’s wrong with Momma?”

  I drop the phone onto the couch and bury my face in my palms.

  “What is it, Uncle Jack?”

  “Your mom’s in the hospital, Bear.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’s hurt, but she’s going to be fine.”

  “Are we going to visit her?”

  “She’s in Seward.”

  “That’s way too far to walk.”

  “I know.”

  “So how are we going to get there?”

  I know the right answer, but I don’t like it.

  “We have to go, Uncle Jack. We have to.”

  “I know. Don’t worry.”

  “But how are we going to get there?” Her voice is frantic now, and I’m not used to hearing her like this. I don’t like it, but I have to put my internal bullshit calculator away and cut to the quick.

  “We’re going to see your grandpa,” I say.

  * * *

  Amidst a scorched-earth sea of yellow and brown lies an anomaly—my father’s lawn, a lush patch of green that stands out like a landing strip for aliens. In-ground sprinklers sputter and rosebushes beam with halos of honeybees as Nora and I walk to the front door, a crimson, opulent-looking thing that’s out of place on the ranch-style tract house circa 1964. The house where I grew up. The house I haven’t been in for more than a decade.

  “Wow,” Nora says. “Fancy.”

  The big red N above the door screams “No,” though I know it only speaks to Dad’s eternal love for college football. God, I hate how crazy this state goes for their beloved Huskers, but it could be worse—I could live in Texas.

&nb
sp; Nora smiles as the doorbell chimes jingle and jangle some long-forgotten tune.

  Then the door opens, and here he is. Chuck Lewis. Dad. More gray in his hair and beard than I remember, but otherwise, same as he ever was. His face is washed with momentary confusion, or is it surprise? Both, probably. Slowly, a smile takes shape then dissolves. “What’s wrong?” he says.

  “This is your granddaughter,” I say, “Nora.”

  “Nora,” he repeats slowly, looking down at her. Smiling for real, he extends a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Nora.”

  “Momma’s hurt. She’s in the hospital.”

  Shaking Nora’s hand, he casts terrified eyes my way. “Lily?”

  I nod. “We need to get to her, Chuck. Thought you could drive us, and…”

  “And what, son?” he asks.

  “And we thought you should know.”

  “I appreciate that. Is she…is Lily all right?”

  I shrug. “She’ll live, if that’s what you’re asking, but…I don’t know.”

  Still gripping the old man’s hand, thankfully changing the tone of this awkward exchange, Nora says, “It’s nice to meet you, too…Grandpa?”

  He turns back to her, trying to put his best salesman smile back in place. “That’s right, sweetie. I’m your grandpa.” He lets go of her, then adds, “So…how ’bout a hug instead of a handshake?”

  “But we already shook?”

  “Just like your mom when she was wee,” he says with a laugh. “Well then, Professor, how ’bout a handshake and a hug?”

  They embrace as I push back tears. Much as I hate to admit it, since it’s largely my fault, this is off beam—Nora just now meeting Chuck, and under the present circumstances.

  Chuck? Dad?

  I can’t reconcile the name with the man’s biological stance. Best to stick with Chuck. For now.

  “Come inside,” he says, moving into profile and motioning into the house.

  The cool air hits me, then I see Henrietta atop a tall bookshelf, wide eyes looking down at me. But it can’t be her, my beloved cat. She’d have to be—

  The cat leaps onto a couch, then the floor, and ambles to me.

  “Henrietta hardly moves for anyone anymore,” Chuck says. “But she clearly remembers you, son.”

  “How old is she?” I ask, kneeling down and running my hands through her matted fur. A little rougher for wear, but it’s her. All the markings I remember: the orange M above her brow; the question mark-shaped coils that wrap around her hind legs. She purrs for me, no weaker for age, as I stroke behind her ears.

  “Twenty-one,” he replies. “Old enough to drink. Thought about giving her a beer to celebrate, but—” He laughs. “I want this old girl to stick around as long as she can. She’s the only thing that connects me to…” He trails off sadly as Henrietta rubs her chin against my face.

  “Boy oh boy,” Chuck says, regaining his steam, “she sure missed you.”

  Nora plops on the couch and says, “When’re we leaving for the hospital?”

  Chuck takes her measure, a hand on his hip. “In a rush, are we, Professor?”

  “Why do you call me that?” she asks.

  “Professor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “’Cause I can tell just how smart you are.”

  She smiles and says, “Thanks. But when are going to leave?”

  Chuck laughs, and I can’t help but join him. He turns to me and says, “She’s exactly like Lily was, isn’t she?”

  I hadn’t noticed, but he’s right, and I nod agreement. “We are anxious to get going, Chuck?”

  “Can’t you call me dad?” he asks, keeping his voice low and directed at me. “It would really mean a lot.”

  “Will it get us into the car?” I ask.

  Pain sweeps his face for a moment, then he wipes it away. “Okay, okay,” he says, “but on one condition. You guys are my guests for dinner tonight.” He turns to Nora. “Would you like that, Professor? Hamburgers, hotdogs, a little KC-style barbecue? I run a pretty mean grill.”

  Nora looks to me for approval, and I mouth yes, though part of me—the part I’m doing my best to kill—screams no.

  She stands, curtsies like a princess in a Disney film, and says, “We’d be honored, dear sir.”

  And that gesture wipes any trace of pain from the old man’s face.

  Chapter Ten

  Chuck and Nora are in the waiting room because I wanted—needed—this moment alone with my sister. Also, I didn’t want to hit her with too much at once.

  Lily looks like hell, the right side of her face bruised beyond recognition. The heart monitor beeps reassuringly, and she does her best to smile at me. A few of her teeth are missing, her lips rough with scar tissue.

  “Where’s Nora?” she asks in a drugged, dreamy voice.

  “She’s in the waiting room, Lil.”

  “But…but who’s—”

  “Chuck,” I say, tears welling in my eyes.

  “Was afraid of that,” she mutters. “My own damn fault.”

  With a curt nod, I say, “He…he loves her, Lil. He’s good with—”

  “He destroyed us,” she says. “Destroyed our family, Jack. Don’t you remember?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, and—”

  “It’s true and you know it. We’ve been over this time and time again—it’s not a question of—”

  “We need him, Lil.” I’m trying to keep my voice soft, but that’s a battle I’m losing. Her stupidity has me seething, but I’m holding onto my shit for the most part, surprising myself.

  “Can I see Nora?” she asks.

  “In a minute,” I say. “First, I want to know what the hell happened.”

  Her eyes dance around, avoiding me, then settle on the room’s sole window. In a low, degraded wheeze, she says, “I went back to Craig’s.”

  “And…?”

  “High as a kite. He was…worse than ever. I tried reasoning with him, then tried to leave, but—”

  “You weren’t in a very reasonable mood yourself last night,” I say.

  Her eyes shoot back to me, filled with tears. “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “I’ll change, I promise. I’m done with him, done with self-medicating, done with feeling sorry for myself.”

  “Sorry, but I’ve heard that song already.”

  “I’m a fuck up, Jack, but you have to believe me this time.” She’s weeping now. “He hurt me so bad, Jack. I thought…I thought I was going to die…that I’d leave Nora motherless… I just need to see her. I just need to see my little girl and let her know Momma’s gonna be all right.”

  She holds a hand out to me, and I take it. Frail. Feeble.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  “For what?” I ask.

  “For being Uncle Jack. For looking after my Nora. For being everything I haven’t. And thank you…thank you for standing your ground last night. Was a time when…when you wouldn’t have stood up like that.”

  “But it sent you back to him.”

  “No… That was my choice, all mine. Can you imagine if I’d gotten in a car accident last night? With Nora in the…with my baby in the car?”

  “Don’t think about that,” I say. “It didn’t go down that way.”

  “I’m a terrible mother—worse than Mom.”

  “Don’t say that. Don’t—”

  “I don’t want to see him, Jack.”

  I let go of her hand and pace around the room, then, looking through the window, I watch a robin building a nest in a nearby tree. Finally, I say, “He’ll be hurt.”

  “Good… I hurt, too, and I’m not talking about the shit Craig did. Painkillers are taking care of that, and I’ve already cornered the market on everything else. No drug does the trick, Jack. Nothing makes me forget.”

  “I understand, but I don’t think we’re supposed to forget, Lil. I think we’re supposed to forgive.”

  “Give me a little more time.”

  “I
will.”

  “Good. Now…if you don’t mind, I need to see my baby.”

  * * *

  After I walk Nora to Lily’s room, I wander the small hospital. Thing is, I’m not far removed from her in the feelings department; not ready to be alone with Chuck and have a real talk.

  Lily and I, we never talk about what he did. Not with real words. We just remind each other, like Mom did for so long, that he’s bad. What we do, really, is we feed each other hate. And hate, well, she’s a big fat bitch who likes to be fed.

  So this is me, staring at a vending machine, trying to look like I have a purpose in this place. And my mind keeps drifting, drifting back, back to that night fourteen years go. The night when I walked in on my father and his secret.

  There he was, tangled in off-white bed sheets and another man, both of them slick with the dirty sweat of betrayal.

  It was summer, and I always traveled with him when school was out. I never thought to ask why he paid for me to have my own room. Hell, it was an adventure, and what boy doesn’t want the freedom to stay up late, eat junk food, and watch tits on cable?

  But that night, I’d eaten too many Fritos and Twinkies from the motel vending machine. My stomach hurt; I couldn’t sleep. So, I ran to him. My dad. My protector. That wasn’t the first time I went to him in the night, but it was the first time his room was unlocked.

  The door opened wide and the dominoes tumbled.

  I was angry, hurt, confused, and I told everyone what I’d seen. I regret that every day. Every day. But I can’t shake the disease. The feeling of betrayal. Of hate.

  Mom grabbed us, me and Lily. She took us away from Dad, but not from Sunfall. And our lives turned to shit.

  Mom’s gone now, living in Des Moines with a new husband, a rich guy that pampers her. We never talk to her, either. She’s a different kind of wrong, always was. Cold. Selfish. And I wonder how much she knew before I opened my big mouth and spilled the poison. My guess is, she knew everything but didn’t give a fuck until horror got real with words. Until her pride was bruised. She’s like that, one of those people in a state of constant denial, for whom the truth is a lie until it can no longer be denied.