every possibility. You’ve told us more than once that a good investigator has to keep an open mind.”
“That’s right, and I am keeping an open mind.”
“No you’re not! You keep talking about usual cases. This isn’t a usual case. This is different.”
Dad sighed and slid down in his chair, stretchingout his legs and nudging off his shoes. “Right now I don’t want to talk about it,” he told me.
“But I do!”
“Holly …,” Mom said. “It’s obvious that your father’s in no mood to discuss this right now, and you didn’t get much sleep last night. Go upstairs to bed, turn off the phone in your room, and try to catch up.”
I pushed back my chair and carried my dirty dishes to the sink. “You’re wrong about Cody, and I’m going to prove it, Dad,” I said before I left the kitchen.
“Holly,” Dad said, “you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know the facts.”
“I know that Cody is innocent, so I’m going to do what you should be doing—trying to prove it.”
“That’s not my job,” Dad said. “My job is to investigate everyone and everything until I uncover the truth.”
He put both hands over his face, his fingertips rubbing at his forehead as if it hurt and he could rub the pain away. Mom was right. There was no use trying to talk to Dad now.
But as soon as I left the room, I heard Mom’s voice tighten. “Cody is Holly’s friend, Jake,” she said. “Naturally she’s frightened about what has happened, and she’s terribly worried about Cody. You could have given her some encouragement. She’s your daughter and needs your help. Or are you going to tell me that’s not your job either?”
“Lynn, after all these years I’d expect you to understand something about the work I do and how I have to do it.”
“Oh, I understand, all right. I understand that your job comes first and your wife and daughter are either a far second or don’t make the list at all.”
I didn’t hear what Dad said next. I ran up the stairs to my room, wishing with all my heart that things could be different, that all the happy years I knew when I was little could be stretched out to last forever.
Instead, with their constant, painful jabs at each other, Mom and Dad were stabbing their marriage to death.
S aturday. 2:15 P.M.
I woke up from a heavy sleep, surprised that I’d been able to nap. I took a shower, dressed in blue shorts with a matching striped top, and came downstairs. I sat in a broad patch of late afternoon sunlight that poured through the west window of the den and brushed my hair dry in its warmth.
Mom came into the room, stopped for just a moment, then smiled. “With the sun highlighting your hair, you look as though you’re wearing a halo of fire.”
I put down my hairbrush, tucked my hair into my amber barrette, and looked up. “I’m sorry I caused so much trouble, Mom. I didn’t mean to create problems between you and Dad.”
“It’s not your fault.” She turned away to stare out the window.
Before I’d fallen asleep, I’d thought of so many things I could say to my parents to convince Dadhe should pay more attention to Mom and to show Mom how she could be more patient with Dad. But now my mind was as empty as a cereal bowl with only little crumbles of thoughts swimming around in the bottom. “Listen to me, Mom—” I began, hoping that if I just started talking, I’d remember what I’d planned to say.
Mom interrupted. She spoke slowly, as though the words had a bad taste. “Before I forget, Cody telephoned, but you were in the shower. I talked to him, and I spoke with his uncle. I told Cody you’d call back.”
“Oh!”
She frowned and added, “He gave me his uncle’s telephone number and address. It’s written on the pad next to the kitchen phone. He asked if you’d call Cody as soon as possible, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Mom, you’re as bad as Dad, taking it for granted Cody’s guilty,” I cried.
“That’s right, and I am keeping an open mind.”
“No you’re not! You keep talking about usual cases. This isn’t a usual case. This is different.”
Dad sighed and slid down in his chair, stretchingout his legs and nudging off his shoes. “Right now I don’t want to talk about it,” he told me.
“But I do!”
“Holly …,” Mom said. “It’s obvious that your father’s in no mood to discuss this right now, and you didn’t get much sleep last night. Go upstairs to bed, turn off the phone in your room, and try to catch up.”
I pushed back my chair and carried my dirty dishes to the sink. “You’re wrong about Cody, and I’m going to prove it, Dad,” I said before I left the kitchen.
“Holly,” Dad said, “you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know the facts.”
“I know that Cody is innocent, so I’m going to do what you should be doing—trying to prove it.”
“That’s not my job,” Dad said. “My job is to investigate everyone and everything until I uncover the truth.”
He put both hands over his face, his fingertips rubbing at his forehead as if it hurt and he could rub the pain away. Mom was right. There was no use trying to talk to Dad now.
But as soon as I left the room, I heard Mom’s voice tighten. “Cody is Holly’s friend, Jake,” she said. “Naturally she’s frightened about what has happened, and she’s terribly worried about Cody. You could have given her some encouragement. She’s your daughter and needs your help. Or are you going to tell me that’s not your job either?”
“Lynn, after all these years I’d expect you to understand something about the work I do and how I have to do it.”
“Oh, I understand, all right. I understand that your job comes first and your wife and daughter are either a far second or don’t make the list at all.”
I didn’t hear what Dad said next. I ran up the stairs to my room, wishing with all my heart that things could be different, that all the happy years I knew when I was little could be stretched out to last forever.
Instead, with their constant, painful jabs at each other, Mom and Dad were stabbing their marriage to death.
S aturday. 2:15 P.M.
I woke up from a heavy sleep, surprised that I’d been able to nap. I took a shower, dressed in blue shorts with a matching striped top, and came downstairs. I sat in a broad patch of late afternoon sunlight that poured through the west window of the den and brushed my hair dry in its warmth.
Mom came into the room, stopped for just a moment, then smiled. “With the sun highlighting your hair, you look as though you’re wearing a halo of fire.”
I put down my hairbrush, tucked my hair into my amber barrette, and looked up. “I’m sorry I caused so much trouble, Mom. I didn’t mean to create problems between you and Dad.”
“It’s not your fault.” She turned away to stare out the window.
Before I’d fallen asleep, I’d thought of so many things I could say to my parents to convince Dadhe should pay more attention to Mom and to show Mom how she could be more patient with Dad. But now my mind was as empty as a cereal bowl with only little crumbles of thoughts swimming around in the bottom. “Listen to me, Mom—” I began, hoping that if I just started talking, I’d remember what I’d planned to say.
Mom interrupted. She spoke slowly, as though the words had a bad taste. “Before I forget, Cody telephoned, but you were in the shower. I talked to him, and I spoke with his uncle. I told Cody you’d call back.”
“Oh!”
She frowned and added, “He gave me his uncle’s telephone number and address. It’s written on the pad next to the kitchen phone. He asked if you’d call Cody as soon as possible, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Mom, you’re as bad as Dad, taking it for granted Cody’s guilty,” I cried.
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