Lion Plays Rough by Lachlan Smith

Author:Lachlan Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Published: 2013-12-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

On Sunday at noon Teddy and I presented ourselves at Debra Walker’s door. She lived in a three-bedroom house in a pleasant East Oakland neighborhood. I glimpsed a garden in the back, the red of tomatoes.

Tamara answered the door. In the six months since I’d seen her, her beauty, which had been so fresh when she and Teddy were together in rehab, had dulled. The light in her eyes had dimmed, the edge of expectancy faded, creating a face of grief that lacked only the haggardness. The loss had been steadily working its effects, and she was the only one who could not perceive it.

She was about five feet eight inches tall, slim, with high cheekbones and dark curls. She wore jeans and a blouse with frills at the neck and sleeves; I guessed that her mother-in-law picked out her clothes.

“Remember me?” Teddy asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said. But her smile was empty as she stepped back to let us in.

Teddy looked her up and down, made a pistol out of thumb and forefinger and shot himself in the head.

“You and Teddy were in rehab together,” I explained.

“Oh, I’m terrible with names.”

“You got your memory book on you?” Teddy demanded.

She brought it shyly from her back pocket, a little composition book. He took it from her, scrawled a note, and handed it back.

She only glanced at the note, gave a start, then shoved the notebook into her pocket. In the backyard four men were playing horseshoes on the other side of the garden, while three more leaned against the back fence. All were middle-aged or older. We joined the watchers, exchanging nods. The breeze was cool but the sun scorched my arms. There was a heavy air of ritual, as if the same players had been pitching the same horseshoes for the same small audience every Sunday afternoon for years.

We watched one game, played as a team against the winners and lost, and then Tamara came to the door and called us in. One of the men blessed the meal, the signal for Mrs. Walker to begin serving up heaping portions of ham and mashed potatoes with gravy and green beans onto heavy white plates.

Teddy had eyes only for Tamara, glance after speculative glance. I saw Mrs. Walker notice. Maybe I’d been hasty to think she’d invited us because she wanted something from me. I remembered what she’d said about Tamara still asking every morning about her murdered husband, as if for her he died each day again.

After the meal the men went back out to their horseshoes while the two women carried the dishes into the kitchen. Mrs. Walker suggested that Tamara and Teddy watch TV, which they went off to do, as requested, while she carefully wiped the table. When she was finished she pushed aside her rag and sat across from me.

She studied the wrinkled backs of her hands. “I got a bone to pick.”

I went for flattery. “You can pick me clean after that wonderful dinner.”

She shook her head.

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