Cold Deck: A Novel

14

||| 68 ||| I wasn’t a doctor, just a dealer, unemployed and facing a court case. I’d used equity in the house as collateral for bail and couldn’t even consider selling now until the case was adjudicated. On top of all that, without money to retain one, no attorney would represent me. I reached over and stroked her cheek with the back of my hand. I could tell from the way her eyes sparkled she had something more on her mind. “What?” “Why couldn’t I have normal parents?” “That’s the same question every child probably asks. So, what’s on the agenda?” “Karaoke tomorrow.” For the first time in two days, I felt hope. 14 Audra, as I’d come to think of her by that name and not Audie, was there and sitting alone, looking as casual as a tourist on vacation in her blue tank top, white cotton skirt, and leather sandals. She offered a short, noncommittal wave. I raised my hand, careful to make the gesture appear impersonal. I didn’t want to appear anxious. “It’s okay, Dad.” “What?” “Don’t pretend you don’t know.” Beth hurried over to friends before I could speak. I paid $1.80 for a mug and filled it with Kenya AA from an urn on the counter. As I stirred in sweetener, I glanced in Audie’s direction. She was watching. Instead of walking over, as I wanted, and asking if I could join her, I retreated to a corner table and stared at the mug. The girls flocked around the new master of ceremonies, a young, energetic black man who, in trying to organize the chaos, kept saying, “One at a time. One at a time, ladies.” I was listening to them shouting at the beleaguered man when Audie, coffee mug in hand, approached. She said in a soft tone, “Hi. I’m Audie and you’re Beth’s father.” “That’s me.” Close up she was even more appealing. “Jude.” I offered my hand. “I’m Katie’s mom,” she said, shaking my hand once and letting go. “But you knew that.” I wanted her to sit and join me. I wanted her to go away. Mostly, because ||| 69 ||| others were watching, I wanted to be invisible or elsewhere. I took a sip of coffee. She pointed at the door. “Why don’t we go out and save our eardrums some pain?” Before I could speak, she turned and headed for the exit. I lagged behind and watched the way the hem of her skirt fluttered at her calves. It reminded me of a younger Anne, whose walk had been what had first attracted me to her. I’d long forgotten the courting rules that applied when I was young and had a kind of clumsy and unearned confidence that I could score, for then it was all about scoring. Now I wasn’t sure what any of it was about. Sex? Love? Romance? I was pretty certain that courting had influence on relationships. She paused at the door and looked back, obviously waiting for me to open it. “Here, let me get it,” I said. Stupid, I thought. We sat under a strand of misters that made the heat nearly bearable. “It’s too hot for coffee,” she said. I took a sip and nodded. The girls’ muted off-key singing drifted out. “Sounds much better out here,” Audie said. I smiled, nodded again, and cupped the mug in both hands. “You ever talk?” she asked. “Sure I do.” It was an opening for me, but I didn’t take it. What would I talk about? Being fired a second time in four weeks? She crossed her legs at the knees and swung the top one back and forth. Her toenails were trimmed precisely and painted a deep red. She stared at the smoke-colored glass doors to the bistro next to Jitters. The girls’ bad singing and the hum of car engines from the boulevard made the silence more pronounced. The hustle was so easy years ago. Now I couldn’t carry on a simple conversation. At least I knew what topics to avoid—Anne, the divorce, personal subjects that ring of bitterness and strained conversations. In two decades of listening to women talk across tables in the break rooms, I’d learned that much. Medical problems and operations were out as well. She set her mug down. “I heard you’re...