chapter ninety-five

“Get in the car,” Blair commanded. I knew he was frustrated at me and he had every right to be. I was swirling around inside a black cyclone of unresolved rage, and I wasn’t too interested in leaving its swath just yet, but he was my ride, so I did as I was told. He drove to his house without so much as a word. I instructed him to take me home several times during the journey, but his jaw and resolve were firm, and he ignored my request. He parked the car in front of his garage and then disappeared inside the house without any explanation. I remained in the car for a few minutes, wondering what he was doing inside before I finally realized that he wasn't coming back out.

I found him pacing in the living room, on the phone, ordering pizza. After he completed the transaction, he walked into the kitchen, never so much as glancing at me. I stood just inside the door, not sure what he expected me to do. He wouldn't take me home; he wouldn't talk to me; I might as well be invisible. Well, two could play the silent game. I noisily stomped from the hallway into the living room, then flopped on the couch and waited for something to happen.

Twenty-five minutes later the pizza arrived and Cameron carried the delicious-smelling box past the living room. Pride didn't stand a chance against a hot pizza. My eyes and nose followed the mouth-watering aroma into the kitchen, and my stomach made some fierce noises to remind me that I hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast. The table was set with a Caesar salad and two plates. The mute man, still with his back to me as he set the pizza down on the counter, pointed to a chair and I sat. I gritted my teeth at his irritating ability to predict my behaviour.

We ate our meal in more silence, well, almost silence. I was famished and chewed my salad loudly, then slurped the stringy cheese off the pizza. In-between bites, I chugged down a soft drink and an unladylike belch or two escaped my mouth before I could prevent it. Who knew being a jerk made you so hungry? When my plate was finally empty, I mumbled a quiet thank you in Cam's general direction. He nodded every so slightly and exited the room, leaving me with the remains. The dishwasher was still not installed and just as well - I needed a good cleansing ritual. Perhaps it would be the beginning of my penance. I heard the television click on in the front room and I smiled wryly to myself. Were it not for the anger, unforgiveness, misunderstanding, and stubbornness between us, this would have made a typically benign and happy domestic scene.

After washing, tidying, and wiping every surface in sight, I tiptoed down the hallway and peeked through the living room doorway. Blair was sitting at the far end of the couch, feet on the coffee table, head leaning back against the dark leather, his eyes half closed as the television flickered in front on him. I quietly inched my way to the edge of the low table and cleared my throat. He glanced up expectantly. I asked again if he could take me home, this time inserting a pleading tone fit for a maid asking for a raise.

"Not yet," he replied, then turned back to the television and changed the channels until he seemed to find what he was looking for: an old movie. He gestured toward the rest of the couch, indicating that I was expected to sit through whatever he was watching. I sighed heavily and sank onto the couch, a captive of my benefactor. I hoped the movie would be something light and entertaining; I really had had enough disappointment and misery for one day. A title came up on the small screen: ‘Les Miserables.’ Somebody had to think this was funny. I snuck a glance over at Cameron, but there was no sign of humor on his face. Oh, well, perhaps it was just an ironic coincidence, even though I did not believe in them anymore. I had never seen the movie, so perhaps it would serve as a welcome distraction.

And that it did indeed. Within minutes the story had pulled me in. I was appalled at the injustice that was being played out in front of me. How could one person bear so many wrongs piled on top of each other? No doubt the main character was just waiting for the perfect payback opportunity. But just when I thought I would see some good old-fashioned revenge, the wretched man turned it around and extended mercy instead. It was admittedly admirable, but not at all gratifying. Where was the justice in refusing to make people pay? Oh, how it tore at my heart every time he turned away from retribution. I did not understand where he found the strength, and I found myself wanting to be able to do the same. I longed to suck all the sting and poison out of a cruel circumstance and render it powerless. It was what I wanted to be able to do for people like Shirley, Mr. Hickory, Viola, and even Blair. And yet I knew that it had to happen in me first or I would never be able to help anyone else.

Cameron touched my arm. "What's going on?" My face was wet and my breathing was rapid and shallow.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I said mean things to you, I’m sorry you bought the land, I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, I’m sorry the house burned down, I’m sorry all the papers are gone, I’m sorry I made such a mess of everything and I’m sorry because I have no idea how to get out of it.” None of these confessions made me feel any better, but I was learning that facing the truth never guarantees that outcome. I had at least hoped that my repentance would bring out the kind, tender, and forgiving side of Cam, but no comforting reassurance was forthcoming from the other end of the couch.

Instead, the man of action spoke. “Okay. So what do you want to do now?”

"I-I guess I want to fix it, if that's possible," I replied, looking at my lap.

“And how would you do that?”

“I don’t know,” I whined, frustrated at the lack of answers I had.

“Yes, you do. Just think about it.” I gave him a helpless grimace, but his eyes were unwavering and demanded a reply.

“I could quit my job before I do any more damage,” I concluded, deflated and without hope.

“And whom would that help?” The detective wanted to know.

“I might feel better,” I admitted.

“But it’s not about you, is it?”

That stung, but it bring into sharp relief the fact that the temper tantrum/pity party that I had thrown that afternoon had been totally self-focused. If anything was going to change, it had to start with me. I closed my eyes and took a moment to ask God to help me stop being such a drama queen and to let me once again find the genuine desire to help Viola, Wild Bill, and the city I lived in. I could feel myself tumbling from the self-constructed pedestal, collecting a few bruises on the way down. Humble is a hard, but solid landing. The hardest part was facing the fact that my misdirected crusade might have proved most costly to those around me.

Please, God, can you make something out of this mess? You're in the reclamation business, after all.

Slowly, the heavy boot of guilt started to lift from my chest and underneath it, I found a small glimmer - a hope that not all was lost and that I could still do some good.

"Detective, I need to borrow your phone," I said, squaring my shoulders for the task ahead.

A broad smile came across Cameron's face. "That's my girl!"

I called Roman and informed him about the untimely end Mr. Hickory's documents had suffered, apologizing for my mistake in suggesting that we leave the listening devices in place and also leaking the information that led to the unfortunate incident. Roman paused for a moment at the bad news, then calmly reassured me that retrieving the papers had always been a gamble, and he was as guilty as I was of revealing sensitive information on a tapped phone line. We both shouldered our share of the responsibility and decided to move on.

I purposely did not mention my visits to Viola or Richard Sanders to my boss, mainly because I didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily. Perhaps I was wrong in withholding the information, but I wanted a chance to resolve the situation before I brought it to his attention. I informed Blair that I needed to pay another visit to Mr. Sanders and that I needed to do it immediately. The detective insisted on accompanying me, which was a good thing, because his was the only car I had access to at the moment.