I had lied to Lucy. I was consumed, too, not by the dying but by the dead. Every day I did battle for justice. But what justice was there for a living little girl who didn’t feel loved? Dear Lord. Lucy didn’t hate me but maybe I couldn’t blame her if she did. Returning to the table, I approached the forbidden subject as delicately as possible.
“I guess I look worried because I am, Lucy. You see, someone got into the computer downtown.”
She was quiet, waiting.
I sipped my drink. “I’m not sure this person saw anything that matters, but if I could explain how it happened or who did it, it would be a big load off my mind.”
Still, she said nothing.
I forced it.
“If I don’t get to the bottom of it, Lucy, I might be in trouble.”
This seemed to alarm her.
“Why would you be in trouble?”
“Because,” I calmly explained, “my office data is very sensitive, and important people in city and state government are concerned over the information that is somehow ending up in the newspapers. Some people are worried the information might be coming from my office computer.”
“Oh.”
“If a reporter somehow got in, for example . . .”
“Information about what?” she asked.
“These recent cases.”
“The lady doctor who got killed.”
I nodded.
Silence.
Then she said sullenly, “That’s why the modem’s gone, isn’t it, Auntie Kay? You took it because you think I did something bad.”
“I don’t think you did anything bad, Lucy. If you dialed into my office computer, I know you didn’t do it to be bad. I wouldn’t blame you for being curious.”
She looked up at me, her eyes welling. “You took away the modem ’cause you don’t trust me anymore.”
I didn’t know how to respond to this. I couldn’t lie to her, and the truth would be an admission that I didn’t really trust her.
Lucy had lost all interest in her milk shake and was sitting very still, chewing her bottom lip as she stared down at the table.
“I did remove the modem because I wondered if it was you,” I confessed. “That wasn’t the right thing for me to do. I should have just asked you. But maybe I was hurt. It hurt me to think you might have broken our trust.”
She looked at me for a long time. She seemed strangely pleased, almost happy when she asked, “You mean my doing something bad hurt your feelings?” – as if this gave her some sort of power or validation she desperately wanted.
“Yes. Because I love you very much, Lucy,” I said, and I think it was the first time I’d ever told her that so clearly. “I didn’t intend to hurt your feelings any more than you intended to hurt mine. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
The spoon clacked the side of the glass as she stirred her milk shake and cheerfully exclaimed, “Besides, I knew you hid it. You can’t hide things from me, Auntie Kay. I saw it in your closet. I looked while Bertha was making lunch. I found it on the shelf right next to your .38.”
“How did you know it’s a .38?”
I blurted without thinking.
” ‘Cause Andy has a .38. He was before Ralph. Andy has a .38 on his belt, right here,” pointing to the small of her back. “He owns a pawnshop and that’s why he always wears a .38. He used to show it to me and how it works. He’d take all the bullets out and let me shoot it at the TV. Bang! Bang! It’s really neat! Bang! Bang!”
Shooting her finger at the refrigerator. “I like him better than Ralph but Mom got tired of him, I guess.”
This was what I was sending her home to tomorrow? I started lecturing her on handguns, reciting all the lines about how they aren’t toys and can hurt people, when the telephone rang.
“Oh, yeah,” Lucy remembered as I got out of the chair. “Grans called before you got home. Twice.”
She was the last person I wanted to talk to right now. No matter how well I disguised my moods she always managed to sense them and wouldn’t let them alone.