Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [14]
Susan stopped talking abruptly, and a sudden silence fell.
And Ellen understood firsthand that after the loss of a child, a mother would be haunted for the rest of her life.
Chapter Eleven
Back in her car, Ellen stopped at a traffic light, dwelling. She’d had a glimpse of Susan Sulaman’s world, and it made her want to drive home and hug Will. Her BlackBerry rang in her purse, and she rooted in her bag until she found it, then hit the green button.
“Elly Belly?” said the familiar voice.
“Dad. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“What’s the matter?” Ellen could tell he was upset by the way he said he was fine.
“Nothing. I’m about to have lunch. You free? I just got back from the doctor’s.”
“Are you sick?”
“Nah.”
“Then why’d you go to the doctor?”
“A checkup, is all.”
“You had a checkup in September, didn’t you?” Ellen remembered because it was near her birthday.
“This was just a thing, a routine thing.”
Ellen glanced at the car’s clock, then did a quick calculation. Her father lived in West Chester, forty-five minutes from the city. Being closer to her parents was the reason she had come here from the San Jose Mercury. “Are you home today?”
“Yeah, doing email and expenses.”
“Why don’t I drop by? I’m actually in Ardmore.”
“Great. The door’s open. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” Ellen hung up, then slid the phone back in her purse. She cruised to the corner in light traffic, turned around, and headed back down Lancaster Avenue. She felt a pang of guilt, realizing she hadn’t been to visit her father in almost a month. She just hadn’t had the time, between work and Will. Every week, she mentally shifted the hours of her days, as if her life were a handheld puzzle with tiles that slid around to make a picture. The tiles fit differently every week, and no matter how hard she tried, the picture didn’t come together. The lines connected to nothing.
She accelerated.
Chapter Twelve
“Hi, Dad.” Ellen entered her father’s kitchen, which overlooked the golf course at Green Manor, which billed itself as a Community for Active Adults. Her father had moved here after her mother died, which was when he got Active, especially in the Adult Department.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, standing at the counter, absorbed in slicing a tomato onto a plate. His wrinkled forehead knit over his brown eyes, set close together and hooded now, and his nose had a telltale bulb at the tip from the drinking he’d given up, years ago. Even at sixty-eight, her father had enough black in his thinning hair to make people wonder if he colored it, and Ellen was pretty sure he didn’t.
“Dad, are you gonna die?” she asked, only half-joking.
“No, never.” Her father turned with a broad smile that served him well on the back nine and the road, where he drove a thousand miles a week as a sales rep for an auto-parts company.
“Good.” Ellen slid out of her coat and purse, dumped them on a kitchen chair, and kissed him on the cheek, catching a whiff of strong aftershave. None of her perfume lasted as long as her father’s aftershave. She fleetingly considered picking up a bottle of Aramis.
“You look nice, honey. Dressed up.”
“I’m trying not to get fired.”
“Succeeding?” Her father sliced another pink-red tomato. Already on the table sat a plastic tub of Whole Foods tuna fish, a loaf of multigrain bread, and a pitcher of green tea, permanent fixtures in Don Gleeson’s Antioxidant Heaven.
“So far.” Ellen crossed to the counter, plucked a floppy tomato slice from the plate, and plopped it into her mouth. It tasted like nothing, a winter tomato.
“Don’t let the bastards get you down. How’s my grandson?”
“He has a cold.”
“I miss him. When am I gonna see him?”
Ellen felt a guilty twinge. “Soon as I can. So, what’s up with the doctor? You’re scaring me.”
“I waited lunch for you.”
“I see that, thanks. You’re avoiding the question.”
“Sit down like a civilized person.” Her father carried the tomato plate to the table and set it down, then eased into the chair with a theatrical groan. He