He laughed. “That cost me a pretty penny.”
I thought of the countless times he had bailed me out of reckless, destructive situations. Never once did he get angry or chastise me. “I probably cost you a lot of pretty pennies.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Proud of me?” I asked.
“Absolutely.”
I liked him to tell me that. Despite recently turning twenty-one, I still needed his approval.
“You guys know what you want?” the waitress asked.
I ordered a Caesar Salad with garlic bread; my dad, a strawberry margarita.
I looked at him. “Aren’t you hungry?”
He patted his flat stomach. “Watching my diet but I’ll take a bite of your garlic bread.”
He winked at a cute blonde waiting for a table. She turned away. He’d forever be a womanizer, I thought.
“How’s your mother?”
They divorced three years ago when she turned forty-two. She’d had a face lift and breast implants but he still wanted out, said he wasn’t turned on by an old broad.
“She’s well. Her jewelry business is doing great and she looks amazing.”
“Good for her.”
I took a sip of water. “How’s everything at the office?” He was the CEO of a global electronics company and enjoyed all the perks.
“Good. Real good, despite the economy.” He paused a moment. “You should come work for me. I—”
“Daddy, don’t.”
“With your business acumen you’d be a big help. Tell me you’ll think about it.”
My insides felt like they were being torn apart. I couldn’t look at him. I was used to giving in to him so it took all my strength to say, “No.”
“I don’t give up easily,” he said as the waitress placed my food on the table. “But you know that.”
“I’m done talking about this.”
He shrugged. “As you wish.”
I could tell by the smug look on his face he was sure he’d eventually beat my resistance down as he always has. I watched him brush hair off his face like a movie star. It was a hair transplant. Very expensive. And incredibly natural. But every time I looked at him I saw him the way he used to be with thinning blonde hair and a big bald spot in the center. No matter how he looked I loved him.
He stirred his drink. “Well,” he said after an interminable silence. “I guess we should talk about the incident.”
“Here? What about all the ears?”
“We’ll keep our voices down. There’s nothing to hide anyway.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay.”
“Has the detective contacted you yet?”
I met his eyes. “Yesterday and again this morning. I haven't called him back. I didn’t know what to tell him.”
“The truth...we were having dinner at the time that little girl was raped. This entire thing is ridiculous….”
“But we weren’t together when it happened, daddy,” I said softly. “People in the restaurant know what time we arrived.”
“The point is we were together. Right?”
According to the report the girl was only five-years-old with long curly blonde hair. A man in an expensive suit was seen leaving Griffith Park near where she was raped. A man who drove a dark green Jaguar like my dad’s.
He studied me with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Where were you that afternoon?”
“With you.”
I sighed. “I know that’s what I’m supposed to say.”
“It’s the truth.”
I looked out at the shops and art galleries on the busy street and wondered why I couldn’t let it go. This was my dad. I shut my eyes tight. My dad...but forever etched in my memory were the times when I was a little girl and he’d crawl into bed with me and...I began to tremble. I had to stop thinking about it.
He searched my face. “You okay?”
“Yes...no...I don’t know.”
He frowned. “What do you want me to do?”
“Tell the truth,” I snapped.
“I am.”
Maybe he was but my deep and carefully buried anger toward him wouldn’t let me accept it. I had to think about this with cold objectivity. The fact is we weren’t together at the time of the rape but that didn’t mean anything. He could have been anywhere. I rarely knew his whereabouts. I was his daughter not his keeper.
“Where are you going from here?” he asked.
“Home.” I watched a squirrel scamper up an overhanging tree.
He said point blank. “Do you think I raped that little girl?”
My voice lowered. “I don’t know.”
He sunk back into his seat as if wounded. “I’d expect that from your mother but not from you.”
I ignored him. “Daddy, please tell me where you were that afternoon before we met.”
“Why?”
I stared at him. “I want to know.”
He took a long swallow of his drink. “It hurts me you’d think….”
I cut him off. “Tell me where you were.”
He slowly answered as if each word pained him. “I didn’t want to tell you or anybody, but I was at counseling.”
“Counseling! You? No way.”
“It’s true.”
“But you hate shrinks.”
He shrugged. “I needed help. Too much stress.”
“Oh, Daddy, you should have told me.”
“You know how private I am.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?” he asked.
“We can tell the detective and be done with all this craziness.”
“I don’t want anyone to know.”
“You have to tell the detective,” I insisted.
“No. The board wouldn’t like it that the CEO was seeing a shrink.”
I rubbed my forehead. I could feel a migraine coming on. “I understand.”
He smiled. “Good.” He ordered another drink then watched an adorable little girl with a long blonde ponytail, holding onto her mom’s hand as they walked to a table.
His eyes were suddenly alert, excited. I wondered what he was thinking. Could he have picked out his next victim? I froze. Did I think my dad had raped that little girl?
N
o, no matter what it seemed, he couldn’t have done that. Yet the doubt wouldn’t stop tormenting me. My heart pounded against my chest. Something inside me suddenly snapped. “I can’t do this.”
“What?”
“I can’t lie about this.”
He focused his complete attention on me. When he finally spoke his voice was soft and gentle like an ocean breeze. “I know my little girl won’t let me down.” He reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
“You’re abandoning me when I need you?” He looked hurt. “I’ve always been there for you.”
“And I for you.” I raised my voice. A few people looked over at our table.
“Calm down.”
“No!” I looked at him, blue eyes locked with blue eyes. My stare hard and penetrating, until he turned away.
“I’ve gotta go,” I grabbed my shoulder bag off the floor.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Let’s don’t part angry,” he said.
“You want to kiss and make-up like lovers?” I muttered through clinched teeth.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me to him as he stood up. He had a commanding presence, tall and lean. “Come on, sweetie,” he said. “If I’ve upset you, I’m sorry.”
He held me close to him. I didn’t resist. I needed his support, his strength. I closed my eyes to fight back the tears. “Oh, daddy.” In that moment I ached to know what it was like to feel the warmth and love of a dad without wanting to throw up.
“Everything’ll be okay,” he reassured me.
I didn’t respond.
He looked at me. “I swear to you. I didn’t do it.”
I wanted to believe him.
“Love me?” he asked.
“Yes.” At that moment my voice sounded like a little girl’s.
He leaned in closer to me and whispered, “Remember we were together….”
I finished the sentence. “That afternoon. I know.”
He paid the bill and walked with me out of the café.
“I’m sorry you got pulled into this, sweetie,” he said.
“Me too.” My voice was flat. “There’s one more thing.”
He looked at me without saying a word. There was something in his eyes. Something that alarmed me. For a moment I was afraid to speak.
Finally he said, “What?”
“Where did we go before dinner?”
He had a answer ready. “To your townhouse. It’s nice and secluded. No one can tell who goes in or out.”
“You have it all figured out, don’t you?”
He didn’t respond.
“If you weren’t my dad I wouldn’t do this.”
“That’s what families do for each other.”
“Lie?”
He kissed my cheek. It was so tender and loving, tears filled my eyes.
He looked at me and smiled. “Protect each other.”
After I left him, I came straight home, laid across the bed and hoped this headache would subside. My doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole at a tall good looking black man with intense dark eyes. “Who is it?”
“Detective Braxton.”
I put the chain on the door then opened it. “May I see some ID, please.”
The man showed me his badge.
I let him in. He smelled of cigarettes and long nights. “I’m looking for Angelica….”
“That’s me. I’m sorry I missed your calls. I intended to call you later.”
“Can we talk now?”
“Yes.”
I led him into the living room and had him sit on the cream-colored sofa next to the aquarium.
He glanced around. “Nice aquarium.”
“Thanks.” I said, my heart racing. I wanted to hurry and get this over with. “How can I help you, Detective?”
“As I indicated in my message, I’m investigating a rape that happened about a month ago on March 16th.”
“I know you are. How can I help?”
“Where were you that afternoon around 2:30?”
“My dad and I spent the afternoon together.”
“Remember what time you left him?” he asked.
I tensed. This was the question I had dreaded. “We also went to dinner so I guess we parted around 7:30.”
He took out his notepad. “What did you two do that afternoon?”
I spoke with a matter-of-fact tone but my stomach was in knots. “We were here talking most of the afternoon and then we went to Crustacean for dinner.”
“In Beverly Hills?”
“Yes.”
“What did you talk about all that time?”
A simple question, But one I hadn’t expected. “Things.”
“Such as?”
“I can’t remember. Small talk.”
The detective glanced at the bright, cheerful pictures hanging on the wall. One was of my mom. None of my dad. “Are you and your dad close?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Would you lie for him?”
“No,” I said indignantly.
The detective stared at me. “You sort of resemble the victim. She could have been your baby sister. Such a beautiful little girl, like a doll.”
I shifted uneasily in the chair but didn’t respond.
“When was the last time you saw your dad?”
“A little while ago,” I replied. We had lunch.”
“Discuss the rape?”
I hesitated. “Yes.”
“You work on his alibi?”
“He didn’t do it,” I said sternly.
“Then why talk to him before me?”
“It just worked out that way.”
He stared at me for such a long time I began to feel more uncomfortable. Finally, he said, “Do you have any idea what happened to her?”
“The victim?”
“Yes.” He pulled an envelope out of his jacket and slowly placed photos on the
glass coffee table as if laying out a dead man’s hand in poker. Do you?”
“She was raped,” I answered.
He shook his head. “That was only part of it. I’ve seen such horrible things in my day that I’m immune to man’s heinous acts against each other, but when it’s a defenseless baby.” He appeared as if it sickened him to talk about it. “Her right cheek was smashed in. Her tiny larynx crushed. Her teeth were sticking through her lips and her ribs…”
“Stop!” I cried. “I don’t want to hear anymore.”
He shoved the photos toward me. “Look at her.”
I refused.
His voice boomed. “Look.”
I did and was overcome with such revulsion I gagged. “My dad could never do that. Ever.”
“Was he with you that afternoon?”
“Yes,” I answered defiantly. After seeing those photos, I was convinced my dad was innocent and he was being unfairly hounded. Then a thought came to me. I blurted it out, “Ask the girl. I’m sure she’ll clear my dad.”
“She’s a child. A baby.” The detective’s words were slow and deliberate. “Thank God, she can’t remember anything.”
I could feel his piercing dark eyes on me like a malnourished animal sizing up its prey. He was relentless and frighteningly focused. I bet back in the day he’d take suspects to smelly cells and beat confessions out of them. After a few moments, he gathered the photos, stuck them in his pocket then stood up and handed me his card. “If you decide to talk, call me.”
“Why are you picking on my dad?” I suddenly asked.
“What?”
“Why is he a suspect?”
The detective’s dark face briefly wrinkled in thought. “His Jaguar—but more than that, my gut tells me he did it.”
“Is your gut ever wrong?”
He laughed as he walked toward the door. “Yes, more than I’d like to admit.” His tone quickly turned hard. “But not this time.”
I had to find out more. “Why are you so sure?”
His cell rang. He checked it then looked at me. “You want the truth?”
I caught my breath. “Yes.”
“It’s in his eyes—he hides it well I’m sure. But it’s there.”
His tone was so soft I had to lean in closer to hear him.
“What?” I asked. “Guilt?”
“Evil.”
My heart stopped. The detective said the word that had haunted me since I was a tiny little girl of six-years-old and my dad had crawled into bed with me and snatched my innocence away. The word that often caused me to wake up screaming and trembling in a cold sweat.
Evil.
I had seen it in his eyes—many times.
I had experienced it.
The detective said, “Only someone evil could have done that to a child.”
A chill ran through my body. My dad had never hit me or abused me in that way. But deep inside me I’m just as battered, bruised and broken as that poor little girl. I suddenly knew what I had to do.
As the detective studied me a moment, his expression softened. “What?” he asked.
I couldn’t speak. I thought about my dad. My heart pounded against my chest. I felt sick, dizzy, like I was about to faint. My dad trusted me. We had a bond.
I can’t betray him.
I won’t.
I should have never agreed to talk to this detective alone. He made me start questioning and doubting my dad again. That was his job and he was good at it. I had to get him out of my house. Away from me. So I can think clearly again. I looked at him and said, “I love my dad, more than anything.”
“Yes, I know.” His eyes seemed to bore into my soul.
I let out an agonizing groan. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I think you do,” he said gently.
I stood there thinking about my mom, my dad, my relatives. It would destroy all of us for me to tell the truth. I can’t do that to my family.
What if my dad was innocent?
Then I thought about the way he looked at that little girl in the café today.
A shudder ran through my body. There was something not right with my dad. I’ve known that a long time. But I loved him so much I wanted to always protect him, to be his little girl.
But it was time for me to grow up.
I took a moment to compose myself. When I spoke, it was with difficulty. “My dad wasn’t with me that afternoon.”
Beware an Early Spring
To soon the jonquils
Bloomed
In mid-February.
Wild plum and pear
Decorated the hillside;
Lacey bows elegantly
Trimming
The edge of the woods,
From his hospital bed,
Daddy wanted to know
If his peach tree was
Budding.
When we told him
It was blooming, he
Warned us of a frost.
March came dressed in finery,
Disguised
As a lamb. Too soon
The lion roared,
Bending
The heads of tulips
And daffodils and
Shriveling
The delicate blossoms
Of fruit trees.
Too many deaths in this,
The season of life. Mama
Struggled
Not to cry, as she told
Him of the silent deaths
Cradled in the womb. We
Watched the green line
Sketch
Jagged mountain tops
Across the monitor screen.
They would have been great-
Grandparents of twins. Quietly he
Blessed
His granddaughter and
Accepted
The fate of an early spring.
Jalois S. Cox
I knew the boy that drowned that summer. We weren’t friends. It happened in August. It was a party at his parents private Lake house. I don’t know how I ended up there. You see, I’m fat. I hung out in the background. Everyone moved around me like I was a piece of furniture. I had never seen so much booze and drugs. The music was so loud no one could hear a scream.
The boat house was damp and smelled like fishy water. I went in there to cry. He must have already been there. He had a bottle of Southern Comfort. I had never drank before. It was warm and burned a little going down. He made me laugh.
I don’t remember what happened next. I don’t remember his octopus hands. His lizard tongue. I remember the damp smelly cement floor. The seaweed hanging from the bottom of the boat. The water dripping.
Afterwards he laughed. It echoed. I watched him through the crack in the door. He walked down to the beach with his bottle of Southern Comfort. He was alone stumbling over the jagged rocks. I don’t remember what happened next. I don’t remember taking the lead pipe from the boathouse. I don’t remember the splash. I remember the chill coming off the lake. I remember the sand filling my shoe. The music was so loud no one could hear him scream.
I knew the boy that drowned that summer. We weren’t friends.
