Vero and I exchanged a worried look. A quiet two-year-old was rarely a good thing. Last time Zach had been alone and quiet in the bathroom, he’d been finger-painting the walls with his own poop. “Think one of us should go check on him?” she asked.
Mrs. Haggerty made a sound of disgust at our exchange. “Zachary is perfectly capable of using the lavatory himself. He’ll never learn to be a young man if you don’t expect him to behave like one.”
“Ten to one?” Vero whispered.
“Why not?” I whispered back. “I bought a box of Magic Erasers at Costco.”
“The last time we scrubbed those walls, I wrecked a perfectly good manicure. I vote we hire a painter.”
We both turned as Zach scurried down the stairs. Vero and I blinked at him. His jeans were on inside out. So was his Pull-Up, judging by what I could see of it over the exposed tag on his elastic waistband. His Buzz Lightyear shoes lit up gleefully over a mismatched pair of socks as he marched himself into the dining room and tugged on Mrs. Haggerty’s pants.
Her mouth pursed as she paused her lesson to look him over. “Did you remember to wash your hands?”
Zach nodded, splaying his damp fingers in front of him.
She scrutinized them through the narrow frames of her glasses. “Very well. Take a seat.”
Zach ran to the empty chair beside Delia and scrambled up the side of it, perching on his knees. His wide eyes lit with triumph as Mrs. Haggerty passed him a sheet of construction paper and a bottle of glue.
“How did you do that?” I asked her, coming into the room and staring at my son with an awed sense of wonder.
“People rise to the level of expectation you have of them. If you don’t trust them, how are they supposed to prove you can? Your generation coddles kids too much,” she grumbled. “You’re all so afraid of everything. If you want kids to grow into capable adults, you can’t strap them to a padded chair and tell them not to wiggle. You’ve got to let them fall and make mistakes, and be willing to forgive them.”
Vero scoffed. “That’s pretty strong advice coming from someone whose own son never comes to visit.”
Mrs. Haggerty looked a little stung. “I never said my generation did any better. Our kids survived mostly on their own wits and hose water. And you’re right,” she said ruefully, “that’s probably why my son doesn’t come to visit. He and I aren’t terribly close after his father ran him out years ago. It was easier on all of us once Owen passed, I suppose. Regardless, Brendan turned out to be a fine young man. I did a much better job with him,” she said proudly.
“Speaking of Brendan,” I said, sensing an opening, “I still haven’t been able to get in touch with him. Are you sure you don’t have any idea where he might have gone? Or when he’s coming back?”
Her eyes clouded over and her frail jaw set. “Brendan’s a grown man. He’ll come back when he’s ready. He doesn’t need me telling him what to do, and he doesn’t need to waste his time taking care of me. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my afternoon repose.”
Mrs. Haggerty dismissed the children to the playroom and hobbled upstairs. Vero and I waited until we heard her bedroom door close before speaking again.
“You’re right,” Vero said. “She’s definitely covering for him. Penny and Brendan must be in this together.”
“If we can prove Penny knows Mrs. Haggerty, it won’t be hard to prove she knows Brendan, too.”
Vero stiffened. She sat up and cocked her head. “What’s that?” she asked, pressing her palms against the table.
The glass panes in the kitchen windows began to vibrate. “I don’t know,” I said, holding on to the counter as a repetitive, low thump reverberated through the walls. We didn’t get earthquakes in Virginia—at least not ones anyone could actually feel—so why were all the dishes in my cabinet starting to shake?
Vero ran to the window and pulled back the curtain. Thethumping grew louder, the vibrations rattling the wineglasses I still hadn’t gotten around to washing from last night. A vehicle drove slowly toward my house, its windows open and stereo blaring. If it wasn’t for the grinning face behind the wheel, I never would have recognized Mrs. Haggerty’s Mark V.
The car’s body had been painted a garish shade of purple. Flecks of glitter sparkled in the finish, and the new chrome grille glistened in the sun.Eggplant Ecstasyhad been hand-lettered across the hood in fancy looping script. The tires were brand-new with wide, white-walls, and a disco ball hung from the rearview mirror, spraying the interior of the car with rainbow-colored light.
Vero and I came bursting out of the house. Cam beamed at us through the windshield, his face mostly hidden behind an enormous pair of purple rhinestone sunglasses that could have belonged to Elton John. Arnold Schwarzenegger was riding shotgun, strapped in a tiny purple helmet, his front paws braced on the dashboard. There was a high-pitched whine as the entire front end of the car lifted on a pair of stilt-like hydraulics.
“I’m going to murder Javi,” Vero said as the car began to bounce. The front tires dipped low, then ricocheted off the pavement, catching more air every time they hit the ground.
I covered my ears, the music almost deafening as Cam slung his arm over the door. His hand tapped out the rhythm, his head bobbing to the beat of the trembling bass that was blasting through the souped-up stereo.
“What did you do to Mrs. Haggerty’s car?” I shouted over the music.
“I know, right?” he shouted back, his smile as bright and wide as the car’s shiny new bumpers. “Vero’s boyfriend’s got some mad skills. This thing is sick! Mrs. H is gonna love it!”
The children came running out of the house, drawn by the noise. Mrs. Haggerty came out after them, scowling and covering her ears. Vero caught Zach as he zipped past her, demanding a ride.
“Turn it off!” I shouted.
