Laura had spent some time perfecting her deceit. Inside, she whipped out the Lysol spray. Then she excused herself.
“These are my smoking clothes,” she said by way of explanation before retreating to her bedroom.
Left alone, Candi wandered the small space. Nineteen seventies kitchen with dark stained cabinets and gold Formica countertop. Eat-in kitchen with round pedestal table and four solid wood chairs. An oversized TV, easily the most expensive item in the room, wedged on top of a rickety microwave stand. Surround-sound speakers were plunked in every corner. Candi wasn’t sure why anyone needed surround sound in a space this tiny, but she supposed boys wanted their toys.
The walls were covered in dark wood paneling and dotted with pictures of the high school’s football teams, spanning ten years. Two mounted shelves displayed the decade’s bounty-various trophies in metallic shades of red and green and gold.
Candi ducked her head into one small room, discovered a bathroom. Pushed back a second door to find a tiny office. Third time was the charm: She saw a bare mattress topped by a single white sheet. So this was Dougie’s room.
No pictures on the walls, but three impressive holes. No clothes in the closet, but a two-quart bucket. No toys of any kind. The room reminded Candi of a prison cell.
“Got a good enough look?” Laura asked from behind her. She had changed into another pair of jeans and a fresh baggy sweatshirt-this one dark green. She’d done something to her hair-probably splashed it with water-then wrapped it in a turban to disguise the cigarette smell. She really was pretty good, if you didn’t consider the nicotine stains on her fingers or the state of her teeth.
“Where’s his stuff?”
“Dougie doesn’t have any stuff. It’s part of the program. Kid starts with nothing, then earns things back bit by bit.”
“He doesn’t even get clothes?”
“He has clothes. They’re in our room. I provide him with one outfit a day, my choosing. If he wants his own clothes, again, he’s gotta behave.”
Candi arched a brow. Laura merely shrugged.
“With a boy like Dougie, what else are you gonna do?”
“Do you like Dougie, Mrs. Carpenter?”
“Not really.”
“Have you ever hit him?”
Laura’s gaze remained level. “My mama whacked me most days of my life. I don’t feel a need to return that favor.”
“And Stanley?”
“I’ve never seen him raise a hand to the boy.”
“What about to you?”
Laura raised a brow. “Stanley has his faults; that’s not one of them.”
“So what are his faults?”
“He’s a man. What are all men’s faults? Pigheadedness, self-centeredness. He wants what he wants, no matter what anyone else says.”
“Like he wanted Dougie.”
“Like he wanted Dougie.”
“So you just go along with it?”
Laura cocked her head to the side. She studied Candi for a full minute. “I know what you think, Miss Rodriguez. I know what you all think when you traipse through here. Look at that poor woman, with her face like a hundred miles of bad road. Look at that ugly little house with its ugly gold carpet and cheap Wal-Mart furniture. How can she live like that? How can she keep any man happy?
“You want to know the truth? I don’t always keep my man happy, but I always keep him. We’re no Catherine Zeta-Jones and Michael Douglas, but we understand each other. We’ve known each other since we were five. And compared to the trailer park where we grew up, we are living in a fucking mansion and this is our slice of paradise. Maybe no one else wants it, but for us, our life is doing just fine.”
“You’re taking care of a child you don’t even like,” Candi said bluntly.
“I’m taking care of my responsibilities.”
“He’s lost.”
“He ran away.”
“Or is kidnapped.”
Laura snorted. “Honest to God, not the devil himself could make that boy do something he didn’t want to do.”
“Then why are you raising him?”
“Because my husband asked me to.”
“And you always do what your husband wants?”
Laura exhaled sharply. For the first time since Candi had arrived, the woman appeared angry. “You people,” she said suddenly. “You keep coming here, searching, searching, searching. I’ve never seen so many people look so hard for something that’s right in front of their faces. Come here!”
Laura marched into the family room. Candi followed in her wake. The woman jerked down a photo album, flipped it open, then stabbed at a photo with her finger.
“That help you any?”
Candi could barely believe what she was seeing. “No way.”
“Yes way.”
“But…”
“Big men don’t always start out as big men.” Laura gazed down at the photo. She looked like she could use a cigarette again. “He honestly loves that boy,” she murmured. “Stupid son of a bitch.”