“I got out four days ago,” she said. She’d been giving me the same kind of scrutiny I’d given her. “You’re looking good, Sookie. How’s Sam?”
“He’s sick today, Arlene,” I said. I felt a little light-headed. “How are Lisa and Coby?”
“They’re confused,” she said. “They asked me why Aunt Sookie hasn’t come by to see them.”
“I thought it would be real weird if I visited them, all things considered.” I held her eyes with my own until she nodded reluctantly and looked away. “Specially since I was sure you must have said some awful things about me. You know, when you decided to lure me to your place so your buddies could nail me to a cross.”
Arlene flushed and looked down at her hands.
“Did they stay with Helen when you were away?” I asked, not knowing what else to talk about.
Arlene’s new best bigot buddy had promised to take care of the kids when she’d taken them from Arlene’s trailer before the shooting started.
“No. She got tired of ’em after a week. She took ’em to Chessie.”
“Chessie Johnson?”
“She was Chessie Fowler before she married Brock,” Arlene explained. “Chessie is—was—first cousin to my ex.” (The ex whose name Arlene had kept, though she’d been married several times. Rick Fowler had perished in a motorcycle accident in Lawton, Oklahoma.) “When Jan Fowler died out at the lake in that fire, she left Chessie some money. Chessie ain’t hurting. She loves those kids. It could have been worse.” Arlene didn’t sound angry with Helen, just resigned.
Frankly (and call me punitive), what I wanted to see was Arlene feeling angry with herself. Yet I didn’t detect anything like that, and I could see Arlene inside and outside. What I heard from her thoughts was a bright streak of malice, a lack of hope or enterprise, and a dull loathing of the world that had treated her so ill . . . in her estimation.
“Then I hope the kids are doing well with the Johnsons,” I said. “I’m sure they’ve missed their mama.” I’d found two true things to say. I wondered where Sam’s gun was. I wondered how fast I could get to it if it was in the right-hand drawer of his desk, as I suspected it was.
She looked as if she were about to cry, just for a second. “I think they have. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do to those two.”
Gosh, I’d be glad when this conversation was over. At least there was one emotion I could recognize, and it was regret for what she’d done to her family. “You got out awful early, Arlene,” I said, suddenly realizing what was most surprising about her presence in Sam’s office.
“I got me a new lawyer. He bonded me out on appeal,” she said. “And my behavior in jail was good, naturally, since I had a lot of motivation. You know, Sookie, I never would have let them hurt you.”
“Arlene, you can’t lie to me,” I reminded my former friend. The pain of Arlene’s betrayal was a red, sore scar on my spirit.
“I can tell you don’t trust me,” Arlene said.
No shit, Sherlock. I waited for the words I saw coming next. She was going to play the reformation card.
“And I don’t blame you,” Arlene said. “I don’t know where my head was at, but it sure wasn’t on my shoulders. I was full of unhappiness and rage, and I was looking for a way to blame it on someone else. Hating the vampires and werewolves was the easiest thing to do.” She nodded solemnly, righteously.
Someone had had a little therapy.
I’m not mocking therapy; I’ve seen it do people a lot of good. But Arlene was aping the ideas of the counselor just as she’d aped the ideas of the anti-supernatural Fellowship of the Sun. When was she going to come up with some convictions of her own? It seemed incredible to me now that I’d admired Arlene so sincerely for years. But she had a great zest for life, she had an easy chemistry with men, she had two cute children, and she made her own living. These were enviable things to lonely me.
Now I saw her differently. She could attract men but not keep them. She could love her children but not enough to stay out of jail and take care of them. She could work and raise her kids but not without a constant stream of men through her