The Replacement Child - By Christine Barber Page 0,48
She doesn’t talk to me about it much because she knows I think it’s a damn waste of time. You’ve got better things to do in life than to call up the newspaper.”
Lucy changed the subject again. Mrs. Schoen didn’t seem to notice the jumping around.
“I didn’t see any ashtrays in the house. Was Mrs. Burke a smoker? It’s just good to know for our medical files.” Lie number two.
“Hell no. She hates the stuff. I think it gets her sick.”
“Did she have any breathing problems? Maybe asthma?”
“She had some bronchitis last year that she was having a hard time getting rid of. And of course she has allergies.” Of course. Everyone in Santa Fe had allergies. Allergies and bronchitis would account for Scanner Lady’s raspy voice and occasional coughing fits.
“Mrs. Schoen, I was also wondering if you had a videotape of Mrs. Burke or maybe a tape recording? Maybe an old message she left on your answering machine? I sometimes like to hear the voices of patients I was never able to meet.” This last lie was the biggest but Lucy breezed past it.
“Oh, that is so sweet.” Lucy cringed. “But I don’t have anything like that. Sorry.”
Lucy rose from the couch and said her good-byes. At the door, Mrs. Schoen said, “Thank you for stopping by, bless your heart. I just hope they catch that asshole before I do.”
Gil stayed at the station doing reports and trying to get hold of Pollack. At five P.M., he got into his car and took the interstate north, toward Eldorado and his mom’s house. He triple checked his speed before he set his cruise control for five miles under the seventy-five-mile-per-hour speed limit. Twenty minutes later he got off the freeway and slowed as he drove into Eldorado, where he stopped at a Texaco to fill up. As he pumped his gas he stared across the highway at the Eldorado subdivision. He and Susan had looked at three houses in the area. She liked the elementary school, which was better than the public schools in town. Eldorado was also only ten minutes from his mother’s house. They were looking at four-bedroom houses, planning ahead to when his mom came to live with them.
He turned and looked at the other cars at the gas station, checking for strange behavior or stolen cars. But this was Eldorado. The four SUVs in the parking lot showed signs of doubling as minivans. In one car, Gil saw a child’s car seat correctly buckled in, and another car had a bumper sticker that read MY CHILD IS AN HONOR STUDENT AT ELDORADO ELEMENTARY.
He went inside the gas station to pay. It took him a second to realize that he was the only Hispanic in the store. There were an elderly couple, a woman and her two young kids, and a man in a business suit. Gil paid the female cashier, who had a sunny smile and wished him a nice day.
He took the highway south into the grassy Galisteo Basin, then turned to follow the train tracks past more new ranches. At some point his family had owned this land, but the deed to the property had been eaten by mice, so when the Americans came, his family couldn’t prove that they owned it. Back then, one of his relatives had tried to stay on the land to protect the acequia that irrigated the family gardens and orchards. But someone had hit the man over the head with a shovel and killed him. The acequia had since grown over. Gil and Elena had gone on expeditions as kids to try to find the acequia, pretending that they were conquistadores. He had made them aluminum-foil helmets and swords and carefully made maps of their route. They found petroglyphs and an old kiva left by the Galisteo Pueblo Indians, but not the irrigation ditch.
He pulled up to his parents’ house and went inside to the kitchen. His mom had made an enchilada and green-chile casserole. He kissed her cheek as she pulled the casserole out of the oven.
“Here, hito, I was keeping this warm for you,” she said as she scooped out a spoonful and set it at his usual place at the table.
“Mom, before I eat, I’m taking your blood sugar. Where’s your machine?”
She waved her hand and said, “I lent it to your aunt Sally. She thinks Uncle Benito is having a problem.” His mother never used the word diabetes. She always called it a problem.