Criss Cross

Chapter 4

M.

I was still rattled when I pulled up in front of my house two hours later. The rain had stopped, and a breeze that was unnaturally warm for mid-March was blowing.

I saw Bree sitting on the porch swing with a light blanket around her. She patted the seat beside her, said, “True?”

I nodded and took a seat. “He signed it.”

She was quiet. Then: “You know the Edgertons are going to use this as evidence to prove that their son was framed and someone else was responsible.”

I sat back, exasperated. “Unless we tell the press about M, and the whole mess comes out.”

“Nothing stays a secret forever, Alex,” she said, stroking my head.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said. “Then I become the story.”

“You are his focus.”

“I get that,” I said. “But it’s just...”

“What?”

“Confusing.”

“Mikey Edgerton was guilty.”

“I know that,” I said, spotting something in our neighbors’ dark front yard. “M’s just playing his games. What’s going on over there?”

“Scaffolds. Morse said they were doing it right, inside and out.”

“More banging,” I said, irritated. “They moved away for the year just so they wouldn’t have to hear it.”

“They’re both on sabbatical.”

“Lucky for them,” I said, getting up. “I’m hungry.”

“Nana’s getting dinner ready for you. I’m going to sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow could be difficult.”

I kissed her, told her I loved her, and went inside.

The television in the living room was streaming Terriers, currently the favorite show of my seventeen-year-old daughter, Jannie. The air in the front hall was perfumed with the scent of garlic, onions, and basil wafting from the kitchen.

The smells and sounds calmed me. I went into the front room, where Jannie was on the couch in her running sweats, dozing. A biology textbook lay open in her lap, but she held the remote for the TV.

“Hi, sweetheart,” I said, giving her a little shake.

Jannie startled awake and punched the pause button. “Hi, Dad,” she said sleepily.

“You sleeping, studying, or watching?”

“All three,” she said, smiling through a yawn.

“You can’t do all three.”

“Most men can’t, but most women can.”

“Run that one by me.”

“So, like, in class last week? We learned that the latest research says male minds are hardwired for single tasks. They learn best and do best when everything comes at them one at a time, you know, like one project and then the next. And it probably helps if they can move around. While they’re studying, I mean.”

“Okay. And the female mind?”

“Women are amazing!”

I grinned. “I’ll agree with that wholeheartedly. But why?” She used her index finger to draw imaginary circles around her head. “The female mind can focus on many things at once. My teacher said it’s like juggling. Where men tune out everything but the one thing they’re working on, women can hear it all, smell it all, and see it all. And get it all done!”

“Except when they’re sleeping.”

She laughed. “Okay, except when they’re sleeping.”

“I’ll admit, you know your stuff. If you see your brother trying to multitask, please tell him about the male brain and stop him. Okay?”

“You think he’ll listen?”

“Probably not,” I said. I leaned over to hug her. “I missed you, baby.”

“Missed you too, Dad,” she said, and she yawned. “I don’t know why I feel so tired.”

“Get to sleep early tonight.”

She nodded but seemed concerned about something.

As I was leaving the room, she called after me, “My first out-door meet’s Tuesday afternoon.”

“Already in the calendar of absolutely must-dos,” I said, heading into the kitchen.

My ninety-something grandmother, an avid foodie, was stirring something in a deep pan on the kitchen stove.

“I don’t know what it is, but it smells awful good in here.”

“New chicken recipe,” she said, tapping the spoon on the side of the pan.

“Dad!” Ali called from the room beyond the kitchen. “Check this out.”

Nana said, “He’s been dying to show you some mountain-bike video, and you won’t eat until he does.”

I held up both hands in understanding. My youngest child, Ali, was ten, smart as a whip, and always into something new. And when he got into something new, he was like a terrier — he wouldn’t let go.

Ali’s latest interest was mountain biking. It had actually begun last year when a friend had lent him one, and he’d asked for a bike for Christmas.

We made sure he got one because, unlike his older sister, Ali had never been known to exert himself physically if he didn’t have to. But something about the bike had captured his imagination, and he rode it all the time now, even in the cold and snow.

Ali was on the floor, stretched out in front of his laptop, when I walked in.

“You’re late,” he said, sounding put out.

I held up my hands. “Beyond my control. You ride today?”

He nodded. “The usual way by the Tidal Basin.”

Bree and I often ran that route. It was safe and well traveled. I’d okayed him to use it if he wanted to go out for a ride on his own as long as he got permission first and it wasn’t too early or too late. “You wanted to show me something?”

He hit a key on his laptop. The screen came to life, showing the helmet-camera feed of a mountain biker poised high above a sprawling city.

“Where is this?” I asked.

“Lima, Peru,” he said. “You won’t believe it.”

The guy riding the bike took off and immediately went down an impossibly steep, covered staircase. Then he shot out into sunlight and he was on a wall about two feet wide with a big drop on either side.

Crowds of people watched the rider skim along the wall to the end and launch into the air. He dropped a good twenty feet and landed on a dirt path on a hill so steep, I thought he was going to go over the handlebars and tumble to his death. But he punched the landing, cut left, crossed a narrow wooden bridge, hit another bump, soared again, and landed on another staircase. The insanity went on for a good four minutes before the rider pulled over and started laughing. The video stopped.

“Wasn’t that amazing?” Ali asked.

“What was that?”

“Urban-downhill mountain biking!”

“Wow,” I said. “A new sport every day.”

“I’m going to do that someday,” he vowed.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Nana said from the kitchen. “Alex, your dinner’s ready.”