THE NAMING OF NAMES
Suze put out her hand, to be polite, then froze, fingers in midair. Gallucci. That was—No. She couldn’t be— “Gallucci, not Kerrigan?”
The woman’s face changed, her eyes narrowing. “It used to be,” she said slowly. “And that was way too good for a wild guess. What do you know, kid?”
Oh jeez. This was Dewey’s mother? A million thoughts went through Suze’s head and she didn’t know what to say. It was too late to lie—she’d blurted out Kerrigan without thinking. But she had to warn Dewey, stall for time. “Well, there’s no DeeDee here,” she said after a minute. “But have a seat.” She pointed to the glider. “I’ll be right back.” She shut the door and went to the kitchen.
DeeDee? That had been so weird to say. But she hadn’t wanted to say Dewey’s name out loud. Like in fairy tales. If you tell the witch your true name, it gives her power. You can never be too careful.
“You look like you just saw a ghost,” Ynez said. “Who was that?”
“I’m not sure yet. She says she’s”—Suze paused—“an old friend of the family.” She picked up the rubber band and redid her ponytail.
“Hey. What about your shampoo.”
“It’s gonna have to wait. I need you to do me a favor, right away.”
“What?”
“You know Parker’s Fix-It Shop?”
“Yeah. He got our toaster popping up again.”
“Good. Dewey’s over there with Owen. It’s his dad’s place. Go tell her she needs to come home?”
“Okay, but why don’t you go?”
“’Cause my mom isn’t here, and we’ve got company.”
“Oh. Gotcha. You want me to come back, after?”
“Not a good idea. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
“You sure?” She looked toward the front door. When Suze nodded, she just said, “Okay, then,” and went out the back.
Ynez had been gone about two minutes when the black Chevy pulled up onto the gravel driveway. The sweetest sound Suze had ever heard. She’d bounded down the back steps before the motor had stopped.
Her mother got out. “Suze? Why on earth is a motorcycle parked on our front walk?” She reached into the car for the groceries.
“She says she’s Dewey’s mother.”
Terry Gordon dropped the ten-pound sack of potatoes. “What?”
“The lady on the bike. She’s Rita Gallucci and she used to be married to Jimmy Kerrigan and she’s ‘DeeDee’s’ mother.” Suze made quote marks in the air. “She’s on the porch.”
Her mother swore, a word Suze was surprised she knew. “Where’s Dewey?”
“Owen’s. Ynez went to get her.”
“Did you . . . ?”
“No, I just said she should come home.” She hesitated, then gave her mother a hug. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what to do. Is she going to take Dewey away?”
“I have no idea, sweetie.” Terry Gordon shook her head. “I suppose she—I mean, she might—Oh, hell. I really don’t know.” She patted Suze on the arm. “Bring in the eggs and the milk so they don’t spoil. We’ll take it one step at a time.” She picked up the sack of potatoes.
A minute later, they stood in the front hall. Terry Gordon took a deep breath and put an arm around Suze’s shoulder. “Well, here goes nothing.”
Or everything, Suze thought.
They stepped out onto the porch.
“Hello. I’m Terry Gordon, Suze’s mother.”
“Ah. Gordon. That explains it.” She stood up. “I’m Rita Gallucci.”
“That’s what Suze said. I knew your husb—Jimmy—during the war.”
“You worked on the A-Bomb?”
“That’s right. But these days I’m helping to control the demon.”
“Glad someone is.”
A long silence.
Suze watched the two women size each other up, like Rutherford and a strange cat, circling and sniffing the air.
Rita broke the silence. “Do you know where my daughter, DeeDee, is?”
Suze watched her mother hesitate, then say, “Dewey’s at a friend’s house. I expect she’ll be home soon.”
“Dewey?”
“That’s what she calls herself now.”
“Oh. DeeDee was what we—Well, her whole name was kind of long for a tiny baby. Jimmy named her. Means twelve, in Latin, and—” She stopped in midsentence and pulled a pack of Luckies out of her pocket, then lit a kitchen match with her thumbnail. She exhaled blue smoke through her nostrils. “Anyway, she does live here?”
Terry nodded. “She’s been with us for a little over two years.”
“Since Jimmy died.”
“And a few months before.” She lit a cigarette of her own. “You know about Jimmy, then.”
“I found out a couple of weeks ago. Kind of a one-two punch, after the news about my mama. I’d gone to St. Louis to try and mend some fences, but I was too late. The only address her lawyer had for Jimmy was some P.O. box in Santa Fe.”
“Sixteen sixty-three,” Suze supplied.
“That’s the one. I rode a thousand miles and just got the army runaround—all hush-hush and secret.” She shook her head. “One look at me, full leathers and dusty, and everyone clammed up.”
“That happen a lot?” Terry asked.
“I’m not your typical housewife.” A pause. “But neither are you.”
“True enough.” Mrs. Gordon took a slow drag on her cigarette and leaned against the railing. “So how did you manage to—?”
“A nice old gal in an office off the Plaza. McGubbin? Something like that. She gave me a cup of coffee and told me Jimmy was gone and a family named Gordon had taken DeeDee in. I had to sweet-talk for an hour before she’d cough up this address.”
“You just came here for Dewey’s money, didn’t you?” Suze asked. Her voice was too loud and angry for normal conversation, but she didn’t care.
“Suze!”
Rita frowned, then held up her palm. “I suppose that’s a fair question.” She turned to Suze. “It was my mother’s house. But I hadn’t been back in years. If she wanted the money to go to Dee—to Dewey—well, fair is fair. About time the kid had some luck break her way. What I came for? Well, with Mama and Jimmy both gone”—she shrugged—“I’m all she’s got. You do what you gotta do.”
She stubbed out her cigarette on the heel of her boot and started to toss the butt onto the grass, then rolled it between her fingers and stuck it in her pocket. “I imagine you’ve heard plenty of stories about me.” It wasn’t a question.
“A few,” Terry said evenly.
“If you can spare a cold beer, I’ll fill you in on the rest.”
“Don’t you want to wait for Dewey?”
Rita shook her head. “I’m not sure how much she needs to know. I could use a dry run.” She jerked her head in Suze’s direction. “Without little pitchers?”
Little—? Of all the nerve. “Hey. I’m plenty old enough to—” Suze said, but her mother shook her head.
“Bring a six-pack from the fridge and give us a few minutes, sweetie. Stay in the kitchen and keep an eye out for Dewey, okay?”
Suze shot her mother a look, then sighed and obeyed. Mostly. After she’d delivered the beer, she did go back into the house, but not all the way to the kitchen. She slipped into the sheltered triangle behind the open front door and eased herself quietly to the floor. Through the space above the hinge, she could see both women. She watched her mother take a sip of beer, and waited to hear what Rita Gallucci had to say.