Free Bad Love by Jonathan Kellerman

back to us, jumping rope.
    Evelyn Rodriguez sat between them in a folding chair, working on her lanyard and smoking. She had on white shorts, a dark blue T-shirt, and rubber beach sandals. On the grass next to her was her purse.
    Bonnie said, “Hey,” and all three of them looked up.
    I waved. The girls stared.
    Evelyn said, “Go get him a chair.”
    Bonnie raised her eyebrows and went back into the house, putting some wiggle in her walk.
    Evelyn shaded her face, looked at her watch, and smiled. “Forty-two minutes. Couldn’t ya have stopped for coffee or something?”
    I forced a chuckle.
    “Course,” she said, “don’t really matter what you actually do, you can always
say
you done it, right? Just like a lawyer. You can say anything you
please
.”
    She stubbed her cigarette out on the grass.
    I went over to the pool. Chondra returned my “Hi” with a small, silent smile. Some teeth this time: progress.
    Tiffani said, “You write your book yet?”
    “Not yet. I need more information from you.”
    She nodded gravely. “I got lots of truth — we don’t want to ever see him.”
    She grabbed hold of a branch and started swinging. Humming something.
    I said, “Have fun,” but she didn’t answer.
    Bonnie came out with a folded chair. I went and took it from her. She winked and went back into the house, rear twitching violently. Evelyn wrinkled her nose and said, “Well, does it?”
    I unfolded the chair. “Does it what?”
    “Does it matter? What actually happens? You’re just gonna do what you want to, write what you want to anyway, right?”
    I sat down next to her, positioning myself so I could see the girls. Chondra was motionless in the pool, gazing at the trunk of the avocado.
    Evelyn humphed. “You ready to come out?”
    Chondra shook her head and began splashing herself again, doing it slowly, as if it were a chore. Her white pigtails were soaked the color of old brass. Above the pink walls the sky was static and blue, bottomed by a soot-colored cloud bank that hid the horizon. Someone in the neighborhood was barbecuing, and a mixture of scorching fat and lighter fluid spread its cheerful toxin through the autumn heat.
    “You don’t think I’ll be honest, huh?” I said. “Been burned by other doctors, or is it something about me?”
    She turned toward me slowly and put her lanyard in her lap.
    “I think you do your job and go home,” she said. “Just like everyone else. I think you do what’s best for
you
, just like everyone else.”
    “Fair enough,” I said. “I’m not going to sit here and tell you I’m some saint who’d work for free or that I really know what you’ve been going through, ’cause I don’t — thank God. But I think I understand your rage. If someone had done it to my child, I’d be ready to kill him, no question about it.”
    She took her Winstons out of her pocket and knocked a cigarette loose. Sliding it out and taking it between two fingers, she said, “Oh you would, would you? Well that would be revenge, and the Bible says revenge is a negational action.”
    She lit up with a pink disposable lighter, inhaled very deeply, and held it. When she let the smoke out, her nostrils twitched.
    Tiffani began jumping very fast. I wondered if we were within her earshot.
    Evelyn shook her head. “Gonna break her head one of these days.”
    “Lots of energy,” I said.
    “Apple don’t fall far.”
    “Ruthanne was like that?”
    She smoked, nodded, and started to cry, letting her tears drip down her face and wiping them with short, furious movements. Her torso pushed forward and for a moment I thought she was going to leave.
    “Ruthanne was
just
like that when she was little. Always moving. I never felt I could . . . she had spirit, she was — she had . . . wonderful spirit.”
    She tugged her shorts down and sniffed.
    “Want some coffee?”
    “Sure.”
    “Wait right here.” She went into the house.
    “Hey, girls,” I called out.
    Tiffani kept jumping.