J is for Judgement

how to reach Michael at the new address?"
    "Why not? All he has to do is call Information. The new number's listed. It isn't any big secret. Why? Do you think Brian and Wendell would try to connect at Michael's?"
    "I don't know. Do you?"
    She thought about it for a moment. "It's possible," she said. She pressed her hands between her knees to still their shaking.
    "I probably ought to go," I said.
    "I'm staying close to the phone. If you learn anything, will you let me know?"
    "Of course."
    I left Dana's and headed over to the Perdido Keys. My prime worry at the moment was the whereabouts of Renata's boat. if Wendell had really found a way to arrange Brian's release, his next move would be getting the kid out of the country.
    I pulled into a McDonald's and used the pay phone in the parking lot, dialing Renata's unlisted number without luck. I could hardly remember when I'd eaten last, l so while I was on the premises I availed myself of the facilities, then picked up lunch: A QP with cheese, a Coke, and a large order of fries, which I took out to the car. At least the smell of fast food obliterated the last traces of Jerry Irwin's sweat.
    When I reached Renata's, her big double garage door was wide open and there was no Jaguar in evidence. I did catch a glimpse of the boat at the dock, two wooden masts visible above the fence. The house itself showed no interior lights, and there was no indication of activity. I parked my VW about three doors away and demolished my meal, remembering as I finished that I'd already eaten lunch. I checked my watch. Ah, but that was hours ago. Well, two of them, at any rate.
    I sat in my car and waited. Since my car radio wasn't working and I hadn't brought anything to read, I found myself ruminating about the sudden acquisition of family relationships. What was I going to do about them? Grandmother, aunts, cousins of every description... not that they'd lost sleep over me. There was something troubling about the feelings being stirred up. Most of them were bad. I'd never devoted any thought to the fact that my father was a mail carrier. I had known, of course, but the information had no impact, and I usually had no reason to reflect on the significance. All that news being delivered. . . the good and the bad, debts and remittances, accounts payable, accounts receivable, dividend checks, canceled notes, word about babies being born and old friends dying, the Dear John letters breaking off engagements. . . that was the task he'd been charged with in this world, an occupation my grandmother apparently judged too lowly for consideration. Maybe Burton and Grand truly felt it was their responsibility to see that my mother chose well in this matter of a husband. I felt defensive of him, brooding and protective.
    With Liza's revelation, I'd caught a glimpse of whole dramas that had been acted out without my knowledge: quarrels and rituals, the gentle cooing of women, raucous laughter, cozy chats in the kitchen over cups of coffee, holiday dinners, babies born, advice offered up, the hand-embroidered linens passed down from one generation to the next. It was a ladies' magazine picture of the family: abundant, cinnamon-scented, filled with pine boughs and ornaments, football games on the color TV set in the den, uncles dazed by too much to eat, children glassy-eyed and hyper from all the naps they'd skipped. My world seemed bleak by comparison, and for once the Spartan, stripped-down life-style I so cherished seemed paltry and deprived.
    I stirred on my seat, nearly paralyzed with boredom. There was no reason to believe Renata Huff would show up. Surveillance is a bitch. It's tough to sit and stare at the front of a house for five or six hours at a stretch. It's hard to pay attention. It's hard to give a shit. Usually I have to think of it as a Zen meditation, imagining I'm in touch with my Higher Power instead of just my bladder.
    Daylight began to fade. I watched the color of the sky shift from apricot to blush. The temperature was dropping almost palpably. Summer evenings are usually chilly, and with this storm system lurking off the coast, the days seemed as short as some premature autumn. I could see a fog bank moving in, a wall of dark clouds against the rapidly accumulating cobalt blue of the twilight sky. I crossed my arms in front of me for warmth, slouching down on my seat. Another hour must have passed.
    I felt my awareness flicker, and my head jerked in- voluntarily as I lurched out of