Speaking in Tongues

disgusting . . .”
    “Me? I’m just telling you what he said.”
    Tears coming down her face. “She wouldn’t! There’s no way. It’s impossible.”
    “They didn’t seem to think it was impossible. They seemed to think she did it pretty often.”
    “Tate! How can you say that?”
    “And he said it was a couple years ago. When she was fifteen.”
    “She didn’t. I’m certain.”
    A wave of fury consumed him. His hands cramped on the steering wheel. “How could you not know? What were you so busy doing that you didn’t notice any condoms in your daughter’s purse? Didn’t you check who called her? Didn’t you notice what time she got home? Maybe at midnight? At one? Two?”
    “Stop it!” Bett cried. “Don’t attack me. It’s not true! It’s a misunderstanding. We’ll find her and she’ll explain it.”
    “They seemed to think—”
    She screamed, “It’s a lie! It’s just gossip. That’s all it is! Gossip. Or they’re talking about somebody else. Not Megan.”
    “Yes, Megan. And you should have—”
    “Oh, you’re blaming me? It isn’t my fault! You know, you might have been more involved with her life.”
    “Me?” he snapped.
    “Okay—sure, your happy family didn’t turn out the way you wanted. Well, I’m sorry about that, Tate. But you could have checked on her once in a while.”
    “I did. I paid support every month—”
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake, I don’t mean money. You know how often she’d ask me, Why doesn’t Daddy like me? And I’d say, He does, he’s just busy with all his cases. And I’d say, It’s hard to be a real daddy when he and Mommy are divorced. And I’d say—”
    “I spent Easters with her. And the Fourth of July.”
    “Yeah, and you should’ve heard the debriefings on those joyous holidays.” Bett laughed coldly.
    “What do you mean? She never complained.”
    “You have to know somebody before you complain to them.”
    “I took her shopping,” he said. “I always asked her about school. I—”
    “You could’ve done more. We might’ve made some accommodation. Might’ve been a little more of a family.”
    “Like hell,” he spat out.
    “People’ve done it. In worse situations.”
    “What was I supposed to do? Take up your slack?”
    “This isn’t about me,” she snapped.
    “Well, apparently it is. You’re her mother. You want somebody else to fix what you’ve done? Or haven’t done?”
    “I’ve done the best I could!” Bett sobbed. “By myself.”
    “But it wasn’t you yourself. It was you and the boyfriends.”
    “Oh, I was supposed to be celibate?”
    “No, but you were supposed to be a mother first. You should’ve noticed that she had problems.”
    Tate couldn’t help but think of Bett’s sister, Susan. The woman had desperately wanted children, while Bett had always been indifferent to the idea. After her husband, Harris’s, death Susan had moved in with a man very briefly—he was abusive and, from what Tate heard, half crazy. But he was a single man—divorced or widowed—with a child. And Susan put up with a lotof crap from him just to have the young boy around; she desperately wanted someone to mother. After they’d broken up, the lover had turned dangerous and stalked her but even at the worst moments Susan still seemed to regret the loss of that child in her life. Tate now wished Bett had shown some of that desire for Megan.
    “I saw she was unhappy,” Bett said. “But who the hell isn’t? What was I supposed to do? Wave a magic wand?”
    His anger wouldn’t release the death grip it had on his heart. “Hell, that’s probably exactly your idea of mothering. Sure. Or cast a spell, look up something in the I Ching. Read her tarot.”
    “Oh, stop it! I gave up all that shit years ago . . . I tried to be a good mother. I tried.”
    “Did you?” he was astonished to find himself saying. “You sure you weren’t out looking for your King Arthur? Easier than changing diapers or helping her with homework or making sure when she was home after school. Making sure she wasn’t fucking—”
    “I tried . . . I tried . . .” Bett was sobbing, shaking.
    Tate realized the car was nudging eighty. He slowed. A deep breath. Another.
    Long, long silence. His eyes, too, welled up with tears. “Listen, I’m sorry.”
    “I tried. I wanted . . . I wanted . . .”
    “Bett, please. I’m sorry.”
    “I wanted a family too, you know,” she whispered, wiping her face on the sleeve of