the Third Twin (1996)

She felt sorry for him. He seemed to have no friends. However, he looked a lot better than he had last night. He was clean and shaved and rested. He had warmed up a pizza from her freezer for his lunch: the dirty dishes were on the kitchen counter. She was about to ask him who the hell he thought was going to put them in the dishwasher, but she bit back her words.

She put down her briefcase and began to tidy up. He did not turn off the TV.

“I’ve been to Richmond, Virginia,” she said.

“That’s nice, honey. What’s for dinner?”

No, she thought, this can’t go on. He’s not going to treat me like he treated Mom. “Why don’t you make something?” she said.

That got his attention. He turned from the TV to look at her. “I can’t cook!”

“Nor can I, Daddy.”

He frowned, then smiled. “So we’ll eat out!”

The expression on his face was hauntingly familiar. Jeannie flashed back twenty years. She and Patty were wearing matching flared denim jeans. She saw Daddy with dark hair and sideburns, saying: “Let’s go to the carnival! Shall we get cotton candy? Jump in the ear!” He had been the most wonderful man in the world. Then her memory jumped ten years. She was in black jeans and Doc Marten boots, and Daddy’s hair was shorter and graying, and he said: “I’ll drive you up to Boston with your stuff, I’ll get a van, it’ll give us a chance to spend time together, we’ll eat fast food on the road, it’ll be such fun! Be ready at ten!” She had waited all day, but he never showed up, and the next day she took a Greyhound.

Now, seeing the same old let’s-have-fun light in his eyes, she wished with all her heart that she could be nine years old again and believe every word he said. But she was grown-up now, so she said: “How much money do you have?”

He looked sullen. “I don’t have any, I told you.”

“Me either. So we can’t eat out.” She opened the refrigerator. She had an iceberg lettuce, some fresh corn on the cob, a lemon, a pack of lamb chops, one tomato, and a half-empty box of Uncle Ben’s rice. She took them all out and put them on the counter. “I tell you what,” she said. “We’ll have fresh corn with melted butter as an appetizer, followed by lamb chops with lemon zest accompanied by salad and rice, and ice cream for dessert.”

“Well, that’s just great!”

“You get it started while I’m out.”

He stood up and looked at the food she had put out.

She picked up her briefcase. “I’ll be back soon after ten.”

“I don’t know how to cook this stuff!” He picked up a corncob.

From the shelf over the refrigerator she took The Reader’s Digest All-the-Year-Round Cookbook. She handed it to him. “Look it up,” she said. She kissed his cheek and went out.

As she got into her car and headed downtown she hoped she had not been too cruel. He was from an older generation; the rules had been different in his day. Still, she could not be his housekeeper even if she had wanted to: she had to hold down her job. By giving him a place to lay his head at night she was already doing more for him than he had done for her most of her life. All the same she wished she had left him on a happier note. He was inadequate, but he was the only father she had.

She put her car in a parking garage and walked through the red-light district to police headquarters. There was a swanky lobby with marble benches and a mural depicting scenes from Baltimore history. She told the receptionist she was here to see Steven Logan, who was in custody. She expected to have to argue about it, but after a few minutes’ wait a young woman in uniform took her inside and up in the elevator.

She was shown into a room the size of a closet. It was featureless except for a small window set into the wall at face level and a sound panel beneath it. The window looked into another similar booth. There was no way to pass anything from one room to the other without making a hole in the wall.

She stared through the window. After another five minutes Steven was brought in. As he entered the booth she saw that he was handcuffed and his feet were chained together, as if he were dangerous. He came to the glass and peered through. When he recognized her, he smiled broadly. “This is a pleasant surprise!” he said. “In fact, it’s the only nice thing that’s happened to me all day.”

Despite his cheerful manner he looked terrible: strained and tired. “How are you?” she said.

“A little rough. They’ve put me in a cell with a murderer who has a crack hangover. I’m afraid to go to sleep.”

Her heart went out to him. She reminded herself that he was supposed to be the man who raped Lisa. But she could not believe it. “How long do you think you’ll be here?”

“I have a bail review before a judge tomorrow. Failing that, I may be locked up until the DNA test result comes through. Apparently that takes three days.”

The mention of DNA reminded her of her purpose. “I saw your twin today.”

“And?”

“There’s no doubt. He’s your double.”

“Maybe he raped Lisa Hoxton.”