Split Black /#Wattys 2021

Chapter Sixteen

"He just slams in the door—" Crawford illustrated with a wave of his hand "—and his first words are, 'What have you done, nothing?᾽" Crawford spit the words out in a snarl.

"And she goes, 'Well, Aunt Lilia called from California and she wanted to know what the doctor said,᾽ and he just went off on her.

"First he goes, 'I can't believe you're telling that bitch our business!᾽ and then he goes, 'Did you tell her he said I might have to retire?᾽ And she was hemming and hawing and trying to get out of having to say yes, and then he really goes off."

Crawford leaned forward. "I'm standing there on the other side of the door with my mouth hanging open. He's trying to guess what she told her aunt—'She said if I hadn't bought the Bentley and cracked it up and then bought this place I wouldn't have to worry about it, right?᾽ And Donna's going, 'Dad, please calm down,᾽ and he's yelling, 'Yeah, you don't want to tell me what you said, right?᾽

"And then he goes, 'I can't trust you at all!᾽ and he starts yelling at her about all kinds of stuff. Stuff she told her mother about him when they got the divorce, stuff from when she was in high school—he's even yelling at her about breaking the dryer when she was four!

"I flushed the toilet and washed my hands hoping he'd hear it and stop 'cause somebody was over. Instead he's out there screaming at her about quitting her job and about her weight, and about how her and her dog were just mooching off him—"

John interrupted him. "Donna Greenhouse has a dog? I've been up there a couple of times. I didn't see any dog."

Crawford's mouth twisted and he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's because he's my dog, now! I couldn't believe it. All of a sudden Donna starts screaming, and I walk out there, and he's got Webster under the elbows like this—" Crawford demonstrated, holding his hands out in front of him as if he were dangling a baby or a small doll. "Out on the balcony, over a six story drop!"

John blinked. Crawford continued, making twisting motions as if he were driving a racecar on a winding speedway. "And Webster's wriggling, trying to get loose, and Donna's crying, 'Daddy, please don't drop my dog!'

"I ran out there and grabbed the dog out of his hands—" Crawford demonstrated with a double-fisted swipe "—and I'm not sorry to say I punched him one. And then me and him got into it after that. Tyler, you could tell he was embarrassed. He got all red in the face. I'm like, 'What the fuck's the matter with you? No wonder she's always walking on eggshells around you, worrying about what the fuck you're gonna do! And taking it out on a little dog? I could call the police on you, man!' And he's all puffed up—" Crawford pulled himself up to his full height, working his shoulders back and forth as if he were wearing football pads.

"He goes, 'This is between my daughter and me. Get out of my house!᾽ So she grabbed Webster and we left. We had to stop at K Mart for some cheap clothes. Donna didn't even take any clothes with her. She didn't go back for two days. I didn't want her to go back at all, but she was worried about him. Said he'd do things like turn the oven on and forget about it, or shave with a plug-in electric razor in the bathtub, and she was afraid he'd hurt himself."

John zeroed in on the target. "Let me ask you about firearms. You shoot, right?"

Crawford nodded. "Practical pistol matches. Some friends and I hunt deer in season."

"Did Dr. Greenhouse ever shoot with you?" John asked, pen at the ready.

"No."

"Did Donna?"

"She went with me a couple of times. I don't know why, 'cause she didn't seem to really want to shoot that much." Crawford scuffed the toe of his work boot on the blacktop. "I got her to shoot a couple of times, but she acted like she was afraid of the gun. Mostly she'd just watch me shoot and sweep up the brass and dispose of the targets."