by Scott, Eliot
I wondered if she’d lost it. Then I wondered if she was the one who shot Mr. Sinclair between the eyes—a lot of people had whispered it. A lot of people had motives.
It’s out of character for May Sinclair to approach me at all, to be so out of control she’d bring up her husband’s unsavory death. She’s the woman who prided herself in having utter control over everything—manners and composure were a must. Unsavory topics were never discussed. She was the model wife to her perfect husband—a pinnacle of Tacoma society. She’d never let anyone see her talking to someone who wasn’t a member of her golf club. But now…I’m wondering if her words to me were a straight-up, personal threat.
Maybe once you kill your own husband and don’t get arrested for it, you lose your own mind and think you can kill and threaten whomever you want.
And maybe, just maybe, when you have inherited billions along with your two sons, and you’re finally free of Michael Sinclar’s cruel-abusive rules, you don’t care about anything anymore. Dangerous or not, I’m sure she must feel liberated.
I almost feel better thinking of her as the murderer. The other path lends to reasoning that she would be out for revenge. An eye for an eye, as he always said.
The feud she participated in for so long has to be real for her even now—as real as it was to my mom back when. It was real enough for her to throw away millions for one dollar just to keep me safe. Maybe May is so entrenched she just can’t stop herself.
This is all too big for me all of a sudden.
My heart sinks with the reality of it, and my head starts to pound with what feels like my own failure. Because the fear is now winning out—because I have a daughter to protect, I know I may have to just go away from here today.
Go away, without my Alex.
17.
Jojo, Present Day.
As I drive, I’m tense. I’m caught between my feelings of shock and utter desolation, nearly buckling by the waves of tears and memories I’m trying to quiet. I’ve also stared so long in my rearview mirror, waiting for May’s car to re-appear behind me, that I don’t know how I’ve made it past the first four lights that got me out of town.
Thankfully, I’m tailed by no one, and my panic, fears, doubts and total paranoia about May fades enough to let me breathe. While my world has flipped upside down, here in Tacoma, everything seems normal still.
I work to re-rationalize what I’ve found in my bag.
Yes, it’s horrible, and yes, it’s a surprise to discover my own mother was engaged to Alex’s father. I wonder if Alex knew, and as much as I fight the thoughts that keep trying to creep in, I have to consider the possibility that he lied to me more than I thought he did.
I try to seek sanity in the idea that the documents are very old, and that Michael Sinclair, the devil in all of this, is dead. As are my mother and father. But if they’re dead, and no one else is going to play games with lives anymore, I think the possibility is real that this ongoing battle could finally be over.
The feud, and the documents, are things from the past. Contracts between dead people that I have no plans of challenging or disrupting. I need to get my fears locked back up and focus again on why I came here. I’m here for me. I’m here for Alex, and for Emily. We’re alive, and we’re real, and we need to make our own contracts with each other.
Away from here.
The panic and the paranoia rushes back, thrumming in my head.
There’s this nagging doubt that I can’t seem to shake. I’m not certain I can trust the one man I came here to save. I blame his mother for a lot of that doubt, the way she keeps showing up. They’ve been watching me discover details of my past, letting me research through the county documents. I wonder if they were laughing about it, because they know how much it’s hurting me still.
That’s the poison talking, though—the horrible thoughts that Michael Sinclair forced Alex to put in my head. I remind myself that my gut is never wrong, and it pushes back at that doubt for a breath or two.
I find that in my state of confusion I’ve driven like I’m on autopilot, and I suddenly recognize every tree and turn in the road. Subconsciously, I’ve been heading back to my childhood home. I pull my little rental car off to the side of the road so I can think and pull myself together. I peel my hands off the steering wheel and look around me, taking in how the outskirts of town have changed. Farmlands have been traded for strip malls and condos.
I’ve been wanting to go see the Wallace Farm, or what’s left of it anyway, since I showed up here for the funeral. I’ve been just as afraid to bring up the memories of how my childhood home last looked before it was lit up with flames. The fear has won out…until now.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment as I try to get my mother’s handwriting and her command that our home be “burned so that I won’t have a reason to come back to Tacoma” out of my head.
I try to make peace with the document stating there’s been a valuable underground aquifer under my family’s farm this whole time. And I attempt to cope with the revelation that I’ve been kept out of more than sixty years of family secrets. It makes me want to show up there now and face it all, look at it with the eyes of an adult—not a scared high school girl.
My gut also still says I need to find Alex, show him what I’ve found. I should tell him exactly why I’m here, tell him I love him and want him back. I want my family to be whole.
Because I want to ask him to leave with me.
My body shakes when I think about the confrontation. These doubt demons have crept in and they seem so right. The image of May’s Mercedes and her threats to me are making me feel even more like I’ve made a mistake, and the thought of me not being here to protect Emily makes me question my instincts all over again.
The image of Alex’s angry, cold and closed off face—and the horrible words he said to me at the funeral—now bullet and ricochet like sharp rocks around my head. I’d thought that it was all a mask. For the past six years, from the time we had sex in that boathouse and he sent me away, I was sure he was wearing a mask, he was just doing his duty to protect me.
Maybe it was real. Maybe my dream to have this happy family has clouded my judgement all along.
Maybe I’m the crazy one.
“No…no…no!” I scream that out loud then wonder at my own sanity again. I force away my thoughts. I just need to get to the farm, re-read the papers in my purse, and think.
I tell myself that my mother is there, and my father—he’s there too. And though they lied to me, their love and good intentions for me was absolutely real. They both died at that farm, and I want to believe that they will still be there for me now. Somehow they need to be there.
Their souls. Their ghosts.
By the time I cross the first bridge heading towards our property—our old property, I correct myself—I’ve got the tears under control. The rocks are dislodged from my throat, and the damn horrible doubts have been pummeled down again. I’ve already decided that whatever the outcome, I will face Alex. And I will pry his mask off as hard as I can. And if he’s the same cold man underneath, at least I’ll know the truth.
And I’ll go.
I focus on a farm truck hauling an autumn harvest of apples in the other direction. The next one, a bigger truck, full of golden wheat, heads off to be hulled then stored. God how I’ve missed seeing the wheat. The silvery gold husks of the new harvest fly up off the truck bed and glint in the sun like glitter. The freshly tilled fields of pure dirt where the wheat once stood are now waiting for planting next spring.
The waterways that parallel the road glisten, catching my eye, and I begin to speed because I know I’m almost there.
Minutes later, my lungs fill more than they have in years. I taste the fresh air I know better than my daughter's name, and I eye where my house once stood. Most of the charred debris has been cleared, and it looks like the foundation has been graded. My throat hardens and burns at the thought of anyone else touching this land.
/> The car slides to a stop in the loose gravel that was once my driveway, but even that has been churned into the dirt. I kill the motor and step out of the car, taking my bag with me. Because as good as being here feels, I still know it isn't safe.
A riot of blue blossoms catch my eye, and I spy my family's old mailbox all but hidden in the overgrown flowering hibiscus bush my mother planted years ago. The blue flowers highlight the remaining blue paint my father used to layer on the mailbox every year. Now it's all rusted, but the red flag is turned up as if it still takes deliveries.
Tears well in my eyes, but I have to smile as I whisper to myself, “Hello Mom…hello Dad,” because this is them. This is all that is left. They’re here. My heart is here, and even though everything else has been stolen from me, this space is still somehow mine.
I stand and pull in another huge breath and take a few steps toward the spot that feels like where my old front door used to open and shut.
My eyes close, and I can almost hear the screen door spring creak. I can feel the metal of the handle and the stickiness of the cedar door catching as I shove it with one leg to step inside and announce that I'm home! I'm hungry and I've made a new friend. He's a boy and his name is Alex! And he fishes as good as you fish, Daddy. He's going to be in my same high school class, and Mom, he's very handsome.
And I like him. I really, really like him.
Looking back, I get now that my parents were such great actors—as good as Michael Sinclair and Grady, maybe Alex, too.
My parent’s eyes lit up that day. And in their way, despite the fear they must have been feeling, they made my happiness their own, even though it must have been killing them all along.
I never knew their hearts were breaking. I never felt their hatred toward the Sinclairs. I know Alex didn’t feel it either. Or maybe he did, but like them—like my father most of all—he never let on.
“Alex.” I speak his name to the sky, wondering if our love really could have been such a huge lie.
I think of homecoming our sophomore year. I was already in love with him, but it was the night he made me love him more. That was the night Grady and his football friends attacked me. My heart slows at the memory, and I swallow painfully, trying to recall each and every moment of that homecoming day.
Even that could have been a set up. I see that now.
18.
Jojo, Sophomore Year, The Day of the homecoming dance.
I’ve dragged the bags from the last-minute shopping trip straight from the car into the kitchen, shouting, “Daddy. Where are you?”
Finding our house empty, I count two plates on the table. My heart swells and I grin, noting the milk glass is still cold and half full next to one of them.
Alex must be here helping my dad fix the inside granary railings. He loves milk. Drinks it nonstop.
Mom’s just coming in as I bolt out past her. “I want to show them my dress.”
“Don’t you get it dirty, young lady.”
“I won’t. I won’t!”
Making my way past the stout, short, older stone granary, I sprint to the bigger one that goes up in a tall round tower. It’s got to be about a hundred feet tall—all metal with a poured concrete foundation. We use it now instead of the older one because it holds so much more. They recently painted the whole thing white with red trim. I think it looks like a windowless lighthouse.
Dad always says proudly how it’s the best of the best. He saved for years to get this building bought and constructed. He’s always bragging about how it’s two-layer construction keeps things airtight. It stays warm or cool inside depending on the season, and it never lets moisture or bugs into our valuable wheat harvests.
Each year, all of our upper fields and acres of land my dad farms boils down to this giant tube that gets filled with wheat grains. For me, it’s still difficult to grasp the concept that this one building, now full almost to the top of the walkways, will turn into money and support us for the entire year.
I watched them build it. It’s like someone took two tall paper towel tubes and stuck them inside of each other, one just a little skinnier than the other. The second tube layer is the one we use to go up inside. It’s the fatter one. It’s even got little windows going up each side along with matching staircases. Dad says they only put the windows into the nice ones, so you don’t get all claustrophobic while going up. It’s just wide enough to hold the stairs.
There are shoots and loading spaces, but really…it’s a tall, majestic but dark building. I used to pretend it was like a castle tower. Fine, I still do, but the older I get, I find I don’t like going in here so much. It’s too high and too dark for me.
But if Alex is in here with my Dad? I don’t even hesitate.
I’m so in love with Alex that this moment feels like I’m running up a cloud and heading into the sun. Tonight, Alex Sinclair is taking me to the school’s homecoming dance. It’s going to be our second school dance. During last year’s, which was our first, I was all nervous and unsure about being the new girl—about being someone’s girlfriend. But tonight, I’m so sure. And it’s because he’s so sure of me.
After the heat of the summer, and because this tower is metal, the fist-sized bolts that hold the circular walkway around the inside of the top of it tend to loosen as winter sets in. It takes two people to tighten them up safely.
I follow the sound of metal pounding into metal, and when I locate the door above the side they’re working on, I dash around to the opposite side of the building. The walkways are really thin, and if they’re in the middle of working on a bolt, there might not be any room for me to lay out my dress. Plus I wouldn’t want to startle them into dropping a tool or something over the side. If something falls into the grain from up top, it gets sucked in, and emptying the grain out too soon would ruin the harvest, so it’s never to be found again until the beginning of the next season when it’s sunk to the bottom and we clean and dry the whole thing for the next harvest.
When I reach the top of the staircase, I’m panting so much I can hardly breathe, so I pause just inside from the walkway on the small landing to catch my breath. I also pull out my phone so I can fix my hair and check if I look halfway okay before seeing my boyfriend.
Boyfriend. I smile at myself in my phone just thinking the word.
“Homecoming.” My father’s voice sounds worried. “Son, you’re already dating Jojo. I don’t think you need to ask my permission to every dance.”
“I know that, Sir, but I guess it just feels right to do so.”
It’s all I can do not to hug myself. Alex’s words are so sweet.
The tools and the pounding start up again, and I hold my spot on the landing because I don’t want to startle them. My Dad calls out, “Alex, pull here. Good. Two more turns and this side is done. You’re a hard worker, son. You make me very proud.”
“Thanks. I’m honored to help you, Sir. Honored that you asked me to help. Means a lot that you trust me.” Alex’s voice wavers a little with emotion.
“I do trust you. My daughter has good judgment, and we’re pretty open with our feelings around here, so every damn day all of a sudden, the girl feels the need to tell me that she loves you. I want to thank you for being worthy of that love, and for taking care of her. And if you and she—should you two ever part ways—I guess I’d like to ask that you be very careful with her heart. Could you do that for me? I know high school doesn’t last forever and things can change. But if that comes to pass, be more than gentle with her heart, please? She’s giving you all she has; I see it in her eyes when she talks about you.” His voice drops and gets all scratchy sounding. “Can you please not hurt her.”
I nearly die, straining to hear more. The sound of the bolt-pounding stops. I picture the two of them—my two best guys—having this man-to-man talk, one that’s so serious now that they have to put down the tools.
“Mr. Wallace, with all due respect to your request, Jojo and I are never going to part ways. In my f
amily we don’t ever talk about our feelings openly the way Jojo does, but I can say to you here and now that I do love your daughter as much as she loves me. I’d never, ever hurt her, and…I can’t speak to you about parting ways with her because it’s an unfathomable idea to me.”
I hold my breath, trying not to let nervous laugher escape, but a small one slips from my throat when my dad does finally chuckle. Alex is nervous, and I can tell by his quickly said speech. When he is being serious with me, he always talks the way people do when they pretend to be all badass and grown up.
“Nice choice of words, Alex. You’re very smart, aren’t you?”
I clutch my hands to my chest and silently agree with my dad. Alex is so-so-so smart. I work to mouth the big word he used.
Unfathomable. Breaking up with me is unfathomable.’
Alex finally chuckles too, the stress of having this serious talk with my dad breaking him down. “I like how you can laugh at me, sir, yet you aren’t mocking me at all. How do you do that?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, son. It’s just natural camaraderie, isn’t it? Who would mock you?”
“No one. Not really. I’m just making an observation.” Alex stammers. “I mean that I wish my family had the same skills you have in conversation, that’s all. Natural kindness, I guess.”
My smile drops slightly as I stay hidden. Sometimes there’s so much sadness in Alex, and I know that sorrow comes from how he feels disconnected from his father and Grady sometimes.
“It takes kindness, yes, but it also comes from true genuine friendship, son,” my father adds.
“Right. Well, maybe to you all of that comes easy. You’re like Jojo. And you’re smart too, I think, Mr. Wallace.” Alex says, his voice still heavy with doubt. “But you—your family—seem to be born being so very nice and genuine. I don’t think my family…we aren’t like that. At least I don’t think we are. Heck! I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Never mind.”