In Her Eyes

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In Her Eyes Page 19

by Sarah Alderson


  ‘Not as sorry as me,’ I answer sharply. ‘What do you want?’

  He hears the irritation in my voice and exhales. ‘My job’s on the line. My whole career. They’ll look to throw someone under the bus. And that someone will be me.’

  I close my eyes in disbelief. My daughter is brain dead according to the doctors and it’s partly, if not fully, Nate’s fault. And he’s come here begging me not to sue in case he loses his job. I always knew Nate was self-centered but this goes far beyond that and into pathological-narcissism territory.

  ‘I can’t afford to lose my job,’ he says beseechingly. ‘I’ve got kids, a mortgage. This kind of thing sticks to you. No one will employ me.’

  I struggle with what to say as he pleads, my hands coiling into fists. Like I give a shit. Thank God, the phone rings, and I race for it, grateful for the interruption.

  ‘Hello?’ I say.

  ‘Ava?’

  It’s Laurie.

  ‘Hi,’ I say.

  ‘Do you still need a ride to the hospital?’

  ‘No,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve got my car back.’

  ‘From Gene?’ she asks. ‘Did you see him? Did you ask him about the drugs?’

  I whip around, covering the phone so Nate can’t hear, but he’s gone. Where did he go? I rush to the kitchen door and catch a flash of movement at the top of the stairs. ‘I need to go,’ I say to Laurie and hang up the phone.

  At the top of the stairs I glance right. The door to June’s bedroom is open. I walk towards it, pulse skittering. Nate steps out right in front of me just as I reach it. He’s holding something in his hand. He smiles and holds it up to show me.

  ‘Forgot this,’ he says.

  It’s his phone.

  ‘Must have left it on the desk.’

  I glance over his shoulder at the desk and then at the hamster cage, my throat so dry I feel as if I’ve swallowed mouthfuls of sawdust. Nate steps past me out into the hallway, and I follow him, but not before craning my neck to see if the money is where I left it. From this angle it’s impossible to tell.

  ‘I better be going,’ Nate says to me, looking at his watch. ‘I’m sorry I came. I shouldn’t have. Please forget what I said.’

  I follow him, not saying anything, and see him out, my hands shaking with adrenaline. As soon as he’s over the threshold I shut the door on him, drawing the bolt and the chain.

  After taking a few deep breaths I push myself away and make for the stairs. Did he find the money? I drag myself up by the bannister and rush into June’s room. The money is still there, half-buried in sawdust.

  I dig it out and count it. One hundred and ten thousand dollars. It’s all there.

  Chapter 42

  17 MONTHS AGO

  The second time I see him I don’t even try to kid myself it’s just for coffee. I go for a bikini wax. We meet for a drink and I’m so nervous I down two glasses of Pinot in short order and am light-headed when we leave the bar.

  Except this time there are no pretenses. When he tells me I’m too drunk to drive and we walk on to his car, I know what I’m walking towards. We end up back at his, a small apartment in a part of town I’ve never been to before, behind the Vons and the Chinese place, where the houses are all pre-war clapboard bungalows. I’m surprised he isn’t living somewhere fancier, but I suppose with the alimony he grumbles about he’s on a tight budget.

  We enter the small living room and I only get a quick glance around, taking in the bare walls and minimal furniture, before Nate’s pulling me into his arms and kissing me. I hesitate for a brief moment then lean in to him, letting the feeling of being desired wash over me.

  The initial strangeness gives way to an old familiarity. When he kissed me by my car it only lasted a few seconds, just long enough for me to come to my senses. This time we kiss for a minute or two but no matter how much I want to enjoy it, I can’t. The thrill of being desired is numbed. I’m too guilty. It’s as if I’m kissing cardboard. I feel nothing.

  I don’t know if I want to go through with this. Nate’s maneuvering me to the sofa, his arms around my waist, his lips on my neck.

  What am I doing? The shock of it hits me. Robert would be devastated. I can’t do this to him.

  He’ll never know, the voice in my head whispers.

  Nate’s hands slide under my shirt and up my back, and with expert ease he undoes my bra. He used to be so proud of that move as a teenager.

  I lurch away from him, unsteady on my feet. ‘I . . . I just need the bathroom,’ I say, and before he can even point me in the right direction I dart towards the narrow hallway.

  ‘First on the right,’ he calls after me.

  I rush inside and turn to lock it but there is no lock. I sink down onto the toilet, shaking while simultaneously fanning my overheated face. Shit. What am I doing? I glance around at the threadbare towels, Nate’s aftershave and razor sitting on the side. This is not a good idea. But how do I get out of it?

  I’ll just go out there and tell him I can’t go through with it. He’ll understand.

  I stand up and re-do my bra, then stare at myself in the mirror, feeling like I’m staring at my evil twin. I can’t believe I almost slept with him.

  I wash my hands and dry them on the towel, freezing at the sight of a pink hair tie on the side of the bath with long strands of blonde hair caught in it.

  Behind me the door flies open. I jump and spin around to find Nate standing there, a concerned smile on his face. ‘Everything OK?’ he asks.

  I nod but he must see something in my expression as his eyes fly past me and land on the hair tie.

  ‘That’s my daughter’s,’ he says, reaching and picking it up. ‘She stayed here last weekend.’ Something about the way he says it sounds off. He’s too quick to explain it, his voice too high. His daughter’s, or another woman’s? I wonder. Another reason to be glad I didn’t sleep with him.

  ‘I should go,’ I say, looking around for my bag. My keys. Oh shit. I left my car in town. Damn. I’ll need to call an Uber. Where’s my bag?

  ‘Ava.’ A hand on my arm. He pulls me gently around. ‘My daughters came to stay last weekend. I’ve been finding their things lying all around ever since. You know what teenage girls are like.’

  I nod. ‘It’s not that,’ I say. ‘I just . . . it doesn’t feel right. I can’t do this.’

  I grab my bag and rush for the door. I’ll call a cab outside.

  ‘Wait,’ he says and rushes after me. ‘Let me at least drive you back to your car.’

  I think about it but I don’t want to be rude so I nod. ‘OK.’

  We drive in silence the five minutes back to where I parked outside the bar. When he parks he reaches over and takes my hand. I turn to look at him, feeling a pang in my stomach. I’m still attracted to him and still feel the buzz of excitement of being touched by him, but he’s not what I want and I’m not going to get what I need from him. I slide my hand out from under his.

  ‘Bye Nate,’ I say.

  ‘No hard feelings,’ he replies.

  ‘No hard feelings,’ I answer.

  Chapter 43

  DAY 9: Evening

  I pull up outside a small, shabby, clapboard house in Meiners Oaks. A shopping cart’s been abandoned in the front yard – which is a no-man’s-land of rubble – and a beat-up old camper van with no tires, decorated with marijuana leaves and Bob Marley stickers, is parked on bricks in the drive. I wonder who on earth lives here and then decide I don’t want to find out.

  When I beep the horn the front door opens and out slopes Gene. Behind him I catch a glimpse of a girl wearing skimpy underwear and a tatty Bison Lodge T-shirt. Gene hurries over to the car and jumps in the passenger side.

  ‘Is it June?’ he asks me immediately. ‘Is she OK?’

  I didn’t tell him anything on the phone, just that I needed him and it was an emergency. I think I took some small pleasure in keeping him on tenterhooks.

  ‘She’s the same,’ I tell him, tossing a pl
astic bag into his lap, and stepping on the accelerator.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asks.

  ‘Open it,’ I tell him.

  He fumbles with the knot I tied in the bag. ‘Holy shit! Where’d you find this?’ he asks, eyes wide.

  ‘Hidden in June’s room.’

  He slams his head back into the headrest, taking a deep breath in. ‘Oh shit. She took the money?’

  I nod. The driver behind honks their horn and I jump. The light’s green. I pull onto the 33 towards Ventura.

  ‘She was in my apartment,’ Gene says, disbelief in his voice. ‘I didn’t think about it before but now I remember. A month ago, I guess. I found her. She told me she was looking for her tennis racket. I thought it was weird at the time because she hasn’t played tennis in years. But why . . .?’ He shakes his head. ‘Why would she take it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I tell him honestly. I’ve been wondering myself. June wasn’t a thief. Why would she take it?

  Gene exhales, punching the seat and swearing. ‘She must have thought I was going to use it to buy drugs . . . She caught me smoking a few times.’ A quick glance my way and he holds up his hands. ‘I know! I’m sorry. She lectured me about it one time – sounded just like you and Dad. They did some talk at her school about drugs being bad. Gave out these flyers. She left them on my bed.’

  It comes back to me then, the conversation I had with her the night she was shot. She asked me what I would do if I knew someone had done something bad but that telling the truth would get them in trouble. She was talking about Gene, not Abby. She took the money because she was trying to do the right thing.

  ‘Hey, slow down . . .’

  The speedometer is flying upwards, nudging ninety. I ease off the gas, my arms rigid on the wheel.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ says Gene.

  My grip on the wheel tightens as if it’s his neck I’m squeezing. We drive in silence all the way to the 101. Gene double-takes as we fly past the turn for the hospital, looking over his shoulder. ‘Hey, you missed the exit.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asks.

  ‘Oxnard.’

  Chapter 44

  The Corona bar sign flickers on and off, on and off. I get out the car, Gene scrambling to follow me. The plastic bag of cash is in my handbag. It’s almost one in the morning and I know Gene thinks we’re crazy coming here at this time of night. He hasn’t even heard half of my plan yet though.

  ‘Ava, what are you doing?’ Gene says, catching up to me. ‘This isn’t . . .’

  I spin towards him. ‘Gene, we’re paying these men the money you owe. We’re getting them off our back.’

  I push the door to the bar open and he stops talking.

  I’m only vaguely aware of the instant drop in volume and the faces turning towards me. Gene sticks close to my side as I march towards the bar. The barman takes me in with an expression that moves from amusement to annoyance in the space of a second. Sighing, he turns his back on us and reaches for the phone on the wall.

  I pull up a stool and sit down. Gene stands beside me, jittery and nervous, until I push a stool towards him and glare at him until he sits down too.

  The barman finishes his call and pulls a bottle of Tequila from under the bar. He pours us both a shot. I leave mine untouched but after a minute of waiting Gene picks his up and downs it, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm.

  ‘Tell me,’ I ask him. ‘Did you get fired from the Bison Lodge for dealing?’

  Gene doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. I sigh and turn away, sick to my stomach, and catch sight of myself in the mirror behind the bar, my face all blurry as though someone’s hurriedly taken an eraser to it but given up halfway through trying to make me disappear. It’s only when I focus hard that I realize that the mirror is burnished metal and is distorting everything reflected in it. I look over at Gene, head hanging morosely over his empty tequila glass.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ I ask him. ‘We gave you everything you ever asked for.’

  He nods, not looking at me. ‘I know.’ There’s a pause and I think he’s stopped talking but then he adds, ‘You know, I was eight when I first smoked a joint. My mom gave it to me, told me to take a puff.’

  I look at him. How did I not know this?

  ‘And then she started dealing – you know, at the bar where she worked. And occasionally she’d get me to courier drugs around on my bike. I mean, who’s going to stop a nine-year-old?’

  ‘Oh, Gene.’

  He stares down at the bar, toying with his empty shot glass. ‘When she dropped me here, you know, when she dumped me, I was so happy. I thought this was my chance to have a new start, but then June got sick and . . . I don’t know . . . I’m sorry, that’s not fair. June was sick and I guess I just started smoking again to forget about everything.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. I reach across and put my hand on his leg. ‘I know we weren’t good parents to you when you needed us. And I’m sorry we left you with your mom when you were little.’

  He shrugs. ‘I’m sorry I was always such a disappointment.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  He cocks an eyebrow at me. ‘Don’t lie, Ava, you’re terrible at it.’

  ‘I’m not terrible at it,’ I murmur. I’m very, very good at it, actually, but I keep that to myself. ‘Are you doing meth?’ I ask him, changing the subject.

  He looks at me, wearing a wounded expression. ‘No. I never do the hard stuff. I saw what it did to my mom.’

  I frown at him. I didn’t know his mother was on meth. I knew she was a drunk but I realize how little I ever knew about his life with her. It’s amazing how we focus on only what we want to see and what we want to believe, even when the truth is staring us right in the face.

  ‘And you still deal it,’ I say, unable to keep the harshness out of my voice. ‘After seeing what it did to her?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Gene darts a glance my way, looking for my reaction. Does he want forgiveness? From his tone I’m guessing that he does but I can’t find it in me. How can I ever forgive him? He may as well ask me to give him the moon. He didn’t pull the trigger but the gunmen were only in the house because of Gene and the stupid decisions he made. I can’t even think of the other countless lives he might have ruined by supplying meth.

  ‘I didn’t want Dad to get involved,’ he continues, his voice low, the words tumbling out of him in a rush. ‘I didn’t know he was going to come here and try to speak to them.’ Gene reaches for my tequila and downs it.

  ‘When did he find out?’ I ask.

  ‘Just after the money disappeared. I was freaking out. I needed to pay it back. I didn’t know who else to ask, so I went to him.’ Again, he darts a nervous glance my way.

  ‘You told him?’ I ask.

  ‘I told him that I was in trouble with some people. That I needed to borrow money to pay them back.’

  ‘And he agreed, just like that, no questions asked?’

  Gene shakes his head. ‘No, he refused to help unless I told him what it was for.’

  ‘He knew?’ I can’t believe he knew the truth and still offered to help, and that he pawned my jewelry in order to do it.

  ‘I told him that if I didn’t find the money they’d kill me.’

  My eyebrows shoot up. ‘What? Raul and James told you that?’

  Gene shakes his head. ‘No, not them, but they said the people they owed the money to would hunt me down and kill me, as a warning.’

  I draw in a shuddering breath. Was that what happened? Did they break in looking for Gene? Was the robbery a punishment? The room swims in front of me. It has to be them. The people Raul and James get their drugs from.

  ‘I’m going to go to the police,’ Gene blurts. ‘I should have gone to them in the first place.’

  ‘No,’ I say, alarmed, turning to clutch his arm. ‘You can’t. They can’t know any of this. Your sisters are in danger. Everyone would be if we talked. You kn
ow who these people are. You just said they threatened to kill you!’

  ‘But Dad,’ he chokes. ‘I can’t let him go to jail because of me.’

  I press my lips together hard and nod. I know. But what if the police can’t keep us safe? So far they’ve done a lousy job of protecting June. How can I trust them?

  ‘Do you think Dad will get off?’ Gene asks.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, and then I close my eyes and take a deep breath. One thing at a time. When I open my eyes I see myself again – a stranger – reflected in the burnished circus mirror.

  Beside me Gene signals the barman for another shot. I watch him down it. There’s so much of Robert in him, in his eyes and the set of his mouth, and for a moment my heart softens, but then I remember that he’s the reason Robert’s locked away and the iron shutters slam down before I can stop them. I turn away from him and back to my own reflection.

  The problem is that if June dies I won’t ever be able to forgive him – or Dave or Robert for that matter. I will want to destroy each and every one of the people involved, for lying, for their complicity, for their stupidity, for not thinking of the consequences.

  The door opens before I can get lost in any more dark thoughts. I don’t have to look. I know by the drop in noise that it’s Raul and James.

  Gene, who has been playing with his shot glass, freezes. I still don’t turn around. I wait for them to come over to us, and only when they’re beside me do I swivel to look at them.

  Raul’s shoulders are rounded, his nostrils flaring with every angry breath. Behind him James hovers, tense, eyes darting around as though he thinks maybe we’ve brought the cops with us.

  ‘We brought you the money,’ I say, handing Raul the plastic bag of cash. He can’t hide his surprise when he opens it.

  ‘It’s all there. You can count it.’

  ‘Nah, I trust you,’ he says, looking up now with a smile. ‘So, I guess we’re done then. Just tell your husband to keep on keeping his mouth shut.’ He nudges James and jerks his head in the direction of the door.

 

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