‘We’re going to be late,’ Rosie says.
I turn around and see she’s dressed for a New York fall in a down jacket and scarf.
‘You’re not even dressed,’ she says to me, looking me up and down.
I’m still wearing my bathrobe. I don’t even remember putting it on.
‘What’s the matter? Are you OK?’ Rosie asks, concerned. ‘Stop worrying about the IT geek. Let’s go out and get drunk.’
‘I . . . actually I’m not feeling very well,’ I stammer. ‘I think I’ll stay in.’ The calendar is calling to me from its interment in my drawer.
Rosie cocks her head at me, disappointed, but then shrugs. ‘Suit yourself!’ She moves for the door. ‘See you later.’
She’s gone before I can say bye. I sink down onto my twin bed and start to shake.
Shit.
I get up, open the drawer and retrieve the damn calendar. I recount the days again and again, then after what feels like an hour I look up and take a deep breath that’s like swallowing a swarm of bees.
I could get an abortion. It’s not too late. But my hand automatically flies to my stomach and I feel dread. I don’t think I can do it. I get up and start pacing the small space between the twin beds. I’m nineteen. This is not how my life is meant to go. I wish I could call my mom and tell her, ask her advice, but I know what she’ll say: how could I have been so reckless after everything they’ve given up for me, after everything they’ve sacrificed to send me to college?
I could tell him. I sink down onto the bed, gnawing on my fingernails. What would he say? I can’t guess. I have no idea. Would he tell me to get an abortion? Would he tell me to keep it, that he’d stick by me?
There’s a knock. I get up from the bed and shuffle to the door, opening it a crack. I’m expecting to see one of the other girls from the dorm, but it’s not. It’s Robert.
‘Oh,’ I say, bewildered at the sight of him. He pushes his glasses nervously up his nose.
‘I was just passing,’ he says. ‘And I thought I’d drop by.’ He glances at my bathrobe and then, flushing, stares at his feet. ‘I’m sorry, I should have called first.’
‘It’s OK,’ I say, softening at his awkwardness.
‘I was wondering if you, um, fancied going for a drink, or maybe something to eat?’
He looks at me with a hopefulness that makes my heart skip a beat. He’s the opposite of Nate. He’s serious, bookish, an IT geek, as Rosie joked. He’s also not someone I could label a boy. He’s a man. A real grown-up. I met him two weeks ago. As a post-grad, he led a group of freshmen on an orientation, and I was one of them. We stopped for coffee afterwards and he asked for my number with the excuse that he had free tickets to MOMA. He called me the next day and we ended up taking in an exhibition. It was nice, but I’ve been avoiding his calls ever since. He’s just too old for me; he’s got an ex-wife and a child for goodness’ sake. I don’t want to get into another relationship so soon after breaking up with Nate. That’s what I told Laurie. I want to be single and free in New York. I want to be an artist, like the ones I’ve read about in magazines and books who drink espresso and wear lots of black and watch art house movies and get invited to loft parties. I want to be someone.
Definitely not a mother. At least not yet.
‘It’s a little late probably, isn’t it?’ Robert says, interrupting my thoughts and glancing at his watch. ‘I’ll go.’
He turns to leave. I make a decision without weighing the consequences but knowing already, some place deep down, that I’m taking a step on a path I can’t ever turn back from.
‘Actually,’ I call out after him, ‘that sounds great.’
Robert turns around, beaming, and I feel a pang that makes me hesitate. It’s still not too late. ‘Let me throw on some clothes,’ I say, and turn back inside the room, shutting the door. What the hell am I doing?
Alone in the room, I stand frozen. I see the calendar on the desk, the days marked off. I count backwards and forwards. The indisputable fact of August 18th circled. The last day I spent with Nate. I broke up with him before I left for college. He was upset and we ended up in bed together. One last time.
I shrug off my bathrobe and throw on a pair of jeans and a sweater. Grabbing my keys and a jacket I pause to pick up the calendar and throw it in the trash.
Robert’s waiting patiently outside. I take his arm and follow him out into the night.
Sheriff Nate Carmichael guilty of leading brutal home invasion that left a young girl fighting for her life.
The Ventura County Sheriff, 42, was shot dead last night, along with his two conspirators, including deputy Sheriff Jonathan Safechuck, 28.
Carmichael, who had recently transferred to Ventura from Long Beach, was assigned to lead the investigation into the armed burglary that took place in Ojai on the night of May 8th. The victims, Robert and Ava Walker, were home with their 12-year-old daughter, June, when three masked men burst in with guns and demanded they open the safe.
During the assault Robert and Ava Walker were both beaten and their daughter, June, received life-threatening injuries after being shot. While in intensive care and under armed guard two further attempts were made on the young girl’s life, both of which have now been attributed to a third suspect, Calvin Williams, a former school friend of Carmichael’s. Both men grew up in the area and it’s believed that they conspired to target the Walkers, who were well known within the community.
Carmichael, a member of law enforcement for nineteen years, moved swiftly to arrest and charge Robert Walker with conspiracy to commit fraud, claiming that the Internet entrepreneur had hired known criminals to carry out the attack in order to claim on his home insurance policy. The motive appeared to hold water when details of Walker’s bankruptcy emerged, however Mr. Walker has since been released from prison and all charges against him have been dropped.
The Walkers’ older daughter, Hannah, 22, was kidnapped by Safechuck and Williams after overhearing them discussing an attempt on her sister’s life. Details of her rescue have not yet been released by the police. However, Mrs. Walker is believed to have been present at the time and sources indicate that she shot at least one of the suspects. No arrest has been made.
Carmichael had been the subject of at least one internal investigation into corruption, but no charges were pressed. Police believe that Carmichael, who had significant gambling debts as well as unpaid child support, had been shaking down drug dealers and other criminals over the course of his nearly two decades on the job and have begun an investigation. They are also digging through previous case files of unsolved burglaries.
The Sheriff’s department is not seeking any further witnesses and declined to comment until a full investigation has been carried out.
Euan Shriver
Chapter 54
10 WEEKS LATER
The news vans are still gathered outside the hospital. We’re the gift that keeps on giving, I suppose. As stories go, it’s a good one. Better than OJ, one Hollywood producer told me. Two officers of the law guilty of corruption, burglary, murder, kidnapping; a bloody, dramatic showdown in the woods that left two dead; an innocent man released from prison and reunited with his family; a front-page image that continues to circulate of Hannah wrapped in a foil blanket being helped away from the scene of the crime by paramedics.
I’ve heard that a cable network is making a true crime show out of what happened and that they’re basing it on the article that Euan Shriver wrote for the LA Times.
And Jonathan? the FBI asked. What role did he have in all this? Did I know he was having a relationship with my daughter Hannah?
Yes. I was aware. It was my belief that he’d preyed on her, a vulnerable, traumatized girl, so that he could find a way to get close to the family, so he would be the first to know if June regained consciousness and if she remembered anything. What other reason could there be?
When I heard Jonathan was dead I didn’t feel anything. I still don’t. If I had
to do it again I’d aim for his head.
Hannah was interviewed too, of course. They wanted to know everything about her relationship with Jonathan and how it had come about. Did he instigate it or did she? Had he ever mentioned Calvin Williams to her? Had she ever had cause to be suspicious of him or his behavior? Why had they abducted her? What happened to her during the time she was held – a minute-by-minute breakdown. Who was the ringleader? Who sent the text from her phone? What was the dynamic between them all?
I sat with her, alongside our lawyer, as she gave them her statement. She had no idea Jonathan was involved, or Nate. She had never heard either of them mention Calvin. She and Jonathan had been seeing each other casually after meeting at the hospital. Calvin sent the text from her phone.
She found out that Jonathan was involved in the robbery when she overheard him talking to Calvin outside the hospital, saying something about June, about needing to get in there and do it before it was too late. When she confronted them, demanding to know what they were talking about, Jonathan grabbed her and wrestled her into the van.
Yes, she thought they were going to kill her. She overheard them fighting about it while they were driving. She thought she was going to die out there in the woods.
While she was tied up in the basement they must have heard my interview claiming that June had woken up. Jonathan went back to the hospital to finish her off. The police pieced this all together, but Laurie was able to corroborate the details of the abduction. By chance, she saw Hannah being dragged into the back of the van. She had followed, afraid of them getting away, unable to call the cops because she couldn’t reach her phone in her bag on the back seat. She hadn’t wanted to pull over to get it in case she lost the van. She’d found a lipstick in the cup holder and scrawled the license plate number on her arm and had crashed the car when she eventually tried to reach behind and grab her bag.
Why did they want to kill June though?
Because she saw Nate’s face.
Nate knew that I shot her. He witnessed it. But he couldn’t press me too hard on it, worried that he’d trigger other memories of the night, ones involving him.
I have no idea what Nate meant to do when he drove me to Calvin’s house. Did he plan on killing Hannah? Did he plan on killing us both and burying us somewhere out there in the canyon? The whole way there he must have been plotting his next move, figuring out what to do. He went inside the cabin, alone. It’s all conjecture on my part, but I think he planned to kill Calvin in order to frame him. I think he planned on ‘rescuing’ Hannah. He’d look like the hero. No one would ever know.
That’s what the gunshots were. Calvin ran, and Nate chased him out of the cabin, which is why it was empty when I got there. Nate was chasing down Calvin, trying to kill him before he could rat him out.
I wish one of them had survived so we could ask them, so we could know for sure. I guess I’ll have to live with the uncertainty.
June is making progress. The lie I told the press came true. It was almost as if she waited until she knew the danger was past, and then she made her move. She blinked. She wriggled her toes. She squeezed Gene’s hand. Gene, who spends as much time beside her bed as I do. Gene, who, every day after his therapy and NA meetings, plays her music and reads graphic novels to her, taking the time to describe every illustration in detail. Gene, who tells me every day that she’s getting better as though his saying it will force it to be so.
And when she wakes, will she remember? Will she remember that I pulled the trigger?
The thought sends seismic shudders through me. When I sit by her bed and clutch her hand I whisper an endless silent stream of apology and prayer. It’s me who put her in that bed. It’s me who did this. The knowledge and the truth of that sits in my chest like an unexploded grenade.
Sometimes I think I should pull the pin and tell the truth – tell them all that I am the one who shot June, tell Robert that Hannah, his pride and joy, isn’t his – but every time I open my mouth the words evaporate off my tongue.
My family was built on a lie. And lies have broken us apart like bullets ripping through flesh and splintering bone.
But then again, wasn’t it the truth that did that? The truth is tricky. You open the door to it, thinking it will act as a salve, that it will set you free.
And instead it leaps at you, teeth bared, and rips out your jugular.
Chapter 55
Robert is crouched down by the kitchen island. When I walk in, he stands back and smooths the surface. The stain has vanished. He smiles at me and holds up a sheet of sandpaper in victory.
‘It came out,’ I say, trying to force a smile. I’ve already started thinking about ripping the kitchen out and putting in something new. Our first instinct to sell was reversed when Hannah pointed out that June will want to come home, not to a strange house.
Robert nods and I notice again the lines carved into his face as though with a scalpel, the pouchy bags beneath his eyes, and the way his shoulders sag under an invisible weight. I feel a sudden pang of love and tenderness. It springs out of nowhere and surprises me.
I don’t think he’ll ever fully recover from what happened, even if June wakes up, even if she walks or talks again. There’s some fundamental shift that’s taken place that I don’t think can be reversed. His smile fades, and he turns away from me.
We get in the car in silence and drive to the hospital in silence. A fundamental shift has taken place between us too. Ever since the day I collected him from jail we’ve barely spoken, except politely, and mostly to talk about June. We’re like two planets orbiting each other, but every day the gravitational pull gets weaker as though one of us, I can’t tell which, is drifting away, pulled by a bigger sun, or perhaps by a black hole.
We talked when he was first released. Or rather, I talked and he listened and said nothing. I told him about meeting Nate for coffee, and then dinner, and what transpired between us, down to my own awkward, shame-ridden flight. He hasn’t forgiven me. And I’m not sure he can forgive me either for believing, even for a moment, that he might have arranged to have me killed. That’s the bigger betrayal. And yet, he knows that his own reticence to talk to me about the financial troubles we were in, and about Gene, also played a role in what happened.
Can we forgive each other for all the lies? Can we find a way to close the fissure between us? And can it ever be fully closed when the lie about Nate and Hannah sits between us like an invisible ghost?
As though operating outside my control, my hand reaches over and takes Robert’s. He’s surprised, I can tell, even though he doesn’t show it. For a moment he doesn’t respond and his arm goes rigid, but then, just at the point I’m about to pull away, his fingers tighten around mine and he squeezes.
It’s only the smallest touch, but it feels like a beginning; an offering and an acceptance. He glances my way and as our eyes meet the distance between us shrinks, albeit only by a centimeter or two. It’s something though. A start. I banish Nate’s ghost.
Laurie and Dave are at the hospital. Dave hugs me, but as if he’s hugging a thorn tree. Robert, on the other hand, receives a full bear hug. Dave has told Robert all about his involvement with Gene. The three of them have buried the hatchet, let bygones be bygones. So have Laurie and Dave. I’m happy for them. Of course I am, though envious too.
It bothers me that Robert can so easily forgive his son. No matter Gene’s solicitousness of June and his scraping to us like a medieval courtier before his rulers, I can’t forget the fact that everything happened because of him. But Robert can’t handle the pain of losing June and Gene in one fell swoop, I suppose, and so it seems that we’re stuck with one very stubborn wart. I take a deep breath and let it go. I can’t hold on to the anger, or that very small start we’ve made towards fixing things might flounder.
Laurie is beside the bed, brushing out June’s hair. Her cuts and bruises are almost healed; only the cast remains on her leg. She smiles at me and I smile back.
; Dave and Robert launch into a discussion about a new app Robert’s developing to help people who are paralyzed use smartphones with voice technology. There’s not much spark to Robert these days, but I see something light up in him when he talks to Dave. We don’t need the money of course, not now, not after most of the people we were suing, including the hospital, settled out of court for seven-figure sums, but his way of dealing with grief is by keeping busy.
So yes, Robert’s been busy, but I’ve been busy too. When I’m not here at the hospital, or talking to our lawyer, or the bank manager and the insurance companies, I’m working on paintings for the show I have coming up. The gallery owner could not be more thrilled at the anticipated turnout, and all the press she’s already been getting. I feel like a fraud, but I don’t say so. I think a lot of people probably feel the same way. And there’s something empowering about being in charge of my own future and contributing financially. I don’t want everything to be on Robert’s shoulders anymore.
Dr Warier comes by with papers for us to sign – patient release forms. He’s humbled, hopeful, takes my hands and says he’ll pray for us. He tells me that he’s sure we’ll get our miracle. I whisper my thanks.
The orderlies follow Dr Warier, wheeling June out of the room and down to the ambulance that is taking her to the rehab center. Dave and Laurie go with her.
‘Is she going to be OK?’ Hannah asks as we finish packing June’s teddy bears and trophies into a box.
I nod. ‘Of course.’ Because what else can I say? What else do I choose to believe? And I don’t want Hannah changing her mind and deciding to stay. She’s going back to New York tomorrow, back to college, and I want her to live life to the fullest and not have to deal with all the fallout and the media vultures still pecking over the grizzly remains of the case.
It will be easier for me too, though I don’t admit it out loud. Now every time I see her, I see Nate. I learned to ignore it when she was little, convincing myself she looked more like me, but her cornflower-blue eyes are his, no mistake. I’m amazed no one else can see it.
In Her Eyes Page 24