What She Never Said

by Catharine Riggs

  “What’re you doing, Mom?” Adam steps out onto the porch and pops open another beer.

  “I’m going for a walk,” I say, pushing past him.

  “Now? It’s dark out.”

  “So?” I lace up my running shoes and grab a bottle of water.

  “It’s dangerous to go walking alone at night.”

  “This is Santa Barbara, not Palmdale.”

  “So you think there’s no crime?”

  “Nothing has happened to me yet.”

  He stares at me like I’m crazy and then whips his wallet from his pocket. He pulls out a credit card and hands it to me.

  “What’s that for?”

  “To protect yourself.”

  “But how . . . ?” I turn it over.

  “Careful. It’s a knife.”

  I take a closer look at the card. He’s right. This is no credit card. But it isn’t a knife either. “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s a credit card knife. I’ll show you how it works.” He pulls a second faux credit card from his wallet and makes a few quick moves and produces a knife. He holds it up.

  “Could that kill someone?”

  “Probably.”

  “It can’t possibly be legal.”

  “Sure is. They sell them online for five bucks a pop.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “For protection, Mom.”

  “Protection from what?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Just do me a favor and carry it when you go walking, especially if you’re out at night.”

  I finger the cold metal. “I wouldn’t know how to use it. I’d probably hurt myself.”

  “Practice a couple of times.” He returns his knife to its credit card state and hands it to me. I stare at him, wondering what would make him carry such a thing. Then I make the folds like he indicates, and in a few seconds, I have a knife.

  “Try it again,” he insists.

  I break down the weapon into a card and then fold it back into a knife. The process reminds me of the origami I used to enjoy as a kid.

  “Perfect,” he says with a satisfied smile. “You’ve mastered the art of self-defense.”

  “If I could get up the nerve to use it.” I shove the knife in my pocket. “Anyway, I’m heading out. I should be back in an hour.”

  “All right. I’ll probably be gone by the time you get home. No need to wait up.”

  “I won’t.” I step out onto the porch.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?” I turn back to see Adam’s face loaded with concern. His arms are folded, his eyes fixed on his feet.

  “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  For some reason I feel embarrassed. Did I manipulate those words from my son? “No problem. I shouldn’t have peppered you with so many questions right when you got home.”

  “Not about that . . . I mean, that too, but . . .” His sad eyes fix on mine. “I’m sorry about the wedding. How it all turned out.” His voice breaks. “You see, Nikki . . . well, we visited Dad a couple of times, and she and Gigi hit it off. And she had gotten this stupid idea in her head that you didn’t like her . . .”

  My face grows warm. The idea wasn’t so stupid.

  “Anyway, somewhere along the line, she and Gigi got to be Facebook friends. I didn’t even know she’d asked Dad to walk her down the aisle, and when I found out, well, I know now I should’ve stood up to her. I was an idiot.”

  My heart dagger twists a couple of times. It’s hard for me to say the next words. “Of course you should’ve invited your father and his . . . his wife. I was the one that behaved badly. That was immature of me.”

  His face brightens. “So you’re not mad at me anymore?”

  “I was never mad at you, just hurt. But that was wrong. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Of course I can, Mom. I love you. You know that. And I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” He opens his arms and gives me an awkward hug. My heart melts. The dagger recedes.

  He tilts his head. “That Zach playing?”

  “It is.”

  He releases me with a smile. “Cool. I’ll go say hi.”

  I stiffen, my good feelings draining. “Why would you do that?”

  “He said he’d give me guitar lessons when I got back.”

  “He knew you were coming home?”

  “Of course he did.”

  Of course? I want to ask more questions, but Adam hurries down the steps. The side gate squeals open, and moments later, Zach’s guitar pauses, and a burst of laughter spills from his yard.

  Four

  Saturday, August 17

  The next morning I find Zach out on the sidewalk fiddling with his plastic fence. He’s dressed in black shorts and a rumpled T-shirt, his graying hair stuck up every which way. I paste a smile on my face and try to sound lighthearted. “I thought you had to upgrade your fence.”

  “Yeah, well, I will when I have the money. What’s the city going to do? Jail me?”

  “True.” I watch him for a few minutes. I can’t help noticing that his looks have improved. His skin glows tan, and he’s lost a few pounds. The job must be good for him. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

  Zach straightens. “Sure, I’ll come over.”

  “Better if I come to your house. Adam’s sleeping, and I don’t want to wake him.” And I wouldn’t want him to overhear what I have to say.

  Zach glances at his front door. “All right. But it’s a little messy inside.”

  “That’s okay.” I’ve been in Zach’s backyard plenty of times, but it’s been years since I’ve stepped into his house, so I’m shocked by what I see. Boxes are stacked high against the walls. Old magazines spill across the coffee table. The TV is one of those boxy kinds with a jagged crack along its side. I brush a cobweb from my face and wince at the musty smell. Messy is an understatement. The place is a hoarder’s dump.

  Zach turns and shrugs. “Sorry. I’m working on cleaning it up.”

  “I can give you the name of a good housekeeper.”

  “Sure.” He looks more than a little embarrassed. “Let’s talk in the kitchen. It’s cleaner in there.” I follow him past Hunter’s old room, and a chill runs up my spine.

  The kitchen is not any less messy, but at least there’s an almost cleared table and two chairs. I carefully take a seat and peer through the window coated in years of grease and grime.

  Zach eyes me sheepishly. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water? I might even have tea.” He throws open a cupboard door, and a box of macaroni tumbles out and splats onto the floor.

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  He leans over with a groan and picks it up. “You sure?”

  I glance at the unwashed dishes. “I’m sure.”

  Zach mutters to himself before settling in his chair and giving his knee a good rub. “Okay then. What’s up?”

  I take a deep breath and start in. “Simon Appleton is dead.”

  His eyes grow wide. “Simon? The old man? You’re kidding me. How? When?”

  I fill him in on what Selena told me, and he can’t stop shaking his head.

  “Poor guy,” he says. “This is crazy.”

  “I know.”

  He kneads his hands together. “But no Post-it Note?”

  “None found.” A silverfish races across the floor. I grimace and lift my feet.

  “So you think his dying is just a coincidence?”

  I nod. “He wasn’t in the best of health, and his late-night escapade couldn’t have been good for his heart.” I glance up at a stream of ants scurrying along the ceiling. Zach’s gaze follows mine, and he stumbles to his feet. “Damn! I thought I got rid of those things. They’ve been invading my house all summer.” He grabs a can of insecticide from beneath the sink and attacks the ants with the spray.

  “I’ll be outside.” Holding my breath, I step out onto the narrow back porch and wait for Zach to finish his battle. The sky is gray with a low morning fog; moisture drips fr
om the rafters. I take a seat on a rickety bench sheltered by the eaves and pick at a piece of peeling paint. Zach’s yard looks as shabby as mine, worse when you consider the piles of rusty tools scattered throughout the weeds. A dove coos mournfully from the bushes, and a darkness shrouds my heart. I have a sudden urge to move elsewhere. Forget my job and start over. Buy a cottage high in the mountains where the air is fresh and clean.

  “There,” Zach says, slamming the door behind him. “That should do it.” He settles next to me, wincing.

  “You’ve got to get that looked at,” I say. His knee is swollen and red.

  “I will once my health insurance kicks in.”

  “But that’s weeks away.”

  “I don’t have much choice, do I? Anyway, I’ll be fine. Weird about Appleton, though.”

  “Really weird.”

  “I mean, the guy predicted his own death.”

  “Maybe his heart was already giving out.”

  “Maybe.” Zach eyes me thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking on what you told me about the Post-it Notes. You want me to involve the police? I could call in a few favors. I still have a detective friend that works there.”

  I shake my head. “If you do, I’ll have to tell them I’ve known about the notes for months. That’ll end my job, or maybe something worse.”

  “You don’t think Kai would understand?”

  “Kai?” I choke down a laugh. “All he would understand is that he’s found his reason to fire me.”

  “Is it possible you’re exaggerating?”

  “I’m not. He’d get rid of his mother if it meant a bigger bonus. He’s even making plans to kick out the destitutes.”

  “The guests that’ve run out of money?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I believe it’s to increase his bonus. He gets a percentage of any profits over and above the projected net.”

  Zach nods. “Interesting . . .”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I happen to know he needs the money.”

  “How so?”

  “The kid’s broke. Beyond broke. Drowning in debt.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Night I moved him into his new digs. Didn’t mean to snoop, but some papers fell out of a file. Student loans gone to collection. Overextended credit cards. That kind of thing.”

  “But he just bought a new car.”

  Zach shrugs. “Maybe someone cosigned.”

  “Maybe.” I try to pin the new information on my perception of Kai. It makes a lot of sense. “So what you’re telling me is that I need to be even more careful.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “If he gets rid of me, he can add another hundred plus to the bottom line.”

  Zach frowns. “I think you’re stretching.”

  “I doubt it. And I don’t want to give him cause. So let’s keep the Post-it Notes quiet for now. Have you nose around instead.”

  “All right.” He points to the far corner of his disaster of a garden. “Check it out. Quail.”

  A family of quail is rummaging near his ramshackle woodshed. Mom. Dad. Three babies. Their plumes swaying back and forth. I read once that they fall prey to every kind of predator and rarely live more than a year. It’s sad to ponder their short lives, but for a moment I do just that. Then I shake off the gloom and mentally tick off a list of my Saturday chores. Groceries, dry cleaning, laundry. Maybe a pedicure after that.

  “By the way,” Zach says, interrupting my thoughts. “Adam and I had a good talk last night.”

  “You did?” I turn to him and search his face. “What about?”

  “Life.”

  “His or yours?”

  “His.”

  “And . . .”

  “He’s got a lot of shit going down.”

  “I figured.”

  “He wanted me to tell you about it.”

  “He can’t do that himself?”

  “Seems he’s a little embarrassed.”

  “So, what’s going on?”

  “To start with, his marriage has broken up.”

  “What?” I nearly fall off the bench. “You mean it’s over?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  I finger my Fitbit. “But they’ve barely been married a year.”

  “Yeah. Well. Things haven’t gone so well.”

  “I knew it. I never trusted Nikki. My God, how much time has she spent in rehab?”

  “About as much time as your son.”

  I let that remark slide and picture Adam’s thin body, his ragged hair, his pallid face. My heart speeds up when I ask the next question. I’m hoping against hope. “Is Adam using again?”

  Zach takes a moment to answer. “I don’t think so. He says that’s part of the problem. He isn’t using, but she is. She fell off the wagon a few months ago, and they’ve been fighting ever since.”

  My thoughts whirl back and forth. “How about his job?”

  “He got fired last week.”

  “Why?”

  “Missed a few days of work.”

  “Was he sick?”

  “No.”

  “So he is using.”

  “Actually not. He missed because he was in jail.”

  “Jail?” The word hits me like a blow to the head.

  “Yeah. He and Nikki had a fight. Must’ve been a bad one. The neighbors called the police.”

  “Dear God. Did he hit her?”

  “He claims she tripped, but she’s saying otherwise. He’s being charged with felony battery.”

  “Felony?” I picture future job applications and the accompanying background checks. A felony would destroy his life. “That can’t happen,” I say.

  “He can try to plead it down. But he’s going to need a lawyer. A good one.”

  “How much will that cost?”

  “Five thousand for a retainer. Another five for court.”

  I picture my bloated credit cards and my meager emergency savings. “Does he have the money?” I ask, knowing the answer before I speak.

  “Course not.”

  “Maybe his dad can help.”

  “He already asked. Doug said no.”

  I feel a sudden rush of anger. “So he feels comfortable telling Doug about his problems, but he won’t say a word to me?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point?”

  “He’s going to need your help.”

  “You mean he’s going to need my money.”

  “With his checkered background, if he doesn’t fight this thing, the felony conviction could stick. He could even spend time in jail.”

  The quail family has reappeared next to a wild tomato bush. They’re pecking at the rotten red fruit hanging from the vine. “You don’t understand, Zach. Adam’s rehab trips were more expensive than Alice’s college education. Financially, I’m a mess. I don’t have any more to give him.”

  “I guess I could lend him the money.”

  “Do you have any to lend?”

  “Only my emergency savings. But I’d have to get it back.”

  “How can Adam pay you back if he doesn’t have a job?”

  Zach gives his knee a good rub. “There’s an opening in the kitchen at Serenity Acres. What if you helped him get hired?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  I fix my gaze on the quail family. “Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Because?”

  “Because . . .” I try to add structure to my jumbled thoughts. “Because it’s never a good idea for family members to work at the same business.”

  “Who says?”

  “Everyone says.”

  “Everyone? Come on Ruth. Give your kid a break. You won’t be working in the same building. You’ll never see him, let alone speak to him. We owe it to him. You know that.”

  Zach’s words
make me feel small and mean. “What about the background check?” I ask. “I doubt he’ll clear it.”

  “He hasn’t been convicted yet.”

  “And his new tattoos? You know they’re against the rules.”

  “Bunch of the kitchen staff have them. Who gives a shit? Not like any guest ever sets foot back there.”

  I take a deep breath and exhale. “Okay. I don’t like the idea, but I guess it’s better than Adam sitting around.”

  “Way better.” Zach grins, his blue eyes sparkling. “I told Adam you’d find a way to help him.”

  “He didn’t think I would?”

  “He doesn’t know you like I do.”

  I nod, pleased at his words but filled with unease. I’ve always made a point to keep my work and home life separate. It concerns me to change that now.

  Five

  Friday, August 30

  I have enough problems in my life without adding Carlyn to the mix. But she’s been calling and texting for months now, and I’ve run through every viable excuse. So I left work shortly before ten and drove to the nearby Koffee Klatch, where I ordered a cup of black coffee and took a seat at a corner table. Now I fiddle with my Fitbit and wait.

  The Klatch is one of those dreary places that was trendy in the nineties but has since grown old and tired. The glass showcase is covered in fingerprints, the linoleum floor yellowed and cracked. The gray walls could use a fresh coat of paint; the bay windows need a good wash. Even the customers seem down on their luck—no wannabe artists milling about. Just a couple of unkempt men slouched behind their computers in the shadowy back of the room. I chose this place on purpose. I doubt I’ll see anyone I know. I take a sip of coffee and grimace. It’s bitter, like it’s been brewing for hours. I could sweeten my drink with cream and sugar, but the calories would add more steps to the end of my day.

  I glance at my cell phone and wonder. It’s not like Carlyn to be late. Or at least it’s not like the old Carlyn. What do I know about the new one? The one who’s been accused of manslaughter and has spent weeks if not months in jail?

  I met Carlyn in my early twenties at a barbeque at Zach and Tina’s. Zach was friends with her older brother; Carlyn and Zach had dated a few times. We discovered a joint fondness for jogging, so we agreed to train for a Wine Country 10K. That training led to a friendship, and we remained close throughout the years.