What She Never Said

by Catharine Riggs

  “I’m sorry about all that,” she says in a tiny voice. “I don’t know what got into Bodie. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  I ease down next to her, and we sit quietly for several moments. Part of me wants to give her a hug, but I am her supervisor, after all. So I settle for patting her hand. She doesn’t react in any way.

  “I’m afraid I need to ask you a few questions,” I say after a while. “Since the confrontation involved security, there’s no way to get around a formal report.”

  “I know,” she replies in a resigned tone.

  “We can wait until later if you prefer.”

  “No. I’d rather get it over with.”

  I hesitate, wondering where to start. “Is your real name Joy?” I ask.

  “It is . . . I mean, it was. I changed it to Ember after . . .” She takes a deep breath. “I changed it legally so I’d never forget. And because Joy wasn’t who I was anymore.”

  “And Bodie’s your husband?”

  “He was my husband. We’re separated. Divorced.”

  “Oh . . . I’m sorry. I mean, if you are.”

  She shrugs. “There wasn’t a choice.”

  “And is he . . . I mean, is this behavior normal? Is he violent?”

  She shakes her head. “No. At least I don’t think so.” From where I’m seated I can see only the healthy side of her face, and once again, I’m stunned by her beauty, even when she’s in obvious pain. “I haven’t seen him in over three years,” she continues. “Not since . . .”

  “Not since . . . ?” I repeat softly.

  “Not since the trial.”

  “So he’s a criminal?”

  “Not a criminal. I mean, he did spend a year in prison for manslaughter. And I’m sure he’s on probation now. That’s why I know he can’t see me. Why he can’t be here.”

  “Do you mind my asking what he did?”

  “No. But I ask you to keep this confidential. I don’t want anyone else to know.”

  I think of my report. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Thank you.” She begins to tell her story, and I enter the saddest of pasts.

  Seven

  Friday, August 30

  “Bodie and I were married young,” she begins. “We were only eighteen, but we’d grown up together in a commune. Not a religious cult, although yoga and meditation played a part of our day. Our commune was founded by a group of highly educated professionals that included my parents. They had a dream funded by enough money from a stock syndication to build a violence-free, self-contained community on two hundred acres of rolling farmland outside of Humboldt.”

  She smiles like the memories are good, and her voice begins to relax. “It wasn’t a bad way to grow up. There were no TVs or cell phones or computers, but we did have plenty of books. Our electricity came from wind and solar, our water from a natural spring. Our bathroom was an outhouse, and we bathed in a nearby creek. We were vegetarians but not vegans. We raised cows, chickens, and goats. None of them was ever slaughtered; it was against the antiviolence code. We grew our own fruit and vegetables, grapes for wine, and marijuana for smokes. There was no formal education—if a child took an interest in a subject, one of the adults might help them along. Otherwise, we were left on our own to explore nature. The commune was all about developing a new way to coexist.”

  “So, who taught you to read?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t remember. It seems like I always could. I had a passion for books, mostly classics: Wharton, Dreiser, Lawrence. That’s all the library held. That and a mountain of do-it-yourself manuals.”

  I think about the drawbacks of that sort of life. “What if someone got sick?”

  “My mom was a trained physician—an ob-gyn. So she ran the health clinic, and when I got older, I assisted her. It was mostly broken bones or babies or stitches. We lived such a healthy lifestyle, there was little need for the medications we surround ourselves with out here. No problem with blood pressure or diabetes. That kind of thing.”

  “No birth control?”

  “Only natural forms.”

  “So the families were big?”

  “Many, yes, although I was an only child. Bodie came from a big family. He was the youngest of seven boys.”

  “Did this commune have a name?” I ask, thinking I should look it up.

  “Empezar. It’s Spanish for ‘to begin.’”

  “And does it still exist?”

  She nods. “I’ve heard it’s grown larger, although I haven’t spoken to anyone there in years. Not since I left with Bodie.”

  “Not even your parents?”

  “No. When you leave the commune, there is no going back. It’s one of the tenets of their philosophy. You either abide by their rules, or you’re labeled an outsider. And once you become an outsider, you can never return.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “I suppose, but I do understand. Once you visit the outside world, you’re corrupted by all it offers.”

  “You believe that?”

  “I do.”

  “So why did you and Bodie leave?”

  Her voice drops. “Bodie’s family was different than mine. His father was broken in some way. At the monthly town hall meetings, he would fight with the other leaders. Complained about the rules. He had contributed the most money to the endeavor, so he believed his family deserved a bigger home, but he didn’t want to build it himself. As the years went by, he became increasingly violent. He’d get in arguments with his neighbors, started beating his boys. The commune knew what was happening, but they were too frightened to get involved.”

  A koi splashes in the pond, a flash of orange and black. Ember smiles. “Bodie and I fell in love when we were thirteen. We spent every waking moment together. We’d go on walks that would last for hours. Talk about things we wanted to see. Places we wanted to go. But while I was fine with dreaming, Bodie was looking for escape. And when things grew worse with his dad, well, he reminded me of a caged animal in a zoo. Not a small animal. Something big, like a panther or a lion. He’d pace back and forth, yearning for what was out there . . . not willing to acknowledge any of the good things in his life. And then on the eve of his eighteenth birthday, his dad gave him an extra harsh beating. We ran away that very night.”

  “What about your parents?”

  She sighs. “They would’ve tried to stop me, so I left without saying goodbye. I gave everything up for Bodie.”

  I think of Adam and Alice and wonder how I’d feel if I could never see them again. It would break me. I know it. We may fight at times and not understand each other, but losing them would mean the end. “So how was life outside the commune?” I ask.

  “It was good at first. Bodie got a job with a construction company in Santa Cruz, and I found work in a day care center. We rented a small apartment only blocks from the beach, and that’s where our first daughter was born. Little Emma was followed a year later by Ella.” Her voice turns wistful. “I was so happy. I had everything I ever wanted, ever needed. But Bodie . . . well, in ways he was a lot like his father. He grew envious of what other people had. Wanted a nicer home, a better car. He bought a television and computer, and from there he began to crave things we hadn’t even known existed. And it didn’t help when he fell in with the wrong crowd—local surfers that worked construction in the day and partied hard at night.”

  A warm breeze rushes through the garden. Ember runs her hands through her stubbly hair. “I didn’t know about the drugs until later,” she says. “But I knew his personality had changed. He’d be jittery when he got home, his eyes glassy. Sometimes his hands would shake. And he grew irritable around the girls. He didn’t like their crying. Then one day he announced we were going on a family camping trip. I was so excited, because we rarely took vacations. But by then, Ella was two and Emma three. Old enough to enjoy exploring the woods.

  “So we loaded up our van and headed to Big Sur, and from the start, everything went wrong. I soon realized our trip w
asn’t just a family vacation. Bodie’s friends were there too. We argued about that, and it didn’t take him long to spiral into one of his terrible moods.” Ember takes a deep breath. “After an early dinner, he went to a friend’s campsite and left me alone with the girls. I got them to bed, but I waited up, hoping we might make up and cuddle. But as the hours went by, it grew cold, really cold; the fog moved in, and our campfire died out. I could hear Bodie and his friends partying, and I got more and more upset. When he returned, it was long after midnight. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear the slur in his words.

  “‘I thought this was going to be a family vacation,’ I said. ‘You’ve barely spent any time with me and the girls.’

  “That led to a fight, and I said something mean about how he couldn’t even build a fire the right way to keep his family warm.” She shivers in the heat, and her voice drops so low I can barely hear her. “And that’s when he took the lighter fluid and squirted it on the campfire.”

  “My God . . .” I raise my hand to my mouth.

  “He says he didn’t know what would happen. I believe him. But it happened nonetheless. My clothes caught on fire, and I fell against the tent. The tent blew up in flames and . . . and . . .”

  “Oh my God. Your babies.”

  She drops her head in her hands. “Emma was buried when I was in an induced coma. But Ella lived on for several months. Several horrible, painful months. I would’ve taken my own life to save her from the pain she endured.”

  “I’m so sorry.” A storm of emotions churns in the pit of my stomach. They begin to boil, and the steam shutters my throat. I flash on the day Hunter drowned. A day I’ve done my best to forget. Zach’s hoarse cries. Adam’s begging for forgiveness. The ambulance siren. The arrival of police. And later, Tina’s deep-throated screams. I feel a crack in my porcelain exterior, and tears run from my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Ember says. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “No . . . that’s okay. It brought back a memory . . . something I’d hoped to forget. It should be me that’s comforting you.”

  She straightens her shoulders. “I’ve learned to comfort myself through helping others, easing them through their pain. But I can’t help Bodie. No one can. He’ll have to find his own way home.”

  IV. GREED

  Having lost all sensitivity, they have given themselves over to sensuality so as to indulge in every kind of impurity, with a continual lust for more.

  —Ephesians 4:19

  The Angel

  It’s midnight in the garden of good and evil, and I’m contemplating my betrayal. I’m shivering with thoughts of revenge. At midnight, I climb out of bed.

  I putter through my library, searching for an answer to my quandary. I won’t allow a reprobate to come between me and my Lord’s noble work. I happen on an ancient tome and pause on a portrait of Princess Olga the Great. I had forgotten about that marvelous creature, a saint in the Orthodox Church. I sip on a flute of port and settle in my chair to read.

  Olga was born in the Russian city of Pskov in the spring of 925. She came from a family of noble Norsemen, as violent a people as they come. She was wed to the infamous Prince Igor, an antecedent to the Russian czars. He was later murdered by the avaricious Drevlians, an ancient Slavic tribe.

  A woman before her time, Olga wielded power with an iron fist. Sought revenge for her husband’s killing in the most merciless of ways. She spearheaded four forms of vengeance; she was a woman not to be crossed. Ordered the capture of Drevlian matchmakers and had them buried alive. Tricked her enemies into sending new ambassadors and set fire to them in a shed. She then attended her husband’s funeral and ordered the slaughter of five thousand guests. For her final act of retribution, she leveled a rebellious village and enslaved the surviving men.

  Years later, the princess converted to Christianity and spread her new faith throughout the land. It was for that she was declared a saint by the holy Orthodox Church. She became one of only five women in history to be recognized as “equal to the apostles.”

  I set down my empty glass and close my book, ready to settle into a peaceful sleep. I am now secure in my premise that violence used in the appropriate manner can ultimately lead to good.

  ZACH RICHARDS

  One

  Friday, August 30

  “You wanted to see me?” It’s shortly after six on a hot-as-hell evening, and the central air conditioner has blown. Ruth’s office windows have been thrown open, but there’s not the slightest breath of fresh air. The entire campus reeks of rotting flowers and the unmasked scent of decaying guests.

  Ruth glares at me from behind her desk, her face sweaty and red as a beet. Her polished look has frayed at the edges—her hair messy, her shirt askew. She looks like a different woman than the iceberg she’s become. The frown on her face deepens. It’s not an attractive look.

  Maybe she’s having a nervous breakdown, Tina says.

  “Go back to sleep.”

  Tina’s been quiet for a couple weeks. I was hoping she might’ve disappeared. But isn’t it just like her to butt in when another woman rides my ass.

  “Shut the door,” Ruth orders, and I turn and comply. I know what’s coming. Can hear it in her voice. I’m going to get bitch-slapped today.

  “How could you?” she asks, now standing. She seems a little wobbly on her feet.

  “How could I what?” I try to keep my cool but can’t help starting to sweat.

  You’re in for it now.

  Ruth marches in my direction, and I wish myself somewhere else.

  “You told Carlyn.”

  “Told her?”

  “Don’t play games with me. You told her what happened that day.”

  “Um . . . yeah. I guess I might’ve.” I stumble backward until my shoulders hit the wall.

  “What do you mean ‘I guess’?”

  “I mean . . . well, yeah. I guess I told her.”

  “You told her everything?”

  Just fess up, Tina says. Give it to her straight.

  “Shut up.”

  Ruth’s eyes widen. “Did you tell me to . . . ?”

  “No . . . no, not you. Her.”

  “Her?”

  “Nothing. I’m just talking to myself.” I tense like I’m getting ready to have a fist take off my head. “I did talk to Carlyn, but it was a while ago. I was having a really bad day.”

  “Was that before or after I asked you to work here?”

  “Before, I think. Yeah. That’s right. It was right before the anniversary, and I was . . . well, I wasn’t dealing with things very well.”

  Tell her you were getting ready to off yourself.

  I don’t answer Tina this time.

  “Why Carlyn?” Ruth asks. “It’s not like the two of you are friends.”

  “We were at one time.”

  “But now?”

  “Well . . . with everything she’s been going through, I thought I might help her in some way.”

  “It would help her to know our secret?”

  “Help her to understand everyone makes mistakes.”

  Ruth waves her hands like she’s waving away my words. “Our situation was different.”

  “Was it?”

  She stamps her foot. “We did something stupid, horribly stupid, but stupid nonetheless.”

  And so did she, Tina says.

  “And so did she,” I repeat.

  “You can’t compare the two.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because . . .”

  “Because what?”

  “Because what she did was . . . was unconscionable.”

  “And what we did?”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.” I fumble for the doorknob. “So, I told Carlyn. Who cares? What’s done is done.”

  “But it’s not done. She wants me to act as a character witness at her trial.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I’m not sure I want t
o.”

  “Why not?”

  She straightens her shoulders and folds her arms tight. “I have my reasons.”

  I slap my forehead. “Jesus, Ruth. Why wouldn’t you help your friend?”

  Ruth’s face gets even redder. “I have my reputation to think of.”

  Screw her reputation, Tina says.

  “Screw your reputation.” I repeat.

  Her eyes widen. “But Kai might use this against me.”

  I have to stop myself from laughing. “Are you kidding me? First it’s the Post-it Notes, then it’s the destitutes, and now it’s a friendship that might get you fired?” I run my hands through my hair. “I’m sick and tired of this crap. The whole world doesn’t revolve around you.” To my shock, Ruth’s face crumples, and she begins to cry.

  She’s looking for pity, Tina says.

  Hell. I can’t take this. I throw open the door. “I’m late for my shift.”

  “Wait.” Ruth swipes at her tears. “Please. I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m not thinking straight. There’s just so much going on . . . I’m not sleeping well. And on top of everything else, I’m worried about Adam. Have you seen him today?”

  “Yeah. I brought him with me. Why?”

  She frowns. “He’s here? Right now?”

  “HR asked him to turn in his paperwork. Seems they want him to start on Monday.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “You’ll have to ask him that.” She looks like she might start crying again, so I soften my tone. “It was a last-minute call. You were at work.”

  “You really think it’s a good idea to have him here?”

  “I think it’s a bad idea to have him sitting on his ass. Plus he needs to repay the legal fees I fronted.”

  She works her hands together. “Did he cover up the tattoos?”

  “Best he could.”

  “What about his background check?”