Brianne sat up and reached for the jar of water, twisting off the lid and taking a couple gulps of room-temperature liquid. She’d learned the hard way about open containers near the bed. Chester got thirsty at night. The dog’s first choice was her cup, then the toilet. If both of those were covered, he’d resort to his bowl.
When she’d moved back into the house where she’d grown up, Brianne had brought her queen-sized bed. But once she’d assembled it in her room, she could barely walk between the walls and the edges of the bed frame. After a couple of banged knees, she’d pulled the queen into the master bedroom and gone back to the lumpy twin from her childhood.
She could have settled in the room that had been her parents’ until they had relocated to Arizona, the land of heat and grandchildren. But something about taking over the place where her mom and dad had slept for thirty years felt . . . wrong.
After nine months of home ownership, Brianne was still a visitor.
Refreshing coolness touched her feet as she made her way along the hardwood floor toward the bathroom. The rumble of an engine stopped her. No one came this far down the lane, especially in the middle of the night. The only neighbor beyond her parents’ house—her house—was a cranky old woman who rarely had visitors.
Brianne eased back to her room and retrieved her robe. She shook Chester, but the dog she’d adopted for her protection was apparently only on duty during the daylight hours. Even then, he refrained from barking at anything or anyone other than the gray squirrels who lived in abundance throughout Oregon’s Willamette Valley.
She reached under the bed, her fingers locating clumps of dust and dog hair, then finally the item she needed—her older brother’s trusty baseball bat. Living alone wasn’t something Brianne had aspired to. Five years as a clinical social worker had destroyed her fairy-tale thinking. Bad things happened. And some people were meant to be alone.
Brianne wrapped her fingers around the wood, squeezing until her knuckles ached with the tension.
A knock, more like savage pounding, sent her heart rate toward numbers she didn’t reach during all-out sprints. Maybe fear was a superior source of aerobic exercise. But running was what she did to get away from the memories that truly scared her.
The light from a vehicle lit the living room, stealing the advantage of darkness. Brianne crept to the front door, questioning why her father had never installed a peephole. She knew the answer. He was a man ruled by trust. He trusted his neighbors, his community, his God. Brianne’s trust had died with one of her favorite clients, Amanda Tanger.
Rising on her tiptoes, Brianne peered through the three small windows along the top of the door. She could just catch a glimpse of a police-blue baseball cap. Her breath caught. Police at the door. Middle of the night. Never a good thing. Her parents? Her brother? His family?
Or could it be another client she’d failed?
Brianne leaned the bat against the wall and unlatched the deadbolt, the click echoing in the space that felt too cold. She turned the knob and pulled, hinges crying out, until she stood face-to-face with Deputy Seth Wallace, the man who’d been there the last time tragedy hit her like a brakeless train.
“Brianne?” His eyebrows rose.
They’d spent years in the same high school, but she felt a twinge of surprise when he remembered her name. She’d been invisible back then, a book nerd hidden in the pages of a novel while Seth was the pride of West Crow, a town that took its sports as seriously as its public health. Probably more so.
“Hey, Seth.” She ran her hand over sleep-crazed hair. “What’s wrong?”
His head tipped to one side as he took her in like he was seeing something completely new. “Does”—he tried to look around her—“Coach Kilbourn live here?”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You came by at this hour to ask if I’m having an affair with a married man? Of course he doesn’t live here. What’s this about?”
A blush spread over Seth’s neck. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything. I was surprised to see you, is all. I thought maybe the coach had bought your parents’ place.” He flipped open his notebook. “There must be a mistake. Maybe I wrote it down wrong.”
“The coach and his wife—I can’t remember her name—just moved in with his mom, Caroline.” Brianne stepped into the chill and pointed up the lane to the next house. In the distance, a faint light glowed from the front window. What were they doing up in the middle of the night? They had kids, but Brianne didn’t remember any of them being babies who would need to be fed and changed at this hour.
“I’m sorry I woke you.” Seth turned to walk away.
“Wait. What do you want with Caleb?” It wasn’t any of her business, but this was a small town. If the gossip was juicy, she’d have no way of not hearing it three times before dinner tomorrow night. A five-minute run through the grocery store is all it would take. She might as well know now.
Seth stopped with one foot on the top step of Brianne’s porch. He looked back at her over his shoulder. “You might want to get some clothes on and head down there. The family will need some support.”
The words ripped through Brianne’s heart. She’d heard them before from this deputy. “The girl didn’t make it. The mom will need you for support.”
Her mind raced over every interaction she’d had with Caleb Kilbourn or his family since their move into Caroline’s house. There’d been little more than occasional nods or waves, nothing that should give Brianne a wash of guilt like the last time. So why did she feel as if she’d done something wrong? “I’ll get down there as soon as I can.”
Seth seemed to hesitate; then a small but sincere smile grew. “You’re just the right person for this. Thank you.”
Brianne leaned on her back foot, a strange shiver prickling her skin. She watched him all the way to his patrol car before closing her door as he drove away toward the Kilbourns’.
Heat warmed her cheeks. The Kilbourns were in the middle of some crisis, and Brianne had the gall to linger over the words of a man like Seth, who, though attractive, clearly had issues. No good-looking man in West Crow remained single into his thirties unless there was something seriously wrong with him.
Brianne flipped on the light, illuminating the long, narrow living room. Even now, something felt eerie, like she’d snuck out of bed and was wandering the house while her parents slept. She took two steps closer to the tiny hall with a bathroom and her parents’ bedroom. After all this time, she still expected to hear the rattle of her father’s snore through their door. There was nothing now but silence and memories. The same things woke her every night.
She entered her own room to find Chester awake but still claiming most of the mattress, his tongue hanging from his mouth as he yawned. The moment she threw her robe on the floor and grabbed jeans from a pile in the corner, Chester knew it was time to eat and walk. There was no stopping the day now. Three in the morning. Eight in dog hours. She sighed.
Chester bit into the hem of Brianne’s pants, tugging her toward the kitchen.
She managed to throw on a long-sleeved T-shirt while hobbling down the hall. “Chester, we don’t have time for this.”
He released her and positioned himself in a perfect sit, eyes directed toward his source of food.
Brianne opened the door, but Chester didn’t move. She tugged at his collar, but his heart and body were set on breakfast. His bladder wasn’t a priority. Brianne wrapped her arms around the dog’s middle and hefted him up, carrying the whining dog outside to the chilly front yard.
Chester looked around, then back at the door. He made a move for the house, lunging past Brianne and taking up his position in the kitchen.
Brianne rubbed her hands over her face before scooping food from the bin into his bowl. “Don’t make me regret this.” While he ate, she slipped her feet into tennis shoes and tied the laces. “Okay, buddy, I’m going to need you to hold it while I’m gone. It shouldn’t be long. Just checking on the
neighbors.”
A string of drool slipped from his mouth and dripped on the edge of the chrome bowl.
“Sometimes I really wonder if you’re listening.” Brianne eased out the door, hoping he wouldn’t realize she was going on a walk without him.
Oregon summers could be boiling hot during the day, but the night often cooled enough to cause shivers. Brianne hugged herself and increased her pace toward the Kilbourn farm.
Moonlight guided her down the gravel lane. Trees that colored the roadside in bright shades of green during the day seemed to reach dark arms toward her now. She quickened until she was at that awkward gait, too fast to walk, too slow to run.
Reaching the Kilbourn driveway, Brianne began to jog. As she approached the familiar farmhouse, Seth raised his hand to knock.
3
If the absence of her husband next to her hadn’t woken Addison Kilbourn, the mattress spring digging at her left kidney would have. She reached across the space his body usually inhabited and plucked her iPhone from the nightstand. Holding it out as far as her arm would stretch, she strained to focus the numbers without her reading glasses. A little after three in the morning. Where was Caleb?
Addison climbed to the outer edge of the full-sized torture device and settled her bare feet on the cool wood floor. Caleb had met an old high-school friend for burgers. She’d expected him to wander in about the time she got the kids to bed, but he hadn’t shown. They’d exchanged texts, Caleb saying he and Jeff were enjoying the opportunity to reminisce. But until this hour? That seemed excessive. And off. Something was off. She couldn’t put her finger on the very thing, but Caleb had seemed tense before leaving, as if this reunion wasn’t something he’d wanted.
A shiver ran through her body. Something wasn’t right. She clicked on the bedside lamp, illuminating Caleb’s childhood bedroom, complete with cowboy wallpaper. They’d been guests in her mother-in-law’s home for only two weeks, but it felt like years.
Addison found her glasses and sent a text to Caleb. Where are you?
The pounding of her heartbeat accentuated each second as she begged God for Caleb’s reply.
Nothing.
Wrapping a robe around her, she started for the stairs. Maybe he’d fallen asleep on the couch while watching ESPN. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to rouse him and usher him to their room. But their room didn’t exist here. This wasn’t their home, no matter how many times Caleb claimed it was.
The lamp beside the threadbare couch still glowed, waiting for Caleb’s return. Above the sofa, an old family picture hung. An image of Caleb with his brother, Wyatt, and their parents. Only half of that family remained. Addison shook her head. If she’d had loving parents like Caroline and Charles, she never would have left. Wyatt didn’t know what he had.
She ran her hand over the rough sofa, vacant of any sleeping form. She’d seen this very piece of furniture in other pictures from Caleb’s youth. Vintage, in her mind. She checked the front door. No one had locked it. She stepped outside and found the place between the house and shed where Caleb parked his truck. Empty. In the distance, a vehicle’s headlights shone down the gravel lane, drawing closer. But that wouldn’t be her husband. The lights came from the wrong direction.
The vehicle turned onto the driveway. The beams bounced as the car bumped along the ruts.
A line of lights topped the car.
She inched back into the house, closing the door.
Addison shook her head. No. This isn’t happening. One of her worst fears had crept into her subconscious when Caleb hadn’t been home at bedtime. She’d told herself she was imagining things.
She stepped backward until she bumped the wall, her head displacing a framed photograph that slid to the floor, its breaking glass shattering the silence. Blood pulsed in her ears. Wake up!
Outside the window, she watched a silhouette come up the front walk. Suddenly, the most important thing in her world was keeping her children asleep, adding precious time to their lives before whatever tragedy took over. She raced to the door, throwing it open before the deputy could knock.
His hand covered his weapon as if she were going to attack. “Ma’am? Are you all right?”
Tears pooled in her eyes. He was the one who had the answer to that question.
“Are you Mrs. Kilbourn?”
Her mind flew to her mother-in-law, the woman she’d always associated with that name. She nodded.
“You’re Caleb Kilbourn’s wife.” His chin dipped.
He hadn’t said were.
Addison pulled the robe tight around her middle, her face prickling, hands shaky. “Yes.”
“Ma’am, your husband was in a serious accident tonight.” He looked over his shoulder as if expecting backup. “An ambulance took him to the hospital in Darlington.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “Is he dead?”
“No, ma’am.” He reached toward her but didn’t make contact. “Do you have someone who can drive you to the hospital?”
“What happened?”
His face stiffened. “He was involved in a head-on collision traveling toward West Crow from Darlington. If you’d like, I can take you to the hospital.”
Head-on. Did people come back from head-on highway collisions? There was urgency in the air between Addison and the deputy. Maybe he wanted her to say good-bye, to let her husband slip out of her life.
Her legs buckled, sending her to the floor, the rough doormat etching into her knees. So much pain. The fear arced across her chest, a monster ready to strip her of the man who’d given her all she’d longed for—a true family.
Someone knelt next to her, a gentle arm covering her shoulder with warmth. A woman cupped Addison’s head in her hand and rocked her back and forth, the way a mother should.
“I’m so sorry.” The voice was familiar but distant. “What can I do to help?”
Addison looked up into teary blue eyes. It was the neighbor. The one who jogged by with the fluffy dog. Brittany. No . . . Brianne? “I need to tell Caroline; then I’ll go.” She bit her bottom lip. Even in tragedy, asking a favor from a near stranger jarred her conscience. “Could you stay with my kids?” She couldn’t leave them with their grandmother. Caroline had drifted from quirky to unstable.
“Of course.” The woman stood and helped Addison to her feet. “You should probably change your clothes too.”
Addison looked down at the short robe that covered her summer pajamas. “Thank you . . .”
“Brianne.” The neighbor picked at the skin along the edge of her finger. “I’m the next house down.” She pointed.
Determination came like a swelling wave. Addison had to make a plan. She needed to focus right now, for the sake of her husband and her children. She looked to the deputy. “Give me two minutes. That’s all I’ll need.”
As if she’d downed a pot of coffee, Addison’s veins hummed with purpose. She knocked on Caroline’s door, the only bedroom on the first floor of the hundred-year-old house. When the knock wasn’t answered, Addison opened it and stepped in. Light from the hall illuminated her mother-in-law, her arms laid wide across the mattress, her jaw slack. If not for the rumble of intermittent snores, Addison would worry Caroline was more than asleep.
“Caroline. Wake up. There’s been an accident.”
Nothing.
“Caroline?” She didn’t have time for this. Addison nudged her shoulder, shook her arm.
The woman continued to snore as if she were sedated for major surgery. Addison had never seen anyone sleep this soundly.
After another try—hard enough to bounce Caroline on the bed yet with no sign of waking her—Addison crossed her arms. “Fine then. I’m not waiting on you. The neighbor can tell you about your son.”
Addison rushed from the room and up the stairs. She threw on a light sweater and jeans, then grabbed her purse from the top of the chipped dresser, dropping a brush in it as she moved to leave.
“Mama, can I sleep in your bed?”
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Addison froze, staring at her six-year-old daughter, her blond ringlets framing her face.
Lilly padded to the bed and climbed under the covers as if the question had been answered. Within seconds, her breathing slowed.
Addison tucked the blankets around her daughter’s shoulders. She couldn’t bear to tell the kids what had happened. Not now, when she didn’t have the answers to the questions they’d ask.
4
Emilia sank into the patrol car. Light had begun to illuminate the world, as if today were just another peaceful summer morning. As if she hadn’t, only moments before, spoken the words that would change three lives forever. Even through their tears, the young men spoke of their mother with deep respect. She had made them proud. Not an easy thing to manage with teens.
The ache of those boys’ grief weighed heavier on Emilia than the twenty pounds of equipment strapped to her waist. They’d never again hear their mother nagging them to settle down, to do their homework, to clean up after themselves. Had their mom given them what they’d require to make it in the world? Would they become the kind of men society needed?
Moments like this were the nature of the job. Emilia would probably never know what happened in the lives of Jesse, Jordan, and Jared . . . unless their lives intersected with the law.
Crimes like the one that caused this mother’s death could not go unpunished. Too many people walked around without facing the consequences of their actions. Those repercussions found homes on the backs of their victims’ families.
Not this time. Caleb Kilbourn would pay the price for killing Georgianna Bosch, and Emilia would be the one to lock him up.
DEPUTY WALLACE ESCORTED Addison into the emergency room waiting area, handing her over to the receptionist like one would drop a stray dog at the pound. Had she even gotten his first name?
Addison’s finger traced the sharp edge of the business card in her pocket. She wasn’t being fair. The guy was doing his job, and he’d gotten her here. No one expected him to be her personal guide through this tragedy.
More Than We Remember Page 2