More Than We Remember

by Christina Suzann Nelson

  Brianne found a lawn chair near the house, at a safe distance from the water and Chester, and set her camera down on it. She walked over to the hammock and eased herself onto the cool grass, her back against a tree, and faced Hannah. “Was it a good book?”

  Hannah nodded. “A modern-day retelling of a fairy tale.” The magic of the story still shone on her face.

  “I’m impressed by how much you read.”

  She shrugged. “My mom says I need to get out in the real world and make friends.”

  “Well, that’s good too.” Brianne picked at the worn hem of her jeans.

  “I don’t see what the rush is. I’ll have to deal with other kids when I start school. Why not enjoy the freedom I have now?” Hannah closed the book, keeping her palm flat on the cover.

  “Interesting that you use the word freedom. Does it feel like a chore to be with other girls your age?” A bit of the counselor was sneaking in.

  Hannah shrugged. “It’s not like they’re bad. Well, not all of them. I just like to read my books and maybe do some art stuff. And . . .”

  Brianne bit the inside of her bottom lip, forcing herself to wait out Hannah’s hesitation.

  “I guess I’m afraid.” She cocked her head to the side, as if trying on the concept for the first time.

  “That’s normal.” Brianne put her hand on Hannah’s ankle. “But it’s a dangerous thing to make decisions out of fear. Fear can stop us from seeing the wonderful adventures and people who are waiting for us to show up.”

  Hannah’s eyebrows narrowed. “I’ve never thought of it as fear. I guess I just thought I didn’t want to, but I didn’t know why.” Her head bobbed. “I’ll think about that.”

  Brianne gave Hannah’s leg a pat. Her own advice was drilling a hole in her walls. Was fear behind the decision to leave her job, and was it fear that kept her isolated from other people? It was certainly fear that kept her from opening Amanda’s case file.

  ADDISON’S PLAN OF attack was mapped out in various colored inks in her planner. She’d taken each of their current hurdles and formed detailed responses, from meals to medications to maintaining normality for the children. With bullet points, goals sheets, and menu planning, she’d manage every moment until they found themselves back in balance.

  “Are you sure you can make a meatloaf?” Caroline opened the oven again to inspect Addison’s blob of meat mixed with vegetables chopped so small the kids couldn’t pick them out.

  “Yes. My meatloaf is quite good.” She held back a yawn. “Give it a try. If you don’t like it, you can make the next one.” Addison filled the mixing bowl with hot water and soap.

  “I don’t think I’ll be here for the grub.” Caroline quirked her lips. “Too bad. I was really hoping to give your attempt a try.”

  Addison brushed loose hair out of her face with wet fingers. She’d made meatloaf at least a hundred times before, and no one had ever gotten sick or complained.

  “I think I’ll head over to the hospital and visit my boy. He could probably use a comforting face about now.” She crossed her arms and breathed out a sigh.

  In the sixteen years Addison had known Caroline, she never would have described the woman as hypercritical or harsh. Not until the last couple of months. At first, Addison had assumed the change in personality had to do with the loss of her husband. Charles had fought cancer’s hard and long battle. Along with the potential savings in rent, his death last fall had pressed Caleb and Addison to the decision to move here early.

  Addison cut into a red pepper, scooped out the seeds, and set the emptied shell on a wooden cutting board. “If you’ll wait until after dinner, I’ll see if Brianne can come over, and I’ll take you to see Caleb.”

  “Nothin’ doin’. I’m a grown woman, and I can drive myself to see my boy. Brianne’s done far more than her share around here.” Caroline dug around in the back of the junk drawer. “I don’t understand why Hannah can’t take care of the younger ones. My mother had me caring for babies by the time I was six. Hannah’s, what, eleven?”

  “She’s thirteen.”

  “Okay. That makes my point.”

  It’s not that Hannah hadn’t asked the same question. And Caleb too. But Addison couldn’t do it.

  Hannah possessed a maturity beyond her years and could handle the job. She was far more capable than Addison had been at that age, and still Addison had managed to take care of her little sisters while her mother swung between partying and being bedridden with depression. Addison’s children would have a childhood, though, not be forced into living as miniature adults, with all the responsibility but none of the control.

  She’d made promises like this to herself long before she knew what a healthy family even looked like. Addison was determined to be the turning point. Her children’s growing-up years would not have even the slightest thing in common with her own. “I know she can handle it, but it’s not time yet. I’m not ready.”

  Why can’t you come to the hospital when I’m already going? Voicing the question in her mind gave Addison enough relief to form a slight smile. “I know I’ve said this before, but I’d love to take you with me. I’m going back first thing tomorrow.”

  “A mother knows when she’s needed, and my boy sounds like he needs me. That won’t wait until morning.”

  The knife chopped through the pepper, smacking hard onto the wood below. Caroline was an adult. She didn’t need permission to drive her own truck. However, the woman had the attention span of a puppy. That didn’t seem like a good thing to combine with traffic. “Actually, I really need your help with something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Caleb is having trouble putting together some of the details from the night of the accident.” Addison shifted the clear salad bowl to the side and leaned against the counter. “Do you remember Jeff? He went to school with Caleb. I think they graduated in the same class.”

  Caroline wrinkled her lips into a twist, then released them with a sigh. “A name has come to me. I’m pretty sure that was Jeffrey Dahmer.”

  Addison’s hand covered her mouth a moment too late.

  “What’s so funny? That’s the name.”

  “Jeffrey Dahmer? You’re telling me that Caleb went to school with Jeffrey Dahmer?”

  Caroline’s chin rose. “They called him Jeff.”

  “Jeff Dahmer was a serial killer.” Addison looked more closely at her mother-in-law’s confused expression. “I’m sure I would remember if Caleb’s friend shared the same name.”

  “Suit yourself. I’m heading out.”

  “Caroline, wait—I didn’t mean to be rude.” Oh, Lord, please stop her.

  The older woman waved off the comment.

  “Let me take you to the hospital in the morning.” Addison sniffed the air. The meatloaf smelled about as done as it could stand. She pulled out a drawer and grabbed two oven mitts.

  The screen door slammed shut before Addison came up with a way to stop Caroline from going. She pulled the meatloaf out and set it on one of the back burners. Through the window above the sink, she could see Caroline throw her purse into the pickup’s cab, then hoist herself in. The engine roared to life.

  Addison opened the back door and found Lilly on the bottom step. “Stay right here while Grammy backs up the truck.”

  Her daughter looked up from the stuffed animals she’d put in line along the narrow sidewalk. “All right.”

  Lilly almost hadn’t existed. After Connor was born, Caleb and Addison had decided two was a perfect number. They had a boy and a girl. What more could they ask for? The little oops sitting before her was one of the greatest joys in Addison’s life. How close they’d come to missing out.

  As they’d packed for the move, Caleb teased that maybe one more would make their family even better. Addison had caught herself contemplating this until the accident took away that tiny possibility. With Caleb’s injuries, they’d be lucky to still get the new house built by spring. At least the doctor expected a ful
l recovery. That should be enough to give her peace, especially when Mrs. Bosch’s children had lost so much more. A summer to recover and delays in the building schedule—Addison could live with that.

  A resounding crunch and thump shook her from her musing. She placed a hand on Lilly’s head as she stepped around her daughter and toward the front of the house.

  Dust and exhaust clouded the air. Caroline’s back tire on the passenger side spun about a foot off the ground. The rear axle was wedged on a small boulder that had been along the edge of the driveway for as long as Addison had been part of the family.

  By all appearances, God had come through on this one.

  10

  Emilia pulled up to the wrecking yard and unbuckled her seat belt as she rolled into the space reserved for police vehicles. She’d been on duty for two hours already that Tuesday, but by the time Sheriff Commons finished the briefing and Emilia had completed a list of tasks assigned to her, it was well into the morning.

  On television, suspicious vehicles were kept in secure locations. Corban County was not like typical entertainment programing. The truck and the car from the collision had both been towed to the wrecking yard, where they were behind a padlocked fence, but a good lawyer could probably cast plenty of doubt as to the security of evidence found after transport to the impound lot.

  Regardless, Emilia intended to search that truck from license plate to license plate. It wasn’t an easy task to bring someone to justice for killing a woman with his truck, especially when that someone was a winning coach.

  Earlier that morning, a fellow deputy had suggested she “let this one go and call it the accident it was.” Not a chance. Maybe some people were willing to look the other way, but she wasn’t one of them.

  Every day she lived with the consequences of drug and alcohol abuse. It wasn’t fair the criminals weren’t the ones who paid the price. Their children and victims dished out for that bill.

  Emilia went through the entrance to the office. The smell of dirty oil permeated every ounce of space, as though the very molecules were attaching to her exposed skin the moment she stepped inside.

  Behind the counter, a man with black-ringed fingernails and a smudge of oil across his forehead stood near a computer that must have been one of the first small enough for home use. He tossed a look her way, then rolled his eyes at the guy he was helping.

  Not even her uniform scratched the surface of chauvinism in this place.

  “Be with you in a minute.”

  Emilia straightened her shoulders, forcing her face into a neutral position. Letting these guys see her squirm was an invitation to harassment. And if she allowed herself to get into it with them, it could end with her hauling this guy to the station. That she’d never hear the end of. No, he wasn’t worth the time. Caleb Kilbourn, however . . . That man was going to see exactly what she was capable of.

  “Listen, I’m here to see the Ford that came in early last Wednesday morning. Point me that direction, and I’ll be out of your way.”

  “It’s not that easy. You’ll need an escort. Let me finish up with Bobby here, and I’ll take you out myself.” He again raised an eyebrow to his customer.

  “I know my way around.” Emilia adjusted her belt and took long strides through the room and out the back door that led to the yard. Two teens looked up from the dash of an old Chevy Nova, nodded, then went back to work. They didn’t have an escort.

  Around a corner, Emilia approached the location of the rigs not yet evaluated by insurance or owners. The Ford sat in the corner, framed on two sides by metal fencing woven with white strips of plastic. Usually, she’d need a key to get in, but the top of the truck had been peeled back to retrieve Mr. Kilbourn.

  Emilia settled her belt back onto her hip bones, then climbed into the bed and looked down on what remained of the leather bench seat. Such a shame. This had been a nice truck. Of course, the death of his victim was a much bigger shame. A loss that couldn’t be repaid with any amount of money or time served.

  The puddle of vomit had spread and dried, leaving a flaky brown mess that curdled Emilia’s stomach. After threading latex gloves over her hands, she felt in the grooves of the seat, looking for any little thing that would help lock the cell door on Caleb for many years.

  A McDonald’s toy was wedged behind the seat—a plastic princess. Emilia swallowed hard. More victims. She couldn’t think of Kilbourn’s family. It wasn’t her job to consider them. Caleb was the one who’d let them down. Still, the thought had her blinking away tears, the consequence of having a child of her own.

  With her belly laid over the seat, Emilia reached for the glove compartment and popped it open. Car manuals, insurance information, and maintenance records. Nothing unusual. As she was about to push herself up, her vision landed on something in the edge of the floor mat. Emilia strained, finally getting her fingers on the white oval pill. Swiping her hand under the seat, she retrieved a snack-sized baggie, another pill inside.

  People with legitimate reasons to use narcotic pain relievers kept them in their original bottles, not plastic bags.

  Coach Kilbourn had a little secret. But not for long.

  ADDISON STEPPED OUT of the hospital accounting office with a better understanding of their meager insurance policy than she’d ever wanted. Every extra cent they’d saved over the last fifteen years had gone into their dream house account. By living with Caroline, they’d had just enough to complete the project and move in sometime before Christmas. But this accident was going to eat away a chunk. And if charges were ever filed, or the Bosch family sued, they could lose it all.

  Today, there was a good chance the doctor would release Caleb. Her husband could be coming home—another step into the insecure future. Relief and trepidation flew at her with equal force.

  Without thought, she stepped into the coffee line at the kiosk near the cafeteria. The man in front of her paid his bill and sidestepped to the right.

  “What can I get you?” The barista pulled a Sharpie from the cup on the counter.

  Addison’s gaze drifted over the options. She was about to speak when she noted the prices. Her chest ached under her collarbone. “I’m sorry. I’ve changed my mind.”

  The girl behind the counter quirked an eyebrow, giving Addison a condemning look.

  Addison held tight to her purse and stepped away, not making eye contact with anyone else in line. Maybe it was the stress of Caleb’s injuries, the new living situation, and the finances, but it seemed as though everywhere she went, people were watching her, waiting for her to mess up.

  No. She wouldn’t let herself go down that path. This was a trial, one she would gain control over. She had three children to raise—three children she’d do anything to keep from facing the same neurotic worries she’d had to live with.

  Addison took the stairs instead of the elevator. She forced herself to jog up the five flights, gasping for breath, her muscles burning, until the physical exhaustion stopped her mind. She hit the door to Caleb’s floor with both hands and stood in the hallway, puffing for oxygen.

  “Mrs. Kilbourn? Are you okay?” Caleb’s doctor evaluated Addison as carefully as if she were the patient.

  She forced a smile. “I’m good. Just needed to get my blood pumping.”

  “I’ve been in with your husband. Do you have a moment?”

  Addison straightened. “Absolutely.”

  “I’m very happy with how he’s healing. The fact that Caleb was in such great physical health before the accident has made a difference in his recovery.”

  Maybe so, but Addison was looking at Caleb’s healing from another angle. “He just doesn’t seem at all like himself.”

  The doctor crossed her arms. “That’s to be expected. Concussions can have personality-altering consequences.” She reached out and placed a hand on Addison’s shoulder. “It’s unlikely this will be permanent. We’ll keep an eye on his behaviors, and if he continues to seem depressed or angry, we can look at medication an
d therapy as well.”

  Addison’s stomach soured. Her husband was an optimistic man, the one who always assumed circumstances would have a happy ending. She was the doubter, the worrier. They’d weathered the years together with this understanding.

  The doctor let out a breath. “Listen, I know you’re both under a great deal of stress. Watch him closely. If you see signs of severe depression, perhaps questioning if he should be alive, let me know.”

  Heat rushed through Addison’s face as cold flowed through her arms. Caleb’s words after discovering the accident had resulted in a fatality—had he been serious?

  Shaken, Addison nodded.

  “I’m going to sign the release papers. One of the floor nurses will be in soon to go over the discharge instructions. You can call and talk to a nurse anytime, day or night. And please”—her eyebrows lifted—“let your friends and family help out. You can’t do this all on your own.”

  Addison swallowed. “Thank you.”

  The doctor didn’t know her. Addison could do this on her own. And she would. She wasn’t a stranger to hard times. It just took organization and a strong will. Fortunately, she had both.

  This was her mission, her new purpose. The house of her dreams wasn’t likely to be built that summer, and her husband would need care, support, and a good push to get back to the man he really was. But she’d pulled herself up before, and she was very capable of pulling her husband up too.

  Addison shook out her arms, straightened her spine, and stepped into Caleb’s room.

  EMILIA CLIMBED OUT of the sheriff’s department SUV, an evidence bag containing the pills from the crime scene in her hand. The meds found in the truck wouldn’t hold up as evidence in court, but they could lead her to information that would. There was only one pharmacy in town, and if gossip hadn’t traveled yet, she should be able to get a fair interview from James Schneider.