More Than We Remember

by Christina Suzann Nelson

  “Hey. I’m sorry you were alone for this. Are you okay?”

  Tally shrugged.

  “It’s okay if you were scared. I would have been.” Emilia stood, brushing away the carpet lint from her uniform.

  “Right. I kind of doubt that.”

  “Well, it’s true. I’ve been scared a lot this last year.” Emilia collapsed onto the couch and patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit with me for a minute, please.”

  Tally’s jaw set, but she moved forward like a stray dog examining a treat in a stranger’s hand. She sat, pulling up both legs and tucking her feet underneath in a position only young girls and yoga masters can manage. She clasped her hands in her lap and kept her gaze on them. “He lied about what happened.”

  BRIANNE’S THROAT TIGHTENED as she gripped the handle to the front door of the county health department. After viewing the last of the recorded sessions over the past week, she’d come to the place where it all began, hoping for answers instead of more nagging questions. Her office had been in this building. Though she’d often traveled to visit clients in their own homes, Amanda’s mother had preferred the office.

  A small sign hung over a door to the left. County Mental Health. It was almost a joke. Two offices were behind that door. The one she’d used and the one used for administrative work. The counselor from up north would be using Brianne’s old office now.

  Brianne pulled the door open and was met by the belly of a very pregnant woman. It took a moment for Brianne to cast her eyes at the woman’s face rather than at her bulging middle. “Excuse me.”

  The woman grinned. “It’s shocking, isn’t it? I had no idea a body could stretch like this.” She rubbed a hand in a circular motion around the gigantic bump that looked as if it could hold triplets. “Is there something I can help you with? I’m on my way out.” She gave her messenger bag a nod.

  “Is Beulah around?” Brianne bit at her lip. This was the replacement, and she didn’t seem long for the job.

  “I’m sorry. We had a baby shower and going-away party. I think she’s still cleaning up. Did you have an appointment?” She stole a glance at the face of her cell phone.

  “No. I . . . I used to be the counselor here. I just wanted to check in with her.”

  The woman’s eyes brightened. “Brianne Demanno. I’ve heard amazing things about you. And you left everything in such great order. I wish I had time to talk, but I have an hour’s drive to get home and a doctor’s appointment I’m barely going to make.”

  “Oh . . . well, I don’t want to hold you up.”

  The woman propped the door open. “Go ahead and wait for Beulah in here. She should be back any moment.”

  Brianne nodded her thanks and walked into the darkened room. She flipped on the lights like she had a hundred times before, the familiar action calming her nerves. The scent of citrus cleaning products brought back the feeling that this was the place she’d once belonged.

  She’d felt that sense of purpose wash over her almost every day until the call had come in about Amanda. That terrible moment changed everything. The reality that Brianne’s mistakes could cost lives weighed on her till she could scarcely breathe. It was too much responsibility for any person to handle. It brought her father’s concerns and warning to the front of her mind, where they nagged at her until she could no longer do her job. That terrible day stole her vision, her hopes, and her dreams, replacing them with doubts and fears.

  In one moment, a life could be forever altered.

  Brianne stepped toward her office door. She wrapped her hand around the cold metal knob and tried to turn it, but it was locked. Peering through the window, Brianne could see the outlines of the room she knew so well, its desk on one side almost invisible. A few toys had been brought in, but it looked nothing like the way it had before, when Brianne had given life to the sterile space, filling it with hope and possibility. At least that was what she’d told herself when she was new to the job and full of hope and possibility herself.

  A sound behind her sent her heart racing and the memories—both sweet and bitter—flew from her mind. She swung around, expecting Beulah, with her mound of hair straight out of a salon magazine from the seventies. Instead, a girl stood with one hand on the doorframe, the other on the knob. Her bottom lip, puffy and red, slipped between her teeth. Her walnut brown hair was pulled into a messy bun. She opened her mouth to speak but shut it as tears welled in her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Brianne stepped across the room, making the smallest contact with the girl, a hand on her upper arm.

  She tipped her head and looked into Brianne’s eyes. “I remember you. You came to my school. You said we could always come by to talk.” The statement held the anticipation of a question. And deep need.

  “That’s true, and I meant it, but I don’t work here anymore.” Brianne looked around at the two dark offices, closed and locked. When would another counselor be available?

  “I shouldn’t have come here. This was a huge mistake.” The girl turned toward the door.

  “Wait.” Brianne tightened her hold. “Are you okay? Safe, I mean?”

  The girl’s eyes narrowed, then realization hit. “Oh no. I’m not going to hurt myself or anything. You don’t have to call my parents. I just had a problem. It’s a friend thing. No big deal. I should go. I have dinner with my parents.” The fake smile she forced made her look more desperate than before. “Thanks.”

  “Hey. Call tomorrow. I’m sure they can arrange something for you.”

  The troubled girl nodded as she hustled down the hallway and out the door into the dark world.

  EMILIA STEPPED INTO the front doors of West Crow High School. Just prior to the Fourth, she’d interviewed the principal and come away with nothing she could use against Caleb Kilbourn. She’d waited the two long weeks since, and now the athletic director was back from his vacation. He would certainly shed some light on the coach. If not, he would look awful when she arrested Kilbourn during the school year.

  A woman she recognized but didn’t know walked past, her arms heavy with folders. Emilia opened the office door for her, letting the other woman enter first.

  The front desk was piled high with papers of varied colors, a box of manila envelopes at the end of the line.

  “Officer Cruz?”

  Emilia shifted her belt and looked toward the voice coming from the hall behind the desk. Sherm Corman had aged fifty years since Emilia’s graduation. His dark hair had shifted to mostly white, with some black remaining along the curve of his oversized ears. Wiry gray hairs shot from his bushy eyebrows, and thick fuzz grew from just above his lobes, making it look like he’d stuffed moss in there.

  She cocked her head at him. Did he seriously not recognize her?

  “Come on back to my office. I understand you have some questions.”

  Emilia’s belt jingled as she followed Mr. Corman through the staff kitchen to a line of offices tucked out of the way. They entered the third door.

  “Have a seat.” He skirted the desk. The office wasn’t overly small, but his abundance of plaques, photos, and trophies clogged the space.

  Emilia sat in the small chair on the door side of the room. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about one of your employees.” She pulled out her notebook and uncapped the pen.

  Corman eased back in his desk chair. “You can ask away, but our teachers and coaches have the expectation of privacy, and I don’t intend to disappoint them.”

  “Mr. Corman, this is a case of a serious nature. It would be better for you and the district to have this settled as soon as possible, before school starts, leaving you without a teacher and coach and with a ton of uncomfortable questions to answer.”

  He crossed his arms across his chest but didn’t say a word.

  “At any time have you known Caleb Kilbourn to have an issue with drugs or alcohol?”

  “Ha. Not a chance. Caleb is a great man. A solid coach. And he’s a dependable teacher.”

&nb
sp; “I didn’t ask if he was good at his job. Have you ever known him to use drugs, even prescription drugs?”

  Corman unfolded his arms, leaned forward, and rested his forearms on the desk. “Let me be crystal clear with you, Emilia. Caleb is a good man, and if you think for one minute that I’m going to be part of this witch hunt, you’re mistaken.” His eyes narrowed as his lips tightened.

  He did recognize her, and it wasn’t to Emilia’s benefit. Some things never changed. Men stuck with men, even when the other guy was in the wrong.

  Emilia rose and slapped her card down on the desk. “Call me when you grow some courage.”

  She turned and left the office, wondering if he’d already rung up the sheriff. She’d be hearing about this interview.

  On the other side of the kitchen, the woman who’d come in earlier with Emilia motioned her toward the nurse’s room. Once inside, the woman closed the door. “Do you know who I am?”

  Emilia shook her head. “You look familiar, though.”

  “I’m Tawny, used to be Tawny Brown. I was in your brother Tyler’s class.”

  She nodded, the face coming into her memory now. “Is there something you need?”

  “Well, I heard you talking to the principal a couple weeks ago. She doesn’t know anything about what really happens around here. I assume you came to talk with Sherm about Caleb too.”

  Emilia nodded. “Do you have information?”

  “Indirectly.” She ran a hand over her hair, checking the shape. “Do you remember Wyatt Kilbourn, Coach Kilbourn’s younger brother? He was in my class too.”

  Emilia struggled to remember. Her brother was five years older than her. He’d been out of high school before Emilia started. The only people she really knew were the ones he’d been close with. Wyatt wasn’t on that list. “Not really.”

  “Well, Wyatt was a real piece of work. He spent most of junior and senior years drinking under the grandstands. He wasn’t what you would call a good influence. My parents forbade me to be seen with him. You know the type.” She cocked her hip. “Well, I haven’t seen him in a decade. I hear he ran off and joined a band. Lives on the road.” Her eyebrows rose so high that they disappeared underneath her bangs.

  “What does that have to do with Caleb?”

  Tawny sighed as if explaining her story to a preschooler. “You know the expression ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’?”

  Emilia nodded, hoping this was leading to something she could actually use.

  “Well, there you have it: Caleb is clearly the same kind of rotten apple as his brother. And the mother, well, she’s a complete loon. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out she’s a closet drinker. I spoke with her a couple days after the accident. She didn’t seem to think anything about the situation, as if Caleb had bumped another car in the parking lot rather than killed a woman.” She shook her head, tsking.

  “And?” This woman had to have something more than overblown gossip and farfetched assumptions.

  “From what I hear, the coach’s wife didn’t seem surprised about the accident. Looks like she had plenty of reasons for concern, if you ask me.”

  Emilia hadn’t asked her, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a crumb of helpful information somewhere in Tawny’s gossipy ramble. She slid another card out of her breast pocket and handed it to the woman. “If you remember anything specific that would indicate an issue with Mr. Kilbourn, please give me a call.”

  Outside, the sun drilled down on Emilia as she made her way back to the squad car. No one who had any usable information was talking. She’d love to think there was something to Tawny’s theory about rotten apples, but Emilia’s own brother hadn’t turned out great, either. Even Emilia was at best a bruised piece of fruit.

  21

  Brianne bundled an assortment of colored pencils, clipboards, and simple photographs. She packed it all in her backpack and climbed onto her teal beach cruiser, a birthday gift from her parents, who clearly didn’t know her that well. The bike had left the garage a total of twice in the past six months. One of those times was so she could get to some boxes stored behind it.

  She pushed off and pedaled toward the Kilbourn farm, a tickle of nerves dancing in her stomach like they had when she was a child going to a friend’s house. These nerves went deeper than social anxiety, though. The Kilbourns were invading her life at every turn, and the result was disorienting.

  Could she settle into a happy routine, like an aunt or distant relative? She’d be invited to join in family events, but always a fraction of a degree disconnected from the rest of the group. People would talk about how lucky she was to have Addison and Caleb’s children checking in on her from time to time, until they got too busy caring for their own parents.

  The bike bumped along, gravel spitting out from under the tires with pops and snaps.

  She made the turn into the driveway and was greeted by a goat with a mouthful of wildflowers. “Whoa, buddy. I don’t think you’re supposed to be out here.”

  The goat responded with a tip of the head but kept chewing, then dipped for another bite.

  Brianne stepped off the cruiser, flicked open the kickstand, and took a step closer to the escapee. “Come on, boy. Let’s get you home.”

  Keeping one eye trained on Brianne, the goat continued feasting until she came within an arm’s length. The goat hopped away about ten feet, still watching her.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. And I don’t think you want to hurt me, either, do you?” Had she ever been this close to a goat? Didn’t they ram people or something like that? This was her brother’s kind of thing, not Brianne’s. She’d been determined to live her life in the city until a few years ago. Goat herding was definitely out of her comfort zone.

  She pulled off the backpack, unzipped the side pocket, and removed her last peanut-butter granola bar. “You’d better like this, because if I give up my snack and you don’t come with me, someone—and I mean you—is going to pay. Got it?” She tore open the package and slipped the bar out.

  The goat stretched his neck, his nostrils wiggling as he tried to get a good sniff at the bait.

  “Come on. You know you want this.”

  The goat inched forward, nudged the granola bar with his nose, and took hold, trying to pull the entire thing from Brianne’s hand.

  She lunged, snagging the goat’s orange collar on her way to the ground.

  A throaty bleat rang in her ear.

  “Ha. You didn’t think I could do it, did you? I can hold my own with a four-legged beast.” She pushed up from her knees, now stained by grass and dirt, her hand tight around the collar.

  “Why are you playing with Thor?”

  Brianne swung around to face Lilly, a chicken wearing a doll tutu under one arm. “I’m not playing. I found him out here eating the flowers.”

  Lilly cocked her hip. “Thor! You bad boy. You know better than that. Let’s get you back to your pen.” She snagged the collar from Brianne’s hold and started walking toward the house, the goat following like a scolded child.

  Maybe goat master wasn’t Brianne’s thing, either. What took her a death-defying leap and her favorite snack could be handled by a fifty-pound little girl with no effort at all.

  Brianne slipped on her backpack again and walked the bike behind the odd parade in front of her.

  At the house, Addison greeted them. She smiled at Lilly, shaking her head. “You’re something else, little one.”

  Lilly responded with a wink that looked like it took every muscle in her face to accomplish.

  “Thanks for coming by. You’re just in time. Caroline is making lunch. I hope you’ll join us. It’s great to have you here.”

  “No arguments from me.” Brianne tipped her head toward Lilly and her pal. “The goat ate the food I packed, so . . .”

  “It sounds like we owe you—not that we didn’t before.” Addison stepped down, joining Brianne in the yard.

  “How’s Caleb doing?”

 
“Much better. He’s supposed to stay off that leg, but he seems to think that traipsing all over the farm on his crutches is acceptable. It’s all I can do to keep him away from the work site. They were supposed to pour the foundation today, but I called and canceled. That will easily put us six months behind schedule.”

  Brianne leaned her bike along the railing and dropped her bag at her feet. “I brought over some art supplies. I thought the kids might like to give it a try.”

  “Wow. I’m sure they would, if we can get Connor and Lilly to sit still long enough. Come around back. We can set up on the picnic table.”

  A weeping willow embraced the backyard with thousands of drooping arms. In the shade of the tree, a long table made of thick beams and a set of matching benches looked like the site for filming a commercial, complete with a happy family relishing their blessings.

  The view of the fields from behind the house was breathtaking. Brianne wished she had packed her camera. The light glowed on the grass, a slight breeze moving the stalks in a gentle wave.

  Addison pointed to a clearing on the right, about a quarter of a mile away. “That’s where the house is going.”

  The ground dipped down beyond the yard, making Caroline’s house feel like a castle on the hill. The new place would be beautiful too. Brianne imagined the way fog filled the valley in the fall, how it would engulf the home with maybe only the peak poking out above the cloud. “You must be very excited.”

  “Yes.” Addison looked back toward the house. “But Caleb is still . . . unstable. He can’t remember us moving here. He says he has no recollection of the night of the accident or any of the days leading up to it. But . . .” She pressed a hand into each cheek. “I feel horrible, but I can’t help wondering if he’s lying about remembering . . . or maybe something bigger. Especially when I know he wasn’t with Jeff.”

  “Memory loss is common with concussions. It’s usually temporary. Give him some time, and I’m sure he’ll remember, though maybe not the actual accident. The brain has a fascinating way of protecting us from things we can’t handle. I imagine a head-on collision falls in line with that for most people. And just because he wasn’t with Jeff doesn’t mean he was with another woman.” Brianne scrambled to come up with another explanation, but she had none. If she were in Addison’s sandals, she’d have the same fears.