Today, Brianne had brought along a camp chair and one of the books on memory issues. She’d seen the other moms sitting on the sidelines while the girls raced up and down the field. In this new world, reading was something she could do to avoid the oddity and not call attention to whose kids she was bringing. She’d bury her face in a book, and no one would even notice her.
Brianne lifted the back door of the van to retrieve her chair and bag. She slammed the rear hatch shut just in time to see a jogger jump to the side to avoid a collision with Lilly as she bounded from the side door. He staggered, then landed on his side.
So much for not drawing extra attention. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Brianne dropped her things on the grass beside the sidewalk. Her face flushed hot as the jogger turned her way. Seth. Again.
“Well, you were the last person I expected to be with this little hurdle.” He smiled at Lilly. “No harm. I should have been paying better attention.” He hopped up.
“Solving crime while exercising?” She heard the flirty tone in her voice and cringed. “I’m really sorry. I hate having my runs interrupted.” She brushed her hand over her hair before she realized how that must look.
“I was about to stop anyway. My house is just around the corner.”
Brianne nodded. “I’m a few miles out of town.”
He smiled, obviously waiting for her to see the ridiculousness of that statement.
A sigh oozed out of her mouth. “You caught me unprepared.”
“It seems that’s the only way we see each other.”
She thought back to the middle of the night visit, the news of Caleb’s accident. The way Seth had handled the situation, comforting yet serious. He had great people skills. Brianne . . . not so much.
“So, you said you run?” Seth wiped sweat from his forehead with the edge of his sleeve.
“Yep. Almost daily. It keeps the crazy away.”
His eyes lit with amusement. “Maybe we can get out there together sometime.”
The silence stretched on too long, further paralyzing Brianne’s tongue.
“I think she’d really like that.” Lilly pulled the basket of snacks from the passenger seat. “Brianne doesn’t get out much. Grammy says it’s a big waste of youth.”
If it was possible to turn the heat up higher, that statement did it. Perspiration dampened Brianne’s hairline. Her mouth sagged open, no words willing to try and save this conversation from humiliation.
“Let me help you with all this stuff.” Seth picked up the bag and chair.
Brianne scanned the soccer field and spotted Hannah kicking a ball back and forth with another girl. Hannah’s gaze darted down the road after every second or third kick, no doubt watching for Tally to come around the corner.
Connor looked from Seth to Brianne, rolled his eyes, and headed toward the basketball hoops, his ball tucked under his arm.
Lilly tugged on the hem of Brianne’s shorts. “Can I go now?” She pointed toward the playground.
“Yes, but remember, stay in my sight. Understand?”
She nodded as she ran toward the kids she’d bonded with over the week.
“There’s no way those are your kids. Who’d you snag them from?”
“Ha. They belong to the Kilbourns. I’m helping them out. It’s been rough.” Could he talk about the case? Was it impolite to even bring it up? She hadn’t been this nervous since middle-school dances.
“I’m sure. It’s hard to see this kind of thing happen. They’re good people.”
But bad things happened to good people. They happened all the time, and no one could stop those horrible seasons from coming or predict when they’d arrive. “I was wondering about something.”
“Yeah.”
She pointed to a place along the sideline, and Seth set down the bag and pulled the chair from its case. “Do you remember Amanda Tanger?”
“The suicide last year. How could I forget?” His eyes clouded.
“Do you remember her dad and the charges against him?”
He nodded. “He was just in the office last week, registering.”
Brianne swallowed hard. “He’s out of prison?”
“A day or two before he came in.”
“What did you think about all that? Do you think he could have been innocent?”
Seth’s eyebrows raised. “Innocent is not a word I would ever use along with Clyde’s name. I can say the sex-abuse charges surprised me, but that’s generally true with that kind of thing. You can’t tell what’s going on in a person’s mind. It’s one of the hardest parts of my job.”
He shook his head. “But Clyde wasn’t a nice guy. It’s public record, so I don’t mind telling you that we’d been out to the house quite a few times on disturbing-the-peace calls. His wife never filed charges, but the thought was that he beat her pretty regularly.”
Brianne’s arms grew heavy. Why on earth did it feel so important to uncover possible innocence in a man who was anything but guiltless?
ADDISON’S LIFE HAD become a series of unanswered questions. There were the questions that stalked the corners of her mind, keeping her awake at night and fighting waves of fear during the day. And there were the questions from others. The ones she knew were out there but that would only be asked in hushed tones behind her family’s backs.
How many people had seen them duck into the offices of Howell, Steves, and Goragie? For that matter, how many had watched them slink out of the county jail a few nights before?
Addison was too new in this community to hear the gossip fresh from the mouths of old men and bored housewives. She didn’t work outside the home, so she missed out on the water-cooler talk. Her kids hadn’t even started school, so the jabber of parents didn’t reach her ears. But summer was in its final weeks, and she couldn’t stay anonymous much longer.
A letter from the school district had arrived via certified mail, letting them know of Caleb’s suspension until all legal matters and investigations were concluded. The whole thing was humiliating. Addison found herself not wanting to leave the safety of the farm.
Yet here they were. She and Caleb sat in matching chairs, side by side, as if this were a simple dentist appointment instead of a meeting with her husband’s defense attorney.
Caleb placed his hand on top of Addison’s, curling his fingers around hers.
That gesture had once brought comfort and security. Addison’s stomach swirled with sickness at what their lives had turned into. Deep inside, some layer of her trembled. She kept her fingers straight, not acknowledging the tenderness of the man sitting to her left. Did she really even know him?
“Hey there, Coach.” Camden Howell stepped into the room, offering his hand first to Caleb, then to Addison. “Come on back. We have a lot to discuss.”
Addison studied his face, looking for a hint of news, but Mr. Howell’s expression remained an impenetrable mask of neutrality, a trait that probably served him well in the courtroom, though it felt like a form of torture here.
He ushered them down the hall, stopping at the door to his office, only entering after she and Caleb had. The room was large but not overly furnished. A couple of framed diplomas hung on the wall to the right. Behind the cluttered desk, a window took up most of the space, revealing a view of the historic Corban County Courthouse. The room smelled of men’s deodorant and Bengay. Bookshelves housed books but no pictures.
Addison checked the attorney’s ring finger. Empty but dented, as if he’d been married a long time but wasn’t anymore.
Mr. Howell pointed to the client chairs, then eased himself into a desk chair with worn armrests. “I’m kind of expensive, so let’s get to business. There’s both good and bad news. I think we’ve got a solid chance at this thing, but don’t take that as any kind of assurance. These cases can be highly unpredictable. Unless we negotiate a settlement, the jury will decide the outcome. Juries are just people. Their thoughts and experiences differ as much as any other group of folks. That makes them
a risk.”
“Are you saying we should settle?” Caleb leaned forward and clasped his hands together.
“I’m saying it’s something to consider. Right now, we don’t have an offer from the state, but I expect we’ll get one. It may or may not involve jail time. I think the best we can hope for is a reduced charge, perhaps criminally negligent homicide with a suspended sentence. What I can almost guarantee is that taking a deal will mean admitting guilt, and that will cost you your job. But going to a trial has costs too, and not only my fees. The longer this stretches out, the more it becomes a public trial with the citizens of our dear town electing themselves judge and jury. Even an acquittal comes with consequences. There’s no free pass.”
Caleb shook his head. “I don’t want a free pass. I don’t deserve that.”
Howell held up a hand. “Let me stop you right there. I’m not your priest. If you have something to confess, please, do us both a favor and don’t do it here. It’s my job to make sure your side is heard—your very best side. I’ll be bringing in expert witnesses and people who will testify to your great character.”
“What should we be doing?” Addison dug her fingernails into the faux leather of her purse.
Mr. Howell shrugged. “Come up with a list of people who might be willing to testify to Caleb’s character.” He leaned back. “The thing is, there’s evidence. We know you were drinking. There was alcohol in your system. And we know you took oxy. However, we might be able to argue that the amounts weren’t enough to cause impairment.” He tipped his chin, eyes on Caleb. “Do me a favor and eat up. We don’t want you looking like a lightweight. What we have going for us are the metabolites. It doesn’t appear that oxy is a habit. If I’m wrong, don’t tell me.”
Addison’s heart pounded as it did every time drugs in her husband’s system came up. There was concrete physical evidence that said Caleb wasn’t the man she thought he was. He’d preached about the dangers of getting involved with drugs, even prescription drugs, warning the kids how easy it was to slip off the path. Was that because he, himself, had fallen?
July 27, 2018
Dear West Crow School District employees and staff,
As many of you may have heard, Coach Caleb Kilbourn was arrested recently on charges of driving while under the influence. Our district takes these kinds of allegations very seriously but wishes to remind all that Mr. Kilbourn is innocent until proven guilty. The district will run an independent investigation once the official police investigation is complete. Please understand that we wish to protect the privacy of our staff members and will not discuss this case now or at any point in the future.
Sincerely,
Marijo Taylor
West Crow Superintendent
31
Emilia retrieved her personal belongings from her locker and started toward the parking lot. This was supposed to be a week of great victory, but something kept pulling her down. She couldn’t do anything to make the people who’d hurt her husband and taken that loving father away from Tally pay, but she’d done something to help the Bosch family. They would have closure about the senseless death of their mother. They’d have someone to blame and restitution to collect.
A haze blurred the view of the mountains that surrounded their rugged valley. Off in the distance, she could see where wildfires had destroyed and devoured the landscape. Two years ago, Roger had been gone for three weeks fighting a blaze that left only charred spikes where towering trees had once shaded the forest floor.
When he’d finally returned, even his skin held the scent of smoky finality. She’d felt true fear for her husband during those weeks, yet she’d taken his safety for granted here in town. In the end, it was a local fire, one nearly routine in its beginning, that could have killed him. And in some ways, it did.
Tally sat on the front porch, her bicycle on its side in the yellowed grass. She held a worn copy of The Horse and His Boy in her hands. “Hey, Mom. How was work?”
Emilia caught herself before she let the shock play out on her face. “Good. How did soccer camp turn out?”
“Great.” Tally looked up, making eye contact with her mother. “I got to know a new girl. We had ice cream on Monday. Sorry I forgot to tell you.”
Relief filled the places worry had recently claimed. A new friend, and Tally was willing to mention her. That was a great sign. “Was she at the soccer camp too?”
“Yep. She didn’t want to be there, either, but her mother thought it would be a good way to make friends.” Tally’s face lit up the way it used to. “Would it be okay if we hung out sometime?”
“I’d like to know a little more about her. What’s her name? What are her parents like?”
Tally fastened her fists to her sides. “I’m not a baby, you know. I get the right to make my own friends without it being a police matter.”
“Yes. But I’m still your mother, and I have the right to know who my daughter is spending time with.” Emilia crossed her arms in mock sternness.
“Whatever. Her name’s Hannah. She was with her neighbor Brianne when we had ice cream. I don’t know anything about her parents because, believe it or not, normal girls our age do not find our moms and dads to be fascinating conversation.”
Emilia let her mouth drop open. “I’m shocked.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“Why did the neighbor bring her to soccer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where does she live?”
Tally shrugged.
“What do her parents do for a living?”
“I don’t know, Mom. But she’s nice. She likes to read. She has an obnoxious little sister who I guess is better than her little brother, but I didn’t get to talk to him. She’s in my grade, and she didn’t actually want to play soccer, but now she’s thinking about joining the team.”
“All right. I understand.” Emilia ran her hand over her daughter’s hair. “Maybe I can meet her mom soon. Does that sound fair?”
“In your uniform?” Tally covered her face with her hands.
Emilia couldn’t help wondering if her work attire would have been half as humiliating if she’d been a man. “I guess that depends on the when and where of our meeting.”
Tally shrugged. “Hannah doesn’t have a cell phone, so it’s not like we can easily get together until school starts.”
“No cell phone, huh? I think I might like these people.”
BRIANNE’S FEET POUNDED in rhythm with Seth’s along the asphalt path. Beside them, the river flowed, its current seeming to push against her body. Brianne raised her hand in defeat. She slowed to a jog, then a walk. “Okay, Seth. You’re killing me. I give.”
“Ha!” Seth wiped his arm across his dripping forehead. “Thank you, Lord! I couldn’t have kept that up for another minute.”
She leaned forward, stretching her hamstrings. “What exactly was this torture for?”
“I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t keep up with you.” He tipped his face toward the sky. “Why can’t it start raining right now?”
“Um. I think because it’s late July.” Her body was in a delicious state of fatigue, the kind that left her feeling tired but satisfied. She’d pushed her legs and lungs to their limit and survived. Wasn’t that what life was about?
“Why are you grinning?”
“Chalk it up to endorphins.”
“You’re one of those girls, huh?” Seth ambled to a grassy area along the riverside and sat, his legs extended.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” How could he possibly be so much more attractive now, with sweat making his shirt cling to his chest and his hair glued to his face?
“You like the runner’s high. I admit I don’t understand. I run because it gets the job out of my head, and I like to eat a lot of pizza.”
“I get that. Or at least I used to. When I worked for the county, running was my key to sanity.” She sat down beside him and nudged him with her elbow. “And I like pizza too.”
“How about I treat you to Pisano’s tonight? I feel like I may have a crazy appetite after that run.”
Brianne thanked God that her face was already flushed from exertion, covering the blush his invitation would have surely produced. She had some sketching that needed to be finished by early next week. The gallery in town was running low, and she had to restock the cards she sold at numerous establishments throughout the county as well as online, but maybe it would be okay to let that wait one night. “All right. That sounds great.”
“I’ll swing by your place at six, if that’s okay.” He grinned, revealing a delicate scar beside his upper lip.
“Perfect.”
SETH WAS SEVEN minutes early.
Brianne snuck a peek out the window. He was dressed in khakis and a soft blue polo shirt. Even his shoes were nice. She looked down at her jeans and black T-shirt, then rushed into the bedroom.
His knock startled her even though she knew he was there. Chester, for once, took up his role as guard dog, whining and barking at the closed door.
She yanked off her clothes and slid into a black cotton dress, brushing it straight. She kicked away her Converse and drove her feet into a pair of sandals. A one-minute change. Not bad.
It took all the strength her tired body had to pull the dog away from the door and get it open without Chester tackling Seth. This was as bad as the way her brother greeted her dates in high school. He liked to tell them to be careful not to let her have spicy food because it gave her diarrhea. It wasn’t true, but she’d seen more than one boy blanch at the comment. “I’m so sorry,” she said as she gripped Chester’s collar. “I should have put him in the bedroom.”
Chester’s barks of warning turned to wiggles and begging.
She chose to interpret Chester’s response as evidence of Seth’s good character, but likely it was a fault in the dog’s protective instinct, of which he had very little.
More Than We Remember Page 20