“You okay, Mads?” Chris watched me with concern. Remy was still lying at his feet.
“My dad,” I said with a croak. “I think he created a fake account to keep tabs on me.”
“That’s what dads do, Mady."
“Here,” I said, shoving the phone back into his hands. “You keep it.”
“What?”
“I don’t want it.” I grabbed Remy’s collar and pulled her to her feet. “Thanks for the help.”
“Mady—“
I turned away, wiping at the tears running down my cheeks. “Don’t,” I said. “I don’t want it.”
“That’s not—“ Chris hesitated. “I wanted to say I was sorry.”
I paused on the front stoop. Remy tugged my arm, trying to sniff a nearby bush. I looked at Chris. He met my eyes quickly then looked away. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You had your reasons for what you did. All of it. And I need to respect that.”
I opened the front door and shoved Remy inside. She took off into the kitchen, tail wagging. When I closed the door again, I turned to face Chris. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have thrown my coffee.”
The peepers were beginning their shrill call as the light faded. We looked at each other for several long moments, the years passing between us.
Then Chris said, “I brought your battery. I can install it if you want.”
With Chris and I bent over the Chevy’s engine, Chris began to talk about his children—Xavier and Lola—always skirting the fact that they were no longer in the same state and that he hadn’t seen them in months. It was almost like he couldn’t hold it in, that he had to talk to someone about them or he’d break. Even though he smiled while he recounted silly tales and parenting nightmares, it never reached his eyes.
“What do you parents think?” I said, “About Rachel taking the kids so far away?”
Chris dropped the battery into its spot. It was the newest looking thing in the grimy engine compartment. “They think I should ask for a divorce and sue for custody.”
“Why don’t you?”
Chris concentrated on the battery, lifted one of the caps, examined it, blew into it to clear it out. “No one in my family gets divorced.”
“So?”
“So no one gets divorced, Mady.” He looked at me. “We work at it. We don’t give up.”
“But she left you, Chris.”
I could see the pain eating away at him. “Yeah.” He snapped one of the caps in place. I waited for him to say more but he didn’t.
“Do you think she’ll come back? Or will you move out there?” A part of me didn’t want to hear the answer to either of those questions.
“I don’t know. She won’t talk to me about it.” Chris snapped the other cap onto the new battery. “And I don’t know if I could find a job out there.”
I thought about what Adam had told me about Chris’s domestic. Getting a job as a cop with a record in your hometown was one thing. Getting one a half a world away was something else entirely.
“Wanna start her up?” he asked. “See if it works?”
The old Chevy started with a grumble, but she started. “Hey!” I shouted. “Would you look at that!”
Chris grinned back at me, wiping his hands on a rag, and for a moment it was like we were teenagers again, proud of ourselves for adulting the smallest of tasks.
“Want a beer?” I said.
We sat on the front lawn, Remy between us. A soft breeze kept the mosquitoes at bay and the humidity tolerable. The smell of grass clippings and flowers floated around us.
“Do you know where Zoe Mitchell is?” I asked, sipping my beer. The Budweisers in dad’s fridge were quickly disappearing. I really needed to watch that. My waistband would thank me.
Chris quirked an eyebrow. “Does this have to do with the message she sent you?”
I blinked. “How’d you—“
“Ingress told me that’s the reason you came back.”
“Oh. Well, do you know where she is?”
“I don’t think it’s something you should worry about, Mady. Addicts do stuff like that all the time. When they need money, they pop up out of nowhere then disappear just as fast.”
“She never said she needed money.”
Chris gave me a sidelong look.
I clenched my jaw shut. Just because no one believed that Zoe might be in danger didn’t mean it wasn’t true. I leaned back on my elbows, staring up at the darkening sky. My shoulders ached from clearing out dad’s house. I didn’t know what I was going to do with all the stuff I wanted to keep, but I couldn’t think about that right now.
“Your dad loved this yard,” Chris said.
I smiled. “Yeah, he did, didn’t he?” A memory of us planting the line of bushes along the irrigation ditch floated before me like fireflies. I remember finding a baby toad that day, and dad letting me keep it in a shoebox—outside—until it grew big enough to leap free.
“I wonder why he never let me get a dog,” I said.
Chris didn’t answer but rubbed Remy behind the ears.
“How’d he get Remy?” I asked. “He never told me.”
“I don’t think he chose her,” Chris said.
I sat up. “What do you mean?”
“He told me Mrs. Patattue asked him to come look at a hole in the fence. I guess some kids broke into the shelter to play with the dogs.”
A smile played around my lips. Only in Beacon Falls.
“He saw Remy and I guess he went back the next day and adopted her.” Chris rubbed Remy’s ears. “I think she chose him.”
My eyes burned but I refused to cry in front of Chris. I’d done that enough when I found dad’s body.
“I don’t get it,” I said.
Now it was Chris’s turn to look confused. “What?”
“I don’t get how people can say dad was a bad guy.”
Chris stopped scratching Remy’s ears and took a swig of beer.
“Is it true?” I said, dropping my voice.
Finally, he met my eyes.
“Do you guys take money?” I asked.
Chris didn’t answer for a long time. At last he said, “I don’t know anything about it.”
“But if you did—“
“I don’t.”
The snap in his voice made me stop.
“I better go,” he said, getting to his feet. Remy leapt up too.
“You don’t have to.”
He didn’t answer. Remy snuffled his pants, trying to get him to play.
“Thanks for the beer.”
Remy and I watched with equal regret as his car backed out of the drive and disappeared around the bend.
Chapter 18
Chris’s abrupt departure last night left me feeling unsettled. The only reason I could think why he’d react that way was because the Beacon Falls PD were involved in some shady crap and he didn’t want to admit it.
But there was no evidence of any extortion. Just rumor and speculation.
And what about Zoe? How come no one was willing to help me find her? If she was in town, it shouldn’t be that hard to locate her. And even if she wasn’t in town, it still shouldn’t be that hard to find her. Not if someone really wanted to.
Which gave me an idea.
Twenty minutes later, I was parked outside Elly William’s single wide trailer home.
A blue SUV with a crushed backend sat in the driveway surrounded by a pile of junk. Toys and equipment her son had outgrown, broken lawn chairs, a discarded tv table.
Elly answered the door in an oversized t-shirt. She had dark circles under her eyes and did not look pleased to see me. Behind her, a television blared. The place smelled of ramen noodles and stale carpeting.
“What do you want?” she said.
“I was hoping we could talk.”
Elly eyed me up and down, her jaw set.
“May I come in?”
“I don’t think so.”
I blanched. “Elly, I’m really sorry about what I said at the funeral. This hasn’t been the easiest and it—it just came out.”
“You were drunk.”
Heat rose up my neck. “Yes,” I admitted. She started to close the door. I reached out to stop her. “Please, Elly,” I said. “For my dad.”
Flies buzzed around our head. To my right, an old window A/C unit rattled noisily.
“Five minutes.”
Stepping into the trailer, the first thing I noticed was how clean it was. The second thing I noticed was how obviously poor she was. The carpet was threadbare, the couch secondhand, the television was giant and boxy with bent bunny ears sitting on top of it. The kitchen table was one of those 70s-style folding deals with linoleum peeling up from its surface. The chairs were mismatched.
Had dad ever come here?
In the middle of the trailer, Elly’s son sat cross-legged on the dirty carpet, staring at the television. Colorful, dancing characters bounced across the screen.
“What’s his name?” I asked. I studied the boy from behind, the shape of his head, the flop of his red hair. Was that cowlick the same as my father’s?
“Derrick.”
“He’s five?”
Elly nodded. Her hands and arms moved in that unconnected, restless way; first hugging herself then tucking into her pockets, then swiping at a stray hair.
“What do you want, Mady? I’ve got to get ready for work.”
I looked at her in surprise. I don’t why I thought she didn’t work. Maybe by the state of things…and, well, her. “Where do you work?”
Elly glanced at the clock. “Four minutes.”
“Okay,” I said, irritated. “I’d like to talk to Zoe Mitchell. Do you know where she is?”
“I don’t know where she is.”
“What about Davis Dempster?”
Her face registered surprise. “Why?”
“He sent me a picture.”
“What kind of picture?”
“A photograph. Of us in high school. You, Jennifer, Shelby, me, and Davis.”
Elly’s face went funny, but before I could decipher it, she turned away to stir the slop of ramen noodles congealing on the stove. “I don’t know what picture you’re talking about.” She dumped the noodles into a bowl.
“I think he might be stalking me again.”
Elly’s spine stiffened. “Why do you think that?”
“I saw his car at my house. And my dad’s funeral.”
Elly clutched her stomach with one arm, as though she was going to be sick. “I really have to get ready for work.”
“Does Zoe still live in town?”
She turned back to me, her eyes flashing anger. “Are you just here to repeat stupid questions? Cuz I’ve got to get Derrick ready for his grandma’s.”
At the sound of his grandmother’s name, Derrick looked over at us with bright eyes, and for a moment I felt like I was looking at my father. The blood drained from my face. The boy hopped up and disappeared down the hall.
I didn’t know anything about dad and Elly until the day I got an email from Jennifer. She pretended she was emailing to ask me how I was doing, but it was really a veiled attempt at fueling the gossip machine. At the end of the email, almost as an afterthought, she’d written Crazy about your dad and Elly, huh?
Elly had been 21, dad was 44.
Now, Elly gave me a sideways glance. “Your ex is the one helping the state police look into Vin—your dad's death, right?”
“So what?” I said, anger surging at her use of my father’s first name. “Just because we dated once eight years ago doesn’t mean—"
“Not according to you.”
“What do you mean?”
She gave me a condescending look. “Your dad and I dated once. Years ago.”
“That was different.”
“Mommy!” Derrick’s tiny voice called from the back of the trailer. “Mommy, I pooped!”
Elly scowled at me, wiped her hands on a towel, and disappeared down the hall.
I breathed out, suddenly aware of how tense my shoulders had become. Looking around the tiny kitchen, I saw an empty flower pot covered in a child’s colorful scrawl perched on the windowsill. A pile of dishes sat drying on a towel by the sink, and next to that was an empty prescription bottle.
The toilet flushed. Unable to help myself, I picked up the orange bottle and squinted at the label.
Graves, Vincent. Dr. Wayne Ipsolan. 20 mg oxycodone. Take one a day, as needed, for pain.
I gasped. What was Elly doing with my father’s prescription bottle? I looked at the date. It had been prescribed three weeks before his death. But for what?
Dad hadn’t told me about any—my thoughts broke off as I recalled that about a year ago, dad told me, in one of our two phone calls per year, that he’d hurt his back.
The water in the bathroom shut off. I hurried back to the table just as Derrick scampered from the bathroom, followed a moment later by his mother.
“I need to get ready for work,” she said. In the pale sunlight streaming through the dirty windows, I could see a thin glaze of sweat visible on her forehead.
“You and my dad,” I said, “You ever talk? After you stopped seeing each other?”
“You need to leave.”
“Did he ever talk to you?” I said, “Stop by or anything? You know,” I glanced at Derrick, who’d resumed his place on the floor. “For old time’s sake?”
“Get out,” Elly said. At the anger in her tone, Derrick looked over, a twinge of fright in his eyes. “Get out of my house."
Chapter 19
Confusion, anger, and resentment coursed through me as I drove home from Elly’s house. If Derrick was dad’s child, how could she be so cold? And what the hell was she doing with dad’s prescription bottle in her kitchen? Had they continued to see each other even after they’d broken up? Had dad kept her on the side like a spare tire?
Bile rose up in my throat. Men could be so disgusting.
I turned onto Grangeway, and that’s when the car passed me, going the other way.
A beige sedan with Davis Dempster behind the wheel. He looked the same as he did in high school: long, greasy red hair that fell around his ears, a goatee of wiry hair around his mouth. We locked eyes, and I slammed on my brakes. Davis, however, sped up. I leapt out of my car and snapped several pictures of his retreating vehicle.
“Stay away from me!” I screamed. But he was already gone.
I called the police.
When Frank’s cruiser pulled into dad’s drive a few minutes later, I was surprised at the disappointment I felt. Remy barked and scratched at the front door to be let out.
“Savine’s on a call,” Frank explained. “Chief asked that I take a report.”
I showed him the picture. He squinted at it, then glanced down the road as if Davis would still be there.
“And you’ve seen him around a lot lately?” Frank asked.
“Well,” I hesitated. “Isn’t a few times enough? He stalked me in high school, Frank.”
Frank frowned, looking unbearably sad. I knew his hands were tied but it did nothing to calm my anger.
“Forget it,” I said. “Thanks for coming out.”
Frank stared at the path along the side of the house, and I knew he was thinking about my dad dying back there. After a while he said, “Why don’t you go stay at your mom’s house?"
“Frank,” I said, annoyed. “Really? My mom’s house?”
“The one on Circle.”
“Dad sold that house a long time ago,” I said. Circle Drive was where we lived before mom left.
“No, he didn’t.” Then Frank’s face paled as he realized what was happening. “He never told you?”
“Told me what?”
Frank’s eyes flicked back to the path. “Dammit, Vince.”
“Frank,” I said, directing his attention back to me. “What are you talking about?”
He hesitated, unsure what to d
o. Then he said, “Vince always said he couldn’t bring himself to sell that old house. That it meant too much to you.”
I struggled to wrap my mind around this new information. When we first moved to Grangeway, dad said he was having trouble selling our old house, but I’d thought that was because no one wanted to buy it—I never assumed it was emotional trouble that was keeping him from selling it. A sickening feeling rose up in me at all the things left unsaid between us.
“But—how come he never told me?”
“I don’t know, Mady. I always assumed he had.”
Then a new thought struck. “But how could he afford the mortgage all these years?” While dad's salary was decent for a small town like Beacon Falls, it was nowhere near enough to maintain payments on two houses.
Frank shook his head. “That’s not for me to answer.”
Chapter 20
As soon as Frank left, I raced over to Circle Drive. This neighborhood was made up of smaller homes, built practically on top of each other. The closeness engendered a sense of neighborhood among the kids on the block. I remembered many hours of playing in the street, running across the open backyards, tearing off to Falls Park, which was a mere hop, skip, and a jump to the east. And I remembered the double sense of loss when dad said we were moving to Grangeway. He wanted a bigger yard, more room for me to practice soccer, trees for me to get lost in. For me it was like losing both my mom and my sense of place all at once. I saw all my old neighborhood friends at school, of course, but I was no longer a part of their group.
I slowed as I approached the house where I’d spent the first eight years of my life. A two-story split level with a small front yard bisected by a weedy front path, a single-car garage, and a quarter acre back yard.
When I was sixteen and got my driver’s license, I must’ve driven by this place a hundred times. I always slowed but never stopped, fearing the new owners would get suspicious of the blue Malibu circling the block. But now looking back, I realized that I never once saw a car in the driveway. I never once saw any signs of life from the place at all.
The Things We Keep Page 8