No one is sitting on the front porch so I push open the door. “Hello?” I call out. “Dad? Colin?” No one answers. “I’ve got sandwiches!” Bag of food in hand, I move to the kitchen. The refrigerator door is open wide. The floor is wet and sticky and covered with shards of glass. My hand flies instinctively to my sidearm.
A loud crash comes from somewhere within the house. I throw the bag on the counter. “Dad? Colin?” I call again then hurry back down the hallway toward my dad’s den. I push open the door to see my dad’s ancient desktop computer lying on a carpet of wayward papers along with the contents of the desk drawers. My dad is standing in the corner, clutching a lamp, his face red with rage. Kneeling on the floor in front of him is Nola.
“What the hell?” I ask.
“Jesus,” Nola says from the floor. “He freaked out and started throwing things.”
“What are you doing here, Nola?” I ask, my eyes sweeping the room, fingers still hovering over my holster. “What did you do to my dad? Where’s Colin?”
“He had to run to Willow Creek to deliver some sculptures. He asked me to stay with your dad until he got back.” Nola looks genuinely rattled. “I was trying to get him something to eat and he just went off on me.”
I go to my dad’s side and gently pry the lamp from his fingers. “Dad, what’s the matter?” I ask. “What happened?” He is breathing hard and sweating. I’m afraid he’s going to have a heart attack. “Why would Colin ask you to stay with my dad?” I ask Nola incredulously. “He wouldn’t do that.”
Nola gets to her feet. A broken picture frame is in one hand and the index finger on the other hand is oozing blood. “One minute he was fine and the next minute he started throwing things at my head.” It’s the most out of sorts that I’ve ever seen Nola.
I take my dad by the hand and get him seated in his desk chair. “It’s okay, Dad, I’m here,” I soothe. “What happened?” He just shakes his head, his eyes filled with confusion and shame.
“You wanted me to stay with you, Mr. Kennedy, don’t you remember?” Nola asks, taking a step toward him. I give her a look that stops her cold. “He did,” Nola says to me. “He didn’t want to go with Colin. I said I’d stay. Call Colin and ask him.”
“Don’t worry, I’m going to,” I say icily. “What did you say to him? You weren’t talking to him about Eve’s case, were you?” I cross my arms in front of me.
“No,” Nola says. “We talked about peonies.”
“Peonies?” I repeat. I glance at my dad but he’s looking dumbfounded at the mess on the floor.
“Yeah, peonies,” Nola says, meeting my eyes, daring me to challenge her.
“You need to leave now,” I say. It’s all I can do to not grab Nola by the arm and drag her from the house.
“Bye, Henry,” Nola says as she turns to leave, dropping the picture frame she’s holding. It crashes to the floor.
I track her footfalls as she moves through the hallway. I wait for the sound of the front door opening and closing. Certain that she’s gone, I turn my attention back to my dad. He looks exhausted. “What did Nola say to you?” I ask, my heart hammering in my chest, afraid of what he’s going to say.
“She ruined the peonies,” my dad says. “Ripped the heads right off.” He wades through the paper littered across the floor and out of the room. “But I found it. Don’t worry, Maggie, I took care of it.” I stare after him, confused. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Once again Nola has swept in and somehow left a mess. Literally and figuratively. Nola leaves a toxic cosmic residue behind wherever she goes.
I look down at the shattered picture frame. A small smear of blood streaks the broken glass. In the photo my mother is sitting on the porch steps. She is gazing at the camera, a soft smile on her face. She looks content. Happy. This was the way my mom looked at my dad in the quiet moments of the day, when the chaos of running a busy household and chasing two young kids had slowed. I think about how I miss her.
I follow my dad out of the room and watch as he climbs the stairs up to his bedroom, his shoulders hunched, head bent as if he’s climbing a mountain. What did Nola say to him that would cause him to start throwing things? Certainly it wasn’t about his peonies. It could be that my dad was just confused, worried because Colin wasn’t here. I return to the kitchen and survey the mess. This was definitely not about flowers.
I go upstairs to check on my dad and to bring him a glass of water. He sometimes forgets to drink and gets dehydrated. He’s lying on his side, covers pulled up around his chin. He’s already fallen asleep and is snoring softly. He’s fine. For the first time I’m grateful that my dad forgets.
I call the police station and let them know that I won’t be back in today, that my dad needs me. While I wait for Colin to come home I keep busy by cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. I put the sandwiches I brought for lunch into the refrigerator and sweep up the glass and scrub the floor. In my dad’s office I return the computer to the desk and gather all the papers and the broken picture frame from the floor.
I’m transferring a pile of wet towels into the dryer when I hear my dad on the steps and I go out to meet him. “Hey, Dad,” I say. His hair is sticking up and his shirt is untucked. “How was your nap?”
“Where’s Colin?” he asks sleepily. “What time is it?”
“Two o’clock. He went to deliver some sculptures to Willow Creek,” I tell him.
“Oh, yeah,” he says. My heart squeezes. He doesn’t remember.
“Nola Knox was here,” I say.
“I’m sorry I missed her. What time is it again?” my dad asks as he moves toward the front door.
“Two o’clock,” I say. “Nola left when I came over. Have you eaten anything? I brought you a sandwich.”
“Peanut butter sounds good,” he says as he pushes through the screen door, steps out onto the porch and to his spot on the swing.
I don’t know if it’s safe to leave him alone on the porch, but he’s got to eat something. As I go inside toward the kitchen, a renewed sense of frustration toward Colin rushes through me. He should know better than to leave our dad with Nola. In the pantry I find a box of crackers and a jar of peanut butter. It doesn’t look like Colin has been to the grocery store anytime lately and I find myself getting angry again.
I slather the peanut butter on half a dozen crackers, arrange them on a plate and bring them out to the porch with a glass of iced tea and one of the sandwiches I brought to the house. “Here, Dad,” I say, handing him the plate of crackers. I sit in a chair adjacent to the swing as he nibbles tentatively.
“Dad, Nola was here earlier and something made you very upset. Do you remember what she did? What she said?”
“Nola was here?” he asks through a bite of cracker.
“Yeah,” I say with relief. He has already forgotten. “She was here.”
“Bad business about her sister,” my dad says, shaking his head.
“You didn’t talk about it much,” I say, picking at my sandwich. I need to eat but I’ve lost my appetite.
He takes a sip of iced tea. “It was a hard thing to talk about. How do you talk to your kids about the murder of a fifteen-year-old girl? Eve was your best friend and she was brutally beaten and then strangled.” He points at the Knox house. He’s getting worked up, agitated.
“Dad, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up...” I begin but he’s not done yet.
“I tried to protect you from the ugliness of it. It was an awful thing that happened. So no, we didn’t talk about it at the dinner table.”
“Dad,” I say reaching for his hand but he shakes it off and disappears into the house.
I hear the rumble of a vehicle and look up to find Colin pulling into the driveway. He gives me a big grin. I’m nauseous with guilt and anger at my brother for letting Nola Knox into my dad’s home.
“Hi,” Colin says trotting up the porch steps. “Did Nola leave?”
“What were you thinking?” I ask, rounding on him. “I came over and found Dad standing in a corner ready to throw a lamp at Nola’s head. How could you have left him with her?”
“What happened?” Colin asks in alarm. “Is Dad okay?” He moves to go inside and I grab his arm.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea to leave him with strangers,” I chastise. “Especially crazy ones like Nola. Next time you have to go somewhere, take him with you.”
Colin’s face reddens. “Don’t you think I tried that? Dad refused to come with me. He wanted to stay home. He wanted to stay with Nola. If I knew it would have upset him so much I would never have left.”
I sigh. Who am I to judge Colin? He’s the one who’s here all the time, the one who upended his entire life so Dad can stay in his home, and he’s done so without complaint. But Nola Knox? “Next time just call me, I’ll come over,” I tell him gently.
Colin sits down on the swing and reaches for one of the remaining peanut butter crackers. He takes a small bite and tosses it back onto the plate.
“So you delivered the sculptures?” I ask, trying to smooth things over. “That’s got to feel pretty good.”
“It feels great,” Colin says through the crumbs. “Man, there’s nothing like it.”
“We should celebrate,” I say. “Go out for dinner or something.”
“I already got it covered,” Colin says, downing the rest of Dad’s iced tea. “Dinner, tomorrow night. Right here. I want you to come and Shaun and the baby of course.” He pats my belly. “And I’ve invited Nola too.”
“Nola?” I ask in alarm. “Why?” This day keeps getting worse and worse.
“I don’t know?” Colin shrugs. “Her mom’s in the hospital and Nola’s all alone over there and it was a nice thing to do.”
“That’s too bad, Colin, but it still isn’t a good idea to have Nola over for dinner,” I say. “I’m working on Eve’s case. It doesn’t look right for me to socialize with her.”
“It’s just a barbecue.” Colin laughs. “Relax.”
“It’s not a good idea, Colin,” I repeat, getting to my feet. “Nola Knox is not someone you want to get involved with. Don’t you remember what she was like as a kid?”
“Maggie,” Colin says, “it’s just dinner.”
“I’ve got to get going,” I tell him, my irritation back in full bloom.
I go inside and say goodbye to my dad. He’s sitting in front of the television with his feet propped up on the coffee table. “Bye, Dad,” I say, leaning down for a hug. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine,” he replies, barely glancing away from the TV.
“So?” Colin asks, stepping into the house. “Will you come?”
“Yeah, we’ll be here,” I say grudgingly. It’s better if I’m here, keeping an eye on Nola. God knows what she’s up to. “What do you want me to bring?”
“Just your beautiful selves,” Colin says.
* * *
I move outside and take a quick glance at the Knox house and a long hard look at the Harper house, a beautiful home with a lot of ugliness inside. I spent countless hours inside that house babysitting the twins and so much more. Over the years I’ve tried to keep tabs on the goings-on there but recently I’ve been so busy at work and with the baby coming I haven’t been so diligent. I think of the way Cam was touching the young girl at the softball field and in my gut I knew he was doing it again. Most likely had never stopped. Men like him never change.
I walk up to the cherrywood front door and press the bell. The sound of Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” echoes through the house and my stomach clenches. How many times over the years have I rung this bell? A hundred? Maybe more. I hear a dog bark from somewhere inside. No one comes to the door. I stand on tiptoe trying to see through the leaded glass window with the hand-painted pineapple medallion in the center and see Winnie.
I cross around to the back of the house where I know there’s a large brick patio surrounded by a tall privacy fence. “Hello,” I call out. “Anyone home?” Again, no answer. I thread my hand through a slat in the fence and lift the latch and let myself into the backyard. If someone comes upon me I have no good excuse for being here. I look around for security cameras but see none. I’m guessing Cam Harper doesn’t want any trace of the comings and goings in and around his house.
I peek through the slats in the fence, and looking into the Harpers’ backyard is like stepping into a different world. Spires of hollyhocks and star-shaped columbine and purple-and-yellow Johnny-jump-ups fill the flowerbeds and masses of clematis climb and tumble over the wooden fence in snow-white curls. The emerald green lawn a stark contrast to my dad’s sad, anemic yard. The firepit with five Adirondack chairs situated around it is still there. I remember how Cam Harper would sit in one of those chairs with his tanned legs crossed, one hand holding a cigarette and the other a crystal tumbler filled with an amber-colored liquid. I thought he was beautiful. He told me I was beautiful. He was thirty-five. I was fifteen.
I shouldn’t be here. My unborn child shouldn’t have to breathe the same air that Cam Harper does. I lean against the fence and try to steady my shaky legs and slow my breath. On the ground, out of place among the deep-blue ladybells are a scattering of old cigarette butts. It looks like Cam still had that nasty habit. I rub a hand across my face.
The statute of limitations has long run out for any legal recourse for what Cam did to me, but I still have to find a way to make sure Cam Harper pays for what he has done. For what he’s doing. He ruined my life. Why shouldn’t I ruin his?
NOLA KNOX
Friday, June 19, 2020
Henry Kennedy was waiting at the front door as Nola walked up the porch steps carrying a pie in one hand and a small gray plastic bag in the other. If he remembered anything about what happened the day before he didn’t give any indication.
“Dad,” Colin said, coming up behind him. “I invited Nola to the barbecue.” To Nola he said, “Come on in. What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Nola said.
They traveled through the living room and into the kitchen to find Maggie and Shaun already there sitting at the table.
“Thanks,” Nola said as Colin handed her a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. Nola stared defiantly at Maggie and took a long drink.
Sensing tension, Colin jumped in. “I just put the burgers on,” he said. “They should be ready in about fifteen minutes. Hope you are all hungry.”
“I’m starved,” Shaun said, rubbing his hands together. “Hey, I wanted to ask you about making a sculpture for the shop at the orchard. You interested?” The two disappeared out the door and into the garage leaving Nola and Maggie alone in the kitchen.
“Here,” Nola said thrusting the bag at Maggie.
“What’s this?” Maggie asked. She peeked inside and the color leached from her face. “What the hell, Nola?” She pressed the bag back into Nola’s hands, noticing a Band-Aid wrapped around Nola’s finger. “Why did you bring this here? Are you crazy?”
“Take it,” Nola ordered. “I want this done. The sooner you get the evidence to the lab the sooner this will all be over with.”
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t think I can do this, Nola. I think I’ll just take my chances.”
“We’ve been through this, Maggie.” Nola tipped the beer to her lips. “You’re almost there. Remember what Nick did to me? What he did to Eve? Do you really think someone like that should be running around free?” When Maggie didn’t answer she went on, “Think about your baby, Maggie. It’s the most important part of all this, right? You have to do this for your baby.”
“I should probably go sit with my dad,” Maggie said, grabbing the bag and rushing from the room. Nola went to the refrigerator, retrieved
another bottle of beer and went to the front door. From behind the screen she could see Maggie leaning into the truck.
Nola went outside carrying two bottles of beer and waggled one at Henry. “Here you go, Henry,” she said. “I thought you might be thirsty.”
“Thanks,” Henry said, reaching for the bottle.
“Dad,” Maggie said coming up the front steps. “You know that’s not a good idea. When you drink your sleep gets messed up.”
Henry took a deep swig and smiled mischievously. “One beer isn’t going to make a difference,” he said. “Tastes good.”
Nola squeezed into the spot next to him on the swing and lifted her bottle and clinked it against his. “Salud,” Nola said, and smiled.
* * *
“Time to eat,” Colin called through the screen door. Nola lagged behind as they moved through the house and to the kitchen. “Help yourself,” Colin said. “We can eat out back.” They each grabbed paper plates and plastic silverware and dished up baked beans and potato salad and moved to the back patio. The air was still hot and humid with the temperature hovering in the eighties even though it was after six. A citronella candle sat in the middle of the table emitting its lemony scent.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Maggie said, tapping on her glass of lemonade with a plastic fork. “Colin, we are so proud of you. I remember when we were kids you always said you were going to be an artist. I know it’s been a long road but all your hard work is paying off. Congratulations on your first big sale—and here’s to many more.” Maggie lifted her glass into the air. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” everyone said heartily, raising their own drinks. Even Nola.
“Hello?” a voice from inside the house called out. “Anyone here?”
Nola looked to Colin. “Is someone else coming to dinner?” she asked.
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