by Meg Gardiner
“We’re running out of time. We have to move the schedule up.”
“That’s a risk.”
“This entire thing’s a risk,” the passenger said. “We have to take the chance of exposure. Otherwise the rewards might go up in smoke. We gotta move.”
The driver got on the phone.
37
Amber Mackenzie’s house could have been a set for the old TV western that had filmed in Ransom River. Rustic described it charitably. In the hills at the edge of town, high above eroded gullies, it was a dismal home, with patchy grass and bare dirt along the foundation, where flowers should have bloomed. Behind it rose rocky ranges and the blue-green peaks of the national forest. Rory crested the hill and coasted down the road to the driveway. The lawn was strewn with Barbies and Big Wheels.
She parked her Subaru and walked to the door. A garden hose snaked carelessly across the broken sidewalk. She heard Seth’s truck rumble to a stop a hundred yards back, just beyond the top of the hill, and reverse around a corner so he could get out and watch the house past scrawny bottlebrush trees and a neighbor’s Winnebago.
Rory knocked. Inside, a television softly buzzed.
The door opened. Amber stood surprised, her splinted hands at her sides.
“Aurora. My word.” She pushed open the screen. Her frantic red hair hung over her shoulders. “Come in, honey.”
The house was stuffy. Though it was autumn, a fan was blowing in the living room. Five children sat on the carpet, huddled in a semicircle around the television. SpongeBob was loudly educating them about subaquatic life.
Amber led Rory into the kitchen, just off the front door. “What’s going on?”
Rory nodded at the kids. “Can you talk?”
“I’m keeping an eye on them.”
Amber pointed. A mirror hung on the hallway wall, catching the toddlers’ reflection.
She crossed her arms. “If you’re worried I told your parents Seth’s in town, don’t be.”
“That’s not it.” Though the thought of how her father would react to seeing Seth made Rory blanch. “I’ll deal with Seth. Don’t concern yourself with that.”
Amber scratched an arm. The kitchen counter was clean but cluttered. There were loaves of Wonder Bread and juice boxes and four children’s lunch boxes lined up next to a pack of Virginia Slims and Amber’s lime green pill container. Through the container’s transparent lid Rory saw pills organized in tiny compartments labeled M–Sun. The pills looked like a mix of M&M’S and jelly beans.
“What’s your worry, then?” Amber said.
“I want to know what’s going on.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Why have you been so eager to talk to me?”
Amber flipped her hair over her shoulder. It was almost coquettish. “The courthouse siege is big news. I’m no different from the rest of the folks in town. And honey, face it, I’ve got an inside track.”
“Open curiosity, that’s it? Okay, here I am. What do you want to know?”
Amber smiled uneasily. After a moment she turned and opened the fridge.
“Iced tea?”
“No, thanks. Take your shot, Amber. Ask me whatever it is you’re dying to know.”
Amber took out a pitcher and shuffled to the cupboard for a glass. She poured and reached back into the cupboard for a box of pills. She popped one from a silver bubble pack and washed it down with tea. It was OxyContin.
Rory glanced at the hallway mirror. The kids in the living room were mostly goggle-eyed and glazed in front of the TV. One little boy was playing with a Hot Wheels car. The little girl with the sweet brown curls, who had been in Riss’s car outside the courtroom earlier, climbed to her feet and looked around.
“Rory, I think you’ve gotten the wrong idea,” Amber said. “I don’t know who’s been putting notions in your head, but this is nothing more than an aunt’s concern and natural human curiosity.”
The OxyContin remained on the counter. Rory wondered if Amber had a license to operate a day-care center, or whether she got around that by claiming to be a neighborly figure who helped out with part-time babysitting.
Rory picked up the OxyContin box, put the bubble pack back inside, and set it on an upper shelf in the cupboard. She put the lime green pill organizer beside it and closed the cabinet door tightly.
“I’ve got an idea about what’s going on,” she said, “and I’m not the only one.”
Amber’s face had gone crimson. “I’m disabled. I have chronic pain. It makes it impossible for me to hold down a normal job.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Everything’s always been so easy for you, Miss Bright Bulb. Well, not everybody has life served up to them on a silver platter.” She held up her hands. “This comes from trying to hold my family together, keep a roof over my kids’ heads, put food on the table. What would you know about any of that?”
Rory thought of the shotgun shack in Zimbabwe, and little Grace, and the sticks Grace’s mother collected for her cooking fire before men with tire irons kicked down the door.
And Rory thought of Lee. He’d been a single dad to Riss when she was a baby. Riss’s mother had died in a car wreck in Topanga Canyon, drunk on Southern Comfort, when Riss was six months old. After that, Lee could have treated his responsibilities as a chain to be severed with bolt cutters. But he didn’t dump Riss. He held her tight. Amber had once said, They were a package deal. A gorgeous man and his precious baby girl. How could I resist? All Rory’s life, against every high tide that threatened to erode it, she’d clung to the notion of Lee as caring father. He’d given his daughter a home with a new mom and a brother. He’d made a family for her.
But the truth shone ugly in the light of noon. It stood in front of her in the gloomy kitchen. Lee had brought a family together, and he’d left it, maybe in a getaway car.
A small voice came from the hallway. “Miss Amber?”
In the kitchen doorway stood the little girl with flyaway curls the color of cocoa. She was barefoot, bouncing up and down on her toes. Her T-shirt had a bumblebee on it.
Amber said, “What is it, Addie?”
“I’m thirsty.”
The little girl looked about a year and a half old. Maybe younger. Rory wasn’t an expert. Her eyes were bright blue, inquisitive, and fearless.
“Miss Amber’s talking right now, honey.”
“Please.”
Rory said, “I’ll get her a drink.”
Amber waved at the juice boxes. “Not those. Get her a sippy cup with water, else the rest of them will want drinks and then I’ll be a half hour changing diapers.”
Rory found a sippy cup in the cupboard with the OxyContin. Little Addie bounced after her.
“Me. Let me pour.”
Amber shushed the child. “Adalyn, no.”
Rory said, “It’s okay.”
She picked up the little girl and held her over the sink. Addie was light and wriggly and she focused with pure concentration on the water that braided from the faucet. Rory put the plastic cup into her small hands and Addie stretched, serious and wobbly, to hold it beneath the flow. She filled it nearly to the brim.
“Good job,” Rory said.
She set the girl on the counter. Addie carefully held the cup still, watching the water as though it might jump to life and make a run for it. Rory steadied the cup and pushed the top down securely.
“There you go,” she said.
Addie smiled. It was a smile of discovery and wonder, and it gave Rory a pang. She briefly thought about how, once, she might have had a child this age. If she and Seth had stayed together. If things had worked out. If, if, if.
Everything’s always been so easy for you, Miss Bright Bulb.
After the wreck, after the paramedics and police and road flares and ambulance, after the ER and surgery, Rory regained consciousness in the recovery room, woozy and sick. She opened gritty eyes and saw her leg encased from toes to thigh in a blue fiberglass cast. She br
eathed. Pain ripped her abdomen.
She closed her eyes. The surgeon’s voice woke her again, strong and close.
“Aurora. We stopped the bleeding. But you lost a lot of blood.”
She focused, to speak coherent words. “I have to be out of here tomorrow. Bar exam on Tuesday.”
He floated into view. Blue scrubs, pale arms. Blurred face. “We’ll see how long you need to stay here.”
“Where’s Seth?” she said. “Is he okay?”
“Who’s Seth?”
The million-dollar question. “Seth Colder. Was driving the truck.”
“You were the only person admitted after the accident,” he said.
He paused. “Ms. Mackenzie,” he said, and his voice was gentle. “I’m sorry, but there’s more.”
He told her the extent of her injuries. Slowly, she felt the night close in for good. She was hospitalized for two weeks. She missed the bar exam. She lost her job with the law firm in San Francisco.
She lay drugged and vague and silent, staring out the window. Petra visited, brought flowers and booze and brushed Rory’s hair from her forehead with her fingertips. She held tight to Rory’s hand, listening and saying, “Oh, girl.” Rory’s parents spent every free minute with her. Sam would glide in while she slept, and when Rory opened her eyes she’d see her mom above her, gripping the railing of the bed as though trying to hop a train. She looked beatific and tormented.
“There you are,” she’d say. “You rest, sweetheart. You get better.”
It took days before Rory found the courage to ask, “Where’s Seth?”
Sam gave her a cool look. “He’s not here.”
“Where is he?”
“He told your dad you’d broken things off. He said you two had called it quits for good.”
“So he hasn’t come to the hospital?”
Sam said nothing.
Rory turned to the wall.
Rory smoothed Addie’s hair.
Amber said, “You get on back to SpongeBob, Adalyn. The grown-ups need to talk.”
Rory lifted Addie from the counter. The little girl scrambled into her arms like a monkey and hugged her tight around the neck. She smelled like baby powder and bananas. Rory set her down and she giggled and ran from the kitchen, water sloshing in the cup.
Amber sobered. “What do you really want?”
“I want to know what’s going on,” Rory said.
In her jeans pocket, Rory’s phone vibrated. She had a message from Seth.
Before she could read it, she heard a vehicle pull into the driveway. Amber leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms. A few seconds later the front door opened.
Boone stood in the hall, staring at them.
“Come in, son,” Amber said. “It’s a family reunion.”
38
Boone had grown into a tall and good-looking man. His brown hair brushed his collar. He had Amber’s fawn eyes. He wore a shirt from Ransom River Auto Salvage. The matching tow truck was parked in the driveway.
But his frame was stringy. Possibly from the energy he spent smoothing his charm over the anger that boiled below the surface. Possibly from his bursts of temper. Given his plea bargain for handling stolen property, Rory thought it was possibly from the effort of keeping his hands to himself. He liked stealing things. If he couldn’t have them, he liked ruining things. Especially while he was drunk. Given his love for whiskey and fried food, she wondered if his slimness was thanks to cocaine or meth.
And he still looked at people sideways. He sauntered into the kitchen and took an apple and a beer from the fridge. He leaned back against the counter, polished the apple against his shirt, and stared at the window behind Rory.
“Surprised to see you here, cuz, considering how you’ve been trying to avoid me.”
“It’s been a busy day. How’s everything?” Rory said.
“Having fun figuring out what the hell’s going on in town.”
Amber said, “Good to see you, sweetheart.”
He took a bite of the apple, leaned over, and kissed her on the cheek. “What’s Aurora after? She want to know when Dad’s coming home, so she can greet him at the airport with banners and confetti?”
Amber’s face darkened. “Boone.”
One of the kids in the living room began to cry. In the hallway mirror, Rory saw two toddlers struggling for control of a stuffed bear. Addie sat watching them for a second, then wobbled to her feet and waded over, the sippy cup trailing from one hand. She patted one little girl on the cheek. It was random and ineffably affecting.
Boone was now staring at Rory’s feet, as though he could set them on fire.
She said, “You know what, I’ve clearly come at a bad time. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Really?” Boone said. “I think now’s a perfect time.”
The screen door cringed open. Perfume filled the air.
For a moment Rory held still. Thinking: Hey, Seth, where’s your warning message? He could have at least honked his horn, or run to the kitchen window and beat on it, shouting, Get out of there—it’s coming. She turned.
Riss stood in the doorway. She tilted her head. “Well, rah-rah, sis-boom-bah.”
In the living room, the children’s crying intensified. “Mine. Mine.”
Riss leaned against the doorframe, blocking it. “Aurora walks in and a houseful of kids start crying? It’s like an exorcism movie. Be afraid.”
“I’m on my way out,” Rory said.
“What are you doing here?” Riss glanced at Boone and Amber. “What’s going on?”
Amber raised a hand. “It’s nothing.”
“She just drops in for the first time in history, and it’s nothing?”
Amber said, “Leave it, Riss.”
Boone finished the apple and threw the core in the sink. “Strange, though, isn’t it?”
Rory said, “It’s been a strange couple of days.”
He wiped his hands. “And what do we have to do with it, princess?”
Oh, boy. Rory’s fingers began to tingle.
“Seriously,” he said. “You haven’t been to this house for ten years, and you show up this afternoon? What’s that about?”
Rory’s throat felt tight. Boone wasn’t fourteen anymore. He was thirty, and six feet tall, with gnarled muscles along his tattooed arms. But the feeling in the air carried more than taunts, more than resentment. He looked anxious. And Riss looked predatory. Rory got the sensation of being circled.
It was how they behaved when they had something to fear. When they sensed that something they’d done risked being exposed.
Amber had retreated to a corner in the kitchen. She looked distraught. Her glasses caught the light. “Boone, you don’t need to talk like that.”
He popped the cap from his beer and drank from the bottle.
Riss let the screen door creak shut. “Talk like that?” She imitated Amber’s voice. “It’s a legitimate question. I’d like the answer too.”
In the living room, the toddler tussle escalated. A little girl started sobbing. Rory saw two kids in a heap on the floor, tugging on the stuffed bear. The little boy kicked his feet and screamed. Addie put her thumb in her mouth and ran to a far corner.
The little boy wailed, “Let go.”
Sighing, Amber pushed off from the counter and walked slump shouldered into the living room. “Hey. Hey.” She pulled the kids apart. The crying continued. She took the battlers by the hand.
“Nap time.” Her face exhausted, she led them down the hall to one of the bedrooms.
The sound of crying became muffled. Rory felt the weight of her cousins’ stares.
Time to go.
But Riss remained in the doorway. “Amber’s not in any shape to talk.”
Rory’s eyebrows went up. Since when had Riss abandoned Mom and started using Amber’s first name?
“She’s up to her ass in diapers and snot. You may jet around the world drinking champagne, but some of us have to w
ork for a living,” Riss said.
“Your mom’s been hounding me to talk to her. But she’s clearly busy now. I’ll catch up with her another time.”
Rory stepped toward the door but Riss settled herself against the doorframe and casually put one foot against the other side of it. Boone sidled from the kitchen into the hallway.
He towered over her. “Did you come here to brag?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did the high-and-mighty Samantha Mackenzie send you here to lord it over Amber?” He reached out with a finger and flicked the collar of Rory’s peacoat. “Got that in Europe, I bet. Ooh la la. Lived the life of Riley, didn’t you?”
“I lived in the wild and hunted my own food. You should see me wield a crossbow.” She pointed at the door. “Excuse me.”
Riss didn’t move. Her eyes were bright and hard. “What did Amber say to you?”
And there it was. As blatant as Riss ever got.
“Nothing.” Rory put up a hand. “Riss, please. Don’t.”
Boone closed in behind her. “Don’t what?”
In the mirror, Rory caught a reflection. Little faces gawking at the grown-ups. Addie, thumb in her mouth, stood watching them.
Don’t say anything else. Just get out.
Riss stared at her. The limp breeze from the fan lifted her black hair and her filmy blouse. “Do you actually suspect Amber?”
Rory nearly jumped. “What?”
“It’s not her.”
“I don’t—”
“Everybody knew. Everybody heard. It was never a secret. Anybody could have been the source.”
“What are you talking about?” Rory said.
“I told you to watch yourself. That if you weren’t careful, things could boomerang on you.”
The hallway began to feel cold. “Riss.”
“I offered to help you with the media. But damage control ain’t my mission.”
She held still a moment longer, then shrugged and stepped aside.
Rory slammed open the screen and stormed out.
She jammed her Subaru into gear and gunned it out of the driveway and up the road. The sun raked her face. She drove a hundred yards, crested the hill, and passed the neighbors’ Winnebago. She pulled over beneath a canopy of heavy oaks, in dappled sunlight. On a cross street Seth sat in his truck, phone to his ear.