The Set Up

by Kim Karr

  His hold on my hand tightens. “What were they arguing about?”

  “My mother,” I blurt out. “I hadn’t thought of her in so long and they were arguing about some letter she’d sent. I burst into the room demanding to see the letter. I just knew it had to be for me. That’s when I found out where she’d gone and who she’d run off with. The letter was a single line, a request for my father to sign divorce papers that were included. No mention of me at all. No mention of where she was. Or any request to see me. Just a return address to some attorney in Canada.”

  “You never saw her again?” Jasper asks.

  Pain slices through me. “No. Never. Not to this day.”

  “And your father?” he asks hesitantly.

  A shiver runs through me and sadness fills me. “Shortly after that on a rainy, stormy day, my father took a charter boat out on Lake Huron alone. The water was choppy, the sky gray, the winds high. He should never have gone out on the water. He never returned. About a week later his boat was found shipwrecked on the Upper Peninsula, but there was no sign of him. The Coast Guard ruled his death an accidental drowning. Maybe that was his plan. To this day, I still don’t know. If he committed suicide, he didn’t leave a note. Nevertheless, I think he did it on purpose. He had a decent life insurance policy and it was left to my aunt. She put enough of it away in a college trust for me and used the rest to stop the foreclosure proceedings that were already in motion on the bed-and-breakfast.”

  “What was it called?”

  I blink over at him.

  “The bed-and-breakfast?” he asks softly.

  “The Butterfly House,” I say with a fond smile.

  “So you lived with your aunt then?”

  “I did.”

  We walk, hands connected but eyes not seeking each other out. There’s too much pain in them. “Were you happy?”

  I suck in a breath and know it’s time to finish my story. “I was . . . taken care of. My aunt did the best she could for me, but she was busy. And there weren’t many kids in the neighborhood. That left me alone most of the time and I was always seeking out company from strangers. They’d come for a week and talk to me and then they’d go, and I’d never hear from them again. I grew a little more cautious then. Once I graduated college, I went back to Mackinac for the summer but never planned to stay. I wanted to move to New York City and work for the New Yorker or some other big publication.”

  We’re still walking, and his hand is still holding mine. “But you never did,” Jasper says, already knowing this from the research Will did on me, I’m sure.

  I find comfort in his touch that I probably shouldn’t. “No. That’s when my aunt got sick and needed my help. Like I said, she loved the bed-and-breakfast and there was no way I was going to let her die anywhere but there. I worked night and day to keep that place going, and whenever I thought I couldn’t do it anymore, I thought about how she was the only person in my life who never forgot me. Never left me.”

  Jasper stops and tugs me to him. His body molds to mine and he holds me tightly, whispering softly against my hair, “I never forgot you.”

  Tears stream down my face and I have to choke back my sobs. With a deep breath, I push against his chest. “But that’s not the end of my story, Jasper.”

  Kindness and compassion look down at me and I hate that I’m going to catapult him into the darkness of memories I’m certain he’d rather forget. “Go on, Charlotte. Tell me the rest.”

  I turn around and start walking back toward our bikes.

  Within moments he’s beside me.

  I don’t look over at him. I hate that this is going to hurt him, but I have to tell him. “Right before my aunt died she told me something I can’t forget. Something that changed my view of my father. I had already known by then of course about the explosion at the plant and how inadequate safety procedures were cited as the cause. What I didn’t know was that my father believed that statement to be completely false.”

  Jasper scowls. “What are you talking about?”

  “My aunt told me my father believed the explosion wasn’t an accident. He’d told a few people at the DA’s office that were working on the case, but they assured him it was. Although he didn’t believe them, his heart was just too broken to try to prove it alone. She gave me a key to a storage unit with everything he had taken from the office that first month he returned to Detroit. The office had been damaged, but it had not burned to the ground like the plant. She made certain to warn me that she had no idea if there was truth in his belief, but she didn’t want to die and take that information with her.”

  Jasper stops and faces me. “What the fuck are you saying? Someone intentionally killed my father and all those people that night and your father knew this? That someone got away with murder and no one ever knew it? Did he ever tell anyone he thought this besides your aunt?”

  “Yes, I told you—he went to the DA and they dismissed him.”

  “Then he never said another word about it?”

  I nod.

  His facial features tighten and I can see his confusion building. “You have to be shitting me.”

  Tears stream down my face and I wipe them away. “I don’t know anything other than for some reason he thought the explosion wasn’t an accident.”

  Jasper looks at me. “Why wouldn’t he have told anyone?”

  “I told you—he was a broken man.”

  Jasper scowls.

  “What if my father was right?”

  His brows furrow. “Fuck this,” Jasper says and storms off.

  I chase after him, talking loud enough for him to hear me. “For years I lived with a man who hardly spoke to me. A man who spent all his time out in a small shed working on boats. I craved his attention. Wanted it so badly. Hated him for not giving it to me. Only to find out that he wasn’t emotionally capable of giving anyone anything because his conscience was weighted down with a belief so big, he couldn’t shoulder it. No one would be able to. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

  Jasper’s steps slow.

  I can feel myself crumbling and have to just get it out. “That’s why I came back to Detroit, Jasper. To find out the truth. And to set my father’s conscience free.”

  Slowly, he turns his head. “You said you weren’t here to hurt me.”

  My body is shaking and my knees feel weak. “I’m not. That’s the last thing I want to do. And I’m sorry if dredging up those memories hurts you, but the truth needs to be told.”

  Jasper whirls to face me. “Don’t you think it’s a little too late to be digging up the truth?”

  “To be honest, it might be. But I have to do this. What if Eve’s death is somehow related?”

  Alarm twists his face. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing is clear. It’s just, I’ve been thinking: why would someone kill her and dump her body at an old abandoned plant?”

  “Because the murderer had no idea anyone would be there,” he says with a sarcasm in his tone that alerts me he, too, wonders why.

  “I don’t think so, and neither do you.”

  His breath hisses out with so much anger it makes me cringe. “Listen to me: I’m not looking to rewrite the past. Nothing you find out can change anything. It’s a little too late for that. And I’m damned sure not looking to play detective. Let the real ones do their job.”

  “Right! Like they did twenty years ago?”

  He shakes his head. “You’re talking about my entire life. Don’t you even see that?”

  “I do, but I need to do this—for my father.”

  Disgust clear in his expression, he says, “I’ll see you back at the car. Once I take you home, I never want to see you again.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll find my own way home,” I tell him, feeling angry that he won’t at least explore the possibility that the explosion was intentional, but at the same time having expected this type of reaction.

  With his fists balling at his sides, more word
s of anger pour out from his mouth. “Charlotte, don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”

  “I’m not. I’m making it easier for you. Just go.”

  “Charlotte!” he yells. “Come with me. Now.”

  I shake my head. “No, I won’t.”

  “Charlotte!”

  Unable to keep hearing the hatred in his voice, I stop and say, “I’m not going any where with you.”

  He stares at me.

  I stare back and can see the hatred in his eyes.

  “Do whatever the hell you want.”

  My voice lowers. “You promised me, Jasper. You promised.”

  With a shake of his head, he storms away. Without even turning back, he hops on his bike and takes off.

  When he’s out of sight, I make my way over to the bluff and let my feet dangle off the side.

  Truth and lies.

  Past, present, and future.

  I’d laid it all out under the sun and the sky, and it turned out just the way I knew it would.

  There never was any other way, though.

  That . . . I’d known all along.

  IDLING

  Jasper

  THE SPEEDOMETER READS 40, 50, 60.

  MacArthur Bridge is just around the bend.

  This is too much to think about and my mind is a fucking mess. I biked back to my car like a madman. Fumed and cursed the entire way, but I started to feel drained of my anger by the time I put my bike back on my car.

  Now I’m driving toward home and I’m on the phone with Will, hoping he agrees with me. Sees things my way. He doesn’t. In fact, he sounds a little annoyed with me. “Why not be open to the possibility that it might not have been an accident?” he asks.

  “Because, that means no one bothered to serve justice for over twenty years! Don’t you get it?”

  “What I get is that you’re letting that raw part of you rule your brain. Push past it, Jasper, and try to think a little more clearly.”

  “What? You want me to be one of the Hardy Boys and join Nancy Drew?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying, but you’re being an asshole, and you know it.”

  If we were face-to-face, a comment like that would have landed him a punch. However, he’s not wrong. It’s not like I don’t know that sometimes my temper gets the better of me.

  Like with what just happened.

  “Listen,” he says. “I knew she must have been back here for a reason.”

  “I don’t need a—”

  “Let me finish,” he interrupts. “Maybe Charlotte wanting to avenge her father will sting you a bit by forcing all those memories to resurface, but I have to say I don’t think she’s doing it to harm you or cause you pain.”

  Reason starts to surface. “You have a point.”

  “Okay, then here’s another. Not that I don’t think she can make it back alone, but I know you and you won’t be able to live with yourself if you don’t go back and get her,” Will tells me.

  Again, he’s not wrong.

  “Did you hear me?” Will asks.

  The speedometer reads 60, 65, 70. “Yes, I did.”

  “And?”

  I leave my foot where it is and ignore the posted speed limit. “You’re fucking right!” I shout, and then quickly pull my car over to the side and wait for the traffic to pass before yanking on the wheel and doing a U-turn.

  “I know I am. I can’t believe you’d leave her stranded there to begin with.”

  “Did you even hear what I told you?”

  “Yeah, I did. And now that you’re calmer, I have to tell you I think you’re wrong. You should want to know what happened instead of ignoring the fact that what was determined might not be true.”

  Blowing by the now closed Belle Isle Boat House, I feel the need to move faster. To get to Charlotte sooner, but I can’t make myself push the gas down any farther. “I’m not quite ready to admit that, but I could have listened. Now that I’ve pissed her off though, she might never talk to me.”

  “All you can do is try,” Will says.

  “Toss her over your shoulder if you have to,” Drew says.

  “She has nothing but bad intentions,” I hear Jake mutter.

  “Take me off the fucking speaker phone, Will.”

  Really, right now is not the time for the peanut gallery to chime in. There’s a click, and then Will is back on the line. “Sorry about that, Jasper. Are you close?”

  Finally, I’m back where I left her. “Yeah, I am.”

  Slowing slightly as I pass the bottom of the hill, I look up and see her bike is still there. A whole bunch of remorse hits me at once and in a split-second decision, I decide to skip the walk or bike ride back up. Instead, I slam my foot on the gas and race around the other side of the mountain. My speedometer hits 60, 70, 71, 72, 73. I don’t give a shit how fast I have to go to get to her, and I floor it. 74, 75, 76, 77, 78. And just like that, I’ve let all the psychosomatic bullshit go that I’ve held onto for three years and surpass the 70 mark.

  I’m more than halfway up to the lighthouse on a path that isn’t meant for cars, but all I care about is finding her. The dashboard needle climbs from 4,000 to 5,000 to 6,000 RPMs. I shift gears. The speedometer now reads 80, 81, 82. When I’m almost to the top of the bluff, I start to downshift and quickly begin to slow. “I see her, Will. I’ll call you later.”

  “Remember to keep your cool and you got this.”

  “Yeah, I know. And thanks for talking me down.”

  “You know that’s what I’m here for.” He laughs before he hangs up.

  Yanking the gearshift into park, I rip off my seat belt and rush out of the car.

  The sound of my engine having alerted Charlotte to my arrival, she has already stood and is now walking toward the tree where her bag still lies.

  “Charlotte,” I call.

  The look on her face when she turns toward me wrecks me.

  Anger.

  Sadness.

  Loneliness.

  I hate that I’m the cause.

  “Charlotte,” I call again.

  Everything about her goes hard. Her shoulders, her jaw, even her pale blue eyes. “Go away, Jasper. There’s nothing left to say.”

  Picking up my pace, I’m almost running to catch her. “It’s my turn to talk.”

  She secures her bag on her back and starts down the hill toward her bike.

  Without any hesitation, I follow her. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I made you a promise and then I broke it, but I’m here to make it right.”

  She wheels around. “Make what right, Jasper?”

  Time to confess. “I was a selfish ass who was only thinking about myself and how digging up the past would impact me when I stormed off, refusing to listen to you, and I should have been thinking about you, and how all of this impacts your feelings.”

  The look she gives me is one I can’t read, but since she starts to turn back I’m going to say it’s a fuck you look.

  I grab her wrist. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

  With a pause in her step, she looks down at my hand. “There’s nothing to make easy because there’s nothing between us.”

  My breath catches. “That’s a lie.”

  She hesitates before looking up at me. “Nothing more between us.”

  For a moment, all I can do is stare at her. I’d never been in a situation quite like this. With any other person in the world, I’d have walked away when that look of disgust was first thrown my way. Not with her, though. Not her. I can’t. “I said I’m sorry, Charlotte. Sometimes I act before I think. And with you, I seem to do that a lot.”

  Her hard expression starts to soften.

  I step closer. “I’m sorry.”

  The tension in her body relaxes.

  “I reacted out of reflex. As a way to protect myself. But I know this isn’t just about me. We’ve both been through hell, and the thought of either of us reliving that is hard to bear.”

 
She looks away.

  With a gentleness I seem to have only for her, I pull her to face me. “And did I mention I tend to act before I think sometimes?”

  A reluctant smile twitches at the corner of her mouth.

  “Did I?”

  “Yes, I think you might have.”

  Standing next to her out here like this, I can really understand just how good and pure she is. Regardless of what Jake thinks, he’s wrong about her.

  Dead wrong.

  Good intentions are written all over her. They’re in the sound of her voice. The way she looks out at the vastness. The way her eyes land on mine and shyly shift away the minute I catch her gaze. Despite her height, she’s still so small, so delicate. Yet somehow beneath it all, I can tell she’s a powerhouse of strength. “Let me take you out to dinner tonight.”

  She stares at me. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  Encouraged that she didn’t flat-out say no, or slap me in the face, I press on. “Nothing formal. I just want to hear more about what your aunt told you. Your father must have had a reason to think what happened was more than just an accident.”

  Her head tilts sideways in contemplation.

  I could pull her into my arms.

  Touch her.

  Put my mouth to hers and taste her kiss on my tongue.

  Yet, I don’t. It doesn’t feel right. Not in the wake of anger. Instead, I allow my eyes to roam every inch of her face and what I see is a girl more afraid than she wants me to know.

  Is it me she’s afraid of?

  This strange connection we have?

  “I promise not to kiss you again,” I tell her hoping to ease her concern. After all she did say she wanted to forget it.

  Her lips curve and she steps away from me. “What if I want you to?”