It's Always the Husband

by Michele Campbell

  “She’s bad news,” Tim said, over the roar of the wind.

  “Who?”

  “Kate, who do you think? If Lucas wasn’t messed up in this, I wouldn’t even try to help her. But he’s my cousin.”

  “Lucas can take care of himself,” Jenny said, still angry at him from Jamaica.

  They parked near the boat launch and ran toward the hiking trail. Sprinting down the narrow path, Jenny was soon out of breath and sweating. Branches caught in her hair and scratched at her legs. More than once, she stumbled on the uneven surface, and had to call to Tim to slow down so he didn’t leave her behind in the gathering dark. Finally, the path curved as she remembered, opening to the right to reveal the ruined bridge, backlit against an indigo sky. Just enough light remained to make out the forms of Aubrey, Kate, and Lucas halfway across its span, standing at the point where the railbed fell away to nothing. She made it to the foot of the bridge in time to see Kate advancing on Lucas, raining blows on him as he backed toward the edge of the bridge.

  “Holy shit, stop it, stop!” Tim yelled.

  Lucas took a step backward to get away from Kate’s punishing blows, and began to flail and slip backward. Tim screamed Lucas’s name. Lucas let out a terrible shriek as he disappeared off the edge of the bridge, a shriek that hung in the air for an endless, sickening moment, stopping abruptly when he hit the icy black water below.

  Tim reached the spot where his cousin had stood a split second before. Jenny caught up with him, skidding to a top, unable to believe her eyes. Did that really happen? Did Lucas really fall into the river? Did he come back up? Kate stared down into the abyss with her hands pressed to her mouth. Beside her, Aubrey screamed hysterically. Jenny looked down and saw only black water.

  “You pushed him! You pushed him, you crazy bitch!” Tim shouted, grabbing Kate’s hands away from her face and shaking her.

  Kate’s eyes were unfocused. Her mouth hung open but no words came out.

  Tim let go of Kate and whirled toward Jenny. “We have to do something. He’s a great swimmer, but not in water this cold. I’m going after him. You go to the parking lot. Try to get help. There’s a pay phone. Call 911.”

  Tim sprinted back to the foot of the bridge before Jenny could get a word out. A tumbledown metal fence cordoned off the steep hillside. He clambered over it and ducked under the bridge trestle, disappearing from view.

  Kate sank to the ground, shaking visibly. Aubrey knelt beside her and took her in her arms. Jenny had come here to stop Kate and Aubrey from harming themselves, but now Kate had gone and hurt someone else. Screw her roommates, and the damage they caused. Jenny had dragged Tim Healy into this mess, and now he’d gone after Lucas and might be in danger, too. She wanted to help Tim look for Lucas, but she was afraid to leave her roommates here, in this condition. Of the two of them, Aubrey seemed in better shape, though that wasn’t saying much. Jenny shook Aubrey by the shoulder and looked her in the eye.

  “Aubrey, listen, we have to help Lucas. If he’s hurt, or God forbid, if he dies, Kate could go to jail. Do you understand?”

  “She didn’t mean to push him.”

  “It sure looked like she did,” Jenny said. “But there’s no time to argue. He could die if we don’t do something. I know you don’t want that. I’m going with Tim, to try to help. You go to the parking lot and call the police. Can you do that?”

  Aubrey nodded, but she looked so shaken that Jenny doubted it. This was a girl who had just left a suicide note, and here she was sitting on a broken bridge, at the edge of an abyss.

  “I read your note,” Jenny said. “I can’t leave you here.”

  Aubrey glanced toward the spot where Lucas had fallen. “The note was a mistake. I know that now.”

  “I’m glad. But you and Kate need to get away from here, okay? I won’t leave you in a place where you could jump.”

  “We won’t jump! Not after what just happened.”

  “I believe you, but please, stand up, get moving. Both of you.”

  Jenny held out her hands and helped Aubrey to her feet. Aubrey’s eyes looked a little clearer, giving Jenny a measure of reassurance.

  “I’ll take care of Kate,” Aubrey said. “We’ll leave here as soon as she calms down. Go look for Lucas.”

  Time was running out. A person could die in minutes in water that cold. Jenny had no choice but to take Aubrey at her word. She nodded and walked to the end of the bridge, to the place where she’d seen Tim go over the fence.

  The fence was damaged here, fallen low to the ground so that Jenny was able to walk right over it. She stopped short on the other side and looked down. The hill fell away at a treacherous angle. Far below, Tim stood at the bottom of the embankment. Jenny ventured forward a few steps, her heart in her throat. It looked too steep to attempt. But she couldn’t bear the thought of plucky Tim Healy going to Lucas’s rescue with no help, and maybe getting hurt himself. She’d known Tim since he was a kid. He was three grades behind her, funny, decent, and from a nice family. She had to help him if she could.

  Jenny stayed low and cut back and forth across the face of the slope. Halfway down, she hit a slippery patch. Her feet flew out from under her and she slid the rest of the way on her butt.

  At the river’s edge, she stood up, brushed off, and looked for Tim. But he was gone.

  “Tim! Tim!” Jenny called, but the only reply was the rush of water.

  The river ran so high that it had swallowed the bank. Jenny clutched a tree branch and leaned out as far as she could to get a view. A foot below, vicious cold emanated from the water. The moon had risen, and it played tricks on her eyes. She thought she saw something bobbing in the water, and her heart leapt, but when she looked again, nothing was there. The water had closed over Tim and Lucas as if they’d never existed.

  Not far downriver, close in to the bank, a metal swim float bobbed in the water, catching rays of moonlight. If Jenny could make it to that float, she could stand on it and get a long view downstream, and see enough to know better how to help. Jenny was a competent swimmer, but the Belle at high water scared her to death. Before she could change her mind, Jenny took a deep breath and jumped. The bite of the water as she plunged into the blackness knocked the wind out of her. She came up gasping for air, her fingers and toes tingling. She tried to stroke, but the suck of the current pulled at her arms, and she had to fight to keep her head up. Pointing her body in the direction of the metal float, Jenny let the current take her. The float came rushing at her, the force of the water slamming her into it headfirst. Jenny saw stars. The river was in her eyes, in her mouth, choking her, as the current did its best to suck her under the raft.

  Jenny jackknifed sideways and cleared the float, fighting for air. She felt a sharp pain as something caught her across the midriff. The force of the water had thrown her against the steel cable that anchored the float to the riverbed. She folded her body over it to avoid getting swept away. Holding on to the steel cord with stiff fingers, she pulled hand-over-hand, dragging her body closer to the raft. Jenny swung her legs up and braced them against the side of the float, then with all her strength, grasped the cable and hauled herself upward. She cleared the side and collapsed onto the hard metal surface, gasping and sobbing in between breaths. Her teeth chattered violently, and water streamed from her hair into her eyes. She dragged herself to a sitting position, then staggered to her feet on the swaying raft. The river raced by on both sides. Fifty yards downstream, around where the gravel parking lot should be, lights flashed red and blue against the black of the trees. The police were here. Jenny jumped up and down, screaming and waving her arms to attract their attention. After a few minutes, she saw a rubber rescue raft put in at the boat launch and head in her direction.

  As the rescue boat approached, something caught Jenny’s eye, and she looked down into the water. Right below the surface, on his back, looking up at her with his eyes wide open and his hair streaming around his beautiful head, was Lucas. Jenny started screami
ng and didn’t stop until the fireman pulled her into the boat.

  * * *

  She woke up in a hospital bed under layers of cotton blankets. Her mind was foggy from sedatives, and she felt more tired than she had in her life. She turned her head to see her mother sitting beside her, tears standing out in her dark eyes.

  “I’m gonna be okay, Ma,” Jenny croaked, and her tongue felt large and cottony in her mouth.

  “Shh, quiet, m’ija, you got a concussion and bruised ribs. Ay,” her mother said.

  “What about Tim?”

  Jenny needed to focus on Tim, to drive the image of Lucas’s face—of his staring eyes—from her mind.

  “Don’t think about him now,” her mother said, and from that, Jenny concluded that the news about Tim was bad.

  She must have slept, because when she opened her eyes again, her mother was gone, and Gloria Meyers, the Carlisle provost, sat by her bedside.

  “You’re awake,” Gloria Meyers said, and put aside the file she’d been reading.

  “Provost Meyers? Where’s my mother?”

  “She looked tired. I told her to get some dinner and a change of clothes, and come back in an hour.”

  “But why are you here?”

  “I was concerned about you.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” Jenny said.

  But something about the situation felt wrong. Gloria Meyers—with her iron-gray hair and brusque manner—didn’t come across as nice. She was Jenny’s boss, and a distant one at that, not her friend. In fact, they’d rarely spoken. So why was she here, really? Jenny thought about what happened at the bridge. It wasn’t just that Lucas had drowned, but that Kate had pushed him to his death. Gloria Meyers was good friends with the Eastmans. Gloria Meyers showed up at Jenny’s bedside. Could those two events be related?

  “Are you here because of Kate?” Jenny asked.

  “I’m here because a boy jumped off the old railroad bridge and died. A Carlisle student. I understand you and a local boy tried to save him, and you were injured in the process. I came to check on you.”

  “Thank you, but—”

  Jenny tried to sit up, but a searing pain behind her eyes drove her head back to the pillow.

  “Don’t get up,” the provost said, leaning over Jenny like she might push her down if she tried again.

  “But I need to tell you, you’re wrong about what happened at the bridge,” Jenny said weakly.

  “Well, that’s what the police told me. The boy jumped. They said it might be a suicide, or a dare. That bridge is a hazard. It ought to be torn down.”

  “He didn’t jump,” Jenny insisted.

  Gloria Meyers held up her hands as if to ward off Jenny’s words. “Don’t say anything right now. You suffered a head injury. You’re confused, and tired. I should be going. You rest. I’ll tell the nurse that you shouldn’t be disturbed.”

  The provost stood to leave. Jenny shut her eyes again, and felt them fill with tears. Someone had told the police that Lucas jumped, but that was a lie. Jenny ought to set the record straight, tell Gloria Meyers what had really happened, and what’s more, tell the police. But she didn’t have the strength right now. Her head hurt too much. She couldn’t think straight. She let the provost leave without saying any more.

  The next morning, Jenny’s headache was still there, but it was bearable, and she was released from the hospital. Her parents wanted her to come right home, but Jenny insisted on going to Tim Healy’s room, where his family kept vigil by his bedside. Tim had struck his head on a rock and been knocked out in the river. He would’ve drowned if the police hadn’t been on the scene already. Tim hadn’t regained consciousness, and they were doing everything possible to relieve the swelling on his brain. They hoped he would come out of it, and not suffer any brain damage, but it was impossible to predict.

  Jenny couldn’t stand the thought that a second person might die because of Kate. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Tim’s parents what really happened at the bridge. But standing by his bedside, seeing how distraught his parents were, she couldn’t bring herself to tell them that their nephew had been—what? Murdered? That was such an ugly word, but wasn’t it the truth? She wouldn’t burden them with this now, but she would go to the police.

  In the car, Jenny asked her parents to take her directly to the police station, but they insisted she come home and rest. If Jenny had something to report about what happened last night, her father said, she could call, and an officer would come interview her.

  They arrived at the house to find a long, shiny black Mercedes parked in front of it. As Jenny’s dad pulled into the driveway, a uniformed chauffeur got out and came around to open the door for Keniston Eastman, who was followed out of the backseat by a distinguished-looking man whom Jenny didn’t recognize.

  “That’s my roommate’s father,” Jenny said in surprise.

  “We know,” her mother said. “He came last night, and paid for your hospital room. Such a nice man.”

  Keniston waved at them, and her mother waved back.

  “Why did he pay for my room?” Jenny said, with a sinking feeling.

  “Because you helped his daughter. You know we can’t afford a private room. The insurance doesn’t cover it.”

  “Who’s that with him?”

  “His lawyer. He wants to thank you. Let’s go inside, I’ll make coffee.”

  His lawyer? This was not a get-well call.

  “Mom, I’m tired. Can you talk to them for me, so I can go up to bed?”

  “Just spend five minutes. Be polite, say thank you, then you rest.”

  Inside, Jenny sat down at the kitchen table with Keniston and his lawyer, whose name was Warren Adams, as her mother bustled around making the coffee. Keniston looked her mother’s way, then exchanged fraught glances with Adams.

  “Jenny,” Keniston said, “I wanted to express my gratitude. You’ve been a good friend to Kate. I know the police are going to want to speak to you about Mr. Arsenault’s suicide, and as a token of my gratitude, I wanted to offer Warren’s help as you go through that process.”

  “Mr. Eastman, thank you, but I don’t need a lawyer.”

  “It’s a stressful situation, speaking to the police about a suicide,” Keniston said.

  “Yes, well, before we go any further, you should know, it wasn’t a suicide. What I saw—”

  Keniston stood up suddenly. “It’s best if you speak to Warren about this. He’s the legal expert, and I have to make an important phone call. Mrs. Vega, could I trouble you to show me to a telephone?”

  “There’s one right here,” Jenny’s mother said, pointing to the phone on the wall.

  “A private one, if you please.”

  Jenny watched as Keniston shepherded her mother from the room. He carried a cell phone, so why did he need to use their telephone? It occurred to Jenny that this was a ruse to leave her alone with the lawyer.

  “Miss Vega,” Adams said, “I know you’ve just gone through a difficult experience. If you like, I can take a signed statement from you right now and relay it to the Belle River Police so you don’t have to go down to the station. Our understanding, based on eyewitness accounts from Kate Eastman and Aubrey Miller, is that the young man threw himself off the bridge. He was apparently distraught over a recent injury that ended his hockey career.”

  Jenny cleared her throat nervously. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I saw.”

  “Well. You were standing farther away, so perhaps you didn’t have a clear view.”

  “Was it Kate who said Lucas jumped? He wasn’t pushed?”

  Adams fixed her with cold, blue eyes. A nerve pulsed in his cheek. “Pushed? Absolutely not. Nobody said anything of the kind. Both Miss Eastman and your other roommate, Miss Miller, are very clear that he jumped, and that, frankly, he wanted to die.”

  Jenny wasn’t surprised that Kate would lie to save her own skin. As for Aubrey, she worshipped the ground Kate walked on, and wouldn’t say a word against her
. Besides, Aubrey was in trouble at Carlisle. Big trouble. Trouble that Keniston Eastman could make go away with one phone call. It would be Jenny’s word against theirs.

  “Just so you know,” Adams continued, “the conclusion that Mr. Arsenault’s death was a suicide is backed up by other sources. We have doctors’ reports concerning his head injury. The hockey coach confirmed that he was forced to leave the team. Provost Meyers says that Mr. Arsenault filed an application for permission to withdraw from school, which is a very serious step to take. The facts, in our view, show a young man who was going through a very difficult time, difficult enough that he chose to take his own life.”

  “People in Belle River don’t kill themselves. We suck up the hard times and go on.”

  “Miss Vega, I’m sure his death comes as a shock. But your roommates’ statements have been vetted and verified, and as far as we know, nobody contradicts them. Unless you know someone who does.”

  Jenny understood that he was asking what her own account to the police would be, but she wasn’t ready to answer that yet.

  “What about Tim Healy?” she asked. “He saw everything. You might be surprised at what he has to say when he wakes up.”

  “I’m sorry to say, he may not wake up. We’re very concerned for Tim, and his family. We’ve offered to fly in specialists. But given the severity of his head injury, I’ve been told that should he recover—which we sincerely hope he does—it’s unlikely he’ll have any memory of what happened.”

  “Tim’s doctor actually told you that?”

  Adams’s eloquent shrug reminded Jenny that Tim was in Carlisle General Hospital, in the Eastman Wing. Patient confidentiality would count for squat there if the hospital’s great benefactor started asking questions. The Eastmans had many allies; Jenny had none. If she wanted to go to the police and turn Kate in, if she wanted to make enemies of the Eastmans, she would take the consequences on her own.

  “Miss Vega, I have to ask,” Adams said, “what are you planning to say to the police?”

  The question hung in the air. If only she could reverse time—make Kate not push Lucas, make him not fall, not die. But she couldn’t. It was time to decide: Tell the truth and pay the price, or fall in line.