by E. C. Diskin
She sat up slowly. “No big deal. I was just thirsty.” She didn’t tell Lisa that she’d stopped taking the medications or that she’d had both beers in a quest to calm her nerves after another day of what were starting to feel like panic attacks. She didn’t feel like explaining herself anyway. She wasn’t the one who needed to talk. She was jealous of Lisa’s memories, angry that she hadn’t shared more, irritated by her coddling. She was sick of it, and she wanted some answers.
“What happened to Mary?” Grace asked.
Lisa’s pale face seemed to turn blue. “What are you talking about?”
“Our sister. My twin. How’d she die?”
“Did you remember something?”
Grace stood. “Answer the fucking question! Why won’t you tell me about my life? Why are there all those bottles of pills in your dresser? Why are there men’s clothes hidden in the back of your closet?”
Lisa threw her purse across the room, stalked over, and shoved her. “Who do you think you are, going through my stuff? Who told you to go in my room? You’re lucky I’m even letting you stay here.” Lisa’s rage was palpable.
“I’m sorry,” Grace said, startled by the anger. Was Lisa resentful of her too? Maybe she resented her caretaker role, Grace’s constant questions, her distance. Grace softened her voice to a near whisper, hoping a meek tone would soothe Lisa. “I sit here all day trying to sort through my life. This is our house! I feel like all the memories, everything I need to know, is right here, right under my nose. I need to remember.”
Lisa collapsed onto the sofa with Grace and took her hand. Grace instinctively winced and tried to pull away, but Lisa held firm. Grace looked at her and Lisa smiled. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I freaked out on you. I guess I’m just used to being by myself. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy to have you here. I guess that just felt a little too much like what it was like when we were kids—you were always getting in my stuff. It drove me crazy,” she said, her tone and mood softening. “This house has always been a bit of a pharmacy. Those pill bottles are old though. I know it’s weird, but it’s part of how I remember them, how I remember all of us together. Mom was a mess. She suffered from depression, and after Mary died, it only got worse. I had some stupid diagnosis of anger issues as a kid. It was bullshit. We were all a little fucked up. How could we not be?”
Grace opened her mouth to ask more, but Lisa cut her off. “The clothes you found, those were my ex’s. He left a couple of weeks ago.”
She watched Lisa’s face when she spoke, aching to catch every movement, hint, feeling, or subtext. “Why haven’t you talked about him?”
Lisa’s eyes welled with tears. She let go of Grace’s hand and covered her face. “And when would I have done that?” she said sarcastically.
Grace didn’t respond.
“I’m sorry. I don’t . . . I didn’t want . . . It’s just been hard, that’s all. You don’t even remember me, you don’t remember anything, you have your own problems. It just didn’t seem worth mentioning.”
It felt like a breakthrough. Lisa was finally sharing, at least a little. “Did he live here?”
“Off and on.”
“Was it serious?”
“I thought so.” She swiped at her tears. “Typical girl, right? I think it’s a big deal, and he thinks I’m nothing special.”
Grace took her hand. They both looked at their entwined hands and then at each other and smiled. It felt momentous. “And this happened right around the time of the accident?”
“Yeah. I haven’t seen him in, what”—she paused—“almost two weeks. I should be done crying by now. Fucker.” They both chuckled.
“So why keep his stuff? I say get rid of it. Right?”
“I just hoped he’d come back.”
Grace patted her hand then. “Well, sis, I know you’re older, but seems like we both could use some lessons in self-esteem. I mean, don’t we both deserve guys who will treat us right?”
Lisa nodded. “Yeah, but it still hurts. Even if he wasn’t the right one, he was mine. And maybe it’s just inevitable.”
“What?”
“History repeats itself, right? We had a volatile childhood and we both ended up with volatile men.” Lisa stood up and went to the fridge for a beer. “You want another?”
Grace relaxed back against the sofa. “Sure. I know you think it’s better that I don’t remember what happened to us, but it’s not. I need to know what happened in this house.”
Lisa opened her bottle and chugged half its contents before answering. She didn’t turn, just stared at the fridge. “Let it go, okay? Our parents sucked. Our family sucked. You were . . .” She stopped herself.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
That tone. She felt an unspoken accusation. “Are you mad at me?”
“That’s stupid.”
Grace wondered if she’d done something to Lisa. She stood and went to her. “We weren’t close. And now you’re taking care of me. Maybe you’d rather I go . . .”
Lisa turned to her with a smile so fake it was like a clown’s painted face. It was difficult to look at. “You’re my sister. I love you and I want to take care of you.” It was like a script. Like she was being recorded. “Now go into the living room and relax while I make us some dinner.”
Grace had hit a brick wall. She’d only succeeded in creating more distance between them. “Well, hopefully you won’t have to take care of me too much longer. I feel like things are starting to come back. So far, just little snippets from childhood, but it’s just a matter of time, right?”
Lisa didn’t answer.
“Oh, and I have some good news,” Grace said.
“Yeah, what’s that?” Lisa said, like she was barely paying attention.
“Officer Hackett came to visit me yesterday. He said he doesn’t think I killed Michael, and he’s looking into a different angle. He thinks it may have been about a robbery.”
“A robbery?” Lisa said. She opened a cabinet and shuffled through some of the canned goods. “That’s weird. I mean, what did you guys have at that house that was worth anything?”
Grace wandered back toward the living room, feeling her headache start to return. “Well,” she called out, “they discovered that Michael won ten thousand dollars at the casino on Friday. Hackett seems to think that might be what this is all about.”
“That’s great news,” Lisa said. “Why would you steal from your own fiancé?”
“Exactly.” She lay down on the couch, watching Lisa grab the can opener.
“How’s your head today?” Lisa called from the kitchen.
“Not too bad.”
“You take all your meds?”
Lisa was standing over the empty counter, where the little piles of pills had been sorted for Grace’s ease. “Yes,” she replied, instinctively feeling her jeans pocket, now full of pills.
“Good,” Lisa said. “I’m making soup, okay?”
“Sounds nice.”
Grace turned on the television while Lisa focused on getting a meal together. Grace felt the beers kicking in, and she was now too tired to say much more. They ate in silence and twenty minutes later, Grace could barely get up from the couch. Lisa came over to help. “Here, sis. Let’s get you off to bed. It’s getting late anyway.”
“What time is it?” she asked, though she heard her words slur as they came out of her mouth.
“Late,” Lisa said.
She tucked Grace into bed like a child, and Grace felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress as if she weighed a thousand pounds. She couldn’t keep her eyes open. Lisa sat, stroking Grace’s hair, saying, “Don’t worry. It’ll all be over soon.”
Within minutes, Grace was out.
Hackett sat at the nearly empty bar at The Pub, amazed by the speed at which he’d fucked up
this investigation, his job, maybe his whole career path. Alice had allowed him a steady flow of drinks since he came in, but now the bar was beginning to quiet down, and his refill requests seemed to be conveniently forgotten. Just a few other patrons remained, shooting pool.
A cold air blew into the room as the front door opened. A moment later he felt the presence of someone standing behind him. “Hey, bro.”
The voice was as familiar as his own. He didn’t turn around. “I got nothing to say to you.”
“I know, but we gotta deal with this.” The man took a seat next to him.
Hackett looked straight ahead and sipped his beer. “How’d you find me?”
“Mom gave me your address. I saw you walk in here an hour ago. Just took me a little while to get up the guts to come inside. Figured maybe it would be better if you’d had a few drinks first.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I never meant to hurt you, J.”
He’d been called nothing but kid, rookie, and Officer Hackett for months. No one had gotten close enough. Except Grace. He’d told her his name was Justin, and she’d repeated it, smiling. Nice name, she’d said. His heart had melted. But his family called him J, Little J, Baby J, J.Z., J.J., and countless other nicknames. Hearing it now, the pain of missing everyone came rushing back.
“Please, come home for Christmas. Donny misses you.”
Hackett tried not to flinch at the sound of that name. He refused to look at Joe. “Get out of here.”
“Come on, I drove all this way. Have a beer with me. Let’s forget everything that’s happened for thirty minutes. Pretend I’m not the asshole. I’m still your brother.”
Hackett turned and punched him, square in the jaw. Joe fell back, stumbling into the chairs behind him, until he was on the floor.
The few patrons immediately took notice and scampered back in case a full fight was beginning.
“No, no!” Alice yelled. “Not in here, Hackett, you know I can’t have this in here.”
Joe put up his arm, waving toward Alice. “It’s okay.” He wiped his lip, licked the blood, and slowly got back to his feet. “Nothing happening here.”
Hackett ignored him and turned back to his beer.
Alice stepped over to Hackett. “You okay?”
“Sorry about that. It was a long time coming.”
She turned to Joe, who was making his way back toward the bar. “Sorry, fella, but I think you’d better get outta here. I don’t want any trouble, and it’s pretty clear that Officer Hackett doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“Okay, okay,” he said to Alice. But then he put his hand on Hackett’s shoulder. “I love you, bro. I’m sorry.”
After he left, Alice asked, “What was that all about?”
Hackett didn’t answer.
“That why you don’t want to go home for Christmas?”
“Yep.”
“Your brother.”
“Yep.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
She refilled the nut bowl in front of him and poured him another Bud. “On the house,” she said.
He sat at the bar for another thirty minutes, staring into his beer, examining his hand—he hadn’t punched a guy in years—and wondering how he’d been able to throw away his career in one week.
Alice came back over to him. “You know, sometimes it helps to talk.”
Her persistence made him smile. Hell, it was nice to have someone to talk to these days. He rested his elbows on the bar, massaging his temples, scanning the room. “I never wanted to be here.”
“Where? Michigan? This town? This bar?”
“You know, my dad’s a cop. My brothers are all cops.” Alice’s eyebrows rose and he knew what she was thinking. “So yeah, I just punched a cop.” They both chuckled. “Everyone’s in Indiana. Same town, some even down the street from each other.”
“Well, I guess that could be fun. Depends on the family, of course.”
“It was awesome. And when I was gonna get married, I got a house just down the street.”
“Kid, don’t take this the wrong way, but what was your hurry? You’re only, what, twenty-five?”
He smiled. “Twenty-six. My girl got pregnant.”
“Ah. That’ll do it.”
“I wasn’t even upset. I wanted what my parents had, what my brothers had. I had been dating Olivia on and off since eighth grade. I’d had a crush on her first. She was ‘that girl,’ you know? The one who commanded attention, who knew she was hot shit. She walked into a room and all eyes went her way. I worshipped her.”
Alice propped herself up to sit on the back counter. She was in no hurry for this to end.
“So a couple of years ago, we move in together, down the street from my family. I wanted to get married, but she said she wasn’t ready. I figured we were young, it would happen. But then she got pregnant. So, obviously, I begged her to marry me. I loved her. I love kids. Hell, I have, like, nine nieces and nephews already. I thought it sounded great. Our kid would have lots of cousins and grandparents around. The families would all be together. She said she wasn’t sure she wanted the baby, but then everyone got involved and she agreed.
“She wanted to wait until after the baby was born—she didn’t want to be a pregnant bride. I could understand it. My folks are pretty old-school Catholic, so are hers, but I knew it didn’t really matter.”
Alice poured herself a fresh beer and leaned onto the bar for more. “I feel like I know where this is going,” she said, nodding.
“When the baby was born—best day of my life. We named him Donald after her father and called him Donny.” He pulled out his phone and shared a photo.
“Nice,” Alice said.
“Olivia kept putting off the wedding planning. I mean, after a few months, I thought, what are we waiting for? But I came home early one day and heard her yelling. She was standing in the kitchen, her back to me, banging pots around, and didn’t see me come in. She yelled into the phone, ‘So what am I waiting for?’ I thought maybe she was on the phone with the cable company—they were supposed to come out and maybe they hadn’t shown up. Donny was in his bouncing chair—he was five months old by then, and that kid’s smile when I entered the room was all I needed for a greeting. He was reaching out to me, and I went to pick him up when I heard her say, ‘But he’s your son.’”
Alice shook her head and took a sip.
“Yeah. Somewhere deep inside, I think I knew she’d cheated. There was always a part of her that was a mystery. I’d always thought there were layers to her that might take years to uncover. I kind of liked the idea of growing closer over time. She turned and saw me holding Donny. She dropped the phone, and it was like there was nothing else to say. There was no misunderstanding. Donny wasn’t mine.”
“I’m so sorry, kid. And your brother? I take it he’s involved in this.”
“’Fraid so. Everything exploded pretty quickly after that. She said she knew I would be a good dad, but she was in love with someone else. She was sorry. And my brother, that asshole you met earlier, he tells me to take off, that I’m young and the town’s too small. He said I should get a fresh start. ‘Marriage is a bitch,’ he said. In fact, his wife was leaving him too. Taking the kids. Just across town, but still. ‘Don’t look back,’ he said.”
Alice was shaking her head. She knew exactly where this was going.
“It was all a lie. Donny was his. He just didn’t have the balls to tell me.”
“So now Christmas is coming and you’re supposed to go back and be with them.”
“Yep. My mother calls every Tuesday like clockwork. I mean, after that bomb went off, the family just swept it aside and returned to life as normal. Joe and Olivia moved in together. His ex has even moved in with another guy already. He’s getting divorced and
acting like nothing ever happened. It’s the new normal. But Donny was mine. I was at the hospital when he was born. I fed him. I changed his diapers. I held him all those nights. And now I’m supposed to move on.”
Alice put down her drink and moved closer. “Well, I know you seemed a little cagey before when I brought this up, but I did see you flirting with a young girl a few weeks back. Looked to me like you were really hitting it off.”
“Yeah,” he said almost wistfully.
“So, yes, it sucks what happened. But that little boy, at least he’ll always be in your life, right? I mean, he is your nephew. And that girl Olivia wasn’t the one for you. Her heart wasn’t there.”
She was right, of course.
“That could have been a lifetime of misery. It’s never all about the kids. You gotta have something real, something solid with the partner.”
Hackett nodded. “That’s what I liked about that girl you saw me with. She was beautiful, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“She’s the opposite of O. She doesn’t walk into a room like she owns the place. She’s quiet. But I saw her at work dealing with customers. And the way she talks to the kids . . .”
“So why are we drowning sorrows over that Olivia bitch? Let’s focus on this new girl.” She raised her glass then, waiting for Hackett to agree.
Hackett reluctantly lifted his glass and clinked with hers before finishing and wiping his mouth. His thoughts returned to Bishop, to the case. “You’re right.” Bishop would probably focus on Grace even more now, simply to prove a point. He had to do something. He had to find that Tucker guy. But as he stepped off the barstool and stumbled, he knew that he couldn’t do anything tonight. He thanked Alice for the beer and for letting him unload on her. She took his hands in hers. “Anytime, Officer.”
TWENTY-FIVE
HACKETT HAD SET THE ALARM BEFORE passing out. When the annoying beeping began, he ignored the headache that had settled in between his temples for the night, focused on a painfully hot shower, three Advil, and a quick stop for coffee down the street before driving up to Bridgman, determined to make things right.