Somebody I Used to Know

by David Bell

  “That’s great for both of them,” I said. “They found exactly what they were looking for.”

  “And Emily wanted to meet me, so she came to visit once up in Wisconsin. Jade pushed her to do it. She wanted us to get to know each other. She wanted Emily to have a sense of her family, especially since Mom and Dad are gone. Jade has lived a lot of different places over the years. Her life hasn’t always been easy since we moved away from Hanfort. Anyway, Emily came up for just a couple of days, and when I met her I couldn’t believe it. I’d always wondered what happened to that baby after Jade gave her up. You know, Jade didn’t want to go through with it after the accident. She wanted to keep her. But Mom and Dad said no way. They made all that effort to get us out of Hanfort and give us new lives, and they weren’t going to have a baby slowing Jade’s life down. They made her give Emily up. It ripped Jade’s heart out.” Marissa paused, looking at the floor and rubbing her hands together. “You know, she never had kids again after that. Emily is her only child.”

  “That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard,” I said.

  “We’d started to hear the Maberrys suspected us. It was the car, really. Roger was the one who dumped it out in that pond. He did Dad’s bidding for him. Once they pulled the car out, the Maberrys must have heard about it. I think Bill Maberry has friends on the police force. He was prominent in the community. He knew everybody around there. He put it together somehow. We moved so suddenly after the accident. We owned a dark SUV. And that SUV ends up dumped in a pond. The pieces fit together, at least enough to prompt the Maberrys to look further into things. They tried to see if they could find me. Or Jade. Any of us, I suspect, but we were the only two left.”

  “But you were off the map,” I said. “You were dead, as far as anyone knew. Weren’t you living under another name?”

  “I was. Shae McKee. My married name was Shae Hancock.”

  “Shae’s your middle name.”

  “I knew you’d remember.” She smiled at me, reaching out and squeezing my hand. “Everyone in Wisconsin calls me Shae.”

  “Even your ex-husband?”

  “Even him. I was Shae when he met me. He knows the whole story, by the way. He and Roger Kirby are the only people outside of the family who know it all, and Dad didn’t talk to Roger too much after we moved. And you now.” She steepled her fingers in front of her mouth for a moment before going on. “The Maberrys tracked me down. Maybe they used an investigator or something. I know they had money. And I hadn’t gone so far off the grid that I couldn’t be found. I wasn’t in witness protection. I was a suburban mom with two kids and a deep, dark secret.” She sighed. “Some weird things started to happen right before Emily visited. I felt like I was being followed. To be honest, I’d started to feel normal again over the previous five years. I’d quit looking over my shoulder all the time. We put Mom and Dad’s real names in the obituaries since Jade and I didn’t live in Colorado. I just wasn’t thinking every minute that someone was going to find out what I’d done when I was twenty. But this sensation felt real. I saw the same car behind me every time I went out. Then my daughter Liza saw the same car when she went to school one day. Bill Maberry found me. I knew it, and it scared the hell out of me. I kept thinking he’d tell the police, that one day an officer would knock on the door and arrest me in front of my kids. That was my real fear.”

  “And clearly that didn’t happen,” I said.

  “No. Worse. The Maberrys took matters into their own hands. Emily came to visit about two months ago. I don’t know what happened after that, but as near as I can guess, he saw me with Emily. He tracked her down to her home and then to here. Maybe he thought killing her was greater punishment for me than anything else.” She reached up and wiped her eyes. “Maybe he thought she was my daughter instead of Jade’s.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  Marissa closed her eyes and looked very much like someone who wanted to disappear, to wish her surroundings and problems away and never see them again. She sat that way for a long moment, eyes closed. Silent.

  Then she opened her eyes. “When I broke up with you after the accident, I told you I wasn’t worthy of you. That’s how I felt.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s an awful thing to say or think.”

  “It’s true. It was true then, and it’s true now. Everyone who follows me, everyone who gets dragged into my orbit ends up getting hurt.” She sprang off the couch and grabbed her purse. “I have to go.”

  “No.”

  She moved quickly across the room.

  I was up and after her, taking two long strides so we met at the door.

  “No,” I said. And I remembered the lesson from Jade. Marissa had been through as much. More. She wouldn’t want to be grabbed or manhandled. I held out my hand. Gentle. Easy. “Where are you going to go now?”

  “Home. My girls. My life. That’s my life.”

  “No,” I said. “Just stay. It’s too far to drive tonight.”

  “You’re in danger. We’re both in danger.”

  “We can handle it together,” I said. “I know the police. A detective. Tell him the story. They can protect you. They can stop the Maberrys.”

  “I told them about it, but what good would it do?” she said. “I told them I thought someone was following me, but unless I tell them the whole story, they really aren’t going to listen to me. That’s why I belong at home, protecting my kids.” She shook her head. “I have to go.”

  “You can’t do it alone,” I said. “Nobody could.”

  She held out her hand, lifting her index finger and placing it against my lips. “When my kids are eighteen, I’m telling the truth. I’m going to the police in Hanfort. Everyone will know what I did. Jade and I agreed. When they’re eighteen, I’ll take whatever punishment is coming my way.”

  “And for now?” I asked. “What are you doing now?”

  She stood on tiptoes, and we kissed. Long and passionately. My hands slid down her back, below her waist. I gave in to it, lost myself. I pulled her back toward the bedroom. She resisted for a moment, and then finally came with me.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  I slept deeply and soundly, like a child. I couldn’t say when the last time I’d slept that well was.

  I was dimly aware of Marissa through the night. Our lips brushed each other’s. We nestled close together. I didn’t dream.

  Before the sun was even up, Marissa stood over me, her hand resting gently on my shoulder.

  “What is it?” I asked, coming up from my deep slumber.

  “I have to go.”

  “No,” I said. “You can’t.”

  “I do,” she said. “You can stay in bed.”

  “I’m not going back to sleep.”

  I threw the covers off me and stood up. She was already dressed and held her purse in her hand. She hadn’t showered and she wore her hair pulled back off her face.

  She smiled at me, a little exasperated. She reached up for a moment and pinched her bright red lips between her thumb and forefinger. Exactly like Emily in the store. Her niece. The young woman whose murder started everything.

  “I told you this was only for a short time,” Marissa said. “I have to get back to my family. Today. It’s a long drive.”

  “I’ll go with you,” I said. “You can’t go alone. It’s dangerous, and you’re tired and upset. I’ll come along.”

  “You have a life here.”

  “Not enough of one,” I said as I went to my dresser and grabbed fistfuls of clothes—underwear, T-shirts, socks. I looked around for a bag. “I can get another job. I can—”

  Then I remembered Andrew. Could I just walk away from him when they needed me the most? No. But I could work something out. Weekend visits. Summer trips. Holidays.

  “I’m not letting you walk away again,” I said. “Jesus, after twenty years,
to get another chance.”

  “Stop, Nick. Just stop.” She placed her hands on my arms, interrupting my attempts at packing. She gently guided my hands back over to the open dresser drawer and nodded at me. I released the clothing, letting it drop where I’d found it. “You can’t come with me.”

  “I don’t understand.” I turned from the dresser and took Marissa in my arms. I pulled her closer to me. “Is it your ex-husband? Are you dating someone else? Why can’t I come?”

  “It’s not about a man,” she said, almost laughing. She moved back. “Why do men always think it’s about another man? Jade told me you thought all of this was about me and Roger Kirby. And now . . . you still think it’s about a man.”

  “I never . . . People told me those things,” I said. “I didn’t know what else to think. How else could I explain your behavior to myself?”

  “I’d never do that to you.”

  “So what is it about?” I asked.

  She looked up at me, her eyes clear and determined. “I told you last night. It’s all just too much right now.” She let go of me, her hands slipping out of mine. “I can’t bring anyone else into this. I have to concentrate on my family and keeping them safe.”

  “I am in this. I didn’t ask for it, but I am. Ever since that girl, your niece, showed up with my name in her pocket, I’ve been in it. And other people are too.”

  “Don’t try to follow me,” she said.

  I took a step toward her.

  “Don’t,” she said. “Stay here. Take care of your life. Your stepson, your job, all of it. It’s good. Trust me, it’s very good here.”

  “Not without you, it isn’t,” I said.

  She stared at me for a moment, and I could see her wavering.

  I turned and went to the closet. I dug into the box and brought out the watch, holding it in the air between us.

  “Oh, Nick,” she said. “You kept that?”

  “I kept it running. And the time’s still set to two different countries. I’m sure you know which ones.”

  “Of course. Did you ever get to New Zealand?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I told you I’ve never even been to Wisconsin.” I locked eyes with her, holding the gaze. “After the fire, I told myself I’d never go to New Zealand. I couldn’t imagine it. Not that it was likely to happen.”

  She looked down. She lifted her hand and brushed her eye.

  “Marissa . . .”

  I waited, expecting at any moment she’d come back into my arms, hold me and embrace me and never let me go.

  But she didn’t.

  She turned and walked to the front of the apartment, unfastening the chain and lock.

  I followed her. I called her name.

  I wasn’t even dressed, but I went out the door as she slid into her car, starting the engine and turning on the lights. They caught me in their glow, blinding me.

  “Marissa, wait!”

  But she backed out, away from me. She swung around and drove off, giving me one last wave as she disappeared.

  I didn’t even have my car. I couldn’t catch her.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  When it was time for work, I called one of my friends from the basketball team for a ride, but he was in a meeting. So then I called Laurel. I hoped to leave her out of it so I wouldn’t be tempted to talk about Marissa, but I needed to get to work. Laurel came and picked me up, and then asked why my car was downtown. I said I’d stopped for a drink after work and had too many.

  “I took a cab back home,” I said. I felt bad for lying after all she’d done for me.

  “I’m glad you had fun,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  But she had to know something was wrong. We didn’t talk much. I felt empty and defeated, like a black cloud infused my soul. I stared out the window at the sunshine, watching all the happy people go about their business. We arrived at my car, and I thanked her, reaching for the door handle.

  “Did you hear about Lance Hillman?” she asked before I could get out.

  “No, what about him?”

  “You really didn’t hear?” she asked. “It was on the news last night.”

  “I went to bed early.”

  “He tried to kill himself in jail. He got ahold of a bedsheet or something and tried to hang himself.”

  My body went cold. I dropped my hand from the door, and it fell against my lap like a deadweight. “Tried to? Is he okay?”

  “He’s at the hospital. I guess he’s going to pull through. It’s a big deal when a prisoner tries something like this. Lawsuits, investigations. Everybody’s in an uproar.”

  “But he’s innocent,” I said.

  “He’s what?”

  Laurel stared at me, her eyes narrowed.

  “What if he’s innocent?” I asked. “He hasn’t even had a trial.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “The suicide attempt . . . you could certainly see it as an admission of guilt. Nobody knows. He’s a disturbed guy.”

  “Clearly.”

  I checked out of the conversation. I replayed Jade’s words and then Marissa’s in my mind. If everything they’d said was true, then Lance Hillman was probably an innocent guy who almost ended his life over a false murder charge.

  “Laurel, what would it take for Reece or the cops in Hanfort to investigate Bill Maberry further?”

  “He has an alibi. Remember what Reece said? He has a suspect in jail, a guy who possessed something that belonged to Emily Russell. A guy who liked to break into motel rooms and once attacked a woman. It’s a lot stronger than hearsay.”

  “True.” I stared out the window at the increasing bustle as Eastland woke up. “And those people . . . the Maberrys. I can’t imagine what they’ve been through. They saw their child run down in the street right in front of their house. I can’t even comprehend that.”

  “I don’t want to comprehend it,” Laurel said. “Let’s face it, there are no winners here. Everybody’s taken a few body blows, the Maberrys most of all.” She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. “My assistant looked into them a little. Kendra Maberry, the wife . . . she never did recover from that blow.”

  “What happened to her?” I asked, although I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear.

  “Substance abuse problems mostly. It’s a small town, and everyone knew about her downward spiral. I don’t know if that contributed to the end of her marriage, but I have to think it did. You know the stats on marriages breaking up after a couple loses a child.”

  “I suspect the stats are worse for people whose child gets run over right in front of their house. I bet it’s worse for people who don’t find any real justice in the courts or anywhere else.”

  “I suspect you’re right.” She stopped tapping. “Kendra Maberry seemed to be doing better for a while. She cleaned up. She went to work again. She looked to be moving on in a productive way, but she started to spiral again about a year ago. She started drinking again and who knows what else. She lost her job. Her friends, the ones she has left, are worried about her. They say she started talking more and more about her son, the one who died in that accident all those years ago.”

  A year ago. Around the time the car was found in that pond.

  How did she even know?

  I felt sick to my stomach. A dull nausea ate away at my insides. I so wanted to exonerate Marissa, to excuse what she and Jade did and grant them the second chance everyone deserved. They were young. They were guided—poorly—by their father.

  But a child died. A child. And the Maberrys lived with that in a much more intense and tragic way than any of the rest of us.

  “Is something else on your mind?” Laurel asked.

  “I was just thinking, and it seems shallow now. But what if someone like Jade told her story to the cops?”

  “It would hel
p. What is this about? You seem really distraught over this guy’s suicide attempt. Don’t you want to see him brought to justice?”

  “Not if he’s innocent.” I lifted my hand again and opened the door. “Thanks, Laurel. Talk to you soon.”

  “Nick?” she said.

  But I was gone.

  * * *

  Fresh flowers sat on Emily’s grave in Richmond. The earth over her plot had started to settle, but no grass grew yet. They hadn’t placed the headstone either.

  I took the flowers as a bad sign. Maybe she had already come once that day or the day before and didn’t intend to return. Maybe she was so far away I’d never find her again.

  But I was prepared to wait.

  I parked my car down the road a little ways and played the radio low. I hoped the chatter of talk or the jagged notes of jazz on the local public station would keep me alert. I’d stopped for coffee and a sandwich on the way down, but I didn’t think I’d need the fuel. My body felt energized, alive. I sensed I was coming to the end of something.

  Around five fifteen my spirits started to flag. I tried to tell myself the trip hadn’t been a waste, that just trying to get some answers made the trip worthwhile. But I didn’t know what I’d do if I struck out. The way we’d all been living—in fear, in confusion, an apparently innocent man in jail and then the hospital—was no way to go on.

  Something needed to change.

  And then around five forty-five I saw her approaching from the same direction she had walked on the day of Emily’s funeral. She wore large round sunglasses and a belted raincoat and carried a bouquet of flowers. She stepped purposefully among the other headstones until she reached the one she sought.

  She stood there for long minutes, and I waited. I didn’t want to rob her of the chance to say whatever she had come to say. After a while, she lifted her hand to her mouth, covering the lower half of her face. Her shoulders shook while she cried. I felt like an intruder. A spy.