On a Dark Tide

by Valerie Geary

  “My,” Amma said, clutching one hand to her chest. “She certainly is brave, isn’t she?”

  Brett started to relax. She didn’t have to think about work until Monday. And Amma was doing fine now, acting like her usual self again, and it seemed like they might both be able to let loose and have a little fun today. Then Brett saw Eli shoving through the crowd and her mood darkened again. Eli lifted his hand to wave at her.

  She tried to duck from sight, but Amma had seen Eli, too, and dug in her heels. “There’s that nice Miller boy,” she said, dragging Brett toward him.

  They met in the middle of the street. Eli was in his patrol uniform, with a neon-yellow vest thrown over the top. He offered Amma a tentative smile. “How are you, Mrs. Wilson?”

  “Fine, dear, fine. I was so sorry to miss your parents’ party last night.”

  “They missed you, too. Don’t worry, there’s always next year.” He shifted his gaze to Brett, jerking his head to one side. “Can I speak with you a minute?”

  Brett clutched Amma’s arm a little tighter, trying to come up with some excuse not to go with Eli, but Amma peeled away from her.

  “You two go on.” She made her way to a nearby bench, sat down on it, and crossed her ankles. “I’ll be fine here.”

  She gave Brett a knowing look and turned her gaze on a group of children chasing each other in circles.

  Brett walked with Eli a few steps away to talk in private while still staying in sight of Amma, who was being very obvious about her sneaking glances.

  “I looked for you after the party last night,” Eli said. “But you’d already gone.”

  “What happened to Zach was your fault, you know.” Brett couldn’t keep the anger from her voice. “You’re lucky no one was seriously hurt.”

  Eli’s jaw tensed, and his tone matched hers when he said, “Clara and Marshall have a right to know what is going on with their daughter.”

  “And Elizabeth has a right to her privacy,” Brett snapped back. “She had a right to decide when and who she told about what happened.”

  “She’s a child. She can’t possibly know what’s best for her.”

  “It’s my case.” Brett jabbed her finger into her chest. “Which means I’m the one who decides who knows what when. Marshall and Clara could have won Parents of the Year ten times in a row for all I care. It doesn’t change the fact that Elizabeth wasn’t ready. It took a lot for her to come in and talk to me. Who knows if she’ll trust me now? Did you ever stop to think how telling people might affect her? The gossip, the finger-pointing, the incessant questions from people who have no business getting involved. Not to mention how all of this is going to affect the case I was trying to build.”

  From the bench, Amma glared at Brett and made strange motions with her arms, which Brett interpreted as Amma telling her to be nice. Brett rolled her eyes and turned slightly, so Amma wasn’t so much in her direct line of sight.

  “Our chances for taking this case to trial were slim to begin with, but at least I’d convinced Zach to come down to the station and talk to me. Do you think he’ll do that now? After nearly getting his nose broken? Do you think there’s any chance at all he’ll be interested in cooperating?”

  “He said he’s not going to press charges,” Eli said, trying at reconciliation.

  “Oh, good.” Her voice was rough-edged sarcasm. “Let me just go find Elizabeth and tell her everything’s going to be fine because the boy who raped her isn’t going to press charges over a punch that never should have happened.” She shook her head, disgusted. “Better yet, Eli, why don’t you find her and tell her yourself.”

  “I’m sorry, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing.” He touched her elbow, his hand lingering on her arm just above her elbow, an unspoken question in the brush of his fingertips, asking for her forgiveness.

  She stepped back, breaking the connection, and glanced at the bench.

  It was empty. Amma was gone.

  “Where is she?” Brett circled the bench, scanning the nearby crowd. “Amma!” She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted for her again. “Amma!”

  Brett grabbed a woman in a peach cardigan and spun her around, but it wasn’t Amma. The startled stranger stumbled away.

  “Brett?” Eli sounded confused. “Calm down. What’s the big deal? She probably just got bored and went to get a cup of coffee or something.”

  The street was growing more and more crowded. So were the sidewalks. The parade was starting soon, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to the man trying to wrangle the participants into a straight line. Bodies rolled together, a shifting tide of faces, and none of them were Amma.

  “Call on your radio,” Brett said, pointing to the two-way clipped to Eli’s belt. “She was just here. She couldn’t have gone far.”

  She spun around again. Eli grabbed her by the elbow. “Brett. Stop. What is going on?”

  She opened her mouth to tell him everything. Piece by piece, her grandmother was forgetting, regressing to a younger version of herself. She was like a child who needed to be watched constantly. It would be too easy for her to walk out onto the highway again, or for something worse to happen, something Brett couldn’t bear thinking about.

  Then Brett saw her, not even ten steps away, standing on the opposite side of the street near the Episcopal church.

  Brett jerked from Eli’s grasp and pointed. “She’s there.”

  She hurried across the street before Amma had a chance to disappear again. As Brett got closer, she saw that Amma was talking to June and Elizabeth. Both girls were dressed like Madonna in mesh tank tops with black pleated skirts and lace fingerless gloves, thick black ribbons in their tousled hair. Elizabeth’s mascara streaked down her cheeks, and her lipstick was smeared. She had a scrape on one knee. A small trickle of blood seeped down the front of her leg. As Brett reached them, Amma stepped forward and scooped Elizabeth into her arms in a suffocating embrace.

  “You’re going to be all right,” she cooed. Then, noticing Brett, her expression turned to relief. “Oh, Brett, good. Your sister isn’t feeling so well. We should take her home.”

  Brett peeled Amma away from Elizabeth.

  Then Eli was there, too, in his neon yellow vest, asking if everyone was okay. He glanced between Amma and Elizabeth, the concern in his eyes unmistakable.

  “Sorry,” Brett said. “She just gets a little confused when she’s tired.”

  “I’m not tired,” Amma protested. “And I’m not confused. I’m worried about Margot.”

  She reached for Elizabeth again, but Brett pulled her away.

  Eli stared at Amma for a moment. Brett could see the gears turning in his mind, the pieces falling into place. She wasn’t sure how she would explain what was happening to her grandmother when she didn’t fully understand it herself, but then Eli smiled. A patient, understanding smile. He threaded Amma’s arm through his own with such tenderness, Brett wondered who in his family was sick.

  He smiled at Amma, then at Brett. “Why don’t you and I take a stroll around the fair, Mrs. Wilson? And let Brett talk to these girls alone.”

  Amma frowned, as if trying to decide, then nodded once and patted Eli’s arm. “Yes, yes, that’s just fine.” She lowered her voice as she said, “Don’t tell Frank, but I’ve always had a thing for a man in uniform.”

  Eli’s smile widened as he turned and walked with her down Main Street, avoiding the more crowded sections, stopping to look at a display of necklaces before moving on to the next booth. With Amma in safe hands, Brett turned her attention to Elizabeth, who sniffled and brushed away tears. June stood close to her, shifting her weight on the balls of her feet, clearly anxious.

  “Elizabeth.” Brett touched the girl’s shoulder.

  She flinched. “I’m fine.”

  “Obviously, you’re not.” She gestured to her bloodied knees.

  “These girls from school were trying to start something,”
June piped in.

  Elizabeth shot her a glare.

  “I’m on your side here,” Brett said. “You can tell me what happened.”

  Elizabeth laughed, a brittle sound. “You promised we didn’t have to tell my parents, and then you go behind my back and tell them anyway. So whose side are you really on?”

  “I didn’t tell them anything, Elizabeth, I swear.” Technically, it was true. Technically, Clara Trudeau heard about the assault from Eli, not Brett. Brett hadn’t given her any information beyond confirmation that she was investigating the complaint. Technically, she had kept her promise to Elizabeth. “I’m sorry they found out before you were ready to tell them, but you knew we had to tell them eventually, didn’t you?”

  “But not like this!” Elizabeth’s voice pitched into despair. “I didn’t want it to be like this, where everyone knows what happened. Now they’re all saying it’s my fault Zach’s in trouble, that I’m a liar and a slut and that I’m going to ruin his life, and I should take it back and tell everyone I was lying, and it’s not fair because I didn’t—” She broke down into sobs.

  June put her arm around her friend and glared at Brett. “Do something.”

  “Start over,” Brett said. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Elizabeth sniffed loudly and explained that Kimmy Darling’s parents were at the Millers’ party last night and had witnessed the confrontation between Marshall and Zach. Kimmy’s mom told Kimmy, and Kimmy told all the other girls, and then a few minutes ago by the dunk tank, they surrounded her and started pushing her and calling her names. “They shoved me to the ground and spat on me.” Her voice was ragged as she shook her head. “I should have kept my stupid mouth shut. Zach’s telling people he didn’t do anything. That I lied about what happened at the party to get attention. Now everyone hates me.”

  June took her friend’s hand. “Not me. I could never hate you.”

  This drew a fluttering smile from Elizabeth that didn’t last.

  She turned her dewy gaze on Brett. “You still believe me, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course, I believe you.”

  But she knew it didn’t matter, that they were just words. Empty, hollow words she could repeat every day for the rest of her life. It wouldn’t change how Elizabeth saw herself in this new world where her own safety could not be guaranteed. Nor would it change the fact that Zach would walk away from this with no repercussions except a bloody nose.

  “Where are your parents?” She scanned the crowd for Marshall or Clara.

  “I don’t know. Mom was here a minute ago.” She looked around and shrugged, gesturing to the cut on her knee. “She went to go get a first aid kit or something.”

  “Well, I’m going to stay with you until she gets back, okay? Then we’re going to come up with a plan for what to do next and how to get you through this. Because you will get through this.”

  Elizabeth nodded and sniffed, wet and ragged. June, still holding Elizabeth’s hand, pointed toward the street. “The parade’s starting.”

  Everyone in the parade wore a number pinned somewhere on their body. Some people twirled and spun and danced. Some handed out candy. Most just walked, smiling and waving. Everyone showed off their costumes. A flatbed truck led the way, blaring “Monster Mash” and Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” on repeat as they wove down Main Street. The bass trembled the brick masonry of the buildings and rattled windows in their frames. Later, Brett would realize all this noise must have drowned out the first screams for help. It wasn’t until she noticed a large group of people gathering near the caramel apple stand that she realized anything odd was happening at all.

  The flatbed truck passed. The music grew noticeably quieter. The crowd around the caramel apple stand swelled. Then someone shouted, “Call an ambulance!”

  “What’s going on?” June arched on her tiptoes, trying to see over everyone’s heads.

  Brett looked up and down the street, but there weren’t any other officers or medics or even parade volunteers rushing to respond to whatever was going on by the stand. She told the girls to stay put and pushed her way through the crowd. A glance over her shoulder told her that Elizabeth and June were right on her heels, but she didn’t have time to send them away. She was close enough to the center of the commotion to finally see what was happening.

  Marshall Trudeau kneeled on the asphalt beside a stretched-out figure in dark clothing. His pale blue shirt was rolled up at the sleeves. Both the shirt and his arms were covered in blood. A knife rested on the asphalt beside him. He leaned over the body on the ground, his hands pressed to the man’s chest. He spun his head, searching the faces of the crowd surrounding him. His eyes were wild and terrified. Blood streaked down one cheek. His gaze caught hold of Brett, and a look of relief passed across his face.

  “Help me!” he shouted at her. “I can’t, I’m trying to stop the bleeding, but it won’t, it won’t stop. Please, help!”

  Brett kneeled on the other side of Marshall. He had a jacket pressed to the man’s chest, but blood had already soaked through and was sluicing between his fingers. Brett looked at the man’s face for the first time, and alarm tightened her chest. The flop of dark hair over his forehead, the lean bone structure, and piercing blue eyes that looked back at her without really seeing anything. Zachary Danforth was alive, but with the amount of blood pooling the asphalt, Brett feared he was quickly running out of time. She repeated the call for an ambulance, then stripped off the sweater she was wearing and pressed it down over Marshall’s hands.

  Their eyes met when their hands touched, then he shifted his gaze behind her to where Elizabeth was clutching at June. The look of shock on her face was a mirror to the pale horror of her father’s.

  “It’s not what you think,” he gasped. “I didn’t do this.”

  In the distance, sirens wailed.

  Chapter 23

  Headlights swept across the front window. Clara peeled back the curtain. A silver Jaguar pulled into the driveway, and Marshall got out from the passenger side. He leaned in to speak to the driver a moment, then shut the door and trudged toward the house as the Jaguar drove off.

  Clara was at the front door to greet him. Marshall blinked at her for a second, as if uncertain she was real. Then he collapsed into her arms with a muffled sob. She held him tightly, stroking her hands over his back. He smelled of sweat, of something metallic and accusatory. The night air crept cool across her bare arms, and she shivered against him. He nudged her all the way inside, shut the door, and slipped off his shoes. They huddled together in the entryway, speaking in soft voices, careful not to wake Elizabeth, who slept curled on the couch.

  “They let you go,” Clara said.

  He nodded, then pulled off his shirt, which was covered in someone else’s blood. He peeled off his pants too, left them in a heap on the floor, and went upstairs. Clara carried his ruined clothes into the kitchen, where she stuffed them into the trash can, burying them deep beneath cellophane wrappers, coffee grounds, and eggshells. She washed her hands and went upstairs to talk to Marshall.

  The shower was running, filling the bathroom with steam. Marshall’s silhouette was visible through the curtain. He stood under the showerhead without moving, letting the water pour over him. A minute passed, then he reached for the soap and started to scrub.

  Clara sat down on the toilet lid. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” He spoke so quietly it was hard to hear him over the rushing water. “One minute, I was waiting in line to get a caramel apple, and the next, he was stumbling into me. I saw the knife in his hand first. I thought he was coming after me…I thought….” He exhaled shakily before continuing. “Then he collapsed. I guess instinct kicked in or something. I dropped down next to him and tried to stop the bleeding, but there was so much. God, Clara, I’ve never seen so much blood.”

  “And at the station?”

  He shut off the water and reached around the curtain f
or a towel. “They asked me a few questions, then I told them I wanted a lawyer. I called Peter to come down, but it turned out I didn’t even need him.”

  Peter Newmark was good friends with Marshall’s father and one of the best and most expensive defense attorneys in the state.

  “After they talked to some witnesses, they let me go,” Marshall said.

  “Because you didn’t do it.”

  “Of course, I didn’t.” He rubbed the towel over his hair, then wrapped it around his waist, stepped out of the shower, and moved into the bedroom to get dressed.

  Clara trailed after him and sat down on the bed.

  “Where were you?” He asked the question with his back turned, but she could see the tension across his shoulders, how still he held himself waiting for her answer.

  “When?”

  He turned to face her. “Today. At the parade. When everything was happening.”

  “I was working at the cookie station, and then Elizabeth came over upset because those girls were bullying her again. She had a cut on her knee. I was busy taking care of her.”

  “I saw her,” Marshall said. “Right before the ambulance came. She was with June. But you weren’t there.” He asked her again, “Where were you?”

  “I went to the car to get a first aid kit. That must have been around the same time, but then I came back for her. Right after that, I was there with her.”

  “No, you weren’t.” Elizabeth’s voice startled them both. She stood in the doorway with tousled hair and sleep-heavy eyes.

  “How long have you been standing there?” Clara asked.

  “You left to get something from the car, but you never came back for me,” Elizabeth said. “Detective Buchanan took me down to the station with her after they arrested Dad, and later she brought me home. And you were already here. The car was in the driveway. When I came inside, you were upstairs. Taking a shower or something. I heard the water running.”

  Clara rose from the bed and took a step toward the door. Elizabeth tensed, and Clara backed off, stung by her daughter’s mistrust. She glanced at Marshall, who looked too tired to be dealing with any of this right now.