Over the Falls

by Rebecca Hodge

  “I’ll do my best.” My mother’s idealized vision of Del was pure fiction, but it was a fiction that had long provided her comfort. I hated the fact that I was going to be the messenger who ripped that fantasy away from her.

  I could hear her sniffling, and despite the decades of friction that divided us, I wished there were some way to console her. “Mom, do you remember that day when Del and I set up a tea party on the porch with all of your best china? I thought we’d get in horrible trouble, but instead you sat down and played with us.” I’d pulled that memory out several times since I’d told Josh. A reminder that not only Del but my mother had been different once—gentler and more understanding. We’d been a family.

  I don’t know what I expected from her. A softening of her grief? An acknowledgment that I was trying to help?

  Instead, she snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you had touched that china, you would have been grounded for a month. Get busy, Bryn. Find your sister. Call me as soon as you know more.”

  I felt like I’d been slapped, my attempts to focus on a more benevolent history discounted out of hand.

  And with that, the call ended.

  * * *

  As predicted, Josh was discharged after two nights in the hospital. I walked beside him as one of the young nurses pushed his mandatory wheelchair toward the exit.

  “After lunch, we’ll pick up Landon at the airport, and then I thought we could head up to your father’s place and see if we can figure out where your mom is. Hopefully, we can find records somewhere, so I can at least figure out who to argue with about access.”

  Josh grunted and gave a tired nod. I tried to ignore the flinch I’d noticed when I said the words your father.

  “So … you’re okay with going back to his house to look?”

  “Sure.” His voice was flat. “Why should I care? I just want to find Mom and go home.”

  I wasn’t buying his studied indifference, but I didn’t have a clue about the best way to crack through it. He had complained nonstop about the hospital food, so I took him straight to a hamburger joint. But even cheese fries didn’t cheer him up. He took a few bites of his burger, then set it aside. “Tell me another story about when you and Mom were younger.”

  Not a request I’d expected. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who would like to anchor into happier times. I flipped through dusty memories, discarding the ones that featured lies, arguments, and insults, finally finding one I could share. “I remember when your mom was about eight, and she came running into the house one afternoon during summer vacation, claiming there was a wild animal living under the garage.”

  Josh sat up straight, looking more alert than he had in days.

  “I didn’t believe her, but it turned out there really was a feral cat who had moved into the crawl space out there. Del decided she was going to tame that cat, and I’ve never seen anyone more persistent. She put out food and water. Used her allowance for cat toys. When she knew the cat was in there, hiding, she’d sit on the ground and read out loud so the cat would get used to her voice.”

  I was describing a different sister from the one I knew years later. A gentle sister who had disappeared into someone I hated. This gentle version was the one I missed. “At any rate, it took weeks, but that cat eventually trusted her enough so Del could pet her. She named her Sally and told everyone Sally was her best friend. Maybe that’s why you’re so good with Patsy.”

  Josh nodded, his face less tense, and he took a bite of his burger. “Mom always used to pet Patsy if she saw her. I like that story. Maybe you can think of some more sometime.”

  “Sure. I’ll do that.” I was glad Josh didn’t ask what happened next, because when Sally got hit by a car and killed just before school started in the fall, Del was inconsolable. Now that I thought about it, Sally’s death was when Del quit making any sort of effort to be nice—to me, to plenty of other people. It was as if she’d invested her full reservoir of kindness into that stray cat, and when the result was only grief, she decided it wasn’t a fair trade.

  Josh and I finished lunch and went to the kennel next to pick up Tellico, who’d been imprisoned there while I slept on a recliner in Josh’s hospital room. He was wildly happy to see us, his tail a joyous blur. Sharp yips let us know in no uncertain terms that he hadn’t liked being abandoned.

  Josh thawed even more, petting the dog, and when we returned to the truck, he joined Tellico in the back seat instead of sitting in his regular place beside me. In the rearview mirror, I saw him clinging to the patient dog, soaking up a type of comfort I couldn’t give.

  “Airport next.”

  All I got in response was a grunt. I gave up trying to chat, and we traveled in a suffocating silence that got thicker every minute, each of us trapped in our own thoughts.

  Landon’s flight was on time, and we waited for him in front of the terminal. I couldn’t help but think about our airport visit only a few days earlier when we’d confirmed Del had been here. Josh had insisted on switching the lanyard bracelet to his good wrist when they splinted his injured one, and he spun the bracelet while we waited, no doubt also thinking about his mom.

  Landon came out of the terminal, and my buoyant reaction to the sight of him startled me. He tossed his bag into the truck bed and climbed into the passenger seat beside me.

  “Hi there.” His smile was quick and genuine, and his hug smelled like woodsmoke and pine trees, warm and familiar. Some of the tension I’d carried for days eased.

  “Hi. Nice flight?” I felt suddenly awkward. He’d flown halfway across the country. For me. A step forward for both of us, and I wasn’t sure how to navigate.

  “Two flights. To be honest, it was two flights too many, but I survived.” He turned in his seat. “Hey, Josh.” He offered him one of his magical smiles. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He tactfully ignored Josh’s splint and his rainbow of bruises. Tellico pushed his head over the back of the seat for a pat, his tail thumping hard.

  “If you’re okay with a drive, I thought we’d head up to Sawyer’s place next. See if we can figure out where Del is.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We started off. I followed the same route we’d used two days before, winding our way toward Sawyer’s house, glimpsing the river through the trees where it ran close beside the road. It was Landon’s first trip to Colorado, and he looked around with interest. “It’s a completely different feel than at home, isn’t it?”

  “These mountains are so much younger, so raw. I like it, but you’re right, it’s not home.”

  We chatted about the scenery we passed, carefully avoiding any reference to the events of the past few days. For a few minutes at a time, I could even forget the purpose of this drive.

  I’d been concerned the trip would bother Josh, and he stayed awfully quiet. He kept one hand on his phone, playing yet another game, and the other hand on Tellico. As we got closer, I was the one disturbed by the reminders—the rushing whitewater, my panic while searching for Josh, the moment when I seized his wrist and found no pulse. The horrifying news that Sawyer hadn’t been found.

  The policeman who came to interview me at the hospital had been willing to answer my questions. “No sign of a body yet, but that’s not too surprising. That river empties into the Roaring Fork, and that in turn heads on to the Colorado River. Sometimes it takes days before a body reaches a spot where we can find it.”

  I’d seen how much Sawyer had to drink, and I’d seen the effort he expended to save Josh. He’d been in no shape to fight that river, but it still surprised me that the river had won. Everyone was convinced he was dead, and they were probably right. But still … Another death without a body? I had to wonder.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Bryn

  We pulled up to the cabin and parked beside Sawyer’s SUV. “I have no idea who any of this belongs to now. The house, the land, the car. Are Del and Sawyer still legally married? There was a death certificate. She collected widow’s b
enefits for years.”

  “I don’t have a clue,” Landon said, “but I can guarantee it’s going to take some work to get the legal side of things straightened out. I think it depends somewhat on whether Sawyer had a will.”

  “Something else to look for, I guess.”

  Landon and I got out of the truck. Tellico scrambled out of the back seat, and Josh came slowly behind him.

  “I’m going to look around in the house. See what I can find out about your mom.” I stepped onto the porch and opened the unlocked door, but Josh made no effort to join me.

  He made a face, obviously reluctant, and Landon patted him on the shoulder. “If you’d rather wait out here, I can hang with you. We can take a walk if you feel up to it.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Josh gave him a look of pure relief. He and Landon started slowly down the driveway, with Tellico snuffling ahead of them. Maybe Josh would talk to Landon in ways he wouldn’t talk to me. I headed into Sawyer’s house to begin my search, relieved to be alone.

  The house still felt lived-in, and I looked around the large room, part of me expecting to turn and see Sawyer standing there. I shook the feeling off and tried to focus on the task at hand. Logically, any information about Del should be in the corner Sawyer had outfitted as an office, but I couldn’t resist looking around the rest of the house first.

  Bedroom—classic Sawyer, a simple platform in a corner of the great room. Bed made, water glass on an end table, clothing in the closet impeccably organized—dressy items on the left, outdoor clothing on the right. Nothing belonging to a woman. If he had a girlfriend, she hadn’t spent much time here.

  Kitchen—well equipped. Pantry items shouldn’t have possessed the power to make me nostalgic, but they did. He still ate the same brand of granola. Bought the same kind of imported pesto. The spices were lined up alphabetically, as he’d always insisted. The familiar setup made his death feel real in a way it hadn’t before. If we’d married, this was the way our kitchen would have looked.

  I threw out the food that still sat untouched on the island, abandoned there when we’d left to search for Josh. Washed the dishes. Propped them in the drainboard to dry. It all felt invasive—this was Sawyer’s domain, and I didn’t belong here.

  I moved on to the office—a walnut desk, a laptop, a long wall of bookcases. A desk chair and a separate recliner with a reading light. What I needed was access to Sawyer’s laptop, but he was always careful with passwords, so I didn’t think there was any way to guess. I settled into the desk chair to search the drawers.

  I found a checkbook with a blank register, pens, pencils, paper. Old bills, clipped together by category, each marked Paid in red ink. A folded handkerchief that carried the scent of Sawyer’s soap and tossed me decades into the past when I had breathed that same scent from his skin. As far as Del was concerned, I found nothing, nothing, and nothing. But the deep file drawer in the desk was locked, and that struck me as unusual.

  Had Sawyer carried the key with him? It seemed unlikely. I sat back in the chair and looked around the room. If his kitchen habits were any indication, the patterns of the past might predict the present.

  When we were dating in college, Sawyer hollowed out a book to create a hiding place to store his cash. I could picture it, a fat book with blue letters on the spine, but I couldn’t remember the title. I went to the bookcase and scanned the shelves, hoping I’d recognize something like it when I saw it.

  Asimov and Bradbury sat side by side with titles I recognized as recent Hugo Award winners. National Park handbooks, bound collections of topographic maps, and a well-worn wilderness first aid manual filled a long row. I spotted what must be the hollowed-out book on the bottom shelf—Atlas Shrugged—and pulled it out. Inside was a thousand dollars in cash and a small key that slid easily into the keyhole of the locked drawer. It turned with a satisfying click.

  I held my breath and opened the drawer, reminding myself it might contain nothing. But it was stuffed full, a bulging black pocketbook on top taking most of the space.

  It had to be Del’s. I riffled through the multiple zipped compartments, emptying as I went, stacking the contents on the desk. A wallet containing Del’s ID and credit cards and forty dollars in cash. A cell phone, off. Comb, brush, and makeup case. A small cloth pouch containing a half-dozen pairs of earrings. Two chocolate-chunk power bars. And then, at the bottom of the main compartment, four large bottles labeled generic acetaminophen. This had to be it.

  The front door opened, and Josh and Landon joined me.

  “That’s Mom’s pocketbook.”

  I looked up, nodding.

  Josh looked more settled after his walk. Or maybe talking to Landon had helped. He stood in front of the desk, his eyes on the stacked items. He picked up the wallet and ran his hand over it, his lanyard bracelet a bright spot of color. “Open the pill bottles.”

  A shame he understood that much, but of course he was right. “Cross your fingers.”

  I twisted the childproof cap on the first bottle, pulled out a wad of cotton, and tipped some of the tablets onto the table. They were the same size as the pill I’d found in Del’s freezer, slightly irregular in shape, and they didn’t have a manufacturer’s mark. Something illegally made, perhaps something cooked up by Carl. I’d read about batches of opioids that were mixed with other things to make them more profitable, sometimes with disastrous effects. These pills were the reason Del had collapsed.

  I checked the other bottles. They held the same kind of tablets. “This looks like most of what Carl is looking for. Maybe all.”

  Josh turned the wallet over and over in his hands. “Good. I didn’t want him to burn down your house. Or hurt the goats.”

  “You and me both.” I picked up two of the bottles, one in each hand. To Carl, they meant cash. To me, perhaps they offered safety. But these pills were what had harmed Del.

  “What are you planning to do with it all? Just tell Carl to come and get them?” Landon hefted one of the bottles. “The street value of all this must be enormous.”

  I stared at the bottles as if they could provide a sensible answer. “I don’t think we can just hand all this over to Carl. It could hurt too many other people. But beyond that, I don’t have a clue. We still need to get Carl off our backs, and these pills are the key to that.”

  Josh set down the wallet. “Is there anything in there about where Mom is?”

  “Maybe.” I pulled a manila folder from the bottom of the drawer and flipped it open. Inside was a glossy multipage brochure from some place called Elk Creek Recovery Center. A business card gave the name of the director of the facility.

  “This might be it. At any rate, it should be the first place we check.” I handed the brochure to Josh, and Landon read it over his shoulder.

  A sheet of paper was next in the folder, with a line of handwritten numbers across the top: 6 × 4.6 = 276. The numbers meant nothing to me, and the math was all wrong. I set the sheet aside to puzzle over later.

  The final item in the folder was a page covered in Sawyer’s small tight handwriting, dated the day we’d found him. It was addressed to me, and I held it at an angle to read, not willing to let Josh see it.

  Dear Bryn,

  This is a letter of farewell.

  I knew someone would come looking for Del, but I didn’t expect it quite so soon. My plan was to move fast and get things arranged before anyone arrived. My lawyer would have gotten in touch with you after I was gone, told you about Del, and asked you to look after Josh. But you’re here now and I’m not gone yet.

  Seeing you at the Games—seeing Josh so unexpectedly—all I could think was not yet, I’m not ready. I ran. I shouldn’t have. My entire life has been screwed up by instant decisions, most of which have hurt other people. This was another one. I’m sorry.

  I’m tired of regrets, and I’m tired of fighting myself. A better man would stay and face the consequences of the faked death, the safety deposit box, everything else. Instead, I’ll take care of
a few final things and then help myself to these tablets Del has so conveniently provided. I’ll address this letter for the police to pass on to you.

  Take care of Josh. Tell him I’m sorry and make him believe it. Give him all the love I should have been there to give. With Del as she is, he’ll need you.

  I’ve thought often of what our lives would have been if we’d stayed together, and that, too, has been a source of regret. Through it all, I never stopped loving you. I have no right to say it, but that’s the simple truth.

  He had signed the note with his real name, not the one he’d changed it to. Sawyer Whitman. Josh’s father. The man I’d once loved. The full meaning of what he had planned sank in, and a chill crawled up my spine and curled around my heart.

  I read the page again. And then a third time. Even the fourth time through, every sentence was a body blow. When I’d seen him at the Games, I’d thought he was just there to play around and have some fun, but perhaps he had gone as a private farewell to the sport he loved.

  He had planned to kill himself, and on the Silver Run, he’d had the chance to do exactly that. Sawyer knew how to keep himself safe in the water, but that also meant he knew how to increase his risk.

  I closed my eyes for a long moment, the room suddenly far too bright. Sawyer. Could he really have done such a thing?

  “Bryn, what’s wrong?” I must have looked bad for Landon to sound so concerned.

  So many things were wrong. I shook my head, uncertain where to even start.

  “Did Dad write that?” Josh had shifted to my side of the desk, and he leaned over my shoulder, trying to see.

  I flipped the page over on the desk so he couldn’t read it. “Yes, he wrote it.”

  “Then I want to read it.”

  Let Josh read a suicide note? That felt cruel and out of bounds. “No. It’s pretty personal. I can read it more carefully later and let you know what it says.”