“I can’t believe the media raked up all that stuff. AJ is going to hate it, everyone knowing. People get the wrong idea.” Shea caught Dru’s gaze. “He’s not a criminal, Mom.”
Shea wanted Dru’s agreement, but Dru couldn’t offer her that.
“He is the last person—” Shea stopped to press a single knuckle to her mouth, taking a moment. “After everything he went through in the war,” she began again, “all the horror he saw over there, the things he had to do—for his country”—she set the phrase apart, and it was steeped in sarcasm—“he is the very last person who could do harm to another human being. Can’t you see that?”
Dru bent forward, touching Shea’s cheek, thumbing away her tears; she tucked strands of Shea’s hair behind her ear. “I want to believe in him, I do, but my major concern is for you, for your safety. Your dad was a wonderful and kind man, too, who wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“God, Mom!” Shea jumped up. “What’s it going to take? AJ isn’t Dad! And, anyway, Dad got help. He was in therapy. For years! You know that. You know he’d never point a gun at anyone now. He doesn’t even own a gun anymore.” Her voice rose. “You—you own a gun, because you still think Dad’s a psycho, that he’s going to come after us. You still hold a grudge against him, and now you hold the same grudge against AJ. I’m sick of it, Mom. Sick. Of. It.” She stared down at Dru, trembling, chest heaving. Hurt laced the fury in her gaze. “You know what your problem is?” she asked before Dru could say anything. “You don’t trust—not me, not anyone.”
Dru stared at Shea, feeling she’d lost the power of speech. Even thought wasn’t possible in the moment, and she watched Shea push her chair under the table. She tracked Shea’s rapid retreat across the kitchen floor.
“You know we’re going to have to work on canceling the wedding.” Dru found her voice. “Today,” she added. “It can’t—”
“What am I going to say?” Shea whirled to face Dru. “‘Oh, I’m so sorry, the wedding’s off. One of my bridesmaids is dead, and my fiancé is on the run, because everyone, including my wonderful, open-minded parents, thinks he murdered her’?”
“You won’t need to talk to anyone, honey.”
“No, of course not. What am I thinking? It’s all over the news.”
“We still need to write notes to the guests, saying that we’re canceling due to unforeseen circumstances, or something to that effect. We’ll get the word out as quickly as we can via e-mail, if we have an address. Otherwise we’ll have to go the snail-mail route.”
“What about Uncle Kevin and Aunt Mary? Aren’t they on the road?”
“Maybe they haven’t left yet. I’ll call them.”
Shea pressed her fingertips to her temples, letting out a soft moan. “This is so horrible, like a nightmare. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up.”
“We’ll get through it,” Dru said, having no clue how. “Kate, Vanessa, and Leigh are coming by later to help with the notes, and Lily will take care of her guest list and everything related to the rehearsal dinner.”
“She thinks we should cancel, too?”
Shea seemed suddenly so small and bewildered. How had it come to this, all her beautiful wedding plans? The question was written into the furrow of her brow, the tight purse of her mouth, her wobbling chin. Dru got up, throat pinched with the effort not to cry, and went to her daughter, wrapping her in an embrace. It was all she had, all she knew to do.
“I love him so much, Mama,” Shea said, broken-voiced. “I don’t care about the wedding. I just want him to be safe. I want him to come home.”
Dru felt Shea’s tears bleed through her cotton shirt. “I know, honey,” she murmured. “I know you do.”
“I don’t know what to hope for,” Dru told Rob later. She’d come outside to the deck to call him, not wanting to risk Shea overhearing them, even though she was in her bedroom, having agreed to at least try to nap until Kate, Leigh, and Vanessa arrived. Dru perched on the end of a chaise longue. “I don’t know whether it’s best if AJ’s guilty or innocent, or if he comes back or gets arrested.”
“As terrible as it is, she’s going to have to face—we’re all going to have to look at the fact that he might be dead, either by his own hand or someone else’s.”
“You didn’t say that to her?”
“Of course not. Shea’s not even close to being ready to hear it.”
“What worries me is how little she’s willing to consider AJ’s role in this—if he fathered Becca’s baby and if, because of that, he killed her. It’ll do more than just break Shea’s heart, Rob.”
“It worries me, too,” Rob said. “But she’s tough, Dru, like her mama,” he added.
Dru crossed her ankles. She was barefoot, and her glance was drawn to the sight of her toenails; the Chinese-red polish was chipped and peeling. It reminded her of times she had painted Shea’s nails when her daughter was a little girl. Red, always red, and the polish had always chipped within hours of application. Dru could see that little hand, spread like a starfish, the tiny nails flecked with red. “I don’t think she’ll give up on him. Even if he’s guilty.”
“Don’t take this wrong, I’m not excusing him, okay? I agree with you. I think AJ probably did it; he probably murdered that girl. But I just don’t buy that he’s a cold-blooded killer. He’s not a psycho or a sociopath. He’s got issues, sure, but something’s got to have happened for him to—”
“Are you saying you want him to marry our daughter? I mean, assuming he’s found and gets out of this somehow,” Dru broke in, unable to bear Rob’s attempt at placating her. “You’re happy about it? Because Shea doesn’t seem to think—she was amazed we shared the same negative—”
“Who Shea marries isn’t my call, Dru.”
“You aren’t concerned for her safety, then. Is that right? But why should that surprise me, when you so obviously didn’t care about it when we lived with you.” Dru got up. She was shaking now and tucked her arm around herself.
“Jesus, Dru, I have tried every way I know to make amends for the harm I caused you and Shea.”
“This isn’t a twelve-step issue, Rob. It’s not a question of you having one too many toddies and passing out on the sofa night after night. You would have only hurt yourself, then.”
“I don’t know that I agree. What’s the difference between chronic drinking and chronic fear? Either one can be deadly. The only difference is when someone quits drinking, you can see the evidence. With fear, you’d have to take my word I’m not that scared, paranoid guy anymore. I’ve got ways to handle it now. But you’d have to trust me on that, and I guess that’s never going to happen, is it?”
She didn’t answer, and she hated it—her silence and the way she felt trapped by it.
“You know,” Rob began carefully, “I never figured you for someone who would hold a grudge. And it’s a hell of a thing to me, because I still love you, and I don’t know why.”
“Am I supposed to feel bad for Rob?” Dru asked Amy.
They were in Dru’s driveway, packing the food for the teachers’ luncheon into Amy’s car. Dru had been so grateful when Amy had offered to take over delivery and setup, not only for this meal, but next week’s engagements as well. There was the handful of regular clients for whom she delivered daily meals, plus a dessert selection for a women’s bridge club and a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary dinner for ten. Dru didn’t have the attention span of a gnat at this point, and even if she did, who could predict if she’d have the time to do the preparation, to get the job done right? Catastrophes had a schedule all their own.
“Has he told you before that he loves you? I mean, since you divorced?” Amy asked.
“Not in so many words.” Dru settled a sack packed with linen napkins and flatware behind the passenger seat.
Amy closed the door. She found Dru’s glance. “You know, everything you’ve ever told me about Rob, it seems to me what he wants—all he wants is another chance.”
Dru looked into th
e street.
“What if he’s truly okay now? I mean, if you could know that, be certain he was stable, back to the guy you married, what would you want? Would you take him back?”
Dru met Amy’s gaze. “If he came with a guarantee, you mean?”
Amy made a face, and Dru laughed.
“We both know when it comes to men, there are no guarantees,” Amy said.
“Honestly?” Dru sobered. “I can’t think about what I want or what Rob needs right now. Shea is in such jeopardy.”
Amy touched her arm. “I’m so sorry this is happening to her, to both of you.”
“I guess you heard Becca was pregnant.”
“I can’t believe it. When Ken told me she’d been stabbed there—in her abdomen—”
Dru gave her head a slight shake. She hadn’t known that.
“It’s true,” Amy said. “Seven times in her stomach and four times in her chest. Ken said a buddy of his on the force in Dallas told him they think she was sexually assaulted, too. Her underpants were down around her ankles, and there was a note on her back that said, ‘Fixed you.’ They think it was written in lip liner.”
“How in God’s name am I going to tell Shea?”
Amy rubbed Dru’s arm.
“Is it weird that I wish she could sleep forever?”
“Or do a Rip van Winkle and wake up in a hundred years. Maybe the world would be less insane then.” Amy went around to the driver’s side of her car and got behind the wheel.
Dru followed her.
“I can come back later if you want, and help with the wedding cancellation.”
“Thanks,” Dru said, “but I think between us, Kate, and the others, we can get it done. Besides, you’re already doing so much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“You know I don’t come cheap, right?” Amy winked. “Seriously, though, I’m happy to help out. If there’s anything else, I’m here, okay? Just call me.”
Dru looked away. “Don’t be nice to me or I’ll lose it.”
“Oh, honey. Should I stay?”
Dru sniffed, wiped her eyes, got a grip on herself, and said, “No, I’m fine. But you’re a godsend, you know it?”
“Will you call my husband and tell him that?” Amy said, deadpan.
Her joke worked. Dru smiled.
The girls arrived a little later. Dru woke Shea, and she joined them, sitting at the table in the breakfast room. Her eyes were thick-lidded and reddened, not from sleep, or the lack of it, Dru thought, but from crying. Kate, sitting adjacent to Shea, took her hand. Vanessa and Leigh, too, reached out to her. Dru was glad for them, for their support. Shea needed it. Dru brought glasses of ice and a pitcher of tea to the table.
“I know Becca was pregnant,” Shea said. “I just want to get that out right now. I know what everyone thinks, too, that it was AJ’s, but you’re wrong, and you’ll see it when the DNA test comes back.”
Vanessa said, “You heard, didn’t you, where Becca was stabbed?”
Dru set her hand on Shea’s shoulder. “We don’t need to go into detail.”
Shea looked up at Dru. “Did you forget I have a laptop? I can get the news.”
Dru didn’t answer.
“It’s horrible, and I’m sick about it. Just as sick as any of you, but it’s got nothing to do with me or AJ.”
Dru felt a jolt of anguish so strong, she backed away, turned, and went into the kitchen, where she leaned against the countertop.
“So, how do we do this?” Dru heard Shea ask. “How do we cancel my wedding?”
Van was opening her laptop when Dru returned to the breakfast room.
“When in doubt, Google,” she said.
“Really?” Kate asked.
“Yeah. Unlike Siri, Google knows everything. It’s all here. Even how to word the note.”
“You looked already?” Leigh asked.
“It’s best to get it done quick—like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
“Great,” Shea said.
Kate rolled her eyes.
“I’m just sayin’.” Vanessa looked around the table. “There’s a standard note so nobody has to think what to write. You don’t have to go into detail.” Van was addressing Shea now, looking earnestly at her.
She meant well, Dru thought.
Shea extended her arms across the table. “What if he comes back, though? What if he can explain?”
“Then you get married. I’ll dance at your wedding.” Kate smiled.
Shea smiled, too, and Dru’s heart eased a bit. She got her laptop and sat beside Van, and they worked on the note. Shea, Leigh, and Kate broke the list into categories, separating out AJ’s guests, cross-checking addresses.
Dru had called her brother earlier and left a message when he didn’t answer. She’d spoken to a handful of friends, too, the folks who were close enough to her and to Shea that Dru felt they should be contacted personally. Responses had been sympathetic, shocked, and/or horrified, depending on how much they’d heard. Thankfully, no one had asked many questions.
She began to feel the blunt edge of a headache bearing down on her brain. Exhaustion crawled behind her eyes. Excusing herself, she went into the kitchen to find aspirin. She was at the sink when Kate touched her elbow. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Dru said, because lying was best. “Just tired. You doing all right? Erik is looking very happy since you said yes.”
“He is—happy, I mean.”
“You aren’t?” Something in Kate’s tone, her demeanor, made Dru ask.
“I guess. I mean, I care about him. He makes me laugh. Mother and Daddy love him. Mother, especially.”
“I know. He’s all your mom can talk about. But, honey”—Dru lifted Kate’s chin—“you’re the one who’s marrying him, and it’s for life—or it should be. You, more than your mom, should be sure he’s the one, right?”
Kate shifted her glance.
“Are you?”
“He treats me like a queen.”
“Yes,” Dru said, but she was thinking worship wasn’t love.
“I feel so heartbroken for Shea. She’s supposed to be my matron of honor. We dreamed of this our whole lives, that we would be in each other’s weddings, live in the same neighborhood, raise our kids together.” Kate looked at Dru through the film of tears. “We were besties, marrying besties. It was so perfect, you know?”
Dru wrapped Kate in an embrace, murmuring the rote nonsense that in time everything would work out. She wasn’t sure when she was first aware there was a disturbance in the breakfast nook. She heard the sound of the back door closing—not quite a slam but close, then a voice—Dru thought it was Leigh’s—raised in consternation.
Dru followed Kate through the archway.
“Look what Leigh found under the windshield wiper of her car just now.” Shea held up what looked like a three-by-five notecard, marked up with something—pink.
“Is that lipstick? Let me see it,” Dru said.
“Lip liner. It’s an apology, written in lip liner.” Shea handed the card to Dru.
“It says he can’t help himself.” Leigh was loud, almost shouting. “Why did he put it on my car? Why not your car?” She was addressing Shea.
“‘I’m sorry for hurting you,’” Dru read. “‘I’m in trouble and I don’t think I can stop.’” Written in lip liner on paper like the note that was left on Becca’s body. Dru looked up at Shea.
“Anyone could have left it,” she said.
“You don’t recognize the writing?” Leigh asked.
“No,” Shea answered. “It’s printed. Any kindergartner could have written it.”
Standing at Dru’s elbow, Kate said, “We have to call the police.”
“Nooo.” Shea drew out the syllable so that it was almost a moan.
Kate went to her, wrapping an arm around Shea’s waist.
“I’m scared,” Leigh said.
“God, I am, too.” Van sounded as if she couldn’t believe it, that she, of all people,
could be afraid.
But she had every reason to be, Dru thought, going back into the kitchen to retrieve her phone, because whoever had authored the note—and who else could it be but AJ—had given fair warning they were going to kill again.
9
I didn’t know who else to call,” Lily said, because the level of her fear, the space it took up in her brain, left no room for an exchange of pleasantries.
“What’s happened?” Edward’s tone was neutral to such a degree that she couldn’t guess what he might be thinking.
“Could you—would you be willing to meet me?” Her breath stopped. She hadn’t known she was going to ask for that.
“Where? When?”
She couldn’t think.
“I’ve had a cancellation this afternoon.” He filled in the silence. “I could be in Greeley and meet you at Bo Dean’s at four. Would that work?”
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”
A pause came, and it was a little awed, as if neither of them believed in what they’d arranged. They had said they wouldn’t meet again, that it would be wrong on too many levels. She considered taking it back, telling him to never mind, but then he said her name—“Lily?”—and she knew she wouldn’t.
“I’m glad you called,” he told her, and then he was gone.
When her dad woke a while later, she was in the kitchen. “I was writing you a note,” she said.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep.” He went to the sink and, turning on the tap, splashed his face with cold water. “Any news?”
“No.” She handed him a kitchen towel.
“What are you leaving a note about?” He dabbed his eyes and cheeks, wiped along his jaw.
“I thought I’d run up to Greeley, do some grocery shopping. The HEB store there is better than the one in Wyatt.”
Her dad didn’t say anything.
“Is it okay? Will you be all right?” she asked.
“I’ll be fine. You don’t have to hover. Don’t we have food here? It’s not like we’re eating a whole lot.”
“Truth?” She held his gaze, not knowing how she managed it. “I need the distraction.” The moment she said it, she wished it back. Suppose he needed a distraction, too? Suppose he asked to come with her?
The Truth We Bury: A Novel Page 11