From a Single Seed: A Novel

by Teri Ames

  “And you can stop waiving so many of your bills.”

  “You’re an amazing woman, Cassie Brody. No wonder Keenan seems so resilient.”

  “It must be our French Canadian stock.”

  Greg laughed. “You don’t think it comes from my Irish ancestors’ hardiness?”

  “Surviving a few famines and plagues is nothing compared to what Keenan went through,” Cassie said. “Seriously, he’s hurting. He just does a good job hiding it.”

  “I know. We’re all hurting and we’re all trying to hide it.”

  “When I think about what he went through, how he must have felt, I want to scream. It was bad enough watching it.”

  “Have you talked to him more about getting some counseling?”

  “I’ve tried, but I don’t want to push him.”

  “Hopefully, he’ll ask for help when he’s ready,” Greg said. Cassie nodded, but didn’t mention that she already had a list of therapists who specialized in PTSD.

  Chapter 70

  Saturday, November 15, 2014

  “ARE YOU safe?” Olivia said to the woman sobbing on the other end of the line. It was the first question she was supposed to ask anyone who called the domestic violence hotline.

  “I think so. I mean, he left.”

  “What if he comes back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is there some place you can go to be safe tonight?”

  “Not really. Besides, the kids are already in bed.”

  Olivia’s heart ached. So many of the women who called the hotline had children in the house. She wanted to scream at them, tell them to get their heads out of their asses and get their kids to safety, but she had learned to hold her tongue. She had spent two full weekends attending the domestic violence training offered by the local women’s shelter before she started volunteering at the hotline. The training stressed that the victims of domestic violence were in the best position to decide what was their safest course of action. When, if ever, it was safe to leave.

  “Okay. Why don’t you tell me what happened to make you so upset?”

  Olivia listened carefully to the woman’s story before explaining some options. She wanted to encourage her to go to the police and file charges against her abusive boyfriend, but the program guidelines on that were clear. Filing charges was frequently not the best choice. The system usually did little more than slap perpetrators on the wrist, and angry boyfriends were known to retaliate. Olivia knew that the system needed reform, and she was determined to get involved.

  A month ago, Olivia had made a large donation to the local women’s shelter in Shannon’s name. It felt like the right thing to do, and she was proud of the choice. It was also a compromise she had made with Jack. She agreed not to sue Keenan Brody, and Jack agreed to let her donate the money they would have spent on Shannon’s education to causes of her choice in Shannon’s name. The shelter donation had been the first. And she hoped to use the money strategically to improve the response to domestic violence in her county. But first, she needed to learn more about domestic violence. She began volunteering at the shelter one night a week, and when there was a vacancy, she had been offered a spot on the board of directors. It might not be much, but it felt like she was at least doing something.

  And it was probably saving her marriage. It was too soon to tell.

  Olivia rarely spent time with her friends anymore. She could no longer relate to them. Besides, she was making new friends among the women who volunteered their time at the shelter. Her new friends were so passionate about helping others that they ignited a spark that had been smoldering in her soul during the many months she spent in Vermont trying to get justice for Shannon.

  Her new passion would never take the place of her lost daughter, but it gave her a reason to get out of bed in the morning. And maybe someday she would save someone else’s daughter.

  JACK HUNG UP the phone. Olivia had just called to say she would be staying late at the shelter again. A woman had come in with kids in tow, and Olivia wanted to help get them settled for the night.

  He hadn’t seen Olivia so determined to do something since she had tried to get pregnant with Shannon. Olivia had wanted to be a mother so much. For two years she took her temperature, kept charts, and unromantically told him when it was time to have sex. Eventually Clomiphene had worked for them. But only once.

  Olivia had been a good mother to Shannon. Despite her tendency to smother. Another child probably would have helped with that. Or a job to challenge her. It was probably partly his fault for encouraging her to quit her job when Shannon was born. By the time Shannon went off to kindergarten, he was making a good living and there was no reason for Olivia to go back to work.

  Both having money and being a stay-at-home mother had changed her, made her world smaller.

  It was good to see Olivia committed to something other than Shannon. It reminded him of the Olivia he had fallen in love with more than two decades ago. That young Olivia had been passionate and outspoken, a frequent writer of letters to the editor. They had met when she was handing out campaign fliers for a local senator who favored stricter drunk driving laws. Jack had pretended to be a fellow supporter and offered to help her. She never knew that he’d never heard of the candidate before.

  Or maybe she did. He chuckled.

  Chapter 71

  Wednesday, December 3, 2014

  DUSTIN LOCKED Nate in his crate after his morning walk. He’d had the puppy for a month. Nate looked like a cross between a Golden Retriever and a Boxer. Sergeant Patterson had found him in the dumpster behind the police station. A shivering, whimpering ball of matted fur. What kind of person does that to a helpless creature? At least he’d been left in a place where someone might find him. The person must have had a glimmer of conscience.

  The kids loved the puppy. Joanne was not a dog person, so they’d never had one. Whenever they came into the apartment, they went straight for Nate. They took turns having him sleep on their beds at night.

  The puppy had given him an excuse to put off buying furniture. Everyone knows that puppies chew. Even still, the place looked better than it used to. He’d bought three giant bean bag chairs to go in front of the TV and some posters for the walls. He’d also bought bed frames for the kids’ mattresses. His own mattress was still on the floor, but he didn’t care. The divorce was final, so he had nobody to impress.

  The divorce trial had been the worst experience of Dustin’s life. He had felt like he was on trial, defending his choices, his lifestyle. He wasn’t a criminal for Christ’s sake. He was a cop. A good one, even. But Joanne had made it look like he was an irresponsible parent just because he worked a lot of hours, fed the kids popcorn for dinner sometimes, and had no furniture.

  The icing on the cake had been when Joanne had testified that Sienna had told her that Dustin was looking at pictures of naked women in front of their daughter.

  At first Dustin had been stunned. Then, he realized she was talking about the autopsy photos that Sienna had seen by mistake. During a break, he explained it to his lawyer. Bob Kessler didn’t have a reputation for being in Barry Densmore’s league, but he seemed to be on Dustin’s side.

  “Shit, Dustin,” Bob said. “I don’t know which is worse. You getting caught looking at girlie mags or letting your kid see autopsy photos.”

  “It was a mistake. I thought she was asleep.”

  “Honestly, I think we should let it go. The judge will assume it was girlie mags. He probably looks at those himself.”

  “But, I think we should tell the truth.”

  “And, you’ll play right into Joanne’s argument that you work too much and pay too little attention to your kids.”

  “But––”

  “We’re not going to lie. We’re just not going to correct a misperception.”

  “What’s the difference?” Dustin had said.

  Bob had shaken his head. “This is a court of law, not a court of truth.”

 
; THE CHIEF looked up when Dustin knocked on his open door. “Got a sec?” Dustin said.

  The chief was catching up on his mail, so he was glad for the excuse to talk to Dustin. He gestured toward a chair. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I have a few weeks of unused vacation time and comp time. I’d like to take a big block of it this coming summer.”

  “How much are we talking?”

  “Four weeks. It’s how long I have the kids.”

  “You know they have summer programs for kids, right?”

  “I want to do something special with them. Go somewhere. I know it leaves the department short. That’s why I’m asking in advance.”

  “What are you planning?”

  “A camping trip. Out west. I’m thinking Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, maybe Mount Rushmore.”

  “Sounds ambitious.”

  “It is. That’s why I need the extra time.”

  The chief nodded. “Are you still upset about the Brody verdict?”

  “It’s wrong that he got away with it, but I can’t let it define my life. Just like I can’t let this job define my family. That’s why I need to make the most of the time I have with my kids.”

  “If I don’t give you the time off, are you going to quit?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Okay, then I’ll make it work.” It would be a stretch, but he knew the past six months had been especially rough on Dustin. Divorce always sucked. And devoting your life to an investigation and watching the defendant walk, well, it was demoralizing. “Just promise me you won’t quit. I don’t have anybody else that can fill your shoes.” In fact, the chief had been thinking that Dustin would make a good sergeant.

  “It’s a deal.”

  “Hey, Dustin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What are you going to do with the dog while you’re traveling?”

  “Take him, of course.”

  The chief smiled. “I was going to offer to watch him for you.”

  “Thanks, but, not a chance. He’s part of the family.”

  BARRY HAD made a chicken stir-fry for dinner. He wasn’t much of a cook, but stir-fry was one of his three “specialties” and Sam had promised to be home for dinner.

  He was setting the table when Sam walked in. Barry instantly smelled the alcohol on Sam’s breath. In frustration, Barry thrust the silverware onto the table. It clattered and skidded in different directions. An errant fork landed on the floor.

  “Why are you so set on self-destruction?”

  “It’s just the way I am. Haven’t you heard? I’m bipolar.”

  “Stop making excuses. There are plenty of bipolar people who lead normal lives.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do. Lead a normal life. Have a beer like a normal person.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Why don’t you get your act together and finish college?”

  Sam raised his chin and glared, but the defiance didn’t ring true. In fact, the look reminded Barry of Sam’s difficult early teen years so much that Barry realized Sam might be as confounded by his mental health disorder as he had been by teenage hormones. Barry forced himself to soften his demeanor before he picked up the fork from the floor and tossed it into the sink. “I know I let you down back in September, but we can’t turn back the clock. I’m here now and I’m trying, so talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I asked because I do.”

  “You won’t want to hear it.”

  “I promise I won’t judge. Try me.”

  “Okay. You asked for it.” Sam paced. Barry waited him out.

  “I know something about that girl. The one they found in the river.”

  “Shannon Dawson?”

  “Yeah.”

  Barry blinked rapidly as the import registered. “Do you know how she ended up in the river?”

  “Not exactly, but I was there.”

  “Wait a minute...wait a minute...you were where?”

  “Down at the river. The night she drowned.”

  “How do you know she drowned?”

  “I heard her.”

  “And you didn’t help her?”

  “What happened to not judging?”

  “I’m sorry. Just––please tell me what you know.”

  “I was down at the river with Kurt and Joey. Near the walking bridge upstream from the falls.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “Drinking and smoking pot.”

  Barry could see Sam searching his face for a reaction, so he willed himself not to react. “What did you see?”

  “It’s more what I heard. Or thought I heard. I thought I heard a splash, and then someone calling for help.”

  Barry pondered the implication. Shannon was alive when she hit the water. And she went into the water above the falls. She was conscious before she either drowned or was killed going over the waterfall. That meant she wasn’t killed or knocked out and dumped in the river like the prosecution claimed during the trial. It meant that Keenan Brody was almost certainly innocent. Not that Barry had had many doubts by the end of the trial.

  “Did you check it out?”

  “Not really. It was dark. It looked like there might be someone in the river, but the current was moving fast, and I couldn’t be sure.”

  “And you didn’t do anything?”

  “What was I supposed to do? Jump in the river? It was December, for Christ’s sake.”

  “You could have investigated. Called the police. Something. Anything!”

  “There you go, judging again.”

  “Okay. Let me ask it this way––why didn’t you do anything?”

  “We were stoned, Dad. It didn’t seem like it was our problem. Kurt and Joey were so messed up, they probably don’t remember it. Besides, if I’d called the police, they just would have arrested us for possession of marijuana. You told me after the last time that you wouldn’t be able get me out of trouble again. In case you’ve forgotten.”

  “But you might have been able to save her!”

  “You think I don’t know that now. You think I didn’t realize it a long time ago when they found her body. That maybe I’m more guilty than that guy you represented.”

  “It’s not a crime to not save someone. But it’s wrong, very wrong.”

  “You really can’t stop with the judgments, can you?”

  “Do you really hate me that much? So much that you’d let an innocent man go to jail. You realize your testimony would have helped prove he didn’t do it.”

  “You got him off.”

  “And what if I hadn’t? Would you have come forward?”

  “Maybe. Probably. I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

  “Why are you telling me now?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because you finally asked.”

  “I always ask how you’re doing.”

  “But you don’t mean it. I’ve been living with you for two years. You’re almost never here.”

  “I thought you wanted me to leave you alone.”

  Sam shrugged. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

  “About your sin of omission?”

  “Yeah.”

  Would it be an ethical violation to keep the secret? Technically not. But morally? It wouldn’t be Barry’s first venture into the gray zone. And if he could go there for his clients, he ought to be able to go there for his own son. “No, it’s too late to do Shannon or Keenan any good. And it would do a lot of harm to you, to our family, if this got out.”

  “So, it’s all about you again.”

  “No, Sam, it’s all about you. You’re going to have to live with what you did, or rather didn’t do. And self-destruction is not the answer.”

  “You have no idea how hard it’s been. Sometimes I just want to be someone else.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know what you’ve been dealing with. But I’ve been doing defense work long enough to know drugs and alcoh
ol don’t solve problems, they create them.”

  “You sound like the counselors at Brattleboro Retreat.”

  “I probably do.” Barry was tempted to give a long lecture, a rant really, but he knew he would only feel better temporarily, and it would definitely discourage Sam from talking to him more. He looked in Sam’s eyes and this time saw the guilt and worry he frequently saw in the eyes of defendants after they confessed their crimes and begged for his help. Sam had been carrying a heavy burden. “You hungry?” he said.

  “I can always eat,” Sam said and started putting the silverware in its proper place.

  Things between them were nowhere near resolved, but it was a start. And no matter how tempting, he would have to keep Sam’s secret. Because if it got out, another downward spiral was almost certain.

  Keenan Brody and his family deserved to know the truth. Shannon’s parents had deserved to know the truth a long time ago. Even Fred would probably feel better if he knew the truth. But none of them would ever know.

  Was he committing his own sin of omission? Maybe, but he was also being a father.

  “If it helps,” Barry said, “we’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said and sat down. “And, by the way, I don’t hate you.”

  Chapter 72

  Friday, September 23, 2016

  KEENAN WIPED the sweat from his brow with the edge of his T-shirt before he unlocked the door to his studio apartment. His regular evening run had left his gray shirt a few shades darker. Compared to Vermont, it was warm in Irvine, California, even though the sun had set an hour ago. Not that he was complaining. The change of climate somehow seemed appropriate, to go along with all the other changes he had made starting last month.

  He had finished his degree at Masterson College by sheer force of will and a love of hockey, but hadn’t bothered to attend his college graduation. Graduation was a necessity, not a cause for celebration. Besides, he’d only had one true friend to celebrate with. And, by that point, he had already been accepted into the highly competitive psychology Ph.D. program at UC Irvine. The Statement of Purpose essay he had written for his application to the program had included an intimate account of his trial and a heartfelt plea to be allowed to explore human memory formation.