by Lisa Jackson
If only she could stop this!
At least she hadn’t woken her kids, nor, it seemed, her dog. A tawny, long-haired mutt whose square face suggested boxer while the wispy hair on his legs hinted at some kind of shepherd hidden somewhere in his lineage, Reno had been a family member since the day Cade had walked out the door. Rachel had rescued the gangly pup and he’d been the glue that had held the family together during those first painful weeks and months of the family shattering. From the first night, he’d claimed the foot of the bed as his resting spot and Rachel had never found the energy to force him into his kennel downstairs. Also, there was the simple fact that she felt safer with the dog in the room with her now that Cade was gone. She no longer even entertained the idea of making Reno sleep downstairs, and besides, she figured she had more important issues to deal with, or “bigger fish to fry,” as her father had always said. He might still, but she couldn’t be certain because she didn’t talk to her dad too much these days.
Another issue to deal with.
As if she didn’t have enough. She pulled the duvet over her head and burrowed deeper into her pillow. She still could get a few more minutes of shut-eye, if she could find a way to nod off again, preferably catching up with sleep that was devoid of nightmares. If she was going to dream, why not about something happy? A vacation in the Bahamas? Christmas with her grandparents? Or hot sex with some leading man? She could think of a few she wouldn’t mind fantasizing about....
But real life butted into her attempts at sleep and after a few fitful minutes, she reached for her phone on the bedside table, knocking over half a glass of water in the process. “Crap!” Great way to start the morning. She glanced at the phone and saw the date. No wonder the nightmare had been so real. “Crap, crap, crap!”
Twenty years to the day.
It was on this very date two decades ago when she’d lied to her parents about spending the night with Lila, then, instead, had sneaked off to the old cannery.
Biggest mistake of her life.
“Deal with it,” she said and stared up at the ceiling in the dark as she had so often. Too often. There was no going back to sleep now.
Yawning, she snapped on the bedside lamp. Warm light flooded the small room, with its sloped ceilings, the bedroom she’d once shared with Cade. Her heart tugged a bit, which infuriated her. No one could piss her off like her ex.
Don’t think about him!
So what if you bought this cottage together or that your kids were born here, before the remodeling of this room, which had once been an attic? It’s over And it has been for a long time.
“Idiot,” she said aloud, then forced her thoughts back to the coming day and its significance.
If this—what would you call it? Anniversary? God, that sounded bad—but if this day wasn’t bad enough as it was, Lila had scheduled the final meeting of the high school reunion committee for this very night.
How sick was that?
When Rachel had pointed out the significance of the date and suggested they find another time, Lila’s pretty face had shadowed for a second. “I know,” she’d said, worry lines etching her forehead. “But it’s the only night that works and it’s the last weekend I’ve got available before the reunion. It’s weird, but”—she’d offered Rachel a shaky smile and a shrug—“what’re ya gonna do? It’s been a long time, Rach.” Lila had glanced away.
They’d been standing on the wide front porch of Lila’s hillside home, shadows lengthening as the sun settled in the west. Lila had swept her gaze away from Rachel and over the rooftops of the town to the cold gray waters of the Columbia River where several fishing boats were visible. “It’s hard for me, too, you know,” she’d admitted, letting her usual cheery facade slip a little.
Rachel did know. Lila, it seemed, had never gotten over Luke, and the reason had become clear later that year when she’d borne Luke’s son just before Christmas.
“But we have to move on, Rach,” Lila had said, turning back to face her friend, her blond hair catching the fading sunlight. “And if I can, then anyone can. Right?” She’d tilted her head. “Including you.”
Rachel hadn’t argued. And how could she? Lila not only had moved on, she’d moved in with and eventually married Cade’s father, a man over twice her age. All this despite bearing Luke a son, a boy he’d never had the chance to meet.
Because of you.
Because you killed your brother.
“No,” she said out loud.
In less than a month the damned reunion would be over and maybe then—oh, God, please—she could get on with her life. Today was just another day. Just. One. More. And she’d go to the meeting tonight, even if it killed her. She couldn’t let that one horrid mistake haunt her forever.
Two decades was long enough.
She glanced at the digital clock, glowing blue on the bedside stand.
Still not quite six.
She woke up about the same time every damned morning. A few minutes before her alarm was set to her favorite radio station so that she could rouse to music. Which was all a joke. Ever since she’d bought the clock, about two years earlier, the day after Cade had moved out, she’d never been awoken by the music, news or traffic reports, or even advertisements. Nope. All too often her damned nightmare brought her right to the surface and instantly awake, with or without the added audio of a car backfiring in the dawn.
She slapped off the alarm by habit, just to make sure it didn’t start playing some hit from the eighties or a news report or whatever before she got back from her run. Then she rolled out of bed and nearly stepped on Reno on her way to the window, where she peeked through the curtains to the backyard below.
Fenced.
Secure.
And all of the doors were locked and the windows latched. She knew that. She’d gone through her nightly routine before going to bed last night. She’d counted the dead bolts. Four. Front door, back door, slider, and stairwell. And the windows as well. Sixteen in all, counting the ones in the basement, which she did. Each had been fastened securely.
In the predawn stillness, the yard was dark. She scanned the perimeter, squinting through the glass, assuring herself no one was lurking outside in the bushes and trees rimming the patchy grass.
She saw no one peeking through the branches of the oversized fir, no person flattened against the side of the carport.
Get a grip.
But this was part of her morning routine.
“All clear,” she told herself with a sense of relief, then to the dog, who was already on his feet and stretching, “Ready to rock and roll?” She padded into the bathroom, where she splashed water on her face.
Glancing at the mirror, she saw her hair was its usual mess, wild reddish brown curls restrained by a band and pulled to the top of her head, but mussed to the point that several strands had escaped during her restless night. She tightened the band and frowned at her reflection.
A sudden memory slipped unbidden into her consciousness. In her mind’s eye, she traveled back a few years and she remembered standing just so in only her bra and panties in front of the wide mirror over the double sinks. A warm mist filled the bathroom and Cade, fresh from the shower, had come up behind her. Still naked he’d slipped his arms around her waist, his fingers sliding beneath the elastic of her thong, dipping low as he nuzzled her neck from behind.
“Are you serious?” she had asked on a laugh.
“What do you think?” A black eyebrow had arched—she’d seen it in the fogging mirror. Taller than she by nearly a head, his skin a darker hue than hers, his muscles defined, his features sharp beneath a beard shadow, he’d looked at her, thin lips twitching in amusement, his hazel eyes dark with passion.
Oh. Dear. God.
Now, remembering, she tingled at the thought of it.
Sex.
She missed it.
That bothered her.
Worse yet, she missed him.
Which really pissed her off and she was loat
h to admit it. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t allow herself to be that pathetic as to want him back. She picked up her toothbrush, squeezed paste over the bristles, and brushed her teeth with a fervor that might have scraped the enamel right off her incisors if she hadn’t caught herself. What was she doing, thinking about Cade?
“Loser,” Rachel said, her mouth frothing with toothpaste. “Cheater.” She rinsed her teeth by dipping her head under the faucet, swirling the cold water, then spitting into the sink. Standing, she looked in the mirror again and saw only her own image. Cade’s chiseled features and the memory had thankfully faded. “Good. Stay away.” Her eyebrows pulled together and she realized she was talking to her ex. Again. “Stupid!” Now, she was speaking to herself. Geez, was that any better? No wonder she still saw a shrink and had since Cade had walked out.
Or you pushed him out.
Anxiety reared its ugly head and she opened the mirrored cabinet, found her vial of Xanax on the top shelf, and twisted off the cap. She tossed a tablet into her open palm, leaving a few in the bottle, then stopped herself and counted the remaining pills. A total of five. Hadn’t there been more? Hadn’t the prescription been nearly full when she’d stopped taking them? She bit her lip. Couldn’t remember. Yes, according to the label there had been thirty prescribed and she’d taken them daily for a while, then stopped . . . but she could’ve sworn there had been at least half of the month’s prescription in the vial—more like fifteen.
Or had she been mistaken?
The last few weeks had been stressful and she’d taken one once in a while, so she must’ve gone through more than she’d thought.
Right?
No one would come up to her bathroom and steal the pills, leaving some. A thief would have taken the whole damned bottle.
Unless Harper or Dylan . . . no, no, no! Her kids would never steal meds from her. Nor would their friends. She thought of her children and their friends, all teenagers. “No.”
But she didn’t really know, did she?
There are six tablets remaining. Remember that.
She replaced the pill and recapped the plastic container, then closed the medicine cabinet and again saw her reflection, caught the worry in her eyes. The truth was that her kids were becoming strangers to her, keeping their own secrets, no longer dependent, no longer blurting out the truth when pressed.
All normal teenaged stuff.
But some of the Xanax is gone. You know it.
Unsure, she changed from the oversized T-shirt she wore as pajamas and pulled on her running gear: jog bra, long-sleeved T-shirt, and tights. Then, in stockinged feet, she hurried downstairs and paused at Harper’s bedroom door.
All was quiet.
She peeked inside. Recently painted in shades of gray, her room possessed some order if you didn’t count the controlled mess of a makeup table covered in bottles, brushes, and tubes. Her daughter lay sleeping on top of her duvet, one arm flung over the edge of her bed, her blond hair falling over her face. Earbuds in place, of course, Harper was dead to the world.
Rachel pulled the door shut, then crossed the hall to her son’s bedroom. Ignoring a DO NOT ENTER sign and a ridiculous swath of crime scene tape stretched across his door, she turned the handle and peered inside. Dylan was wound in a wrinkled pile of bedding, the top of his head all that was visible. The floor was littered with soda and vitamin water bottles, crumpled junk food wrappers, and game controllers, his space age desk covered with a variety of computers and video game equipment, all catching dust under the window.
She’d need a backhoe to clean the room if she ever decided to really clean it.
No, make that he would need the heavy equipment to do the job; it was his mess.
But Dylan was right; his room did look like a crime scene. Enough of a disaster to hide several dead bodies.
Time to change that.
She shut his door quietly, then, with Reno at her heels, double-checked to see that her flashlight and pepper spray were in her pocket, made certain the dead bolt on the front door had been thrown, then made her way through the kitchen and out the back door to the screened-in porch. She let Reno outside. While the dog nosed around the dewy yard, Rachel found her running shoes, slipped them on, and stretched. Finally, she snagged her jacket and the dog’s leash from a peg and was out the door, locking it firmly behind her and wishing the ancient security system was still working. After snapping on the dog’s leash, Rachel eyed the yard once more, noted that the gate was latched, then took off. She broke into a quick jog, Reno loping easily beside her.
The air was thick with the promise of rain, the streets were damp, and the sky was still showing a few stars in the coming dawn. But she was alone and very aware of others in the predawn light: dog walkers, paper deliverers, other joggers, people out and about. She ran through the neighborhood of post–World War II houses, homes built when the logging, saw-milling, and fishing industries were at their height. Some had been added onto over the years, some not. Unfortunately, the booming postwar economy had petered out over the ensuing years, and now Edgewater was no longer bustling and thriving but had become little more than a bedroom community for Astoria, positioned over ten miles west at the mouth of the Columbia.
Rachel’s family had been here for generations and maybe that was the reason she stayed. Now, with her current lack-of-job situation, that might change, she thought as she ducked under a low-hanging fir branch and kept her eyes on the cracked and buckled sidewalk, her peripheral vision taking in her surroundings.
At the highway that ran parallel to the river, traffic was light, so she and the dog cut across, against the light and through the back lot of a boat dealership to the bike path that ran along the Columbia’s banks. A tanker was moving upriver, its massive shape barely visible in the mist that lay on the water’s surface. Farther north, on the opposite shore, a few lights winked.
This was her favorite time of day, in those few hushed moments just before dawn, when the demons of the night shriveled out of her consciousness.
God, she was a freak.
No wonder Cade had taken up with another woman.
Cade again. “Stop it.”
Setting her jaw, she pushed herself, increasing her pace. Beside her, Reno loped along, tongue lolling, ears flapping.
Despite the cool temperature she was beginning to sweat. She stepped up her speed, the dog adjusting his pace. Within minutes she rounded a sweeping bend in the path that ran behind Abe’s all-night diner and caught sight of the Sea View cannery, or what remained of it, a moldering behemoth propped on rotting piers surrounded by a rusted and sagging fence, the same mesh barrier she’d slipped through so many years before. Her jaw tightened.
Twenty years.
And still it haunted her.
Still she ran out here to stare at it every morning, as if one day she would either have answers to the questions that had besieged her for half of her life, or more likely, she would finally give up and never run by the riverfront property again.
She replayed the scene in her mind.
“I just need to talk to Luke,” Lila had insisted as they’d walked from her house to the cannery that night. “It’s really, really important, and I need you with me.”
“I could stay outside.”
“Sure. I guess. But I don’t know how long I’ll be. I have to find him first and it’s so dark. No flashlights allowed. And besides, you’ve already got your gun. Luke gave it to you.”
“Yeah, I know.” Rachel had felt the pellet gun’s weight in her backpack.
“You don’t have to play the game. Just . . . I need you tonight. I don’t want to go alone.” Lila had been biting her lower lip, worrying it, as if afraid Rachel would deny her.
“Fine. Okay, I’ll come,” Rachel had said as the scent of the river reached her nostrils.
And it had been the biggest mistake of her life.
Now, the aging waterfront complex seemed to grow larger and more sinister as she ran closer to the site that had
been sold and resold but due to zoning restrictions and legal difficulties had never been developed. Now that was supposed to finally change, as evidenced by the bold SOLD banner taped over the faded FOR SALE sign where Lila Ryder’s picture and phone number had faded. Odd, that she’d ended up with the listing, Rachel thought, that she had been integral in selling the very spot where her life, well, all their lives, had changed forever. But she’d done it. As Rachel understood it, in the last year a consortium of investors had filed for permits to develop the cannery pier into office space, restaurants, and shops, with condominiums going up at the water’s edge. Good. It was time for the old monster of a building to die. Maybe with its passing the pain and guilt would finally fade away. Maybe that was all part of Lila’s plan.
“Bring on the wrecking ball,” she said as she slowed and jogged in place while staring at the building in which Luke had died.
Her back teeth gnashed as she gazed at the looming, dilapidated structure. Revulsion crawled up the back of her throat, as it always did when she thought back to that night. Still, she forced herself to run this path every damned day, until she could see the weathered walls of the Sea View cannery with its now illegible, rusted sign dangling near the sagging barn door. This was her penance. Personally imposed. For taking the life of her brother.
Sadness and guilt tightened her throat.
“Come on,” she whispered to the dog as she stared at the dilapidated building one last second.
Reno knew the drill and was already turning off the asphalt path to head along a dirt trail when she spied the man dressed in black, standing on the path behind her. Not moving. As if he, too, had stopped to view the cannery.
She told herself it was nothing, lots of people used the path, but she took off, putting her jog into high gear again. They raced through an empty lot where weeds collected dew and the dirt path was slick from the recent rain. The sun was just cresting the mountains to the east, soft light spangling the water, the landscape coming into clearer focus, the streetlights starting to fade away as she reached the edge of town again, then cut through two back alleys to the main street.