by CJ Birch
Robin laughed. “Have you ever been to Chicago?”
Neil shook his head as the clink of the eleven landing on the nine drifted out of the side pocket. “Landed in the airport once.” Neil circled the table, on the prowl for his next kill.
“I guess a lot of the people in town have been here their whole lives. Pretty thick bonds.”
Neil nodded, spotting the fifteen hovering on the edge of the corner pocket. He bent down to line up the shot and help nudge it toward its final plummet. In life, Neil personified patience. He applied that patience to everything he did, fishing, work, his marriage, and most definitely pool. There was no point to rushing a shot or any such thing as a sure thing. He took his time, lining up the cue perfectly, readying his shot.
“It must be strange, having to investigate a murder. If it was me, I’d be worried I might screw up somehow.” Robin waited for a reaction.
Neil missed the cue ball, smearing the lip of the table with red chalk. When his eyes raised to Robin, they expressed exactly what he thought of her.
Robin’s hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t mean that you couldn’t handle it.” Robin grabbed her wine and took a thoughtful sip. “I’m just curious how you’d go about it if you’d never done it before. Getting stabbed to death is pretty gruesome.”
“Who said he was stabbed to death?”
“I got a peek.” She sighed and looked away as if it had been too traumatic for words.
“That’s not what killed him.” Too late, Neil realized his error. “I mean…Ah, shit.” He pointed his pool cue at Robin. “And that’s off the record.” Remembering the phrase he’d heard in a million TV dramas.
“So who’s Sid Derry to Elle?” Robin leaned in to line up an easy shot she’d miss on purpose.
“You ask Elle about that?”
Robin nodded.
“And she didn’t tell you nothing? Well, neither am I.” He threw his cue on the table, indicating he was done with pool and Robin.
* * *
From the vantage point of her front steps, Elle felt swathed in a cocoon of leaves. It was as if the world beyond their yard didn’t exist. Very little traffic came along Dunne’s Hollow road, especially at three in the morning. It gave the crickets the entire stage. The house and lawn cut out an oval shape from the surrounding forest, framing the sky with black silhouettes of pine and oak. The stars seemed so close, a blanket of diamonds on black velvet hiding the world from sight. Elle wanted to crawl beneath, wrap herself in the familiar constellations, and pretend the last six days hadn’t happened. If she could wipe them from existence, maybe she would sleep.
When she closed her eyes to dream, she didn’t imagine arresting the killer. Instead she saw Jessie as he would be: alive with bacteria, teeming with blowflies and beetles feasting on a buffet of flesh and intestines, buried under six feet of dirt in a suit that would fray and crumble with the elements. His facial structure would contort as it decayed and disappeared from memories as if the beetles could chew at her thoughts and history.
She wanted that history to rearrange itself. To become, just briefly, the one she had imagined for herself in high school when hard meant a calculus exam. What she wouldn’t give to go back, to live in a world where that girl still existed.
She shot off the stairs, unable to sit still any longer. She needed to do something, anything to stop the jumble in her mind. She was itching for a run. But she would be lying if she said insomnia was the only reason she’d staked out the front steps. She was waiting for EJ. She hadn’t seen him since the brawl Friday afternoon, and she’d be damned if she let him sneak into his cave in the dead of night.
That had been Elle’s trick. Stay out all night after getting into trouble for something and sneak back in when she was sure Mom and Dad were asleep, hoping a night’s rest would ease their anger. It usually worked. It was hard to bring back the anger seeing Elle, covers tucked under her chin, a heavy layer of red coating her pillow, mouth slack. In the quiet of the morning, it was easier to forget the hellion that rampaged the cafeteria with water balloons or the sixteen-year-old caught skinny-dipping in Karber’s Lake.
Farther down Dunne’s Hollow, a truck grumbled, breaking through the cocoon of pine and oak. Elle was caught by how unfair it was that she had to deal with her brother’s rebellion. This shouldn’t be her fight. All because of a moment. A decision. When Sid Derry turned the key in the ignition of his Ford Fusion, his blood alcohol level was well over the legal limit. When his car collided with her parents’ Buick along County Road 12, her role as the rebellious older Ashley child died along with her parents.
Instead of passing the entrance to their drive, the truck slowed and turned up toward the house. It got about halfway, the headlights ricocheting off the trunks lining the lane, and stopped. Elle stepped back onto the porch, hidden in the shadows, and waited. She folded her arms across her chest, despite the humidity, she felt a chill roll down her spine. She almost choked from anticipation when she saw EJ break free from the headlights, heading toward the front porch. The twin beams eased away, back down the lane, leaving EJ in silhouette against the yard.
She waited until he was mounting the steps before she said, “Kind of late, aren’t you?” She stepped from the shadows, blocking the front door.
EJ jumped back, startled. “Creep much? Since when do I have a curfew?” He shoved his curls out of his face.
“Since you and Dan defiled Randy Pritchard’s car. I didn’t think Dan would listen when I told him to stay away from Randy, but I thought you had enough sense.” She shoved her finger into EJ’s chest. “If Stan finds enough evidence, Randy can charge you with grand theft, which is a felony.” Like most arguments with her brother, she could never decide if it was her anger or frustration that left her exhausted. It was like she was swimming against the current. Every time she felt she’d made progress, she’d pick EJ up doing something stupid and find herself back where she started. Was this what her dad felt every time he picked her up from Bailey’s office?
EJ crossed his arms and stared. She could tell by the slight sway of his stance that he was drunk.
“It doesn’t bother you that you could go to juvie, and over what? Pride? Some stupid prank Dan put you up to?”
He wasn’t even looking at her now. Just staring straight ahead like a POW being interrogated. A breeze shuddered through the yard, lifting and shaking branches as it passed.
“And you’re an ass if you think Dan gives a shit about you, because he won’t be there to hold your hand in juvie. He’s eighteen. He’ll be in jail.”
He swatted her hand away. “What the fuck do you know about it? Dan and I were at Tanya’s all night hanging out. Besides, how the hell would we get it onto the well in the first place?”
Elle folded her arms, a vise against her heart. “McGrath didn’t help you out any?”
“McGrath? What the hell did he say about it?”
“He didn’t have to say anything. The guy’s a moron.” McGrath hadn’t said anything with his mouth, but his body language had given a full confession. “But I do know that Dan bought his truck off McGrath a couple weeks ago. It doesn’t take much to put the two together.”
“Why are you even bugging me about this when you have Deputy Do-Right on it?” Stan had come by earlier in the day, questioning both him and Dan about the incident. EJ had watched Dan maneuver around Stan’s questions the way he drove his car around the back curves of Turlough. But mostly Dan had teased Stan about his crush on Sheriff Ashley, calling him a lapdog and panting to add to the effect.
“You think I’m waiting up at three in the morning because I’m working an incident? Jesus, EJ. I’m worried you’re giving your life away to a detention junkie. Why can’t you see that Dan isn’t your friend?”
“Really? Dan listens to what I have to say. He cares about what I think.” He punched his chest with each sentence, as if the harder he pounded the more true it would be. “Unlike you. All you care about is your stupid job
. Well, here’s the thing, you’re a joke. They’re all laughing at you. Everybody’s waiting for you to fall flat on your ass and fail.” As soon as he said it, he wanted to take it back. He needed to wound her. If she were limping, maybe she would back off and leave him alone. But the moment he’d said it, the look on her face made him feel worse than if he’d actually taken a knife to her heart.
Elle turned away, tightening her arms. Whenever she brought up an image of EJ in her mind, he was ten years old, standing on the Cases’ porch, his face molded in pain. This moment had forever overwritten it. Now she would see his face contorted in hate and rage. It wasn’t the words, or even the intent behind them. He’d taken her greatest fear and force-fed it to her. A bitter meal of rejection and inadequacy. But worst of all was that she’d been so transparent, like a film of plastic wrap stretched across her diffidence for all of Turlough to see.
EJ waited for her to meet his gaze. If he could see her eyes, he could gauge the damage. But she turned toward the front door, wiping a stray tear as she did. Instead of wounding, he’d maimed. Only after the door had banged shut did he see that he’d managed to rip his own heart out in the process.
EJ plopped down on the porch swing. It creaked from lack of use. Threadbare as it was, they hadn’t thrown it out, out of either loyalty or laziness.
The night air had thickened with humidity and the sound of crickets. EJ leaned back, wrapping himself in the isolation of the night. For the second time in a week, the only thing he wanted to do was cry himself to sleep. He felt like everyone was trying to grab hold and take a piece of him, but he didn’t have enough to give. With every decision, with every act, he dug himself in deeper. Pretty soon he would be so entrenched no one would be able to pull him out.
Chapter Fourteen
EJ stared out Dan’s windshield. In the distance, a pile of dirt sat waiting to fill the coffin-sized hole next to it. The group of mourners gathered around the mound, waiting until they could leave. The Forresters stood out by themselves, like an island. Janice Forrester clung to her husband’s arm. Her fingers were wrapped around his in such a tight bundle they had turned white. Blotch marks flecked her face, standing in contrast to her pale skin. Cindy stood inches behind Mr. Forrester, her expression unreadable.
Elle stood at the edge of the crowd. Her black dress clung to the sweat forming below her breasts. White as paper, her expression dragged at her features. It was the effort of mourning. It etched along the creases of her mouth and eyes as if the bitterness of being made to stay had converted to gravity instead of tears. The weight of life. Not for the first time, EJ wondered if this was who Elle would have become had their parents lived.
A day had passed since their argument, leaving a thin layer of frost over every interaction since. He’d found her this morning staring at her bed where she’d laid out her sheriff’s uniform and a simple black dress. He’d almost passed her by on his way out to meet Dan, but something stopped him. It was as if she had completely wrapped herself up in this shell, determined not to let people see how much she was affected. Almost as if she were embarrassed by how much she still cared. He took a bite of the Cortland in his hand as a way of announcing his presence. It echoed around the room like a gunshot.
Elle jumped and turned toward the sound. He pointed his apple at the clothes on the comforter. “You planning on interrogating people at the funeral or you going to mourn Jessie?”
In a daze, she picked up her uniform shirt. It held the promise of a shield. If she were wrapped in the comforting black and khaki, she’d survive the day. But the black dress promised anonymity. With it, she could blend in among the mourners, no longer separate, but a small piece of a larger machine.
“Can’t be both,” he said.
“We’re leaving in ten.” It was a whisper. “You ready?” But when she turned, EJ was already at the front door.
“Getting a ride with Dan.” He slammed the door behind him.
Now, as he stared out at the group of mourners, he was having second thoughts about asking Dan to come with him. There was something too loud about his presence.
“Hey, listen,” EJ looked over at Dan, who was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “This thing’s going to be pretty boring.” He fingered the ripped seam of his only dress shirt. His wardrobe consisted mostly of rips and holes, but he had managed to find a pair of dark dress pants and this shirt. If he tucked it into the pants, no one could see the rip along the seam. “I mean, you don’t have to come. It’s not like you knew him.”
There was a brief pause as Dan surveyed the group in black up on the hill. A couple of men had removed suit jackets and draped them over their arms. Some had rolled their sleeves up as well. Then he shrugged. “Whatever. I got things to do anyway. Need me to come back around, give you a ride?”
“Nah.” EJ shook his head. “I’ll find a ride with someone.”
“With her?”
EJ gave a lopsided shrug. “Not sure.” He reached for the door handle. The air in the cab was dry. He felt himself almost choking on his words. “She’s taking this kind of hard. Maybe I should have gone with her.”
“She’s old enough to babysit herself.” Dan pushed in the car lighter and fished out a smoke from his pack.
The texture on the door handle had worn away with use, leaving it smooth under EJ’s hand. He suddenly didn’t even want to be at this funeral. He would have given his left nut at that moment to be down by the Red, where it curves around before the ravine. It was deep there. Great for swimming. Hell, he’d take getting rejected by Jessica as an option, or even detention.
He pushed open the door. A wall of humidity slammed into his face. Already his armpits were beginning to seep. He turned to say good-bye to Dan, but he was busy lighting his cigarette, sucking rapidly to make it catch. Already onto the next thing.
EJ took the long way up through the back and around the hill so he could approach unnoticed. For some reason, he wanted to stay hidden. He felt his chest would burst. He was afraid if he locked eyes with someone he might actually start to cry. The last time he’d cried was at his parents’ funeral. They’d held the viewing at Porter’s Funeral Home just off the main street. It had been called something different back then, but EJ couldn’t remember the exact name. Only that it started with an “H.” He’d spent most of the evening hiding under the refreshment table, watching people two step along the edge as they helped themselves to coffee and biscuits.
After everyone had left, he’d crawled out. Silence—the kind that made you want to hide under your covers—filled the room. The table was strewn with biscuit crumbs and stir sticks. A deep brown stain under the coffee urn slowly inched toward the sugar bowl, which had been knocked over. Two sugar cubes stood in its path, about to be absorbed into the dark sludge.
Mrs. Case came into the room carrying a pot of chrysanthemums. “There you are. Elle’s been searching everywhere for you.” Mrs. Case had always been a towering, stout presence. Taller than a lot of the men in town. Before the chemo. Before the ravages of disease.
EJ didn’t move. Instead he kept staring at the sugar cubes and their impending doom. The edge of the stain closing in.
Mrs. Case came up beside him and put her arm around him. “Come on, honey. We’ll get you something to eat at home.” Her hand cupped his shoulder. She pulled him close. She smelled like Tic Tacs and lavender. “Let’s get out of this drafty old building and go curl up by the fire.”
EJ’s head barely reached her armpits. Before Mrs. Case pulled him away from the table, he grabbed the two sugar cubes and stuffed them into his pocket.
EJ leaned against an old craggy oak on the ring surrounding the service. He still had those two sugar cubes. He’d placed them in a shoe box and hid it in the crawl space behind his closet with the rest of the stuff he didn’t want Elle to find.
The reverend stepped forward with a tattered blue Bible clutched in his hands and his head bowed. Wisps of hair sprung out lightly, grazing the ed
ge of his bald spot. When he looked up, his eyes cut through the crowd, blazing with an intensity close to the color of EJ’s curls. When he spoke, it was with the hard edge of a knife, chopping his words into splinters.
“Jessie’s death, as untimely as it may seem, has a place under God’s plan.” He thrust his Bible forward as testament to the truth he spoke. Always an alarmist, Reverend Hansen took every opportunity to warn of the coming downfall of the human race. By technology, globalization, and video games, but not necessarily in that order. EJ had been subject to more than a few lectures, accosted at every opportunity. He’d even shown up at one of EJ’s many after-school detentions, asking if EJ had discovered God’s plan for him yet.
The only plan EJ had ever come up with was to get the hell out of Turlough as soon as he graduated. He’d go to Chicago and find a job, a place to live. He knew who he wanted to be and the only surety was that he’d never become it out here, suffocating under Elle’s unrealistic expectations.
A hazy heat blanketed the cemetery, undulating the horizon as if the tombstones swam in the collective tears of a town. Sweat pooled in crevices, darkening the already dark.
The reverend’s voice rose. “We are already blessed with the knowledge that Jessie is with God. And we must take this knowledge as our reward for those who have sinned against us.” He snapped the Bible shut. “Let us pray.” He bowed his head.
After the hill had cleared, Elle lingered. Bunches of white carnations blanketed the lid. EJ held back, watching from his oak tree as she pulled something from her purse and placed it on the coffin.
* * *
The noise from dozens of voices tumbled out the door. They’d removed most of the furniture from the Forresters’ living room. The rest backed against the wall, creating space for the crowd milling about with cups of beer or wine. Mr. Forrester had erected a projector screen at the far end. He fiddled with one of the cords, lost in a world of distraction, flitting from task to task. It kept his mind off the one thing that would drive him down.