by David Bell
* * *
Mrs. Tyndal’s husband came back to the doorway, still holding the newspaper. He didn’t say anything, but he stood there staring at Mrs. Tyndal.
“Are you hungry, Andrew?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“I’ll be out there in a minute. Why don’t you sit at the table?”
He turned and left, the newspaper rattling as he walked away.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Tyndal said, turning back. “I have to feed him. He does better with a routine.”
“We’re sorry,” Regan said. “We’ve taken too much of your time.”
“It’s okay. It’s just that duty calls here.” She scooted forward in her chair and with a little bit of effort pushed herself to her feet. She wobbled once she was standing, and both Jason and Regan reached out to steady her. But she waved them away. “I’ve got it,” she said. “It’s just old age.” She tugged her shirt back into place, smoothing the material. “Have you seen my ex-husband lately?”
“I saw him,” Jason said.
“I hear it’s bad,” she said.
“It is.”
“He has enough money to have round-the-clock care,” she said, a trace of bitterness creeping into her voice. “Andrew and I are pretty much on our own. He has children, but they don’t live around here.” She reached out and patted Regan on the arm. “It’s good that the two of you have each other.”
Regan took a half a step back. A flush rose on her cheeks, and she said, “No—” but then cut her words off. She just smiled instead, a look that seemed forced.
“I’m married,” Jason said. “To someone else.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Tyndal raised her hand to her hair. “I just thought . . .”
“No, not us,” Regan said.
“Well,” Mrs. Tyndal said. “I know you two were always good friends.” Something clattered in the kitchen, the sound of a dish hitting the floor. Mrs. Tyndal didn’t flinch. “I think I need to excuse myself.”
“Thank you,” Regan said. “For then. And for now.”
The two women hugged and held each other a long time before Jason and Regan stepped outside and walked back to the car.
* * *
They drove back to Ednaville, mostly in silence. Jason didn’t know what else to say, so he talked about the case, the thing that had come to dominate their lives.
“If she tells the police, then that will help Derrick’s situation some and explain the circumstances of Logan’s death. At least they won’t think Derrick killed Logan. He covered up but didn’t kill him. He still could find himself in a mess of trouble.”
“Yes.”
“The police will know what Logan did, but I don’t know if it will all become public. Maybe his dad will never know. Or understand.”
“I guess not. Maybe the whole thing will be a closed case.”
“Of course, Hayden . . .”
“It’s been a lot of years, Jason. Maybe they’ll cut her a break. I don’t know.”
“I guess Mr. Shaw had his hopes raised,” Jason said. “He might have had them raised no matter what—he’s been in such denial. Besides, you know what I say about Hayden.”
“What?”
“She always lands on her feet.”
His comment felt hollow. He thought about that cabin in the woods and Hayden’s escape. She never would have made it out of there if it wasn’t for someone helping her. Derrick was there to save her. She had Sierra to live for. Hayden needed those things. We all need them, he thought, as they pulled up to Regan’s house.
A car sat at the end of the driveway, a red Prius. The blinds were open along the front of the house.
“Company?” Jason asked.
“That’s Tim’s car.”
“Is he dropping off the kids?”
“Yes,” she said after a pause.
“There’s something else?”
Regan turned away from the house and back to Jason. Her hands were folded in her lap.
“He and I . . . we’ve been talking about trying again. For the kids. For stability.”
“Oh. That’s great. Isn’t it? Are you happy about it?”
“I am. I know you’ve been through something somewhat similar. Tim and I have known each other a long time. Since just after college. And the kids . . . they need two parents.”
“Does Tim know about . . . about Logan and all of that?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Sometimes it’s nice to be with someone who doesn’t know absolutely everything about me.”
The front door opened and her children stepped out. They didn’t cross the lawn, but they waved at the car, and Regan waved back.
“Okay,” Jason said. “Well. I don’t know what else to say, then. Except I guess I’ll be seeing you around town.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” She smiled. “We can still get coffee from time to time. It’s not like we won’t have things to talk about.”
“Do you ever wonder . . . do you ever wonder what would have happened if we had dated back then? If we’d actually tried to be a couple?”
Regan considered this for a moment. Really considered it. “I remember all those days we walked home from school together. Something could have happened then, couldn’t it?” Then she said, “It’s so hard to comprehend really. Despite everything, I’m not sure I’d change the way things went. My children, my job.” She laughed a little. “We might have ended up hating each other. You know how that goes when friends try to date.”
“Right. My life has turned out pretty well, too. All things considered. I need to remember that.”
“Sure.” She opened the door, but before she went to rejoin her family, she leaned back into the car. “Thanks for everything, Jason.”
“I’m not sure I did anything. Not really.”
“You’re my friend,” she said. “And I’m sorry if I was so hard on you about Logan, saying all the time that you idolized him too much. It’s not a bad thing to hold on to memories of people from the past, people we care about. It can really help sometimes.”
She closed the door and went to her family.
* * *
Jason drove through the streets he’d driven through so many times. The town looked cleaner somehow in the bright, early summer sun. Freshly scrubbed. He saw the old, familiar place with new eyes. It felt more like home than at any time since they’d moved back. Maybe because he knew more, maybe because he saw it for what it really was. Not a nostalgic time capsule and not the solution to all his problems. It was just a town he knew well, and he wanted to stay there with Nora.
And, he thought, Hayden and Sierra were in that life as well.
He pulled into his driveway and sat, staring at the house. The door swung open. Sierra emerged onto the porch with Hayden behind her. Jason felt his heart lift just seeing them. He smiled through the windshield.
As he came up the walk, Sierra reached out for him, hugging him. He held his niece tight.
“Where’s Nora?” he asked, letting Sierra go.
With that, Nora stepped out onto the porch, and the two of them hugged.
“Well, well,” she said. “Look who’s here. Did you get everything taken care of?”
“I did,” he said. “At last. And it’s really good to be home.”
Acknowledgments
Thanks to the Office of Sponsored Programs at Western Kentucky University for a grant that helped with the writing of this novel. Thanks also to my friends and colleagues in the English Department at WKU, especially Rob Hale, Tom Hunley, David LeNoir, Mary Ellen Miller, and Dale Rigby.
Thanks to all my friends and family. Special thanks to Kristie Lowry for both her help and her humor.
Thanks to everyone at NAL for your support. And a big thanks to Loren Jaggers and Heather Connor for getting the word out.
My editor, Danielle Perez, is amazing. Thanks for your patience, wisdom, and wit.
My agent, Laney Katz Becker, is a dynamo. Thanks for your tireless work, high expectations, and vast knowledge. And thanks to everyone at Lippincott Massie McQuilkin Literary Agents.
Thanks to the readers, bloggers, booksellers, and librarians who keep books and stories alive.
And thanks, as always, to Molly McCaffrey for everything else.
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
Jason and Hayden have a strained relationship, primarily due to Hayden’s struggles with addiction. Do you understand Jason’s reluctance to let Hayden back into his life? Would you let her back in?
Jason seems to realize that it was difficult for Hayden to grow up in his shadow. Do you think it’s challenging for younger siblings to establish their own identities as they grow up? Also, is there more pressure on an older sibling to set the tone in a family?
Sierra seems to be a bright, successful teenager despite the difficulties her parents have been through. Are you surprised by the bond between Sierra and her parents?
Jason and Regan were close friends—and almost dated—in high school and have recently reconnected. Do you understand the friendship they share even after all those years of not being in touch? Do you think Nora should be concerned about the time Jason spends with Regan? How would you feel if your spouse were Jason?
Jason and Nora made the choice not to have children, but when Sierra enters their lives, they find themselves reexamining that decision. Do you think Jason and Nora regret not having children? Can having their niece in their lives serve as some kind of a replacement?
Jason seems to be having something of a midlife crisis due to losing his job in New York and moving back to his hometown in Ohio. Is it unusual for someone at Jason’s stage of life to be reevaluating this way? Do you think he’s happy with the choices he’s made?
Regan tells Jason that he “hero-worshipped” Logan and didn’t see him clearly. What kind of person do you think Logan was? Is Regan correct when she says that Jason didn’t see him clearly? What do you think is the cause of some of Logan’s behavior?
Were you surprised to find out what really happened on graduation night? Are you surprised that Regan was willing to keep it a secret for so many years?
Logan’s mother knew the truth about her son—both the act of violence he committed against her as well as what he did on graduation night. Was she right to keep those things secret for so many years? Do you think she could have—or should have—done something to help her son, or were the cards too stacked against her because of the influence and power of Logan’s father?
Mr. Shaw seems like something of a distant and distracted father. Do you blame him for Logan’s behavior? Do you think he really loved his son?
Jesse Dean was responsible for Logan’s death on graduation night, and then Derrick was responsible for Jesse Dean’s death in the cabin. Do you blame these men for the acts of violence they committed? Were there extenuating circumstances in one or both of the cases? How do you view the men differently? Would you want to see them prosecuted for the things they did?
When Jason returns home at the end of the book, he seems genuinely happy to see his family, including Hayden and Sierra. Do you think he has a new appreciation for his life, one he didn’t have when the book started? Do you think he and Nora have found a way to be happy in Ohio?
Sierra turns out very different from her parents. And despite being siblings, Jason and Hayden take divergent paths in life. Do you attribute these differences to nature over nurture? Do you know people who turned out significantly different from other people in the same household?
Don’t miss the next novel of suspense by David Bell,
SOMEBODY I USED TO KNOW
Available in July 2015 from New American Library.
Chapter One
When I saw the girl in the grocery store, my heart stopped.
I turned the corner into the dairy aisle, carrying my basket with just a few purchases inside. Cereal. Crackers. Spaghetti. Beer. I lived alone and rarely cooked. I almost ran into the girl. I stopped and saw her in profile, her hand raised to her mouth while she studied products through the glass door of the dairy cooler.
I felt like I was seeing a ghost.
She looked just like my college girlfriend, Marissa Minor, the only woman I ever really loved. Probably the only woman who ever really loved me.
The girl didn’t see me right away. She continued to study the items in the dairy cooler, slowly walking away from me, her hand still raised to her mouth as though that helped her think.
That was the gesture that really got me. It made my insides go cold. Not with fear, but with shock. With feelings I hadn’t experienced in years.
Marissa used to do that very same thing. When she thought, she’d place her right hand on her lips, sometimes pinching them between her index finger and thumb. Marissa’s lips were always bright red—without lipstick—and full, and the gesture, that lip-twisting, thoughtful gesture, drove me wild with love and, yes, desire.
I was eighteen when I met Marissa. Desire was always close at hand.
But it wasn’t just the gesture this girl shared with Marissa. Her hair, thick and deep orange, matched Marissa’s exactly, down to the length, which fell just below her shoulders. From the side, the girl’s nose came to a slightly rounded point, one that Marissa said looked like a lightbulb. Both the girl and Marissa had long, slender bodies. This girl, the one in the store, looked shorter than Marissa by a few inches, and she wore tight jeans and knee-high boots, clothes that weren’t in style when I attended college.
But other than that, they were twins. They really were.
And as the girl walked away, turning the corner at the end of the aisle and leaving my sight, I remained rooted to my spot, my silly little grocery basket dangling from my right hand. The lights above were bright, painfully so, and other shoppers came past with their carts and their kids and their lives. It was close to dinnertime, and people had places to go. Families to feed.
I stood there.
I felt tears rising in my eyes, my vision starting to blur.
She looked so much like Marissa. So much.
And Marissa had been dead for just over twenty years.
* * *
I snapped out of it.
I reached up with my free hand and wiped away the tears.
No one seemed to notice that I was having an emotional moment in the middle of the grocery store, in the dairy aisle. To anyone passing by, I looked like a normal guy. Forty years old. Clean-cut. Professional. I had my problems. I was divorced. My ex-wife didn’t let me see her son from a previous relationship as much as I wanted. He wasn’t my kid, but we’d grown close. My job didn’t pay enough, but who ever felt like they were paid enough?
Like I said, I looked like a regular guy.
I needed to talk to that girl. I started down the aisle, my basket swinging at my side. I figured she had to be a relative of Marissa’s, right? A cousin or something. I turned the corner in the direction she had gone, dodging between my fellow shoppers.
I looked up the next aisle and didn’t see her. Then I went to the next one, the last aisle in the store. At first, I didn’t see her there either. It was crowded, and a family of four—two parents, two kids—blocked my view. One of the kids screamed because her mom wouldn’t buy her the ice cream she wanted.
But then they moved, and I saw the girl. She was halfway up, opening another one of the cooler doors, but not removing anything. She lifted her hand to her mouth again. That gesture. She looked just like Marissa.
I felt the tears again and fought back against them.
I walked up to her. She looked so small. And young. I guessed she was about twenty, probably a student at my alma mater, Eastland University. I felt ridiculous, but I had to ask. I wiped at my eyes again and cleared my t
hroat.
“Excuse me,” I said.
She whipped her head around in my direction. She seemed startled that anyone spoke to her.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
But I really wasn’t. I finally saw her head-on, and the illusion that she looked like Marissa wasn’t shattered. Her forehead was a little wider than Marissa’s. And her chin came to a sharper point. But the spray of freckles, the color and shape of her eyes . . . all of it.
If I believed in ghosts . . .
Ghosts from a happier time in my past . . .
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
The girl just looked at me. Her eyes moved across my body, sizing me up. Taking me in. She looked guarded.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I was wondering if you were related to the Minor family,” I said. “They lived in Hanford, Ohio. It’s been about twenty years since I’ve seen them. I know it’s a long shot—”
The girl had been carrying a box of cereal and a carton of organic milk. When I said the name “Minor,” she let the milk and the cereal go, and they both fell to the floor at my feet. The milk was in a cardboard carton, but the force of it hitting the ground caused a split. Milk started leaking out onto the dirty floor, flowing toward my shoes.
“Careful,” I said.
But the girl took off. She made an abrupt turn on her heel and started walking away briskly, her boots clacking against the linoleum. She didn’t look back. When she reached the far end of the aisle, the end that was closest to the cash registers, she started running.
I took one step in that direction, lifting my hand. I wanted to say something. Apologize. Call her back. Let her know that I hadn’t meant any harm.
But she was gone. Just like Marissa, she was gone.
The family of four, the one with the child screaming for ice cream, came abreast of me. Their child appeared to have calmed down. She clutched a carton of Rocky Road, the tears on her face drying. The father pointed to the mess on the floor, the leaking milk and the cereal.