No One Knows

by J. T. Ellison

  They added up. Pages and pages and pages. She printed them out and kept them all in boxes, coded by year, one through five. There were hundreds. Details of her life without him, of what he was missing. Of what she missed about him.

  She knew the words to all the communiqués. One of her favorite pastimes was opening the boxes and reading through them. Sometimes it was a good exercise, a measurable gauge that she was moving on, getting by. Other readings would devastate her for days. She could conjure them in her mind as if she had the photocopies sitting in front of her, and often ran them through her head while she jogged. There was a section of letters she didn’t like to revisit, from the time before she found the physical outlet, but the rest she had memorized. It was obsessive, yes, but it helped her cope.

  She stroked the carved initials on the tree. She could almost fit her pinkie finger into the edges of the heart.

  The sad segments of her life: Before, During, After—seven, seventeen, and five. Happiness, bliss even, replaced by shock and isolation and fear. Aubrey knew the exact moment when Before turned into During. And when During became After. When the blur began to focus, and she woke, half a woman.

  She fingered the scar on her lip and pulled her cell phone from inside her running shirt’s zipper pocket. It was an outdated iPhone, no longer manufactured, but she didn’t want to get a new one because it had the text messages she’d sent Josh the night he’d disappeared. The police had given it back to her when the trial ended; they had no use for it.

  The last text was at 11:59 p.m. the day of Sulman’s party. That’s how she knew the exact moment her life changed forever. A little gray screen with a green bubble that read You are the best husband EVAH! with a string of x’s and o’s, four of each, followed by quieter, more desperate messages as the night progressed, culminating with Josh, we can’t find you. We’re going to the house. Arlo wants to call the police. Please, please call me.

  She didn’t have the heart to delete the texts.

  He was dead. She knew he was dead. It was wishful thinking that he could be alive somewhere. Hurt, forgotten, unable to return . . . that was fantasyland, a fantasy Aubrey discarded when the police slapped the cuffs on her and threw her in jail, and she stood before the judge, all alone.

  But she could still dream.

  Unhealthy as it was, she could conjure Josh at will: the smooth skin of his forearm, the feel of his hands across her neck. The way he smiled at her, without reservation, always happy, always willing. The way he teased, and the way he loved. She’d been with him for so many years that she didn’t really remember the time before, when she had a mother and a father to tuck her in at night.

  A college kid in a black-and-gold Vanderbilt ball cap ran by, stared at her crying by the tree. She could see the hitch in his step as he decided whether to stop and see if she was okay. She gave him a little shake of her head, and he jogged on toward campus, clearly relieved.

  You’re getting maudlin, Aubrey. Best get going.

  As she ran back toward the house, with Josh’s face and the words that tied her to him fresh in her mind, she realized she hadn’t written him last night. It was the first time in years she’d skipped the ritual.

  She kicked up the pace a notch. Something was wrong with her. First she’d forgotten to put on her ring. Then she’d met a man, brought him home, and slept with him. Now she’d forsaken the one ritual that had given her a lifeline back to the real world.

  Maybe she’d just been waiting, in suspended animation, for the official ruling of death. Maybe her subconscious was doing its level best to protect her, to keep her from harm, and it somehow knew there had finally been a last line written in the book of Josh and Aubrey.

  She struggled against the rising tide of fear and relief that coursed through her brain. For five years the thought of Josh had been an open wound, one that Aubrey touched nearly every day, ripping off the meager scab so she could feel the pain fresh and anew. Yet somehow, some way, when Daisy gave her the letter, things had suddenly felt different.

  It’s you who are different, Aubrey. You’ve finally come to terms with his loss.

  The realization hit her hard. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All she knew was she needed to say good-bye properly. It was time. It was finally time.

  The sun was just beginning to slide toward the horizon. She propelled herself back to the house, to her haven, her refuge. She’d sweated out all the booze and bad feelings, was left with the euphoria she always felt when she finished a run. It was a high—no different than the one she got from the consumption of alcohol or the ingestion of drugs, just comprised of natural endorphins instead of chemical ones—and her mood was suitably lightened.

  She put Winston out in the backyard, then mounted the stairs to her office. That was a rather grand term for the room; it was a large closet she’d converted, just big enough for a small desk, a chair, and a computer. No storage, no shelves. Very minimalist. But it served its purpose: it was a sanctuary for her thoughts to run free.

  With a deep breath, she pulled up her email and hit Compose.

  The blank square popped up. She stared at the empty subject line. Normally she didn’t bother with a subject—these were pro forma emails—but she felt compelled to type a single word into this one:

  Good-bye.

  Dear Josh,

  It is official. The letter has come from the state, and the judge on your case has declared you dead. Your mother took it well, as you can imagine. She will now fight to get the money from your estate, and honestly, I am fine with that. She needs that sense of control, of possession, and if it makes her feel better, so be it. You know money has never been important to me.

  But something has happened to me as well. As if that letter unshackled me, and I didn’t know I’d been chained to the floor with metal and locks.

  Do you remember the first time I went away? The morning after we’d lost our virginity? Your mother came home and caught us naked in the living room and called the police? They came to Sandy’s house to arrest me for breaking and entering, trespassing, the works. When they put the cuffs on my wrists, I felt like an animal in a cage, one whose sole purpose was entertainment. They laughed at me when I freaked out. I will never forget that—the sun rising in the background, being in the back of the car, Tyler banging on the window to have them let me out, Sandy standing on the porch, so disappointed, with the ring in her hand to give to them, and I got claustrophobic in the hot backseat and started to hyperventilate. I thought my heart was going to break out of my chest. A full-blown panic attack. And they just laughed, pulled away from the curb, and told me to shut up. And they ended up shipping me to that place . . .

  Josh, that’s how I’ve felt every day since you disappeared. I’ve been in a cage, panicked, desperate to find you, to figure out what happened. And suddenly, when the letter came, a peace filled me. The responsibility was taken from me. Someone else had made the decision for me.

  You will always be my first and best love. I wouldn’t have survived my childhood if you hadn’t reached out to me, loved me, made me yours. But now it is time for me to say good-bye. To move forward with my life. To try and have the life you wanted for me. Without you by my side, it will not mean as much. But I’m going to try, Josh. I’m going to try.

  I love you, darling. I always will.

  Aubrey

  She was sobbing as she typed in her name and hit Send. Before she could change her mind, she hit Print, exported the Send folder and wiped the email account clean. She went to Gmail, created a new account, and sent out a message from her old Yahoo account with her new email address. She closed the Yahoo account, sent them a follow-up email requesting that the account be disabled, and repeated the process with Josh’s address.

  She logged out of the computer, deleted the bookmark, and breathed out a huge sigh. The tears stopped. She wiped her eyes and sat back in her chair.


  She should have closed his email much sooner than this. That last tangible link to him, to his world, had been keeping her from seeing her future. She had finally, finally done the right thing. It was time to move on.

  Aubrey suddenly found she was hungry. She decided to call Meghan and ask her to meet at Sam’s. They could have some food, some drinks, a laugh or two. They could talk about Chase, and what he might hold in store for her. They would talk about everything, everything but Aubrey’s dead husband.

  CHAPTER 16

  Meghan didn’t answer her phone, so Aubrey satisfied her burning desire to start over with a cup of chamomile tea, hopeful that she’d done the right thing. She was already starting to feel the small edges of regret, those lingering emotions that derailed her so often.

  Don’t fret, Aubrey. You’re making strides, literally.

  She finished her tea and was just heading up the stairs to take a shower when the phone rang.

  She didn’t recognize the number, so she let it go to the answering machine. A moment later, a man’s voice spilled into the kitchen.

  “Hi, uh, Aubrey? This is Chase.”

  She didn’t allow herself to think, instead about-faced and picked up the receiver.

  “Hi.”

  “Oh, you’re home.” He sounded much relieved, and she smiled. She’d forgotten what this kind of awkwardness was like. She’d only experienced it once before, when Josh suddenly realized he was in love with his best friend and became a shy, stammering, blushing fool for exactly one week before he finally got up his nerve to ask Aubrey out on a date. Their first official date.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and told Josh, firmly, to go away.

  “You’re still there, right?” Chase asked.

  “Yes, I am. Sorry. How are you? How was your trip home? I hope everything is good in Chicago. Is the weather nice?”

  Aubrey, you sound like a schoolmarm.

  “Chicago is rather lonely, actually.” His voiced dropped, became warm and conspiratorial. “It would have been much better if I’d stuck around.”

  She felt an answering pull in her gut and realized that she was smiling. “I’m afraid I was a little drunk last night.”

  “I know. It was charming.”

  “Gracious of you. I hardly imagine that’s true, but there it is. Thank you for . . .”

  For what? For getting her shit-faced and taking advantage of her? For helping her move on, something she’d never have had the courage to do on her own? For leaving her alone to grapple with her emotions?

  It hit her, that’s exactly what he’d done. He hadn’t abandoned her this morning. He’d given her some space to come to terms with what happened.

  Oh.

  “Just . . . thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for taking my call. I don’t normally— Well, none of this is normal for me. I’d really like to see you again, Aubrey. Last night, yesterday, today . . . I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  Her heart beat a rapid tattoo inside her chest, a sudden rush of adrenaline that signaled something abnormal, something unique, something different. It flooded her body, and she felt tingly all over. It was almost as if, with Chase’s words, the band of invisible metal around her heart had sprung loose, and she could suddenly see, hear, and feel again. She took a breath for courage.

  “I’d like to see you again, too,” she whispered.

  “I’m so happy to hear that.” She could practically see the edges of his brown eyes crinkling, like they had last night, when she memorized the movement. “I can come back to Nashville tomorrow. Catch the first flight out of O’Hare so we can spend Sunday together. Are you busy? Maybe we could go to the movies? If you like that sort of thing.”

  “I do. I can’t remember the last time I went to one, though.”

  “Then we need to rectify that. You pick. I’m game for anything.”

  Josh had never been game for anything. He had distinct ideas of what he wanted to see. Action, thrillers, and war movies, mostly. He hated chick flicks, or romantic comedies, or anything that involved period costumes. She’d always gone along with his decisions because, honestly, she didn’t really care. She could watch her movies when he was at school, the long hours away she’d need to fill with something. But it was nice to have a choice.

  Stop it, Aubrey. You can’t move forward if you measure each piece of the man against a ghost.

  She glanced at the clock. It was nearly six. Twelve hours suddenly seemed too long to wait. What was she going to do with herself?

  “Do you want me to pick you up?” she asked. Oh, God, now he was going to think she was desperate.

  He laughed instead. “It’s okay. I can get a car. I’ll come straight over, all right? We can make a day of it.”

  “All right. See you tomorrow.” Unsure of what to do next, she hung up. The air in her kitchen seemed full and happy, pregnant with possibility. He wanted to see her again. He hadn’t just used her for sex and disappeared.

  She mounted the stairs with a spring in her step. The shower felt good, all her earlier aches and grumbles gone. She had a date with a man she couldn’t stop thinking about.

  It was disloyal, certainly. But it had been five years. She’d been in her widow’s weeds the entire time. Surely Josh would understand. Surely he would want her to be happy. She hadn’t planned this at all, hadn’t even thought to start dating again. But there was something about Chase that made her want to throw caution to the wind.

  Hair combed out and sweats on, she went outside to join Winston for a play date in the backyard, frolicking in the grass. He caught her mood and capered like a puppy, all legs and barks and rolling silliness. They were both in high spirits when they came back in the house.

  She fixed a quick Lean Cuisine for dinner, and as the microwave irradiated her meal, she remembered Tyler’s warning and finally allowed herself to think about what her foster brother had said.

  Josh, not the man she’d thought he was. Involved with bad people.

  Rivers of goose bumps slithered their way across her body. Damn Tyler. Couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? Did he have to come and throw this in her face again?

  She didn’t want to relive any of it, especially the days when she was so scared every noise made her jump, and she couldn’t sleep for fear that whoever had harmed Josh was coming for her, too.

  The familiar panic began, racing through her chest.

  She needed a distraction.

  She stalked from the kitchen to the living room. Ran her fingers along the bookshelf, touching the spines of her favorite novels. No, reading would take too much energy. TV, then. She sat on the couch and flipped through the stations, but nothing caught her eye.

  She poured a glass of wine.

  And another.

  Could Tyler know what really happened?

  She picked up her phone and dialed his number, hoping it was still in service. Hoping he’d be coherent. It was a risk, at this hour, especially if he’d used the money she gave him.

  He answered on the first ring, voice clear and lucid.

  “Hey, sis. I thought you were pissed at me?”

  “I am. Were you just mouthing off, or did you really hear something about Josh?”

  CHAPTER 17

  Chase

  Chase clicked off his cell phone and felt vaguely uneasy. He was good at fabrication. He was a writer. Embellishment was his forte. But he was doing more than adding in a few flourishes to make the ends come together neatly.

  He was staying at the Sheraton on Union, only a couple of blocks off the main strip. The room was anonymously nice: fourteenth floor, a corner king with large glass windows overlooking the small downtown area called South Broadway, SoBro, and the well-lit bridges over the Cumberland River that led to East Nashville.

  He had
omitted that little detail when he talked to Aubrey. She was under the impression he’d gone home to Chicago and was coming back, and he’d done nothing to dispel that assumption. There was no way for her to check on him; all he had to do was show up at her house at the right time in a new set of clothes, and she’d believe. She’d told him she didn’t go downtown much; he felt confident he wouldn’t run into her by accident.

  She’d been pretty bombed, anyway, the first time. They’d gotten back to her house and were going at it hot and heavy when he stopped, worried she might be one of those who have next-day second thoughts, but she’d urged him on, and he asked if it was okay to go all the way, and she said yes, that’s what she wanted. She was wasted, but still together enough that he didn’t feel she wasn’t serious, and it had been rather amazing, screwing in her kitchen. She wanted to fuck, and she wanted to talk. About her dead husband, about the trial. And she wanted to fuck again, so he took her to her bedroom and laid her down on the soft sheets, but she didn’t want it gentle, and the dog watched mournfully from the corner as she rode him.

  He got turned on again just thinking about it. She was an athlete, had the grace and unconscious security that came with being in good shape, and the liquor had killed whatever other lingering inhibitions she might normally carry around. If he were honest, it was the best sex he’d ever had.

  He wanted to go back and do it again. He wanted to feel her lips on him, that hair tickling his thighs, driving him mad, those strong legs urging him on. Wanted to run his hands all over her body. Wanted.

  Now that he was in, so to speak, in the most personal way possible, he didn’t want to mess it up.

  He found a table at the hotel bar and ordered a beer. His mind kept drifting back to Aubrey. She was prettier than he’d imagined. The mug shots and court photos didn’t do her justice. She’d looked scared and lost and hopeless. Now she was strong and resilient, her skin glowed, and he couldn’t help remembering running his hand along her strong, taut leg. She’d given herself to him unreservedly last night, sparking a passion in him he’d never felt before with any woman.