by Laurel Dewey
“The hell I don’t know her!” Jane said abruptly.
“She’s nice!”
“Is that so?” Jane replied sarcastically.
“Yeah, that’s so! Emily turned away from Jane. “She just . . .” Emily said quietly, “she just wanted to know if I was okay, that’s all.”
Jane smelled a rat. “That’s all, huh?” she responded, not buying one word of Emily’s earnest statement.
Without realizing it, Emily looked down and to the left as she nervously licked her lips. “Yeah. That’s all.”
Jane saw the telltale signs of a lie. As much as she wanted to verbally force the truth out of Emily, she knew she couldn’t. Jane suddenly felt like an outsider and hated it. “Fine. Come on! We’re getting out of here!”
“We can’t leave yet!”
“I said in and out of here in two hours or less!”
“We’ve been here less than an hour! We can’t leave before we help with the cherries or it’ll look weird!”
“I don’t give a shit what it looks like!”
Emily approached Jane with a stern look. “Well, I do.” She brushed past Jane with a petulant step. Jane reached out to grab her arm, but Emily moved too quickly.
“Emily!” Jane said irritated, under her breath. “Goddamnit!”
Emily trod with purpose across the grass and into the house. Jane went after her. However, once Jane rounded the corner of Kent’s workshop, she slowed her pace in order to not draw attention. She caught up with Emily inside the house, just as the child was handed a huge bowl of fresh cherries by one of the women. Jane started to move toward Emily but stopped the minute she saw Kathy. She knew that if she pulled Emily away from the women, Kathy’s case against her would be wrapped up.
“Patty, darling,” Kathy said, a tinge of nervousness in her voice. “How ’bout if you hold that bowl while P.J. scoops out the cherries into the machine.”
Emily looked up at P.J., a fleshy woman who was dressed in an aqua pant suit and jaunty matching baseball cap. “What does P.J. stand for?” Emily asked quietly.
“Peggy Josephine,” P.J. said with a halfhearted smile on her face as she eagerly dug the cherries out of the bowl using two hands. “You can just imagine how that name went over with the kids in school. So, I decided to become just P.J.!”
Emily held the bowl steady, as P.J. continued to unearth more cherries and transfer them to the pitting machine. “I have a friend named A.J.—” Emily offered.
“Take it easy with those cherries, P.J.!” Kathy instructed with a smile. “There’s already a bunch of them bruised and leaking at the bottom of that bowl!”
Emily stole a glance through the crowd of women at Jane. Jane, in turn, regarded her with steely eyes, still smarting from their backyard confrontation. Kathy didn’t miss Emily’s glance, nor Jane’s irate facial reaction. As P.J. got down to the bottom of the ceramic bowl, she shoved her chubby hands into the cherries and screwed her face into a disagreeable expression. “Oh, Kathy! I see what you mean. We got ourselves a passel of bruised cherries at the bottom of this bowl!” P.J. withdrew both her hands from the bowl and revealed them to the group. Her skin was stained red from the cherry juice and dripping with red pulp. “How do you like that, girls?” she said with a chuckle.
The group of women chortled as they continued chatting amongst themselves. Not one of them noticed Emily’s reaction. No one, except for Jane.
Emily’s eyes fixated on P.J.’s hands. Her eyes followed one drop of scarlet juice as it traveled down P.J.’s wrist and disappeared under her sleeve, leaving a moist stain on the material. Her glance drifted down to the near-empty bowl filled with remnants of bruised cherries, floating in several cups of crimson juice. Everything went into slow motion. The women’s voices were muffled; Emily focused on the bloodred cherry juice sloshing against the bottom of the bowl. Without realizing it, she tipped the ceramic bowl, causing a stream of scarlet juice to pour onto the floor. The small puddle encircled her shoes. Her heart pounded wildly, her throat tightened and her eyes filled with sheer terror. Suddenly, a piercing scream cut through Emily’s memory. She quickly let go of the bowl as it crashed to the floor, smashing into hundreds of tiny pieces.
The sound of the breaking shards jolted Emily back into reality. For the first time, the dark memory held on just long enough for the sharp scream to linger amidst the din of female voices in the kitchen. The child looked around, not yet certain of where her body began and ended. She gazed down at the shattered bowl and then urgently looked for Jane. Once she spotted her, she pushed through the pack of women and grabbed her as if she were a lifeline. As she clutched Jane’s shirt and buried her head against Jane’s belly, she half-whispered in a terrified tone, “I’m sorry.”
Jane gently held her hand against Emily’s trembling head, knowing that every prying eye was pinned on her. It was the epitome of a rock and a hard place and she knew it. Jane looked over at Kathy, who was obviously disturbed by Emily’s reaction.
“It’s okay, honey,” Kathy said, calling over to Emily. “It’s just a silly bowl.”
Emily kept her head buried against Jane. “Can I help clean it up?” Jane offered.
“No!” Kathy asserted. “It’s not a big deal, Anne. These kind of things happen all the time! Kids can’t help themselves!” Kathy’s voice was bordering on desperate.
“I know, Kathy,” Jane said, trying her best to not look upset. She patted Emily’s head and bent forward. “Let’s go.”
Emily kept a tight hold on Jane as the two walked outside and got into their car. The child was still confused and embarrassed as Jane buckled her into the seat belt and stuck the key in the ignition. Jane looked up at the front living room window and found Kathy staring back at her. “Shit,” Jane whispered. She put the car in gear and drove onto the county road. Once she was out of sight of the house, she pulled the car over, leaving the motor running. “You okay?” she said quietly.
Emily leaned her head against the passenger window. “I don’t know.”
“Did you . . .” Jane stopped, hating every second of this. “Did you remember anything back there?”
“Almost.” Emily turned to Jane, hoping for an answer. “It was just a bowl of cherries and some juice!”
Jane stared out the front window. She knew exactly why the cherries triggered Emily’s memory of the crime scene. But the devil himself could not force her to reveal the blood-soaked connection. Jane felt helpless. Then she glanced into her rear vision mirror. Kathy was standing on the county road, several feet from her circle driveway. Jane realized that she was waiting for Jane to make a move toward Emily so she could report it to Sheriff George. Jane wanted to bolt from the car and rip her a new one. But, instead, she clenched her jaw, put the car in gear and drove toward home.
Twilight fell over Strong’s Mesa as Jane wound the Subaru around the dirt road that eventually emptied into Peachville’s Main Street. Not a word was spoken between Jane and Emily as they slowly crept down the main drag. The stores were closed for the day, leaving a seeming ghost town to occupy the darkness. Jane rolled the Subaru to a four-way stop sign and didn’t move. That uneasy, choking sensation she’d felt for the last few days was replaced with a disturbing dull ache in her gut.
She looked at Emily. Her head was propped against the window as she half dozed. The child’s palm lay flat against the glass, slightly twitching. Jane could see Emily’s eyeballs erratically moving side to side, engaged in an obvious dream. “Don’t,” Emily murmured, under her breath. Jane waited and watched. Emily’s hand twitched again before reaching out into the air as if she were trying to grasp at something. “Don’t let go,” she whispered. Jane looked on helplessly, not sure what to do. Seconds passed and Emily’s body relaxed, falling deeper into sleep.
Don’t let go, Jane thought. Probably a nightmare from when Emily hung off her bedroom roof, Jane determined. But then again, Jane mused, Emily told her she remained silent so the perp wouldn’t know she was there. So, wh
om was Emily talking to? Jane finally shook off the cop suspicion, chalking it up to the destructive power of nightmares.
She turned her attention to the street and rolled down the window. The crickets issued back and forth inflections to each other. In the distance, the coal train stood in place as the chug-chug-chug reverberated throughout the valley. A summer breeze, slightly cool and wet, swept through the car bringing with it the smell of dried grass mixed with engine oil that puddled on the asphalt. The air was heavy, primed to release a hard summer rainstorm.
And Jane waited. Within the silence, there was something both profound and forbidding. She started to tap the accelerator when she felt her beeper vibrate. Jane pressed the play button and heard Weyler’s voice. It sounded different. There was a dour intonation.
“Jane. It’s me. When you can get to a phone, please give me a call at my house.” Weyler said before hanging up.
Jane looked over at Emily. The child had fallen asleep. An acrid odor blew from the east as she drove down Main Street and up onto the highway. Her heart raced. Turning left, she headed south to The Pit Stop and parked in front of the outside telephone. As Jane dialed Weyler’s private number, she debated what tone suited her best for the conversation. But before she could decide, he answered.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. I got your page.” Jane suddenly felt sick. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Jane,” Weyler said, his voice slightly breaking.
“Why are you sorry?” Jane asked, wincing. The coal train chugged closer.
“I don’t know any other way to say this. Jane . . . Your father died.”
The world hung in suspension for Jane. She gazed into the distance. A rush of heat raced down her spine, followed by an icy chill. The coal train approached on the tracks across the street. Jane stood still as the clamor of steel and metal ground against each other and screamed into the dark, summer sky. Within a couple minutes, the train passed and all fell silent again.
“It happened around three o’clock this afternoon,” Weyler continued. “Apparently he’d experienced minor discomfort in his chest and told the nurse about it. By the time she called the doctor and returned it was over. He didn’t struggle. No suffering.”
“No suffering?” Jane repeated, halfway outside of her body.
“None. Your brother called me. He’s already been over there and he saw your dad before they took him to the mortuary—”
Jane came back to life. “Oh, Jesus! Mike can’t handle that!”
“He sounded okay on the phone—”
“I should have been there for him,” Jane whispered.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know . . .” Jane said, her mind drifting far away.
“This is a mess. But I can’t have you come back here now. I’m sorry—”
“I have to talk to Mike,” Jane said urgently.
“I know you do. It goes against policy, but the Department will understand. Please keep the conversation short and do nothing to reveal your location. Has your brother got Caller ID on his phone?”
“No. And even if he did, who the hell is he gonna tell?”
“You never know. There can’t be any slips.”
Jane buried her head in her hand. “There won’t be any slips!”
“I’m not accusing you of being inept. Please don’t take it that way. We’ve just discovered some possible internal problems downstairs—”
“What internal problems? With this case?”
“No. Nothing to do with your case. Don’t worry about it. I’ve just got to try and keep a cap on it. I don’t need any slipups in your direction when you talk to your brother that could put the Lawrence case in jeopardy.”
“Are we done here?” Jane’s patience was wearing thin.
“Yes. You take care, Jane. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah. Bye.” Jane hung up the receiver just long enough to plop another series of quarters into the pay phone and dial Mike’s number. The phone rang several times before someone picked up.
“Hello?” It was Lisa’s voice on the other end of the line.
Jane was befuddled. “I’m looking for Mike—”
“Jane? It’s me. Lisa.”
Jane felt a prickle of anger. “Lisa?”
“I’m so sorry about your father, Jane. Mike’s sitting right here. Hold on.”
“Janie?” Mike said, taking the phone.
“Oh, God, Mike. I should have been there for you—”
“No, no. I understand. It’s okay.” His voice was choked with emotion.
“No, it’s not!” Jane buried her head against the cold metal of the pay phone.
“Janie, please. I’m tellin’ you. It’s really okay. You got a job to do—”
Jane caught an underlying tone in her brother’s voice; there was strength in his inflections that she’d never heard before. “Shit. I can’t believe he’s really dead.”
“I know. I figured he’d never die.”
“Yeah.”
“When I saw him . . . Lisa and I went over there and, ah, we went into his room. He was lying there with no tubes or nothin’. He looked peaceful. For the first time, Janie, I wasn’t afraid of him.” Mike broke down. “I talked to him. I told him that I forgave him for everything and that I hoped he’d find peace.”
Jane couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What the fuck?” Jane’s voice rose. Unbeknownst to Jane, Emily woke up and watched her.
“It was an important step for me, Janie,” Mike said, gaining control.
“Step?”
“We talked about it at the meeting last week. If you can forgive those who hurt you, you can begin to find peace.”
Without realizing it, Jane rubbed her finger against her scar. “Jesus Christ, Mike! You can’t forgive someone like that!”
“Yes. You can. You have to.”
“No! God won’t forgive him and neither will I!”
“I don’t wanna fight with you, Janie. Look, Lisa’s here. I’m gonna be fine.” He paused briefly. “You get the message about that guy trying to break into your house?”
“Yes,” Jane said subdued.
“Okay. I’m glad we could talk. You be safe wherever you are.” Mike hung up.
“Mike?” The sound of a dial tone droned. Jane stood stunned and then hung up the receiver. A few drops of fat raindrops fell on her face as she stared at the telephone. Within seconds, the clouds broke open and a torrent of rain poured from the sky. Jane closed her eyes and bent her head backward. Pellets of water bounced off her face and saturated her hair. She felt someone take her hand and rest their head against her body.
“Hey,” Jane said, looking down at Emily, “get back in the car.”
“You come, too,” Emily stated, sensing something was very wrong.
“Get outta the rain, Emily!” Emily didn’t move. “Go on,” Jane said.
Emily reluctantly headed back to the car. Through the rain swept front window, Emily watched as Jane walked into The Pit Stop and stood at the counter, pointing at an object behind the cashier. The cashier placed a bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Jane passed him the money. He bagged the liquor, handed it to Jane and she exited the store. Emily cautiously regarded Jane as she got into the car, stuffed the bag between her legs and stuck the key into the ignition.
Emily fastened her seat belt. “What happened on the phone?” she quietly asked.
“My dad died,” Jane replied, her eyes fixated on the bag of booze.
Emily was stunned. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Jane said brusquely as she backed out of The Pit Stop and sped down the highway away from Peachville.
Emily held tightly onto the chest strap of the seat belt as Jane shifted gears. The two-lane highway was pitch black and blanketed with puddles of rainwater. Jane reached into the bag and brought out the Jack Daniels, tossing the paper sack into the back seat. Emily quietly watched, her heart beating like crazy.
> Jane drove another several hundred feet and slammed her hand hard against the dashboard. “Fuck it!” she screamed as she crossed over the center yellow line and brought the Subaru to a skidding stop on the left side of the road between two large trees. She turned off the engine and flung the keys onto the dashboard. With the headlights on, she got out of the car, Jack Daniels in hand, and slammed the door shut. Emily watched as Jane twisted off the top of the bottle and pitched it across the road. “Fuck you, you son-of-a-bitch! Fuck you!” Jane screamed into the darkness. Standing in the blinding glare of the headlights, she drank a hefty gulp of whiskey. Shaking off the bitter taste, she winced as the whiskey burned her throat. “You fucking go to hell!” she screamed, thrusting the bottle into the cloud-dappled night sky. She took another significant swig, allowing the booze to drip down her chin and onto her blouse. After another sip, she began to choke and cough. Swallowing hard, Jane fought her body’s reaction to the whiskey, drawing the bottle back to her lips. But before she could take another mouthful, her gut cramped and she doubled over onto the hood of the car. The more she struggled to control herself, the more her body kicked back. “Goddamnit!” Jane screamed as she hurled the bottle against the nearby tree, sending it into a million glass chards. She fell to her knees, planting herself in the muddy soil and vomited. Once there was nothing left in her stomach, she dry heaved for several minutes.
Emily opened her car door. Sloping her way through the mud, she made her way to the front of the Subaru. She knelt down next to Jane and draped her arm around her shoulder. “Put your arm around me. I’ll help you back to the car.”
Jane’s face was inches from the wet ground. Her head spun as the fight drained out of her. “Just let me be.”
“You can’t sit here in the mud. Come on. I’ll help you up.”
“Please, Emily,” Jane urged, “just leave me alone.” Emily leaned her head against Jane’s shoulder and gazed off toward the road. Suddenly, she saw the high beams of a car flash against the tall trees as it crested over the far hill behind them. She turned and was greeted with a flash of red and blue light spinning atop the car. Emily turned back to Jane. “We’re in trouble.”