“Mom! Tell Ben to give it!” Rachel yells when Ben runs away with the remote, still fighting for his Toy Story 2. I can’t move.
“Ben, come on.” Collin goes down the hall after him as Ben giggles. I know Collin is trying to be stern, but gentle enough to avoid a fit. Janelle Johnson reappears on the screen.
“At this point we know that there was an anonymous caller who reported that there was some sort of struggle or fight at the residence. We urge whomever it was to get in touch with police. They certainly have more questions for the caller.”
Collin lumbers back over with Ben on his back, blocking my view of the TV a moment. He’s using the threat of losing pizza privileges to ensure Ben’s mood stays positive. Collin grabs the remote and starts to turn the channel.
“No, wait,” I say, louder than intended. Collin stops as demanded and looks at me, then to the TV.
“What’s up?” he says, still out of breath as Ben is jumping on his lap and laughing. The news anchor continues, but there are parts I missed.
“Police are ruling this a homicide. Anyone with information, please call...” But before she rattles off the number, I cover for myself.
“Nothing, just careful, you’re knocking pizza on the floor, Ben.”
“Sorrrry,” he says, hopping playfully back over to his place at the coffee table and taking another slice of pizza as Rachel finally takes control of the remote and switches it over to order the movie.
Collin twists the cap off a beer and settles back onto the couch next to me.
“Did you know there was an all-female remake of this?” he asks me, tucking my feet back under his leg.
“Um, yeah, I think I saw a preview.” My eyes are glazed and my voice is flat. I can’t fall to pieces. I force a smile. “Can I have one of those?” I ask, pointing to his beer.
“’Course.” He hands me his and goes to the kitchen for another. I press the cool, sweating bottle to my neck and breathe deeply. Stay strong, I tell myself. Keep it together.
While everyone is engrossed in the movie, my mind reels. I’m devastated, of course, but I’m terrified for myself. I’m not exactly afraid of being a suspect; I’m afraid that something will link me to Luke that will out my relationship with him and destroy my family. The police won’t know I was there that day, or that I moved things, took his phone. There is absolutely no evidence. Besides, what motive would I have? I go over and over it in my mind, the play-by-play of my time in that house. I can’t think of anything I might have left. They would need to have evidence to arrest me in order to get fingerprints or DNA. It would be there, of course, but there is nothing tying me to the crime, so that can’t happen. It can’t.
Over the following days, I do my best to busy myself with the day-to-day. I embrace it, actually. It’s as if I survived a near-death experience, and each mundane moment now feels precious and invaluable. I spend time on Pinterest searching healthy dinner ideas, and I start to plan meals for the week, making soups in the Crock-Pot and freezing them, testing gluten-free bread recipes and frequenting the local farmers market. I pick four large pumpkins out of the giant boxes in front of the supermarket to carve with the kids. Ben is thrilled as we spread newspaper over the table and scoop out pumpkin guts and bake up the seeds. We put candles in our clumsily carved masterpieces and display them on the stairs in front of the house.
It feels almost normal, but in the afternoons when everyone’s gone, I watch the coverage on Luke, carefully. They just keep replaying the same summary. They don’t seem to have much else. I start to wonder if the only reason they think foul play was involved is because of my stupid phone call. Why the hell did I panic and say I heard a fight? What if it really was just a drunken accident? The dropped phone, a few things out of place—he could have gotten hammered and simply fallen. A single guy, no kids, nowhere to be every morning, why not get tanked just for the hell of it—just because you have good whiskey handy and finished a chapter you were working on. I breathe a slight sigh of relief, knowing that things seem to be at a standstill with whatever investigation they’re doing, and maybe it will prove to be nothing more than bad judgment on his part. I ache at the thought of this. No matter what happened, how it happened, he’s gone. I don’t want to let myself indulge in these thoughts, so I find a quick distraction. I turn off the news and call Lacy. I’ve canceled on her twice since this all happened. I should check in, see if she wants to grab a coffee.
When her voice mail picks up, I leave a message and apologize for the last couple of times I had to cancel, and ask if she wants to grab a drink or coffee after my writing group tonight.
I hang up and look at my phone. I haven’t wanted to face her since I found out about her and Luke. It infuriates me, but rationally, I know it’s not her fault. She has no idea. I’m a happily married woman. I’m the shitty one. She should be angry with me for messing up something that might have been just what she needed to move on from Joe, not the other way around. I have no right to harbor resentment. I wonder how she took the news about Luke. She must know; the whole town knows. I guess if she feels scorned by him, maybe she isn’t torn up over it.
I haven’t been able to name it—this feeling that everything is moving in slight slow motion. Maybe it’s because I am overtly conscious of every moment, I’m not rushing through a task or conversation to get to the next thing, as we all do most of the time. I’m letting myself experience each day, staying in the moment to savor it. Gratitude. That’s what it is. I feel fortunate to have this second chance, to not have lost everything that matters to me, and I’m not taking it for granted.
When I go back to the bookstore for the writing group that night I have nothing to share, I’m not writing anything, but I feel like I need to return to routine and Collin thinks this is something I’ve committed to and love, so I’m going to at least go through the motions right now. I don’t see the group gathered, so I buy a cup of hot chamomile tea at the café and sit on a bench in front of the building to wait for people to arrive. The temperature is dipping down into the sixties in the evening and it’s a welcome relief from the blistering summer heat. I close my eyes against the breeze and push away any rogue thoughts that try to creep in. After twenty minutes, nobody from the group is here, and I wonder if they relocated or something during my time away. I still have Mia’s text, so I message her, asking where everyone is. She calls me right back.
“Hey! Group is canceled again. Sorry nobody told you.”
“Oh, that’s okay. Canceled tonight, or for good?” I ask.
“Well, I don’t know. Jonathan is in the hospital, and frankly, I don’t know if anyone else wants the role of leader, organizer, all the crap that comes with that, so I guess we’ll see if he comes back, but for now we’re on a hiatus.”
“Hospital. Is he okay?”
“I think so. He’s not in the regular hospital, he’s in like a psych ward kinda thing. Steve said he had a nervous breakdown. I don’t even really know what that means exactly, but that’s all they told me.”
“Oh, that’s terrible. I hope he’s okay.”
“Yeah, me too. We’re all gonna see him, bring him a card and stuff when he’s out. Even though he’s a dick, I guess it’s the right thing to do.”
“Right, well, let me know. I’ll send something along.”
“Cool. Anyway, everyone was getting busy anyway with the holidays coming up and stuff. I’m sure we’ll start up again at some point. Maybe we can start our own, make it less shitty.”
“Okay, well, thanks,” I say. “Let me know.”
“Sure. I’ll keep ya posted,” Mia says, and we hang up. I’ve never heard of someone actually having a nervous breakdown in real life, and I wonder what happens to a person to cause such a thing. My phone vibrates in my hand. It’s a text from Lacy. Thank God. I was starting to get worried about her, wondering if she was safe. She says she just noticed my message and she
’s at Rodney’s if I want to stop in. Ugh, I detest that place, but I’m already right here with canceled plans, so I tell her I’ll be there.
It smells as rancid as I remember it from last time, except there are fewer people on a weeknight. Lacy is in a booth in the back corner, flicking a penny in figure skater spins across the tabletop. As I approach her, she smacks the penny with a loud bang to stop it spinning, and the noise startles me.
“Hi there,” I say, trying to appear cheerful, normal. I haven’t seen her since she told me she was sleeping with Luke. The thought makes me want to go throw up.
“Hey.” She appears a little tipsy. It’s two-for-one night, as it turns out, and she has a couple of empty gin and tonics in front of her and two full ones. I see there are scratches on her face, but I don’t say anything. When I sit, she pushes one of the drinks across the table to me.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Did you know Luke Ellison is dead? It’s all over the news.” She doesn’t look up at me. There is a coaster made of flimsy cardboard that she absently cracks into four pieces and sticks to the condensation on the sides of her glass. Her voice has a whimpery tone.
“Yeah. That’s...horrible.”
Then I see that her left foot is sticking out from under the table because it has a brace on it. I look from her ankle to her face. It’s visibly scraped.
“What happened to you?” I can’t believe that she’d gone back to Joe Brooks after everything. And maybe it’s partly my fault because I took Luke away from her. They could have had a fling at least, that might have kept her away from Joe long enough to get past him and move on.
“Oh, nothin’. I fell at work.”
“At the truck stop. You fell?” I ask, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.
“No. I got canned from the truck stop, so I went back to Candy’s,” she says it like it’s no big deal, but her eyes don’t match her words. Candy’s is the strip club. What did Joe do to get her fired? is my first thought. I wonder how often he frequents Candy’s now, to see her.
“Okay,” is all I say, trying not to appear judgmental.
“It’s dark in there, it’s easy to trip,” she says defensively. “It’s just a small fracture.”
I don’t believe her for a second, but I know I can’t react.
“Sorry about your job at the truck stop.”
“Yeah. It’s whatever.” She makes a dismissive gesture, her words loose in her mouth from the alcohol. I push the drink she gave me away subtly. I don’t want it. I don’t want to be here, really. I feel like I’ve betrayed Lacy and I also can’t help her because she doesn’t want me to, and really, do I want to draw any attention to myself at this point even if she did want help?
I stare past the bar, looking at nothing in particular. Just thinking about how to move this along so I can go. It’s not that I don’t like Lacy; I actually really do. But I’m suddenly wondering if being seen with her is a good idea. Now that I think of it, did others see her with Luke? I can’t believe I have never thought about that. If she’s connected to him, and I’m hanging out with her, will they question me too?
I hear the front door of the bar open. I glance over and don’t believe what I see. It’s a cop, in uniform. He walks right to the bar, all business like he needs to ask the bartender or manager something important. Then he looks over at our table and I see who it is. It’s Joe Brooks.
15
HIS FACE BRIGHTENS AND transforms into a wide smile upon seeing me. It dawns on me that he has no idea I know all about him. To him, I’m just Bennett’s mom from baseball, Mel from high school. He walks right over to me. My heart beats in my throat and my head feels tight.
“Mel, hey there. What are you doing here?” he says jovially. Almost too upbeat. I stand to greet him and he gives me a half hug. He sees Lacy right across from me, but says nothing to her. He pretends he doesn’t know her.
“Oh, my Thursday group got canceled, so, ya know, just enjoying a few kid-free hours. What about you?”
“Picking up dinner. Best wings in town.” He still doesn’t even look at her. She’s looking at the table with her head low.
“Oh, I didn’t know that.”
“Yep. You gotta try ’em. How’s Ben doin’?” he asks. Is he trying to punish her in some fucked-up way, or is it a show for me? I decide to introduce her. Maybe it will help because if I act like I don’t know they know one another, he will not suspect she’s told me anything about him. Which of course, is exactly what he wants.
“Good. He’s doin’ great at his new school.”
“Oh, that’s good to hear.”
“I’m so sorry. This is Lacy, by the way. I’m so rude.” I watch his face as it reddens. He does not want to be forced to acknowledge her.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” he lies, nodding to her out of painful obligation.
“Oh, you know each other?” I ask.
“I come here a lot. It’s a small town,” he says, and I remember that she mentioned she waitresses here sometimes. He’s smart. He’s admitting acquaintanceship rather than denying knowing her altogether. I try to reinforce the fact that I don’t know her well—that it’s a chance thing.
“Right, well I don’t get out as much as the single folks, but last time I was here I wasn’t looking and I accidentally bumped into her while she had a full tray of drinks, can you believe that? The whole tray just dumped all over her. Poor thing. I forced her to let me make it up to her and buy her a drink next time I came out.” I give a little laugh to punctuate my story.
“Well, I’m glad you can sneak out and get some time for yourself now and then. You’re the hardest working mom I know.” A waitress comes over and hands him a plastic bag, knotted at the top, with foam to-go boxes inside. “Good to see you, Mel,” he says, and then leaves with his order. He’s good. Smooth. I look at Lacy.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She pulls a few napkins out of the dispenser on the table and wipes her eyes, trying to dab gently around her thick mascara so she doesn’t streak it.
“I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to make sure he didn’t think you told me anything.”
“Don’t worry. He’s positive I won’t tell anyone. He’d never think that. He’s an expert at protecting himself and making everyone think I’m crazy. He knows I learned my lesson the first time...and there’s no use. Telling only gets me in trouble.” Her voice is flat. She twirls a short straw inside her fizzy drink and a tear drops to the table. She pulls out a tiny compact mirror and examines her face. She dabs again around her eyes, sighing, giving up on trying to fix it.
I want to say that I wasn’t worried for myself. Does she think that was a self-motivated move? Maybe it was. I try to erase the last few minutes by handing my card to the waitress and telling her to put all the drinks on me. Lacy’s demeanor changes and she looks at me with wide eyes.
“Thanks!” she says, and I try to keep the look of pity out of my eyes as I watch her, bruised and battered, sucking down alcohol at record speed to numb herself, longing for another life. I don’t know what it is about her. I guess I see this person just under the surface that was bound for greater things once, like myself. Obligation keeps her here, away from the excitement and opportunity, culture and variety a city could offer. A city full of life, shifting and pulsing, not sedating, like the anesthetic of this sleepy town. I buy her a last round before making an excuse to go home.
* * *
I need to keep it together. It’s the night of the big Halloween party at the community center where everyone takes their kids to hit piñatas for their candy instead of trick-or-treating. It’s been tradition ever since the media scared everyone with stories of poison and needles showing up in the candy. With a crime like this happening in our safe town, I would be surprised if we see one kid on the streets trick-or-treating.
Over the las
t few years the tradition went from being just for the young kids to quite the community event. There’s a costume contest, a dance for the older kids and cash bar for the adults. I know I’ll see all of the neighborhood moms. Gillian and Karen will use it as an excuse to dress like “slutty cats,” wearing corsets and headbands with cat ears attached. The last thing I feel like doing is pretending to celebrate while overhearing whispers about the murder, but I need to keep a normal routine. I usually volunteer on the cleanup committee and help with decorations, and I haven’t called to offer my time this year, so I certainly have to at least show up.
I stand in the living room with Ben, who is wiggling in his costume as I try to sew on a couple of the last details. Collin has fed Claire tonight, and I hear him put her plate in the dishwasher and come into the living room. He sits and flips channels.
“You look great, sport,” he says to Ben. Rachel surprises me when she comes in with a Rosie the Riveter costume.
“Wow, look at you.” I smile, impressed.
“Cool, Rach. Who are you supposed to be?” Collin says, and Rachel and I roll our eyes at one another.
“Dad.”
“What? Lucille Ball?” he says, genuinely thinking he nailed it.
“Who?” Rachel asks.
“I think you need some red lipstick with that outfit,” I interrupt.
“Really?” she asks, excited. I take the sewing pin out of my mouth and hold Ben’s hem taut, nodding in the direction of our room.
“In my top drawer,” I say, and she runs to find it. I find adults dressing up for Halloween obnoxious and I’m glad Collin has no interest either. He smiles at me and shrugs, admitting he truly doesn’t understand her costume. He flips to the local news. The meteorologist says there will be scattered showers later in the evening, and then the face of an impossibly thin woman with a nest of strawberry hair that seems to swallow her up appears on the screen. In the corner, the name “Georgia Bouvier” appears, along with the word “witness” underneath it. When she speaks, her words are barely understandable through her thick drawl.
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