Another wave was on the horizon, first a bubble of water, rising higher as it got closer, turning cylindrical. This was the one that would bury him.
And right when the wave was about to take him, he was dragged backward. Hands on each shoulder. His heels were now digging in the sand in the opposite direction. He was on his back, on the dry sand, where two burly men in plaid flannel shirts with the sleeves cut off stood above him. One slapped his face.
“You okay? Sir, say something!”
James coughed and turned to his left, blowing the water out of his nose.
“What were you doing out there?” the other man asked. “We were fishing over on the rocks and saw you going under. Didn’t even move your arms when the waves hit you. You okay?”
Jae sat up and placed his forearms over his bent knees. “Yeah. Thanks. I got confused.”
The two men exchanged a glance; the first man thrust a bottle of water into James’s hand and threw a towel over his shoulders. “You’re lucky we saw you. That could’ve gotten ugly real fast. This morning’s riptide is no joke.”
James unscrewed the top of the water bottle and finished it in two long swigs. He rubbed the top of his head with the towel and stood, handing it back to the man who gave it to him. “Thank you.”
“No, keep it man. The wife makes me bring the cheap ones fishing. I think she got it at the dollar store. We won’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” James said. “Thanks for everything.”
“You okay to get out of here?” towel man asked.
James, dripping with ocean, rolled the towel over his shoulders. “Yeah, I’m good. Parked right over there.” He motioned to his right with a quick head nod. “Really, thanks again.”
Back at the car, James was sopping wet and covered with sand. Luckily he always kept a spare set of running clothes in his trunk in case he decided to go on a spur-of-the-moment jog. He dried himself as best he could with the wet towel, then hooked it around his midsection as he disrobed in the parking lot, behind his open door. He didn’t have extra boxers, so he had to free-ball it in his comfy black pants with the white stripe down the side of the leg. He tugged a clean T-shirt over his head, one that he got in college with the name of his favorite bar on the front. He couldn’t part with it. It was a running joke between him and Tessa that he still hung on to it.
She handled it with kid gloves, knowing how much it meant to him.
He grabbed his phone; Evan had texted him that he was at his place, waiting in the kitchen. He knew their garage code and had waited for him at the house before. He’d heard through the grapevine that there was a warrant about to be executed.
Fuck. It was almost five o’clock. How long was he crying at the beach before he went into the water?
There were two cars at the end of the cul-de-sac as he pulled up to his house. A proper police vehicle and a town car. As he approached, all doors opened. Solomon and Garvey got out of the town car and two officers got out of the cruiser.
“Nice day, Montgomery,” Solomon said as James stopped in his driveway and got out to greet them. “Out for a run?” He said it sarcastically, like he hadn’t just made him identify a body hours before. Solomon was practicing psychological warfare on him. He had to know that wasn’t Tessa, but he made him go look anyway.
“Just clearing my head,” he said. Let them think what they wanted.
“Mmm. Well,” Solomon said. “We got an interesting phone call since you left. An anonymous tip, if you will.”
James swallowed, hopeful. “Tessa? Does someone know where she is?”
He scoffed. Angry. His eyes were accusatory. “No, not about Tessa. About Rosita. And you. Someone saw you go into her townhouse late at night. Before she went missing.”
James crinkled his eyes. What was happening? He hadn’t seen Rosita since the morning after Tessa disappeared. “That’s not true.”
“Mmm. Interesting. Especially since we went there on the tip. Found her, too. Shot.”
Someone shot Rosita? “What? Is she okay?”
“No, Mr. Montgomery, she’s not okay.” He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a yellow piece of paper, then slapped it on James’s chest. “We have a warrant to search your house for an illegal firearm.”
“Oh my God. Rosita’s dead?” The color drained from James’s face. “I swear, I had nothing to do with this!”
“Mmm. You swear, huh?” Salty.
Between Jane Doe, Tessa missing, and now a dead coworker with a bullet wound, James was a serial killer in their eyes. He let them in. They wouldn’t find anything, and then maybe they’d get on with looking for his wife’s true whereabouts.
Evan embraced James as soon as he walked in. “You okay, pal?”
James shook his head. “No. They said Rosita is dead. Someone called and said they saw me there. What the fuck is going on, Evan?”
“Jesus.” Evan’s eyes shifted to the cops filing in, evidence bags in hand. “Don’t say anything. No matter what happens, just don’t say anything.”
James’s eyes thanked Evan without a word.
Solomon and Garvey stood watch as the other two officers were joined by a team of agents. James sat at the kitchen table with Evan as they read through the warrant—pretty standard, according to Evan. He reminded James that they could only search places where a gun would fit, which, in reality, could be almost anywhere. They didn’t have a right to look in his computer, and also not in jewelry boxes and other tiny compartments. James could have ten tiny baggies filled with cocaine in a one-inch-by-two-inch box and they wouldn’t be allowed to arrest him. Not that James had any cocaine. He’d never even tried the stuff.
“Can I make you some coffee?” James asked politely. He might as well stay on their good side and not act smug when they didn’t find anything.
Solomon and Garvey looked at each other, and Garvey shrugged, then answered. “Sure. This might take a while.”
James thought it best to stay in the kitchen with Evan anyway. They could tear the place apart. He had nothing to hide. As the percolator bubbled, he sat at the table and opened the paper, trying to act normal. If there was such a thing now that Tessa was missing.
Unlike on TV, no one ransacked his house. They didn’t flip furniture, cut into cushions, or break things. Aside from the subject matter of their presence, they were respectful.
Until the worst happened. A man came down the steps, holding a clear plastic bag marked EVIDENCE. Inside was a revolver. A gun. One that didn’t belong to James.
“What’s that? Where did you get that?” James asked nervously. He’d never seen that gun in his life.
Solomon stepped next to him with a smirk on his face. “Mr. Montgomery, place your hands behind your back please.”
James, wide-eyed, stared at Evan. “What’s going on?”
Evan’s face was blank, registering as much shock as James.
“James Montgomery, you’re under arrest for the murder of Rosita Morales.”
“What?” James screamed as the cuffs clicked tightly around his wrists. “That’s not my gun! You planted that!” James looked at Evan. “Evan. Help. This has nothing to do with me! Where’s my wife?” he shouted.
“I’ll take care of everything,” Evan said. “Don’t say a word.”
Solomon patted him down.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
27
Tessa
I’m on my knees in the laundry room, my face smothered with saliva. “Mommy loves you. Mommy is going to miss you. You’re Mommy’s good girl, aren’t you?”
We adopted a dog last week. She was in the shelter for six months, they said. They named her Candy, and we kept the name when we brought her home. She’s a cattle dog mix, and she took to James and me immediately. She’s already housebroken and knows basic commands, and except for jumping on the couch no matter how many times we say no, she’s a great addition to our li
ttle family.
I swore I’d adopt a dog when I was settled and could care for it properly. The poor dogs I had growing up—well, they were usually my mother’s boyfriends’ dogs—God, they were treated horribly. I saw one of the boyfriends kick the dog once, and it yelped and ran to a corner, tail between its legs, ears pulled back, face full of fear. There was nothing I could do about it then, but there’s something I can do now. James will be lucky if this is the only dog I save, because I would’ve taken every single one in the shelter if it was up to me.
James laughs at my overbearing Mommy act. “She’s fine. We’ll only be gone a few hours.” He places his arm around my shoulders, and we get in the car and head out.
“Are you sure this is okay?” I ask James, again motioning to the chocolate babka in my lap that I got at the bakery in town that afternoon.
He places his hand on my knee in the car and strokes it gently. “Yes, Daffodil. Mr. and Mrs. Soderberg will love it.”
I love when he calls me Daffodil. I mentioned that it was my favorite flower when I used them as centerpieces at Jupiter’s, and he’s been nicknaming me ever since.
Evan invited James and me to dinner with his parents, as they are all excited to meet me for the first time. James mentioned that Evan and a few law school buddies who were still single had gotten a house in the Hamptons for the entire month of June, and he’s been back for a couple weeks, catching up on work, so James hasn’t seen him in a while. Evan was shocked when James sent him our wedding photo with “I’m hitched!” attached to the bottom and set this up for a proper introduction.
“They’re going to love you as much as I do,” James says.
I know how much Evan and his parents mean to James. He’s told me stories about them growing up together, and how they were like second parents to him. Since James’s actual parents are in Florida, I won’t get to meet them until we go down there for Thanksgiving. Afraid of my ID, I told him I had a fear of flying and he agreed to drive, stopping for a night in North Carolina on the way down, and South Carolina on the way home, to break up the weeklong trip.
One day, I’m going to have to tell him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It’s a weird thing to say about my husband, and the love of my life, but… but I’ve only known him seven or eight weeks.
We make a left to a quaint tree-lined street. The lawns are manicured, dogs and small children run under sprinklers, and some properties even have little white picket fences. The Victorian-inspired houses practically rotate colors like a box of Crayolas. One red, the next blue, the next green, the next white. It looks like something straight out of a children’s picture book. We pull into the long driveway of a powder-blue house with white trim. There’s a detached one-car garage at the end and James parks the car.
What a departure from the concrete jungle I called my backyard. A sprinkler in the summer was a leaky pipe. We constantly moved from shitty rental to shittier rental, or occasionally in with whoever my mother was screwing at the time. Most times those were trailers. All of us, mashed in, fighting over a jar of pickles or a bag of dollar-store cheesy poofs or a carton of week-expired milk. Zero supervision, as mom spent her time doing dollar shots or giving dollar blow jobs at the local tavern. Super fun.
James’s arm is around me when he rings the doorbell and a guy around James’s age opens the door. Evan.
“What’s up, man?” he says as the door swings open and they hug. Then he looks at me. “You must be Tessa. I’m Evan. It’s so good to finally meet you. Come on in.”
Evan is tall and lanky, with a hipster beard and thick, dark-rimmed glasses, which are nerdy but not on him. He looks like he teaches interpretive dance at a community college. I know he’s a lawyer because James told me, and I wonder if I should tell Evan about my history, my fake ID, and have him help me fix it all—but I’m not sure that James wants him to know about any of that.
We walk in and Evan embraces me, and I know I’m going to be put on the spot when he says, “Let’s find out everything about the girl who got James married.”
My stomach clenches, and I try not to let my nerves show as I meet Mr. and Mrs. Soderberg, but my hand is shaking as they take mine in theirs and lead me to the kitchen. Mrs. Soderberg’s hair is cut into a bob, silver streaked with black, and she wears an apron around her black T-shirt and bone-colored linen pants. She takes the babka from my hands with a flourish, commenting on how I must’ve known it’s her favorite, and kisses me on the cheek, welcoming me to the family.
Looks-wise, Evan takes after Mr. Soderberg, who is also tall, although less lanky, but he’s also sporting a beard. Less hipster, more old-school. He’s wearing a golf polo with a country club’s logo and golf shorts. Same as Evan. Apparently, they “hit the links” earlier in the day.
In the wallpapered kitchen, there’s a meat and cheese feast on the kitchen counter. Mrs. Soderberg offers me a drink, red or white wine, but I opt to start with a club soda, so I don’t look like a lush. Plus, I don’t want loose lips tonight.
When I reach for a small paper plate, Mrs. Soderberg notices the burn scar on my arm.
“Oh, dear, that looks like it hurt!” she exclaims.
My eyes go wide and my mouth is open and I’m about to say—God, I have no idea what I’m about to say—when James jumps in.
“She spent most of her teens pushing dough in and out of a pizza oven,” he says, winking at me. No, he won’t tell them that my ex threw boiling water on me when I was sixteen. He looks at his best friend. “And guess what, Evan? The place she worked as a teenager was also called Emilio’s. Just like where we used to hang out! Oh, man, Tessa, let Evan tell you the story about when we got there right before it opened that one time, and what we saw through the window. He tells it best.”
And just like that, all eyes are on Evan as he regales them with the story. James gives my other arm a little squeeze. Partners.
It’s a nice feeling, having someone in my corner. Drew didn’t tell his colleagues that someone threw boiling water on me, either. He told them I poured it on myself because I’m clumsy and I couldn’t cook if my life depended on it. Ironically, half the time I did fear my life depended on presenting a hot meal.
Over dinner—chicken parm, one of my favorites—I hear a lot about James as a teenager and college kid, which fascinates me. He played cool instruments—drums and a little guitar, not band-geek instruments like a tuba. He was in honors classes.
They even talk about his brother, Tommy. Tommy was two years older than James, and dated Evan’s twin sister Pamela—Evan’s a twin?—for a few months in high school. When James goes silent, Mr. Soderberg mentions that “it’s a shame they never caught that drunk bastard” so I assume it was a hit-and-run. James looks at me, because he knows I don’t know.
“It was a few months before we graduated,” he says, nodding toward Evan. “Tommy was finishing his sophomore year at Ohio State. He and some friends were heading out to blow off steam after cramming for finals. There was an accident. His friend that was driving lost an arm, but Tommy didn’t make it after surgery. The two guys in the back seat were okay. Said it was a black truck, the kind with those huge wheels. Rammed into the passenger side at double the speed limit after blowing a stop sign. Then sat there for thirty seconds after the crash and took off.”
Very detailed explanation, yes. I take it as James not wanting me to ask questions about it later because it makes him too upset to talk about. His eyes mist over. I’m not sure if changing the subject is insensitive but I don’t want him to feel pain.
Luckily, Mrs. Soderberg mentions that she talked to James’s mother in Florida and she’s so happy that the cancer is gone—something else I don’t know about. But at least everyone is in better spirits, talking about the medical miracle.
James seems to have had enough pain and loss to last a lifetime. I promise myself, right then and there, I’ll make sure he never feels pain again.
For the most part, I get out of the eveni
ng unscathed—every time something came up that James knew I wouldn’t talk about, even with him, he covered for me. Everything from answering about my exes: Come on, a girl’s gotta have her secrets to answering about the town where I grew up: Her high school had the same mascot as us. Remember when our lion backflipped at that pep rally… ? Not only did he trick everyone into thinking they were learning about me, but he also showed at the same time how much we had in common.
Even if it was all a lie. They didn’t know that. But I did have so much in common with James. Just not those things. I didn’t come from a happy home and eat fresh-baked cookies while I did my homework. I didn’t attend pep rallies. I didn’t graduate from high school.
The only thing they know, or Evan knows, anyway, is how James and I really met. The night with Damon, his old roommate. What could’ve happened to me. God, it seems like a lifetime ago.
I wonder what ever happened to Damon Moretti?
28
James
Of all the shitty things that could’ve happened since the moment he arrived home to an empty house the night Tessa disappeared, being arrested for a different murder was the last thing that James expected to happen. And now, there he was, wrists pinned behind his back and perp-walking into the police station. Thankfully, he supposed, they found the gun (whose fucking gun was that?) and arrested him immediately—there was no time for the media to get involved. Although, he had a feeling when, if, he got out of there, the vultures would be waiting to snack on whatever was left of him.
James was led down a hall and into a room, where he had to hand over everything personal to be sealed in a bag and locked away, possibly forever. He was observed as he took off his clothes and fitted with an orange jumpsuit. The administrators took his watch, his wallet, and Jesus, did his heart clench when he slid off his wedding ring. The portly woman behind the counter snatched it up in her fat little hand and threw it into a plastic bag with zero regard for what it was, what it meant to him. Then it was sealed and tossed into a bin, like garbage.
Finding Tessa Page 17