by Greg Walker
And so by that waterfall, in such a serene setting so far removed from the violence past and that yet to come, Jon told her everything. He started with ninth grade, so she could understand the context and then what had happened on the camping trip, leaving nothing out. When he had finished, he had no better handle on how she might ultimately deal with it, but he felt that he had set down a tremendous weight, or at least eased it by allowing someone else share the burden.
“What do we do, Jon?” she finally said. The spray from the falls had soaked them both, and he noticed that Erin shivered in the sixty degree air temperature combined with the moisture pasting her clothing to her skin. He heard the “we” in her question, understood its significance, and stepped forward to embrace her. He wanted nothing more than to protect her from all of this, knew now he would die rather than let Brody harm her, but did not know if he had the strength or the resources or stamina to do it. But he would try, if it came to that. She opened her arms to accept him and they stood that way for a time, together in a way they had never been even in the beginning of the marriage, and even the threat of whatever might come could not change this, at least.
Erin Albridge peeled off her wet clothing in the bathroom of their cottage, quickly changed and rubbed a towel over her wet hair to absorb the worst of it. She looked at herself in the mirror, not knowing what the version looking back should express, didn’t think any mirror had the capacity for it; so happy and so terrified all at once. And angry, that this should be visited on them. Jon had tried to downplay Will’s responsibility, but she didn’t have their shared experience to color her perceptions. The bastard had put her husband in an impossible situation and by extension Erin, too. She wasn’t convinced that leaving the police out of it was the best option. Perhaps the authorities could protect them, if they failed to apprehend this Brody Stape, put them in the witness protection program or...something. But beyond the threat of harm, Jon had been adamant about the pictures, had described Will’s expression lit-up and preserved by the little in-camera flash, could easily believe them genuine if they accurately captured the moment he had witnessed. If he hadn’t known better. And the police and a jury wouldn’t know any better, would accept them at face value and the tale they told.
Jon thought they should wait, and see exactly what Brody planned, and decide from there. He insisted he wouldn’t kill anyone else, would draw a line and refuse to cross it. But she didn’t know about that, not a perception of weakness towards her husband, but in that situation who could say what they might do under threat of pain and death, results Brody seemed more than willing and able to deliver. And there was a whole lot of bad that could be done before reaching that point, anyway. It frightened her that someone like Brody walked among them, a fact she supposed she had always known, but easy to ignore by turning off the news or folding up a newspaper when confronted with it. Or it was, until it came to visit her personally.
But the flip side of all of this, the bizarre benefit of a rekindled - not even that really, but an actual - romance with her husband, she couldn’t deny. If Will hadn’t invited Brody to the campground, no doubt she would be sitting in front of the television right now to numb her boredom and Jon would be in the bedroom reading or watching a program of his own, killing time to get up and do it again tomorrow.
Erin had never been a romantic. She had outgrown the Prince Charming Syndrome long before her peers, never expected a man to sweep her off her feet and therefore avoided the heartbreak of being used and abandoned like too many friends and co-workers. She knew she gained some of her perspective and defenses from her mother, who doted over her dad until he one day declared his independence and took off. Her mother had never remarried, and despite being careful to shield Erin from her personal pain and disappointment, a significant dose seeped out to inoculate her daughter from unrealistic expectations, yet not enough to turn her against men in general.
Erin hadn't needed a man when she met Jon, but the fact that he didn't want children and didn't demand too much from her earned him second and third dates, and eventually her hand in marriage. No whirlwind romance, no fancy proposal, and no expectation of roses and candlelit dinners every evening before earth-shattering events between the sheets. And that suited her. She knew she wasn't Julia Roberts and Jon certainly wasn't Richard Gere.
She had made it clear when accepting the ring that she needed her space; he gave it, an easy going man without much ambition, but dependable if not somewhat distant. She had considered herself happy, or happy enough, her life none too exciting but a steady and unremarkable course arriving without fanfare at middle age. They got along well enough, had fun in bed sometimes though less over the years, and she never felt suffocated. She went out with friends, kept up with her favorite shows, and enjoyed a relaxing bubble bath when the mood struck her. And she remained married, more than many could claim, taking their failures into a fresh relationship and soon muddying those waters with the same dreams and ridiculous expectations never realized.
So when Jon had touched her that night after returning from his yearly camping trip with Will, a man she had never met, her initial response had been to deny him. The insistence of his hands had in one gesture threatened all that she had carefully cultivated and maintained. And close on its heels, she realized - not in words or even in a fully formed thought - that she had been slowly dying, suffocating within her own set boundaries. Startled out of her complacency, she had given in to him.
He had come home from work early the next day, her day off from the office, and they had spent the afternoon in the bedroom again before going out to dinner. She didn't understand the change in him, or her response to it. Her personal alarm system had sent out warnings all day but she ignored them: allowed herself this pleasure, assumed it would end, that whatever energy Jon needed to burn off would run its course and in a week's time they would hardly remember this little burst of spontaneity. But she realized, while lying awake at night while Jon slept, that she didn't want that. She knew they couldn't sustain this level of intimacy or excitement, but they could do more, build something better. But she had to do her part, even considered that if she failed to keep up, Jon might decide to find someone else that could fly at his new altitude and leave her behind. She suggested the trip to the Poconos, and he readily agreed.
When he wanted to talk by the waterfall, her heart had filled with dread, fearing that he had gambled away their house at some Indian reservation casino or gotten fired, that all of this had been a ruse to butter her up before he dropped a bomb. The anger that had sparked under these imagined scenarios gave way to a stunned silence. Not in a million years, or that number squared, could she have imagined what came next. Like he was describing the outrageous plot of a movie he and Will had seen, and not her type of film at all. She kept trying to picture her husband in the role he had played and failed. Not Jon. Jon had never even raised his voice to her, and now he had killed a man and robbed a convenience store at gunpoint. And despite the sheer wrongness of it, she couldn't help but get a little turned on by the thought of her husband as something of a badass. If he had told her the truth, and she believed he had, the man he had shot deserved what he got. And he hadn't hurt the kid behind the counter, but she did feel sorry for him.
Whatever happened after this, Erin had committed to see it through with Jon. She had said "we" and hadn't once doubted it since. This was their life, to make of it what they would, not Brody Stape's. That they hadn't seized the opportunity in the years squandered was to their shame and regret if they chose to wallow in it, but she didn't see the point. And while they couldn't control everything, they weren't helpless either. Somehow, if they worked at the problem together, they might find a way out, or at least survive. The person she now seemed to be should have surprised her, perhaps, but she realized that this Erin Albridge had always existed, perhaps just needed a kick in the pants to get going, and better late than never. She was excited but afraid, too. She wasn’t used to letting anyone
in, even her husband; knew that by opening herself up to Jon, she opened herself up to the hurt she had witnessed on her mother’s face and in her slumped shoulders, and in the sobs she heard behind a closed bedroom door. But the alternative, the safe life she had lived up until now, might not kill with as much pain, but a slow suffocation held absolutely no appeal.
Erin went out into the living room where Jon sat in a chair by the window, staring out towards the forest that ensconced the grounds. She followed his gaze to a flock of wild turkeys at the edge of the clearing, the toms strutting their stuff to a gaggle of females that pretended not to notice. He reached out and took her hand, and for a few minutes they watched the spectacle together. She wished they could have found this without being pushed into it by murder and mayhem, but they had to work with what they had. Wishing it away wouldn't help.
"I don't know how this all ends up, Jon. But I want you to know that I'm with you. We'll do this together."
He got up and approached her, and put his head on her shoulder and soon started to sob. She walked him to the couch and sat with him, allowing the pain to flow into her, until tears ran down her face too. An hour passed before he finally lifted his head and smiled at her. He appeared exhausted, but his face held a peace she hadn't seen before and she smiled back, realizing she loved this man and had never given him credit for simply being decent.
They dressed and went to a restaurant for dinner, small and family-owned with simple furnishings and wonderful food. Several small children shared the dining room with them, and a harried mom and dad did their best to keep an especially spunky boy of about five from stabbing his sister with his fork. Erin hardly noticed. Usually she avoided establishments frequented by anyone younger than twenty-five. She felt like they had finally taken their honeymoon, despite traveling to South Carolina and renting a house on the beach after their wedding ceremony. But they couldn't forget their circumstances entirely.
"I think you should send a letter to that clerk and apologize for what you did."
Jon froze, his hamburger halfway to his mouth and looked at her.
“Um…so I just walk in there and say ‘sorry for robbing your store’ and expect to walk back out?”
“No, you write a letter and send it there, anonymously. We do it from here, so any trace back to the postmark will take them five-hundred miles from where we live.”
Jon began to answer, but she held up her hand, not finished yet.
“And then, we put cash in an envelope, the amount you stole, and send it to the corporate office.”
Jon appeared interested but dubious.
“What about fingerprints? I think they might be able to pull them off of money.”
Erin thought for a moment, and said, “I think we could run it through the washing machine. I’ve found bills in your pockets I don’t know how many times and they’re fine. Or get some baby wipes and wipe them off, then use latex gloves to put them in the envelope.”
Jon looked at her, his doubt melting away and then he smiled, taking the interrupted bite of his sandwich and then nodding yes while chewing.
“We can’t change what happened, but we don’t have to let that psycho dictate everything either.”
“And I suppose then we can go and put flowers on Chris’ grave.”
“Shhh. Not so loud. I don’t think there’s any way to make up for that one, but I don’t think, under the circumstances without the lies and pictures, any court would convict you for saving that Amish boy. I’m so proud of you, Jon.”
“Wasn’t just me. Will played a big part in that. I don’t know if it would have gone that far without him.”
Erin frowned, irritated that he still tried to cast Will in a better light than he deserved. “Yes, but he had a gun, for what good it did him once he pulled it out. And you didn’t know that. You went because it was the right thing to do.”
“Maybe. I’m not a hero, Erin. Don’t want to be. I was terrified when we walked across that campground. Like crossing Omaha Beach, is what it seemed like.”
“But that’s the thing. You did it even though you were terrified. Not a big deal if you’re the Terminator. But you’re not. You’re just Jon Albridge and as Jon Albridge you decided to do what needed to be done. I’m proud of you no matter what you say. And…I love you, Jon Albridge.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had told him that.
“I love you too, Erin."
He held her eyes, and they smiled at each other. Erin felt giddy and almost foolish. But not quite. She had denied herself too long.
Jon said, "So, let’s finish up and go find the address for that store. Thank you. I like the thought of taking it back, at least as far as I can. And maybe after the next thing, we can do the same…”
He trailed off, and Erin saw a cloud pass over his face, knew that as the deed had yet to be named, so also the consequences could only be guessed at. If they couldn’t find a way to stop it, she just prayed that Brody Stape was a smart as he seemed to be, and would make good on his promise to release them afterwards. Not "them" meaning Jon and Will, but her and Jon, because as long as Brody held any sway over her husband it extended to her, and she was in whether Stape liked it or not. She would root for the home team out of necessity, even help if it came to that, but after this perverse season ended…she didn’t know what came next. She had never hurt anyone in her life beyond pulling hair during recess. But if it came down to her husband or this bully, she thought she could go as far as required.
Chapter 17
Brody had spent the night in his own house, depressed by the faded wallpaper he could still see in its vibrancy when put up, and the photos of his mom and dad that he hated looking at, but couldn’t bear to take down. They had been good to him, early on encouraged him to go out for Little League and participate with the other kids in games of hide and seek and tag. When he had struck his coach with a bat after being benched, and dominated the other children into doing his bidding, his father had sat him down and given him a series of stern lectures. Brody had nodded and tried to look appropriately shamed, but inside he hadn’t much cared. He didn’t feel sorry at all, had hit the man because he had favored his own son, a boy with less physical strength and skills, over Brody to play second base. And if the other kids were weak and cried for their mothers, that wasn’t his fault. His parents still tried to maintain order over the years: met with the principal so many times as to be on a first name basis, disciplined him with chores around the house and threats of groundings and lost privileges.
But they were out of their depth, lacked the iron will installed in him at conception, and slowly relinquished control until Brody did what he wanted, whenever he wanted. He drank and smoked in the house at the age of fifteen, even brought a girl home and took her to his room, parading between his parents and the television en route, Sharon wearing her short red skirt that revealed more than it covered. He lost respect for them even though he supposed somewhere deep inside he wanted them to step up and take charge. He would have fought them, sure, but authority was only as good as its ability to flex its muscle and they failed the test on every level. But he didn’t go in for that pyschobabble shit, didn’t care what labels a shrink would slap on him, doubted there was enough room in a notepad to contain them all. Just another tool of the weak to try and marginalize the strong that threatened what they called society. Things had played out how they’d played out, he had won, and except for being set up by Marcus and doing the time, the law had never even come close to catching him. Without the act of a traitor, Brody would hold a perfect record and in his mind still did. And the man that had dared to cross him had now been divided into bite-sized morsels digesting inside the bellies of scavenging catfish.
Brody had considered God on occasion, and had formed no opinion either way as to His existence, believing it ultimately irrelevant in light of the evidence; either God didn’t have the power to stop him and others that did “evil”, or he didn’t care. And so Brody chose his own path and i
f called to account one day, he preferred to burn for those choices rather than live forever in thrall to someone that forced him to resist against everything instilled in his being. His parents had been casual churchgoers, but even their sparse attendance had declined due to the shame of having such a wild and uncontrollable son.
But despite all of this, he still couldn’t take down the pictures.
He had bummed around the house after getting up, considering his future, wondering how he would go about financing the rest of his life and kicking some ideas around. He could find a crew to help, some hand-picked men that he trusted or could test to determine their worth and come up with a new plan. Perhaps even those two that had come with Marcus but left alone. He felt better after deciding to drop Jon and Will from the payroll, but also held some regret; had really wanted to see how it all turned out. The weekend had been so much fun. But Brody was not a fool, and believed that any party with Will on the ticket meant trouble. If he ignored his gut on that, then he would only have himself to blame for what happened later.