This Heart of Mine

by C. C. Hunter

  I realize it’s about the cars he’s selling. When I was sick, Matt met about eight people at the police station’s safety zone to show the cars and give test drives. All of them tried to talk him down on the money. He refused to sell them. I wonder if the reason is really the money. Or is it the fact that the cars belonged to his dad and brother.

  “Okay.” Matt squeezes my hand. “Call me when you make up your mind.”

  I look up at him when he hangs up. “And?”

  “It’s the guy from Houston. He wants to see Dad’s car again—the third time. Just to make sure he’s not paying too much. The car’s got less than a thousand miles on it.”

  “Are you supposed to call Detective Henderson today, or is he calling you?”

  “He said he’d call me. But if I haven’t heard from him by four today, I’m calling him.”

  I reach over and hug him.

  “I’m okay,” he says, sensing my concern.

  “Yeah,” I say, but I know he’s not. He’s holding his breath to hear from Detective Henderson. Waiting for closure and justice for Eric.

  * * *

  Since Matt’s mother is working, after school we go to his house to free Lady from her kennel and study. All three of us end up in Matt’s bed. An hour later, we are just getting to studying when the doorbell rings.

  Matt jumps up and puts his shirt on. I make sure my clothes are on right and follow him to the door, not wanting to get caught in his bedroom.

  I sit on the sofa with our books, and Matt opens the door.

  “You know something?” Matt says, and I look up and see the man at the door.

  I realize it’s Detective Henderson.

  “Can I come in?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” Matt swings open the door. “I was about to call you.”

  The detective looks at me. “I’m Leah,” I say.

  “Nice to meet you.” He walks in and sits in one of the chairs and then glances back at Matt as if suggesting he do the same. That’s when I know he doesn’t have good news. I feel it. It’s as if a dark cloud followed him inside.

  My stomach knots, and I move the books to the coffee table. Matt sits next to me. I can see from the way he drops that he suspects the same thing I do.

  “What do you know?” he asks.

  The detective exhales. “Jayden Soprano didn’t do this, Matt.”

  “Just because he said it! You believe him? What do you expect, for him to admit it?” Matt shoots up; his posture screams pain. My chest aches.

  “No.” The detective’s voice is calm, direct, but still somehow caring. “He wasn’t in town. He and his stepmom had gotten into a big argument and he went to New York to stay with his mom. I spoke to the mom; she confirms everything. He even got a speeding ticket on his bike the day Eric was shot.”

  Matt stands there, his fists tight. His spine tighter. He looks beaten, abandoned, alone.

  But he’s not. I’m here. I go to stand beside him. I try to slip my hand in his, but he won’t take it.

  “Eric did not kill himself!” he says to the detective.

  Detective Henderson stands up. “I feel terrible having given you false hope. I really thought…”

  “It’s not false!” Matt says.

  “Matt, I know you believe that. And hell, maybe he didn’t, son, but there’s not one thread of evidence that says that. And it’s going to eat you alive. You promised you’d let it go.”

  When the detective leaves, Matt’s torn up. I try to talk him into taking Lady for a walk, but he won’t do it.

  When I try to hug him, he pulls away and says he wants to be alone. I start to argue, but remember times when I was sick in the hospital and asked my parents to leave. Most of the time, they wouldn’t do it. And I needed it.

  So I squeeze his hand and I leave him.

  But I don’t stop hurting for him. I call him that night, but he doesn’t answer. A few minutes later, he texts me, Just need time.

  * * *

  “Are you okay?” his mom asks.

  Matt looks up and sees his mom standing in Eric’s doorway. After Leah left, he forced himself to come in here. He’s not even sure why. He needs to be as close to Eric as he can be. And in here there’s not one spot in the room where he can’t see him. Sitting at his desk doing his homework, laying in the bed playing his Gameboy or tossing a football up and catching it.

  His mom walks in and sits beside him on the bed.

  “You’re early,” he says.

  “Detective Henderson called me.”

  “I can’t accept it, Mom.”

  She puts an arm around him. He hears his own sobs before he knows he’s crying. She hugs him tighter.

  He pulls himself together and sits up. “Eric knew what this would do to us.”

  “Son, I don’t want to believe it either. I swear I don’t, but…” She takes a deep breath. “Right after your father died, I got to this mental place. It was so dark, Matt. So dark I lost connection to who I was. To the fact that I had you two boys to care for.”

  “But you didn’t kill yourself.”

  She hugs him again, and he hears her breathe in. “I thought about it. And I’m sorry for that.”

  Matt stares at her. She speaks up again. “I hope to God you never get that depressed, but having been there, I understand how Eric could have done what he did.”

  * * *

  Today’s Friday. The past few days have been status quo. We met up after school and either went to his house or mine. I can tell Matt’s working on accepting things, but he’s still hurting. I can feel it when I touch him, when he touches me. When I look into his eyes. What he’s feeling is so raw and deep I can’t soothe him.

  Matt and I have a date tonight. But he has another appointment to show his brother’s car and probably won’t come over until around eight. I know even selling the car is going to be hard on him.

  As I’m driving home, my stomach growls, my mouth waters, and I realize I barely ate my lunch. Suddenly I know what I’m craving. I drive past my neighborhood and head to Desai Diner for butter chicken.

  I get seated in a back table and the same waiter, Ojar, comes over. I’m pretty sure he’s the owner. “The usual?” he asks.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I pull out a book from my purse and read while I wait for my dinner. The food arrives, and I eat and read, losing myself in a story about a girl dating a guy who finds out he has cancer. It’s sad, but I’m compelled to keep reading. I’m not sure if it’s really that the book’s good. It could be more the subject—dying—that is so relatable that it has me sucked in.

  A few chapters in, emotion floods my chest. It’s so strong that I stop reading. Maybe I’m not ready to read this.

  I sit there and chase my chicken around my plate but don’t eat any more. I drink my water, leave money on top of my bill, and go to leave. I’m almost out the door when I realize that the emotion wasn’t coming from the book.

  Sitting alone at the other side of the restaurant is Cassie. Considering I haven’t felt this or had dreams in almost three weeks, I thought I was finished feeling Eric. Then I can’t help wondering if it was Eric who brought me here now.

  I watch as Ojar delivers Cassie’s food. He walks off. She’s looking down at her food and doesn’t see me—which is a good thing since she probably already thinks Matt and I are stalking her. I start to walk off but everything inside me says it’s wrong.

  No, not everything. My heart says it’s wrong. Eric says it’s wrong.

  Well, shit. How much time will I get for first-offense stalking? I walk up to the table.

  She looks up. I start to introduce myself, but then her eyes widen. “Oh, great. Now you’re following me too.”

  “No. I was here before you. But since we’re both here now—”

  “Just leave, okay. And stay away from Jayden. He told me what you did.”

  I swallow. My better judgment says I should go, and I try to: I turn, but I can’t. Something inside won’t l
et me.

  I swing around and sit down on the other side of the booth.

  “What is it you want?” she asks.

  “Eric loved you. He still loves you,” I say, because I think he wants me to say it.

  She wasn’t expecting that and falls back against the booth. “That’s why it hurts so much.” She looks around. “I’ve just now got to where I’m able to come back here. We came here all the time. This was his favorite restaurant.”

  “I know.”

  She sits her fork down. I see she ordered the butter chicken.

  “You’re eating Eric’s favorite dish,” I say.

  She studies me. “Are you the girl he dated when we broke up?”

  “No.” I’m the girl who’s got his heart. “I’m dating Matt, but … I feel as if I know Eric, because Matt’s always talking about him.”

  “They were close. Sometimes I was even jealous of their relationship. He loved me, but he loved Matt more.” She fiddles with the napkin. Her eyes are tearing up.

  I see her pain. I feel her pain. Cassie didn’t do anything to hurt Eric. But, like Matt, I suddenly think she knows something.

  I hesitate. “You told Matt that Jayden wasn’t the one who Eric was pissed at. Who was he angry at?”

  She looks up, then down. Refusing to answer.

  I don’t stop. I feel it more than ever. Cassie holds the key to unraveling what happened to Eric. “Do you really believe Eric pulled that trigger?”

  Her shoulders tighten. She bats a few tears off her cheeks. “The cops said he did. It was his dad’s gun.”

  “But do you believe it? Matt can’t, and like you said, they were close. Wouldn’t someone that close to Eric know if he was desperate enough to take his life? Wouldn’t you know? Don’t you think there’d be some signs? Did you see those signs?”

  She looks away and starts shaking her head. “He was upset and…”

  “About what?” When she doesn’t answer, I continue. “Matt says Eric couldn’t have done that. He wasn’t depressed. He wasn’t going through a crisis—not one Matt knows about, anyway. What was going on that we don’t know about?”

  She looks down at her plate. Contemplating. Thinking. She almost looks as if she’s praying. I don’t know what she’s doing, but my gut says to let her be.

  She finally glances up but appears dazed, lost in remembering something unpleasant. Tears collect in her eyes again. “I don’t want to believe it.”

  “Believe what?”

  She swipes her tears off. “If you and Matt are right, then it’s my fault.”

  My breath catches. “What’s your fault?”

  She stares down at her plate. “I told him. I should never have told him.”

  “Told him what?”

  “I didn’t have proof. But you know these things. You know them with your heart. But I still shouldn’t have … Eric was trying to fix it.”

  “Fix what?” She doesn’t hear me.

  She closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath that sounds like pain and regret. “Matt’s right. Eric wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have left Matt or his mom. Or me. He cared too much.” Her voice shakes. “That means it’s really my fault. It would have been my fault either way, but this is worse.”

  “What?” I lean in, wanting her to look at me, to see me. To respond to my questions. To make sense of her ramblings.

  She doesn’t answer. “I have to go.” She gets up, grabs her keys on the table, and rushes out.

  “Wait,” I say, but she’s out the door. Without paying for her meal. Without even getting her purse. The waiter looks over as if worried. I pull money from my wallet, grab both our purses, and run after her. She’s driving off. I wave my arms, holding out her purse, but it’s too late. She’s driving out into traffic.

  36

  I head home with Cassie’s purse. Freaking great. Will someone accuse me of stealing it? My mind’s racing. My chest feels heavy. Do I tell Matt this? Or was Cassie talking out of her head? Did I honestly learn anything?

  I get to my subdivision turnoff, but I can’t just go home. I did learn something.

  Turning around, I head downtown. I pull into the police department parking lot.

  I have to ask around for the right office. I finally get sent to the second building. I walk up to the desk clerk.

  “Is Detective Henderson available?”

  The receptionists looks up. “Name?”

  “Leah McKenzie. I’m here about the Kenner case.”

  The woman hesitates and stares at me.

  “I won’t take much time.”

  She picks up the phone. “Detective, a Leah McKenzie is here to see you.” Pause. “Yes.” She looks up. “Okay.”

  I don’t think he’s going to see me. She stands up. “Follow me.”

  She waves me into an office. Detective Henderson is sitting there. He looks up at me about the same way I used to look at needle-carrying nurses walking into my hospital room at four in the morning.

  “Have a seat.” I can tell he’s trying to control his tone, but I still hear it. He doesn’t want to talk to me.

  I ease into a chair, lift up my chin, and remember my parents’ taxes pay his salary. At least that’s what my dad says. “Have you spoken with Cassie Chambers?”

  He frowns. “Several times.”

  “Well, I just saw her a few minutes ago.”

  He shakes his head. “I thought I made this clear. You guys leave her alone.”

  “I was at a restaurant. She came in. I wasn’t following her.”

  He leans back in his chair and it squeaks. He’s still shaking his head.

  “She said something to Matt that he didn’t tell you. She said Jayden wasn’t the one who Eric was pissed at. She wouldn’t explain what she meant, but today when I asked her she admitted she didn’t believe Eric killed himself. She knows something. And I know she’s this close to spilling her guts. If you could talk to her.”

  He runs a hand over his mouth. “Leah, I’m sorry. I spoke to her Wednesday. Her stepfather brought her in. She swears she doesn’t know anything. She swears she didn’t see Eric that night. I can’t keep investigating a closed case.”

  He puts his hand on the pile of manila folders. “I wish I could help. You have no idea how much I wanted to prove Matt right. But it didn’t play out. I have other cases.”

  I suddenly feel what Matt’s been feeling this whole time. The answer is there and if the cops would just do their damn job they’d find it.

  I know with all my heart—no, I know with Eric’s heart—that he didn’t kill himself, but no one’s going to listen. No one’s going to do a damn thing about it.

  I pop up on frustrated and shaky knees. “I have Cassie’s purse.”

  “What? Why do you have her purse?”

  “She left it at the restaurant.”

  “Great! They’ll accuse you of stealing.”

  “I didn’t steal it!” I shoot out the door.

  He calls my name, but I don’t give a damn.

  I’m still fuming when I get home. Storming into my bedroom, I toss my backpack and the two purses onto the bed. But I stand there. “What happened, Eric? Just tell me, already! Help Matt. He needs to move past this. Help him!”

  I drop back on the bed. I see my notebook. The notebook where I wrote the dreams.

  I pull it out and start reading. There’s nothing there. Nothing to help. Then I turn to the last page. It’s written in messy handwriting. It’s the last dream I had.

  I remember that was the day I woke up with a fever. I start reading. There’s not a lot of detail, but then I read, big oak tree, twin pines.

  And bam, I remember seeing the bullet going into the pine tree. I stand there. Shit shit shit! Maybe Eric did tell me something.

  I grab my purse and keys. Run out to the garage and find the metal detector. If that bullet’s still there, I’ll find it.

  * * *

  Matt, driving Eric’s Subaru, pulls into the police departm
ent parking lot and heads to the side lot where the exchange zone is. Damn, he doesn’t want to sell the car, but his mom’s right. Eric would approve of his doing it to pay for the restoration of the Mustang. He also wants to go buy the locket for Leah.

  He parks in the designated spot. Thinks about seeing her tonight. Lately, he’s been in such a piss-poor mood that he’s surprised she even wants to go out with him. He needs to move past this. He recalls the promise he made to Detective Henderson. He’s going to keep that promise. He’s going to let it go. He just doesn’t know how yet. He can stop digging for answers, but he’s not sure his heart knows how to let go.

  He scrubs a hand over his face. A lump forms in his throat. Then he forces himself to push it away and looks around for the black Chevy truck Mr. Barker said he’d be driving.

  Right then, a cop car squeals to a stop right behind Eric’s Subaru.

  Matt watches, thinking something is about to go down, but then an officer—no, not just any officer, but a large angry-looking Officer Yates—jumps out. He storms toward the driver’s side of Eric’s car.

  “Hands up where I can see them!” Officer Yates orders.

  Matt raises his hands. He looks over his shoulder, and the man has his gun out. Fuck!

  “Now, get out of the car! Keep your hands up.”

  Matt complies with his every order, because, damn it, he doesn’t want to get shot.

  The moment he’s out, Yates rushes in and slams him against Eric’s car.

  “Now you’re following me? I’ll admit it, you got balls, kid!”

  “I wasn’t—”

  He grabs Matt’s arm and pulls it tight. Matt holds in a groan.

  “I’m here to meet someone about selling this car,” he says through clenched teeth.

  “Don’t lie to me!” Yates barks out.

  “I’m not!”

  Another police car pulls up. “Gotta problem, Yates?” Matt looks back at the two officers getting out of their car.

  “Just a kid who thinks following a police officer around is funny.”

  “I wasn’t following you. I told you: I’m selling a car.” Matt looks back at the other officers standing beside their cars. He speaks to them, because he doesn’t think Yates will listen. “Detective Henderson told me I could come here to meet up with potential buyers. Ask him! Call him.”