A Time to Speak

by Riley Scott

  Shaking her head, she put the truck in gear. Her hands still trembled as she drove, but she turned up the music with renewed intensity.

  Tomorrow would bring another day, complete with new challenges. It always did.

  As she pulled into her driveway, she wanted to look around the corner for the red sports car, but averted her eyes. No good would come from not seeing it where she wanted it to be. Steeling herself, she got out of her truck and straightened her shoulders, proudly walking up to her house.

  Even in a day filled with so much strife, she still had this.

  She took just a moment to look at it. This was hers in all its glory. The beautiful home and land she had purchased from the fruits of her labor. She might not have someone willing to stand up and affirm their love for her, but at least she was a damn good worker who was making it in the world.

  A nice bubble bath and one more beer would do the trick. Then she’d be good as new for tomorrow’s events. She threw open the door and thought again that it might be time to get a dog so she had some steady companionship around here.

  She moved to turn on the light, but stopped her hand midair. Something was off. Nothing looked out of place. But the lighting was dim in her living room. Her heart hammered as it had in the parking lot. Her pistol was in her bedroom. But this was Knell. There was nothing to fear.

  She shut the door and flipped on the light. Turning around, she jumped as she heard footsteps to the left in the kitchen.

  “Amelia,” she called out, hope soaring with the possibility.

  “Guess again,” a deep voice called out. Her blood went cold. Shivers flew across her body. She raced toward her bedroom to grab her pistol.

  Chapter Three

  Her alarm wouldn’t go off for another hour and it was still dark out, but she couldn’t sleep. Amelia sighed and stretched her arms over her head.

  She hadn’t needed any additional help waking up today. After tossing and turning all night and having tortured dreams in the few moments of sleep in between, her eyes had been wide open for hours.

  Every time she had tried to close them, she had seen Chloe’s face. That sweet face with the eyes that burned with passion, whether it was passion to get a job done or passion to hold Amelia tight. She had reflected on the way Chloe’s eyes darkened right before her impending orgasm and how they lightened in the tender moments of an embrace that always followed.

  More than the visuals though, she had heard Chloe’s words clinking around in her brain all night, rattling her head like an old-school pinball machine. Chloe had been right. Eventually, when she was able to swallow her pride, she might just let Chloe know. As it was, Amelia wasn’t sure she could undo the damage that had been done—or if she even wanted to.

  Amelia rubbed her temples, hoping to ease the headache caused by lack of sleep, as well as the cloudiness of confusion. She was pretty certain Chloe wasn’t the one for her, but she was special and someone who had deserved more than harshness. More than that though, Chloe was a different case. With years of experience in how to navigate the world as an openly gay person in their small community, Chloe was always going to expect too much, too soon from Amelia.

  Amelia’s heart pounded. Her head hurt. She wanted to crawl under the covers and cry. But it was too hot for that, and it was close enough to the time she should be getting out of bed. With a sigh, she forced her feet to the ground. It would be better to face the day head on than to sulk in the shadows of her shortcomings.

  Stretching her neck from side to side, she heard her phone buzz and glanced to the side table.

  I love you, Amy, her dad had written. Be safe today PLEASE.

  She smiled at his nickname for her, wishing for the millionth time she had more people address her that way. But she didn’t understand his text, or why it had come in so early. She shook her head and re-read the words. Deciding that he had probably heard something strange on the news again, she typed out a quick reply letting him know she loved him and she was always safe. When he didn’t respond immediately, she put her phone in her purse and busied herself getting ready for the day.

  When it was finally time to go to work, she was grateful. No longer wanting to be home alone with her thoughts, she headed to open the shop. Driving through town, she eyed her daily scenery with skepticism. In a town this size, there was never much traffic. But to say that it was a ghost town this morning would have been an understatement, especially in a place full of early risers. Roads typically dotted with a car here and there were empty. Houses where people had often gathered for coffee on the front porch appeared abandoned.

  She heard the beep of someone locking their car door and perked up even more. No one locked their cars in Knell. She craned her neck to see what was happening and made eye contact with Jane, the owner of the local art shop. Instead of a normal wave and a nod, Jane’s eyes widened and she scurried into her shop, as though she had been violated. This wasn’t normal. Pulling over to the side of the road, she stopped her car. Whatever was going on around here, it was eerie. Fumbling through the cluttered mess of receipts, gum wrappers and more, she finally fished her phone out of her purse.

  Seven text messages and two phone calls. Her heart raced as she opened up the text messages: Just wanted to make sure you had heard…

  As she read the first one, her blood ran cold. Dropping the phone in her lap, her head fell onto the steering wheel. She brought her trembling hands up to cover her mouth, but it did little to muffle the scream that escaped her lips.

  Even to her ears, the sound came across as foreign. It was nothing more than a shriek, nothing short of sheer trauma and shock. The tears she had held at bay all night came gushing out with force. Her body shook with violent sobs as she rocked back and forth in the driver’s seat of her car. Around her, a small crowd had gathered. She looked up and saw the faces of a family she knew—the Nelson family. Claude and Tammy Nelson stood outside her door, coaxing her to open it, but she couldn’t comply if she wanted to. Looking past them, her vision went blurry. She laid down across her front seat, willing them to leave her alone, willing the world to return to the kinder, simpler place she had known just hours before.

  Unsure of how long she had been in her car, she righted herself, only to find her tribe of concerned citizens still waiting patiently outside of her car. She turned the key and rolled down the window, wondering how she would explain her outburst. No one even knew the depths of what she was feeling.

  “Are you okay, ma’am?” Claude asked, leaning down to look into her window. “Do you need to come in for a glass of water and maybe rest a bit?”

  “No. Thank you so much, Claude. I didn’t mean to worry you and Tammy. I’m sorry. I just had a bit of a panic attack I suppose.” She tried her best to make an intelligible statement, given the fact that they had just witnessed the most epic meltdown of her life, and that she still felt as though she might faint at any moment.

  “Don’t apologize,” Tammy said, stepping up to the window as well. “Now, I don’t want you behind the wheel and I’m pretty sure your folks would agree with me.”

  Amelia wanted to protest, to remind them that she was a grown woman. But what she had displayed made that feel like an untrue statement. She was hurting. She was wounded. She should probably take them up on their offer.

  Nodding, she opened her car door and tried to stand. Her knees were weak and she was grateful when Claude reached out a steadying hand. She let him lead her up the steps into their home, as the others who had gathered dissipated and went back to their morning routines.

  After accepting a glass of water from Tammy, she forced herself to breathe as normally as possible, even though it seemed as if the world had collapsed beneath her feet.

  “A little shaken up by last night’s events, I take it?” Tammy asked, after giving Amelia a moment to collect herself.

  “I just found out,” she said, wanting to keep the conversation as minimal as possible.

  “I think it shook us all
up. That Stanton girl was certainly one of a kind, and she was different—but she was one of us. She was a Knell girl and she was never mean to a soul. I think this whole place is a little upside down today. Nothing quite like this has ever happened here before.”

  She continued talking, but Amelia couldn’t process anything else. Chloe was different. It was something they all noted. But that didn’t mean she deserved to be killed. Chloe Stanton, the woman with whom she had shared so many moments—intimate, fun, adventurous, passionate moments—was dead.

  “Do they know who did it?” she blurted out.

  Tammy backed up slightly, a clear indicator Amelia had just interrupted. But she didn’t care. She needed to know. If they knew who did this, Amelia wanted them to pay.

  “I think they’re keeping all that pretty tight-lipped for now. I mean it only happened last night.”

  “Where did it happen?” She was numb as she tried to assess the details.

  “In her living room.”

  Amelia gasped. It was like she had been punched in the gut. In her living room—the same room where Amelia had stood yesterday, the same room where they had devoured each other’s bodies time and again, the same room from which she had angrily stomped.

  Thankful that she knew the layout of the Nelsons’ home, she stood and bolted toward the bathroom, her body wrenching as soon as she threw the door open. It was too much to take. She vomited violently, wishing she didn’t have an audience. Still, in true Texan form, Tammy came in behind her and gave her a cool washcloth for her head.

  “Thank you so much for your hospitality,” Amelia said, emerging moments later and shutting the bathroom door behind her. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I’ve got to go now. I have to open up the shop. And I’m pretty sure I’m running too far behind to catch up for the day.” She was rambling, but she couldn’t stop. It was the only thing saving her from the pain inside.

  “I don’t think you should have to worry too much about the shop today, sweetheart,” Tammy said, shaking her head. “The whole town is in a tizzy. Why don’t you just head home?”

  “I’ll figure it out,” Amelia said, using her wobbly legs to carry her out of the house. “Thank you, again.”

  Back in the safety of her car, she wanted to break down again. But she couldn’t do that here. No one even knew she and Chloe had been friends. As soon as the thought entered her head, it made her sick again. No one knew.

  It was that simple. She was gone. And no one had ever known just how much she meant to Amelia—not even Chloe herself. Bile crept up the back of her throat again but she forced it down.

  She was going to the shop—not to open, but to go prepare coffee. If nothing else, she would make sure the investigators, the family, and everyone involved had coffee. She had shied away from showing how much she cared for too long. Now it was too late but she was going to honor Chloe’s big-hearted approach to life by caring—caring out loud.

  At the shop, she busied herself. She tried not to let her regret carry her away, but she was losing the fight. Regardless of Amelia’s doubts about the stability of their relationship—or rather, agreement—Chloe had deserved the affection she was due. She had deserved to know just how much she had meant to Amelia.

  While the morning’s coffee was brewing, Amelia secured the “Closed” sign on the shop door and took a seat briefly in one of the lounge chairs in the shop’s sitting area. She looked around the shop. Its industrial design brought her no comfort today. For years, this was the space in which she and Chloe would flirt back and forth innocently. It was where Amelia had first worked up the courage to ask Chloe if they could meet up after work. It was where Chloe had met her long after she had closed up shop one evening, with fresh picked daisies from a nearby field in hand, for their first out-of-work encounter. Amelia ran her fingers over the tan leather of the chair she sat in, remembering how she had sat in this exact spot while explaining her scenario and need for secrecy to Chloe. Outlining guidelines was important to her, and Chloe had followed her instructions to a T. At each request, she turned, slowed down, stopped, or pressed forward. And as Chloe had said last night, Amelia had made all the rules. More than that, she had abused them. For that, she felt ashamed.

  Just when Amelia thought she had cried every tear she had left in her body, another onslaught came. This one more tender, slower than the one before. She closed her eyes and let herself remember, believing it to be the only way in which she might actually find some sort of closure.

  She still wanted to know how, where, and who. But for now, she could remember and honor Chloe that way. Staring up at the ceiling, she let it all wash back over her. With the lights out, and the shop lit only by candles, they had shared their first, timid kiss, followed by lust-filled kisses that wouldn’t stop for months—that didn’t stop until last night.

  Burying her head in her hands, Amelia thought of the tender ways Chloe would greet her, the special events she would plan for their impromptu date nights, the way she never—until last night—had asked for more than a hand to hold, a companion. She had made sure Amelia always felt special and taken care of.

  This was all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to come to her senses, tell Chloe she was sorry and if nothing else, they were supposed to have been friends. Now she had nothing but a fresh brewed batch of coffee to divvy up and take to a hurting family.

  She packaged the items with care, taking a slew of pastries from yesterday’s batch with her. Today there would be no fresh pastries or coffee service. There would be no place for the old women to gather and gossip. She figured she couldn’t have handled their conversation anyway. If she had to hear anyone else say that Chloe was different but nice, she might scream. If she had to hear the details thrown about like some sort of petty banter, she knew she wouldn’t make it through it without telling her patrons to leave her shop.

  Nonetheless, she was sure there were people who had been drawn from their beds far too early who might need a little boost to get through their day and, if coffee was the only solace she could offer, she would offer it.

  Wrapping the pastries in individual bags, she glanced at the clock and realized she had let two hours slip by since entering. She sighed and put the goods into to-go bags, knowing she had been stalling. Too many times she had driven over, parked her car in the stealthy spot she had selected, and visited Chloe’s house. Today would be different though, and she wasn’t sure she was ready or equipped to handle that sort of emotional trauma.

  Ready or not, it was time. Gathering her things into the backseat of her Mustang, she gripped the doorframe, looking back at the shop for one fleeting moment when things would be the same. Without giving in to another moment of grief, she reminded herself that there were others who were far closer to Chloe who were no doubt in pain. She threw her car into gear and headed down the highway. Just as Chloe would have done, she flipped to the classic rock station in town and practically flew down the highway.

  When she rounded the last bend, she held her breath. Nothing could have prepared her to see what had once been such a peaceful and quaint little driveway littered with emergency vehicles, the town sheriff, the coroner’s van, and a vehicle she recognized as belonging to Bill Stanton, as well as several other cars. Her breathing increased. She shouldn’t be here. This was a private matter at this time. Even so, she had a mission and she was going to do it, whether or not she spoke to anyone. She got out of her vehicle and loaded the carry-out trays on her arms. Knowing the side entrance, she walked quickly around to the side of the patio and dropped off the beverages and bags of pastries. Hopefully they’d find them while they were still hot. She thought about ringing the doorbell but had no way of knowing what was actually going on inside.

  If the coroner’s van was still parked in the driveway, did that mean Chloe was still inside? Chills rippled through her body and she thought she might vomit again. Bracing herself, she reached up and grabbed the railing—a railing she had sat on whi
le Chloe strummed on her guitar and crooned an old country love song one evening just a few weeks ago.

  Nothing was ever going to be the same again.

  “Thank you,” she heard the gruff old cowboy’s voice behind her, causing her to jump at least a foot in the air.

  She turned around and was face-to-face with Bill, Chloe’s dad. The two had the same nose, same build even—broad shoulders with strong arms and a narrow waist, with bodies that showcased their daily physical labor. She looked into his eyes and saw the similar fire. As if she could physically feel her heart break in two as the lump in her throat grew, she closed her eyes. When she reopened them, it was already too late. Bill was moving in for a bear hug. “We really appreciate you being out here.”

  “I couldn’t stay away,” she managed, gulping. “I just wanted to make sure everyone involved had some coffee or some food if they needed it. I know it’s not much, but it was something I could do right now.” As she always did, she was babbling on without a way to stop. This was not the time or place. “Anyway, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  He nodded and clamped his lips together. After a second, he let out a long and slow exhaling breath. “It’s not anything anyone ever expects to deal with,” he said, “especially not around here, and especially not with their own.” Reaching up, he grabbed the railing she had been holding onto and gave her another long glance. “But we’ll weather this storm just like the last.”

  He made it sound as though this was just something that happened. But from Chloe’s stories, she knew that he was just a tough older cowboy who didn’t let many see deep into the pain he felt. She could see traces of the tears he had cried and could see the anger flashing somewhere deep below the surface.

  “If y’all need anything, let me know,” she offered. Her words sounded hollow, but she wanted him to know they had meaning. “Your daughter was a good friend of mine and I’d like to do anything I can to help make sure her memory shines on this place.”