by Penny Lam
Buck gives me a withering look. “Be real, Vickie. If the police think Shep did it, they aren’t going to spend their resources trying to find the real killer-- they’re going to be searching for him. This isn’t the TV. These guys don’t have special labs and shit.”
“Well, raging around isn’t helping Shep!”
“Shep doesn’t want help! If he did, he’d have stuck around. As it is, we may as well assume he did it, because he’s going to be locked away for it for a long time!”
I suck in air between my teeth. “You think he did it?”
“No! No.” He paces back and forth. “I mean, I wish I could be sure, but mostly I don’t think he did it.”
“Buck,” I admonish. “You know Shep. Know him better than anyone! He can’t be a killer! You knew him with his parents, and he was with us all night, and--”
He throws his hands up in defeat. Buck’s hair is disheveled, his stubble too long. He looks tired and ragged. I know I don’t look much better. It’s like we’re a little lost without Shep. “I get what you’re saying, Vickie. I’ve been having those same thoughts all night. My heart says he didn’t do it, but--”
“There are no ‘buts.’ Listen to your heart, Buck. It’s what brought us together, and that’s not a bad thing, right?”
“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Unfolding my body from the couch, I go to embrace him. Drawing his face between my hands, my lips brush his. “Me too.”
“I’m scared it’s over,” he whispers.
I kiss him again. “It can’t be. We won’t let it. Go out and see if you can find him. I’ll stay here in case he calls, okay?”
Bucks grabs his keys and goes. If anyone can find Shep, it’s him. Besides, he’s just like Shep. He needs something to do when he’s upset.
Without him, the trailer feels empty. Wasn’t it just a week ago that I’d hoped for both of them to be out from under my feet? If I could take that wish back, I would. Instead, I start cleaning. I need to keep busy, too.
The trailer’s already pretty neat. I’ve been keeping it spotless since school ended. There’s not much to pick up, but there is a junk closet in the workout room that could be sorted. When Buck moved into the bedroom with me and Shep, he cleaned up his room for me. For Buck, that meant taking all his junk and cramming it in that closet.
Just so I have something to keep my hands busy, I head on back.
It’s a disaster. Several bottles and old magazines fall out when I open the door. Sighing, I get some trash bags and start pulling things out. A few hours later, I’ve got most of the garbage, the books (there weren’t many) and magazines (there were ton,and most of them had topless ladies). There were old t-shirts that I piled together to wash. Yearbooks that I’d leafed through. Their pictures had been exactly what I’d imagined.
Buck, wearing a camo hat in the photo and smiling as big as he could. His ears were too big for his head. Shep, his hair and eyes dark, looking every inch the brooding teenager. Buck’s yearbook was filled with signatures. No surprise, he’s so likeable. Shep’s was pretty empty, aside from some crude promises scrawled by Buck about the kind of girls they’d be nailing after graduation.
After that, the bottom of the closet emerged. It looked like it hadn’t seen light since, well, probably since Shep’s grandma had been living. Gross. Still, I got some cloths and some bleach and set to scrubbing the baseboards.
As I wiped away the filth, my cloth caught on something in the back of the closet. Unable to see well, I traced the area and, to my surprise, discovered a small cut out. Sticking my finger in it, I pulled a bit, and the panel fell away.
It was a small, hidden compartment.
Feeling around, I find a box. Holding my breath, I ease it out and sit cross-legged with it in my lap. It’s a small tin box, lid rusted on. It takes prying--a lot of prying-- to squeak the lid off.
Inside is a journal and an envelope. The journal’s cover has a hymn on it and cutesy little angels. Definitely not Shep’s hidden stash. This assumption is validated when I peek into the journal’s yellowed pages and see precise, looping cursive. The kind of handwriting they just don’t teach anymore.
Interest piqued, I start reading. It’s his grandmother’s journal. Most of it is about park gossip from long ago. My favorite entry is when Shep is born and she talks about how elated she is to be a grandma. Of course, it becomes clear quickly that she didn’t approve of his father, her son.
My smile starts to fade. The gossip dries up, and most of what she writes about is Shep’s early childhood. About how his mom would bring him over and they’d both be covered with bruises. Beatings aren’t out of place in the park. We’ve all known a neighbor or three who had to wear makeup and sunglasses for a weak. I’m not saying it’s right, just that it isn’t new around here.
Knowing it happened to Shep--my Shep-- though… it’s breaking my heart. There’re ink blots on the pages, places where old tears smeared the ink. Some are new, and I know they’re coming from me.
The journal ends abruptly. Cautiously, I flip through the last chunk of pages and find a final entry. The handwriting isn’t as precise. It’s still hers, but it’s jagged. Hurried looking. It’s tough to read, but once I start, I can’t stop.
In my defense, there’s no thing a momma won’t do for her baby. And in this case, my grandbaby, too.
I knew Carl’d been hitting Jeanine. Hard. Each time she brings Gil over, the black and blue is there, painting her skin, and it paints me, too. As a bad mother. Because Carl’s my boy, and he’s a wife beater, so what does that say about me?
But Jeanine asked for me to take Gil, and I said I would. She must not have told Carl, though. Because when I showed up to get Gil, Carl and Jeanine were having a fight. It was loud enough the neighbors heard, though it probably wasn’t the first time.
I tried to get Carl to stop. He was hitting her so hard. And this woman, this poor woman I let marry my son, she was just looking at me like there wasn’t a point in trying. Carl started choking her. Right there in front of me. My deepest shame is that I stood there and watched as he killed her, all the while crying and pleading to me for help. What did he think I’d do? How far does a mother’s love run?
It runs deep. Deep enough to save him from himself.
How could I kill my baby boy? I guess… I guess I just thought the best way to save him was to keep him from hurting. He was going to have to live with what he did to Jeanine, that poor sweet girl. I’m going to have to live with knowing I was too scared to stop him sooner. Her death’s on me, too, I guess. What a heavy weight I’ll carry now.
And there was Gil to think about, too. I don’t want Gil growing up like my Carl did. Too full of rage and no control. It would break me if he ended up hitting his wife, too.
Gil came in and saw what’d happened. I expected him to call the police. I should’ve made him call. But my son’s blood was on my hands, and I’m ashamed at how I froze.
He cleaned me up and told me he’d take care of it.
This is a confession, I guess. I doubt God’ll forgive me, but maybe he’ll forgive Gil. Maybe if I can raise him right, this won’t happen again.
She didn’t sign or date it. I doubt she ever looked at the journal again. Just needed a place to get her secret out, to protect Shep. Jesus.
Numb, I realize I’m holding proof in my hands that Shep’s no murderer. He helped her out, but it was so long ago, I don’t even know if they can charge him. Should I take it to the police? Call Buck?
Like her, I’m too stunned right now to do anything but think about what’s happened. The envelope has her handwriting, too, but it’s got Shep’s name on the front.
Gil
Inside are folded papers, thick and on heavy paper. The top is a note.
My Gil,
There are a lot of things I should’ve done different and can’t now. I didn’t give this to you because I was afraid you’d leave. But you’re getting older and when th
e time is right, I hope I can hand this to you without reservation.
You’re the strongest person I know, and I’m sure you’ll be a great man and father one day.
Your Grandma
The papers behind it are cashiers checks. When I count them, my breathing quickens. There’s so much money here. More than I’ve ever seen. It’s not millions or anything, but this is enough money for Shep to quit the mine for sure. Maybe pay off the trailer.
My own mom stuffed half her cash into her mattress. People around here don’t always trust banks. Why hadn’t Shep ever thought to look for this? I imagine his grandma thought she’d live long enough to give it to him herself. I was sad she didn’t get a chance to see his face as he realized what she had done for him.
More important, though, was that this was what we needed. Proof to get Shep off the hook and money to start fresh.
As I start getting dressed, I grab my phone, eager to call Buck. I have a text message from a number I don’t know.
Vickie, this is Shep. I gotta talk to you. Text me back as soon as you get this.
My eyebrows pinch together, but I reply. Shep, what’s this number?
He must have been waiting, because the phone pings soon after. Just a cheap phone I picked up. Vickie, I need your help.
What do you need??
Come meet me at the falls. The cabin there. You know it?
Everyone knew about the cabin. It wasn’t actually a cabin. It was an old tobacco shed in the middle of the woods next to an abandoned tobacco field. Every high school class has a group that uses it for parties because you can’t get there by car, so the cops don’t find it. Of course, it’s been used long enough the cops now once partied in it before, but I figure they think as long as teenagers aren’t drinking and driving, it isn’t worth the hassle of busting the place.
Yeah, I know where it is.
Meet me there in an hour. I’ll call Buck, too.
Just in case Buck’s angry enough to not be checking his phone, I leave him a quick note telling him where I’m going. Feeling euphoric, I grab the journal and head out to my bike. The cabin is only two or so miles from the trailer park. Peddling hard, bliss keeps me focused. Mama’s death is still there, but I knew Shep hadn’t done it, so I couldn’t stand the thought that he might be blamed for it.
Things had changed so much since the first night that Buck and Shep saved me from having to do something I didn’t want. I know that if they hadn’t showed up, I would’ve caved, too scared to say no. It would have set me down a path that I didn’t want, staying in my mama’s trailer and letting her sell me out to keep the roof over both of our heads.
With the help of Shep and Buck, I was in school. Not only in it, but thriving. With them, I felt confident. Comfortable. I loved being able to care for them and be cared for by them. I loved their temperaments and how they seemed to play off each other, creating a balance that just needed me to be complete.
The collapse at the mine and now this. I get why Buck was so frantic. We needed each other. It was all or nothing, and it had felt dangerously close to nothing for a moment.
There’s no one at the park gate. People don’t come out here often if it isn’t after hours, and the trails are too overgrown for pleasure. In fact, I’m forced to hop off my bike and walk it through the heavy ferns and roots. Eventually I rest it on a tree, too tired to keep pushing.
Another twenty minutes and I see the cabin. My heart is flying from the walk and elation and knowing I can fix this. I can save Shep, the way he and Buck saved me.
There’s no door to the shed, but it’s dark inside. Stepping in, I scan the shadows. “Shep?”
It’s then that the feeling returns. I’m being watched. The feeling is malicious, the air suddenly thin.
A hand closes over my mouth.
Shep
The Camaro is idling. I’m at the edge of the next town. If I get back on the road, I’ll be hitting the interstate. It’s basically a straight shot south to get to the Carolinas.
It was stupid to run. I know it. Buck’s voice in my head is the whole reason I’m pulled over. Hesitating.
Nothing has hurt me worse than leaving Vickie and Buck. When I’d glanced at their sleeping bodies last night, it was like I was carving out a piece of me. You’d think carving it out would make it easier, but instead it’s like all the good I have left in me is bleeding all over the goddamned place.
Buck is right. Running makes me look guilty. But the fact that I’d seen it again: that flash in his eyes. That told me he thought maybe I could’ve done it. Damn, that killed more than any judgement on Jake’s face.
It burns to know people think it of me, but I’d rather they think it of me than know the truth. I could take the hate and the looks, but my grandma never could’ve. She was doing what she thought best. She never told me why she did it, and she didn’t have to.
My dad was an ass. My mom had been scared for years he was gonna kill her. Me, too. So when I came into the kitchen to see Grandma with the knife and my folks on the floor, I knew what’d happened. Dad had gone too far, and Grandma had stopped him.
Her pain had been too much to see. The guilt stained her worse than the red on her hands. I did what I had to. I took care of it.
Now my parent’s bodies are buried and my grandma’s secret with them. Lloyd and Anne, though… well, now, I had nothing to do with that. I don’t even wish I had. I meant it when I told Lloyd I’d kill him, but he’d have had to try something.
My stomach growls. There’s a gas station with a burger joint attached. Pulling in to grab food seems like another excuse. Another delay. Without Vickie and Buck, I feel disjointed. Like a shell of myself. I’m stalling because the truth is, I don’t know if I can leave them.
This morning, though, Buck’s look haunted me. It’d controlled my thoughts. What if Vickie picked up on it? What if they both thought they couldn't trust me? Or worse: what if they believed me, and were forced to watch me rot in prison anyway?
When I’ve got my burger and I’m in the car again, my phone buzzes. I’ve been ignoring it, but the hope that it’s one of them calling me is large. It’s the mine.
“This is Shep,” I answer.
“Shep, this is Rick.”
“This about when I can come back? Because,” I hesitate, knowing I’m in the car and prepped to keep running. If I leave the state, I’m leaving that job. “I’m thinking about using my vacation time a little longer.”
“Wellllll,” Rick draws it out, making it four syllables. “About that. I’m thinking it’s probably a good idea if you don’t come back.”
Anger claws at me, even though I was just thinking the same thing. The difference was, I liked it when it was my choice. “You don’t say.” It comes out like a dare. Tell me why and see what happens.
Rick hears the threat, and I can practically feel his discomfort, even though we’re on the phone. “It’s just that the police were here about the incident at the park. And Bill’s been talking to a lawyer about his leg. He said you started the cave in by attacking him, and you knocked him out and cut off his leg to try and get rid of him.”
My hand rubs through my beard. “That sounds crazy, you know. The part about Bill. You were there.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“What does John say?”
“He’s vouching for you. But I guess Bill’s pretty persistent and trying to gather character witnesses. I don’t think John’s said anything official yet, and you know they’re friends--”
“You’re friends with Bill, too. Why’re you telling me all this?”
“Because while I didn’t see what happened, I know for a fact that the only reason the three of you got out of there was because you kept your cool. You’ve always been a good, reliable worker, Shep. Ain’t nothin’ can change that.”
It wasn’t the same as saying he thought Bill was lying, but I appreciated it for what it was. A small sign of respect. “Well, thanks, I guess. What do you think
I should do?”
“Get a lawyer. A good one. You’ll need it for Bill and for the police. Their questioning wasn’t sounding good for you, Shep.”
“Okay. Thanks again.” I hang up, stunned. Bill was a motherfucker. I saved his life. My fist connects with the dashboard and the flaring bloom of pain helps clear the wild sweep of my rage. I saved his life, and he’s trying to ruin mine. No good deed goes unpunished, I guess, when everyone thinks you’re a murderer.
The phone buzzes again, and at first I think it’s Rick, calling back. It isn’t. Buck. Sliding the phone open, I answer, my voice not hiding my hurt as well as I’d like. “Hey.”
“Why are you meeting Vickie out at the cabin in the park?”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Vickie left me a note that said she got a text from you to meet her there. That you were going to show her something.” There’s a wariness in Buck’s tone, and I realize that he’s scared. Did he think I’d hurt Vickie, too?
“I haven’t talked to her or texted her since I left, Buck. Read me the note.”
“Buck, good news. Shep’s still in town. He wants me to meet him at the cabin. You know, in the park? Where all the parties are held? Anyway, I took my bike, so I can just see you there. He’s got something to show us-- I bet it’ll show you that he’s innocent.”
My heart skips a beat. “Buck, that doesn’t sound like anything I’d do.” Worry is creeping into my tone too, replacing the hurt.
“Fuck,” he cusses. “You shouldn’t have run.”
“I didn’t do it, but they were going to lock me up for it, anyway. You know that.”
His breathing is rough and ragged through the phone line. “You’re right. I know it. I know you didn’t kill her mom, and Jake was looking at you like you were going to give him a promotion.”
“Exactly.”
“Which means the killer is still out there.”
My hand on the wheel tightens, knuckles bursting white from the strain. “Get the guns ready and meet me at the park entrance.”