The Whys Have It

by Amy Matayo

  Failure. Coward. Cheat. Murderer.

  And now add selfish to the list.

  My condemnation is playing a loud cadence in my head when I remember something. A tiny detail Angela had mentioned in passing.

  “But I thought…I thought…”

  A heavy silence, thick with blackness darkened the room. “Thought what, Mr. Minor?”

  I look at him as anger begins a slow simmer under my skin. Because this. This is everything thing wrong with a broken legal system.

  “His sentence wasn’t up. If he was already out of prison, that means he didn’t serve even half of his original sentence.”

  The officer says nothing, just closes his notebook and sighs. “Most of the time, the system works, but sometimes…sometimes people are released before they should be. Or in this case, sometimes technicalities happen and the wrong people are let go.” He clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable and anxious to wrap this up. The harsh glare of the spotlight is sometimes tough to handle, especially when you’re part of the problem.

  “We have just one more question, and then we can all go home.” He leans back in his chair and locks both hands behind his head. “Do you have any reason to believe Miss Rogers didn’t want to be rescued? That under the circumstances, she might have—”

  “No.” The word has claws that grip everyone in the room. “She didn’t want to die. She tried to swim back—kept calling for me to help her—but she got turned around. If anyone is at fault, it’s me. Not because I couldn’t reach her quickly enough, but because I was drunk. If I hadn’t made the stupid decision to drink that night, maybe things would be different now. As it was, by the time I made it out to where I saw her go under, she was gone.”

  I lock the officer in an unwavering gaze. No room for argument or discussion.

  “I’m telling you, without a doubt, Angela wanted to live.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Sam

  “Can I get you some water?”

  I grimace before thinking better of it, then replaced it with a smile that I’m pretty sure isn’t all that convincing. It’s the fourth time she’s asked, but the woman is only being polite, trying to help the girl who’s been sitting here for thirty minutes in a waiting room meant for criminals and the family members who love them. I’m neither one.

  At least I don’t think I am.

  Am I?

  It’s a question I’ve asked myself nonstop since I pulled into the parking lot and walked inside this building. I was told Cory was being questioned in the back room, but I’ve seen no sign of him or heard anyone speak his name, so I’m sitting here on speculation alone. Though that’s not exactly true.

  Anxiety and hope and more than a little anticipation are sitting here right along with me.

  I try really hard to knock them off the row of chairs, but they won’t move so I turn away from them myself.

  “No, thank you.” I smile at the woman behind the counter, then make my way toward a corner vending machine and survey the contents, not all that interested but desperately needing something to do. The room is empty, and according to a sign outside the station closes in ten minutes. Where is Cory? I hate that I care about the answer, but I do. The only thing I want is for him to appear in front of me and settle my wildly tangled emotions to rest. It’s the least he can do. I led a quiet, unassuming life before him; two photographers snapped my photo when I climbed out of my car in the parking lot. I didn’t ask for any of this, nor do I want it.

  Almost everything on display in the vending machine is entirely chocolate or coated in it, but the chocolate ice cream from earlier still sits heavy in my stomach. The one thing I’d always counted on to turn a day around turned on me. Giving up, I sit back down and tuck my hands under my legs. Then pull them out again. Then tug on the skin beside my wrist and watch it snap back. At least anger hasn’t gotten a grip on me yet. It’s the only emotion still managing to stay at bay. I study my nails, pick at a cuticle, pull at a jagged corner, then shove my hands under my lap again before a bad habit starts. I’ll have all my nails ripped off in five minutes if I keep this up.

  I should leave. It’s foolish to be here, no matter how much Kyle seemed to think I should be. Kyle should be here, not me. He’s family. I’m just a poor substitute.

  I sling my purse over my shoulder and prepare to go when I hear footsteps approaching to my right. “I saw you through the window when I walked by earlier. I got some coffee if you want it.” As though summoned by my own resentful thoughts, Kyle is here in front of me holding out a Styrofoam cup with little puffs of steam rising from the top. I take it from him and bring the cup to my lips, inhaling the scent.

  “Thank you. I didn’t know you were here.”

  He nods once. “I’ve been watching from back there. It’s taking a while.”

  “What are they asking him?” I notice his gun for the first time. His badge. He’s a police officer in this town. This has to be difficult for him. “And are you not a part of the questioning?”

  He sighs. “I’m too close to the situation to help objectively. They’re asking him to recount everything. What happened that night, what happened in the days following. It’s all routine.”

  Routine. None of this feels routine.

  I swallow. “What kind of trouble will he be in?”

  “I’m not sure.” There’s no reassurance in his words, but I appreciate it. He can’t know. Neither of us can. So we do the only thing we can do; we stare at the closed doorway in front of us and pray to God it opens soon.

  I still don’t know all the details that brought Cory here to this police station, but I do know this: three weeks ago, Cory left because he knew this day would come. The day that his guilt from the past would catch up with his guilt of the present. It’s the same reason he left his parents nearly a decade ago. He left because of a foolish belief that staying in Springfield would mean dragging me through another mess he’d made. A trail of destruction that started ten years ago and snaked through the past decade until it snatched me and my sister up with its bad timing. Cory blames himself for everything. Most of all, Cory blames himself for me.

  I can tell myself I don’t care about him all day long. Then I could repeat the mantra all night and use it as a substitute for counting sheep when I toss and turn in bed. It wouldn’t matter. The words are a lie.

  I care about Cory.

  I care so much, and I need him to know it.

  The only question is if he’ll walk away from me again.

  CHAPTER 35

  Cory

  I sign a written statement promising not to go far over the next week or so in case I am needed. I know the real meaning behind the paperwork—in case charges are filed, but I don’t ask questions. I don’t need to. My main worry is being addressed now by the man sitting across from me.

  “I’m not sure where this will lead. It primarily depends on the family’s state of mind. At most, you could be looking at a charge of failing to render aid. But in talking with them—especially after everything they’ve learned in the last couple of days—I have a feeling you shouldn’t have a lot to worry about.” The officer raises an eyebrow. “I can’t promise you this won’t come out in the press, though. We’ve already had a few calls this morning.”

  I shrug like it doesn’t bother me, but it does. Despite anything I might claim, I’m still an entertainer worried about the negatives effects this might have on my career. I like my job. I would hate to see it come to an end whether I deserve it or not.

  “I noticed a couple of men snapping pictures on my way in here, and my phone has been ringing nonstop since yesterday. They’ll write a story. Doubt it will be a true one, but that doesn’t seem to matter in my profession.” No one can understand the weight of true fame until they find themselves stuck carrying it around. I’ll never complain out loud, but like a devastating illness or declaring bankruptcy, fame is something you can’t fathom until it happens to you. Still, it comes with the career, and like I said�
�

  I shake my head, unwilling to consider it. What’s that saying about borrowing trouble?

  “Hang in there.” The officer extends his hand, tearing me away from my thoughts. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m a huge fan.” His serious expression falls away into a smile.

  “Thank you.” I shake the man’s hand, unsure of what to say next. This is the odd of part fame. One minute, trouble can land with painful precision onto a person’s lap. But just as quickly, the people in charge of correcting you can turn into fans, awestruck and ready to request an autograph. I breathe easy when the man leaves the room without producing a pen.

  After speaking for a moment with my lawyer, I push in my chair. My brother is waiting in the other room. As for Angela’s family, I’ve never met them and have no idea what they look like. The thought of seeing them now…how will they react? How does a person react when they learn you had a hand in the last moments of a loved one’s life? With hate? With hostility? With sadness?

  The memory of my first encounter with Sam strikes like a bat making contact with a ball.

  All three. They’ll probably react with all three.

  I reach the observation room door and open it, air suspended in my throat from the fear of what I might find on the other side. Kyle. Hopefully I’ll find Kyle and a getaway car. This place is stifling, stale, bad for my mind. Even though my brother will have questions—a hundred questions coupled with a few dozen I told you so’s—I want out, and fast. The questions I can deal with. The memories, not so much.

  The dark room was empty. No one stands watch by the window, no one is ready and waiting for me. I frown and take another look, then back out, watching the door close in front of me. Of all the scenarios I imagined, silence wasn’t one of them. The front door seems a hundred confusing miles away, but I walk toward it, ready to get away from the oppression of this place. I pull out my phone to call Kyle and give him a piece of my mind. Why isn’t he here? Who is picking me up? A woman sits behind the front desk talking into a headset. Aside from her voice bouncing across the tiled room, the station looks nearly empty.

  “Where are you going?”

  I stop walking and look at the woman behind the counter, but she’s still talking into her phone.

  “I said where are you going?” That voice. It’s coming from behind me. Timid and soft, but I know it. I spin to find her, and every element in my body begins to shake. She’s standing next to Kyle and both look comfortable with each other, like they’ve been here a while.

  “I’m leaving,” I say. My eyes are wide. I can’t seem to blink them.

  “Leaving to go where?”

  Nowhere. Everywhere. To a desolate pond on a long-ago night. To a quiet highway after a concert last summer. My mind goes to both places in the span of one second. I don’t know how to answer, have no idea what to say. For the first time in years, all the words running through my mind aren’t good enough. Where am I going? That depends on so many things, every one of them out of my control. I whisper the only thing I can think of, the only thing that makes sense.

  “The girl asked where you’re going,” Kyle says, breaking me from my thoughts. I stare at him, unable to make sense of having them both here. I look between them, then settle my gaze on Sam.

  “I guess that depends on you.”

  Sam takes a couple of steps toward me. How she got here…how she knew…I don’t understand it. I glance at Kyle and know the answer; he’s not exactly grinning, but he isn’t glaring at me either. Maybe I should kill him for telling her, maybe I should thank him. All I know is never in my life have I felt so dependent on another person as I am on Sam. I hate it. I love it. I reject it. I embrace it. This woman makes me feel everything all at once, but I have no idea what else to say. So I wait for her to speak. The way her chin comes up, that doesn’t seem to settle well with her.

  “Why do I have to make all the decisions?”

  I finally blink, surprised by her reply. It’s laced with an emotion I can’t peg. Anger. Sarcasm. Frustration. Humor. Surely not humor. I search her features, looking for a sign of the revulsion I know must be hidden somewhere. I don’t find what I’m looking for.

  “I guess because everything is up to you. You have all the power here, so it’s your decision to tell me where to go.”

  Next to me, Kyle breathes a laugh that I ignore.

  “Don’t tempt me,” she says. I’m almost certain she smiles, but just as quickly it’s gone. She takes a step closer and looks up at me, hurt clouding her deep blue eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about Angela? That day in the park, why didn’t you tell me?”

  I want to respond—to offer a million partially true reasons why I kept my past hidden from her. Old habits are hard to break and lies come easy. Today, I’m done with excuses.

  “I’ll tell you, but not here. Is your car out front?”

  She nods.

  I turn to Kyle. “Are we good?”

  For a long moment he just stares at me. I’m a kid again, ready to get my butt kicked and bruised and handed to me with a second place ribbon. Kyle wins, I lose. Again. Sweat trickles in a single drop down my neck.

  “I don’t know what we are right now, but I don’t want to fight about it today.” He extends a hand, and I shake it. Mercy. I think I was just offered a bit of it. It isn’t everything I want, but at least it’s a start. If Sam has taught me anything, it’s that relationships between siblings have no guarantees, so we need to make the most of them while we can. I’ll get to work on that soon. First things first.

  “I don’t want to fight either,” I say. “Talk next week at Mom and Dad’s?”

  Kyle shrugs. “Let me think about it. I’ll call you.”

  I nod. For now, it’s good enough for me.

  I return my focus to Sam. “Follow me?” She falls in step beside me as we make our way outside, Kyle trailing behind us as he heads for his own car. Before the front door closes, a camera clicks. First one, then another. And another. For the first time since my career took off, I ignore them. Let them print their stories, let them distort reality to make a quick dollar. I have more important things to worry about. Better things. Beautiful things. Like unbreaking a heart that has cracked far too many times at my hands.

  I help Sam into the passenger side of my car and close the door, then climb behind the wheel to start the engine. Heat fills the chilly space around us. Blowing into my hands, I turn to Sam. My breath catches at the sight of her—at the curls trailing down her shoulders, at the softness of the skin around her collarbone, at the way she stares at me.

  For the next hour, I tell her why. I tell her everything.

  I leave nothing out.

  CHAPTER 36

  Cory

  Four months later

  The music shifts in the background, the lead-in replaced with the kind of pulsating beat that signals my impending appearance onstage. The crowd grows loud with anticipation, my band members take their places. It’s almost time. My nerves take off; it’s been awhile since my last live show, and adrenaline begins to pump. On a reflex that can’t be helped, I quickly scan the dim corridor behind me, my eyes landing on a familiar face. Immediately I breathe easier. I stare for a moment while she walks toward me. The sight calms me down.

  “You nervous?” She knows me, knows that for a guy who rarely gets nervous anymore, I’m currently on the verge of throwing up. The feel of her hand on my waist helps a little. The feel of her mouth on mine might help even more. I move in to kiss her, but she backs up a little.

  “Hey!” I protest. “I thought you were here to help me. Do a better job.” I move toward her again, but she slaps me on the chest. I can’t help the slow smile that tilts my mouth. I’m grinning like an idiot, and I don’t even care.

  “Back off, Casanova. You have a job to do. I didn’t come here to distract you from it. Besides, you’ve been daydreaming again. You’ve missed your cue twice already.”

  Alarmed, I swing my head toward my band member
s. Sure enough, Mark is glaring straight at me.

  “Crap.”

  “I was worried about you for a second, but something tells me you’re fine. Mark, on the other hand. I think you’re about to give him a stroke. Miss it one more time and you might face a mutiny. Sal sent me over here to snap you out of wherever you drifted off to. Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Yes, but it’ll have to wait until later.” I bend to kiss her nose, then turn to head up the steps.

  “Hey, that’s all I get for saving your career? A stingy peck on the nose?”

  I turn to look at her—arms crossed, glaring up at me, ready for battle. She’s cute when she’s angry, and I’m grinning again. I walk down one step.

  “Saving my career? You’re the one that backed off earlier. Besides, now I’m in a hurry. What more do you want? Most girls would offer their left arm for a chance to kiss me.”

  Her eyebrows raise at the same time her mouth falls open. What a sexy mouth it is. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not most girls. I reserved the right to both back off and demand more when it comes to kissing you. And whatever that was,” she twirls a finger in the space between us, “doesn’t cut it. Try again, and do better this time.”

  I’m not stupid. I have about twenty seconds before the band will have to start playing the intro for the fourth time around. Still, I can’t just leave her hanging. Wouldn’t be the gentlemanlike thing to do, and I am nothing if not a gentleman. I walk down another step and reach for her belt loops, then pull her to me. When her fingers trail a line at my waist, I swallow a strangled sound that wants to escape and there’s nothing gentlemanly about my thoughts. Nothing at all. Still, I know I better make this quick.

  “Do better, huh?” I slide my fingers around to her back and rest them above her hips, then bend my forehead so that it’s touching hers. “What did I do to deserve you? No matter how many times I ask myself, I can never figure it out.” I smile. “I have no idea why we work so well, but we do.”