by Glenn Meade
We clung together, my cheek pressed hard against the headstone. In the heat of the night, it felt so cold at first, but then it warmed, seemed to become a part of us. It was strange, all of us clutching the granite as if we were holding on to a life raft in a storm.
Jack hunched us closer. I put my hand to Sean’s face. This time, he didn’t pull away. But then he broke down and cried, heart-wrenching sobs racking his body. Sean clung to the two of us. My heart felt as delicate as a silk thread. I heard Jack sobbing.
I wept, too, for all the joyous days we had lived together, for the love we’d known and lost. As we huddled, convulsed in tears, our emotions seemed to blend, like a deluge, and become a single, unified thing. I realized that there was reasoning in Jack’s seeming madness. It was as if we completed a circle at the gravestone, Jack embracing one side of the granite, Sean the other, me in the middle, all of us clinging to the stone.
Clinging to the only solid reminder of Amy that we could touch somehow drew us together. No longer three but four.
And in so doing—as damaged and helpless, as raw and broken and lost a family as we were—we somehow became whole again.
91
* * *
Kevin half filled the glass in front of me with Four Roses bourbon.
“Help yourself to water and ice.”
We were alone on the back porch. Jack had taken an exhausted Sean into the living room to settle him down for a nap so we could talk.
“How are you feeling?” Kevin asked.
“Mixed up. Stunned. Shocked. All of the above.” I met his stare. “And sad. I’m wondering about the kind of bad luck my family has had. Wondering about ripples and family curses and if something bad someone in the family did is coming back to haunt us.”
It was dark, just before or after midnight, I guessed. After sleeping so long, I felt disoriented. My eyes drifted back toward the trees that masked Amy’s grave. I still felt crushed, the boulder still on my chest. Amy, my darling Amy. I still couldn’t believe she was gone, that I would never see her again. I wanted it to be a dream, a nightmare, anything but the truth.
Kevin made a circular motion with his glass so that the ice cubes rattled. “You think it mattered, uniting at Amy’s resting place?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Jack always said he wanted you all to come together at her grave. To let her know you were all OK, that you loved her. He seemed to think that was important, to help you all heal.”
“He was right about that. But otherwise, Jack isn’t entirely right in his head, is he?”
“Probably not.”
“Is he totally messed up?”
Kevin shrugged. “No, but sometimes he’s better or worse than at other times. Sometimes he makes perfect sense, but other days the ghosts that haunt his head won’t leave him in peace. To tell the truth, at times I really don’t know what to make of him. Either way, it’s not his fault. PTSD does that to you. It takes a brave person with a lot of strength and empathy to continue to love someone who suffers from it.”
Kevin sipped from his glass, rattling the ice again. “What about Sean? Did you two get any closer?”
I took out a tissue and wiped my eyes. I’d cried so much the soft skin around my cheeks felt ablaze. Did I feel any closer to Sean? Yes, I did. He was the same vacant-stare Sean, but I felt more connected to him. In some small way, he acknowledged me as his mother, or at least someone connected to his life. I could still remember the tight feel of his hug, his hand clutching mine, the comforting feeling of his cheek beneath my fingers.
“Can anyone join the party, or do I need an invitation?”
I turned and saw Jack in the doorway.
“Give me a drink, Kev.”
“Where’s Sean?”
“Asleep.”
“Better if you didn’t booze.”
Jack arched an eyebrow. “I’m not doing press-ups. And believe me, I need a shot of something. One won’t hurt. Give me some ice.”
Kevin tossed a fistful of cubes into a glass, splashed in some liquor, and handed it to Jack.
“You wanted explanations.” Jack looked deep into my eyes. “Let’s start with the crash. You wanted proof that it was deliberate.”
“I’m listening.”
“The pilot told me before we went down that the fuel feed line wasn’t right, that it seemed like it was getting clogged. He’d flown that same aircraft for fifteen years, knew it like the back of his hand. He said the fuel line had been replaced only months ago and that it had been in perfect working order.”
“That doesn’t mean someone tampered with it. Parts can fail.”
“You don’t think I know that? I ain’t delusional. The aircraft’s fuel line was tampered with, Kath. We were meant to crash.”
“Where’s the proof? I don’t want gut instinct, Jack, I want facts. So far, the NTSB hasn’t come up with evidence of any sabotage.”
“So far. But the NTSB knows nothing. Half the aircraft was shattered. They saw a wreck that was decaying in the woods for eight years. The site’s been contaminated by nature and the elements. How could they ever know for sure?”
“Haven’t they got experts?”
“And experts always get it right?”
“Meaning?”
“They’d never find the sabotage evidence. Not ever.”
“Why not?”
“Because the people who tried to kill us are smart. The kind who could commit sabotage without leaving a shred of evidence. Who could find us no matter where we try to hide. They’ve got the means, the motives . . .”
“One thing at a time. How could they commit that kind of sabotage and get away with it?”
“It could be as simple as tossing a piece of rock salt into the fuel tank. It eventually causes a blockage. But salt breaks down over time, and the evidence disappears. Either in a fireball when the aircraft crashes, or it degrades to nothing over a period.”
“Who are they?”
“The same people who’d have killed us all. Just like they killed DJ and his wife. That could have been us. They’re the devil incarnate. Evil to the bone.”
“Where’s the proof, Jack? Where?” I felt so exasperated. “I don’t see any proof. Can you back up what you say? Can you name names? Otherwise it sounds like madness, all of it. You’re not giving me anything solid, Jack. Who sabotaged your plane? Who tried to kill you?”
He gave a lingering look over at Kevin, before turning back to me. “You need to ask your father that question.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Ask him.”
I looked at Jack, astonished at the hard, angry look on his face. “Are you saying my father had something to with your plane being sabotaged? That he’d conspire to try to kill his own grandchildren? That’s—that’s absurd.”
Jack flung his glass across the room. It smashed against the wall, liquor dribbling everywhere, glass shards skittering all over the floor. “Kath, you haven’t a clue!”
“My father wouldn’t harm his own grandchildren. That’s insane. He loved Sean and Amy.”
“Just like he loved your mom?”
“What does that mean?”
“Kath, there are parts to this puzzle you can’t even imagine. You don’t know what’s at stake. In war, even good people go bad.”
It hit me then. “The note in my car, the photographs. It was you, wasn’t it?”
He nodded. “Lusk did it for me. I wanted him to go on a recon to your place, see what he could find out, and warn you. He was an Army buddy, with me at Red Rock. I wanted to keep you away from me. I knew you’d come looking. Lusk delivered the message I asked him to. I just didn’t want you getting hurt. I still don’t.”
“Why did Lusk kill himself?”
“Quentin had throat cancer, with months to live. I left an old boat for
him at the marina in case he had to ditch his vehicle and bug out. But at the end of the day, he’d probably have put that gun to his head anyway. Saves a lot of explaining.”
“If you had Lusk leave the note, you must have believed what it said. Unless you just meant to mess with my head?”
“I didn’t. Your father killed your mother.”
“How could you know that?”
“Call it instinct, call it gut, whatever. Why would your mother kill herself on your wedding day? You ever ask yourself that?”
“A lot.”
“Unless it had some kind of deeper significance, I don’t think she would have done it on such a day. And scar your life forever after with a brutal memory like that? As crazy as Martha Beth could be, I don’t think that was her.”
I said nothing.
Jack continued, “Maybe it was an argument that went wrong, maybe something more deliberate, but he killed her. I’d stake my life on it.”
I looked at Kevin for some kind of affirmation. But he just looked back at me blankly, then stared down, eying the ice cubes in his glass, as if he wasn’t sure of anything, or maybe he knew a lot more than he could say.
I said to Jack, “You know how that makes me feel?”
“Lousy. I’m sorry, but the truth always hurts.”
“Are you telling me her death is tied in with the crash and the theft?”
“At a guess, she knew too much. Or threatened him in some way. But only your father can answer that. I don’t trust him. I haven’t for a long time.”
I looked at Jack, my eyes asking why.
He met my stare. “You know what they say. If you dance with the devil, then you haven’t got a clue. You think you’ll change the devil, but the devil changes you.”
“Meaning?”
“I think you know what I mean, Kath. You think he was the same man after he lost his foot? After the Army screwed him out of the Medal of Honor? After they shoved him out the door following Red Rock, like they couldn’t wait to get rid of him?”
Jack held up two fingers, the tips almost touching. “Your father came that close to being court-martialed. He was one bitter bunny, was Frank. He tried not to show it to you, but he was an angry man, fuming. A man capable of anything. I saw that in him in his final days in Iraq. You didn’t.”
Jack had that faraway look in his eyes again, the look that told me something disturbing was going on inside his head. I was silent a few moments as I considered his words. I knew he was right about my father.
“You said there are parts to this puzzle I can’t imagine. What did you mean?”
This time, it was Kevin who answered. “Kyle’s attempted suicide, for starters.”
“What about it?”
“Your kid brother was an idealist, brought up to believe in the honor of being a patriot. What he saw at Red Rock wasn’t patriotism to him, it wasn’t fighting for his country. Being a good soldier wasn’t about massacring women and kids, mistake or otherwise. And it wasn’t about being a party to theft.”
“What does that mean?”
Jack said, “He knew about the stolen money. He was told to keep his mouth shut. That troubled him, caused him shame. Soldiers don’t steal. Their watchword is honor. They don’t enrich themselves, not even on the bodies of their enemy dead. And you wonder why he went over the edge?”
“Who exactly enriched themselves?”
Before Jack could reply, a harsh buzzer erupted, sounding like a house alarm, high-pitched, piercing our ears. The beat was so severe it made my chest thump. I guessed it was Kevin’s early-warning system, because he was already grabbing a shotgun from the corner, making a dash toward the TV security monitor on the shelf.
I could make out a car halting at a wide gate. The shadowy figure of a man appeared to jump from it and pushed open the gate. Kevin grabbed a couple of black tactical flashlights and tossed one to Jack.
“Kill all the lights.” Kevin started to hit the wall stitches and a lit lamp.
Jack killed the last wall switch. His flashlight flicked on, a powerful strobe at first, until he switched it to a low-powered blue beam and hurried to the window, clutching his pistol.
I watched the TV security screen as the shadowy figure climbed back into the car and drove on. A sickening feeling grew in the pit of my stomach.
Jack was watching the car, too. “You asked who enriched themselves? I think you’re about to find out.”
The car reappeared moments later in another camera shot that covered the farmhouse. The vehicle stopped again, and the man jumped out and started to move toward the farmhouse. As the figure came closer, I saw that he wore a hat, and his features became more distinct.
But I didn’t need to see his features.
I recognized that limping walk anywhere.
So did Jack.
It was my father.
92
* * *
My father stepped toward the farmhouse.
Jack cocked his pistol. “What do you know? It seems the devil’s come to us.”
Astonished, I looked from Kevin to Jack, trying to figure it out “How did he know where we were?”
“I figured you were being followed, that someone might show up sooner or later.”
I watched the screen in disbelief as my father moved up toward the patio.
Jack stepped toward the windows. “Kevin, keep watch on the rear.”
“He’s on his own. The other cameras are clear.”
“I still don’t trust him. Keep watch.”
“Got it.” Kevin hurried toward the kitchen door as Jack turned to watch from the window again.
I felt puzzlement, concern, fear, confusion, all running around inside my head like some insane circus parade. A second later, my father’s voice boomed outside. “I know you’re in there, Jack. It’s me, Frank. I’m unarmed. We need to talk.”
Jack didn’t answer him but whispered to me, “I’ll take a guess you’ll have your questions answered soon enough.”
I was tempted to call out to my father, but Jack put a finger to his lips to silence me. All the lights were still doused, except for the low-beam tactical flashlights Jack and Kevin carried. I could just about make out things in the room.
“You hear me, Jack? I’m coming in. I’m unarmed. I’ve got something important to say to you. We can all walk away from this without any harm being done.” Silence, and then my father added, “Who’s in there with you, Jack?”
Jack did not reply.
Kevin whispered from the back, “It’s still all clear out here.”
“What about the far perimeters?”
“I’ve got trip wires set up as far as two hundred fifty yards. Beyond that, I can’t say.”
“How do you think he found us?”
Kevin shook his head, and then Jack regarded me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said. “I never told my father you contacted me. I never told him anything.”
Jack said, “Somebody did. Get back behind me. Don’t make a sound or so much as move until I tell you to.”
“What does he want?”
“We’re about to find out. Now, get behind me, out of view in the kitchen, and keep your mouth shut.”
“Why?”
“Don’t question, just do.” Impatience flared in Jack’s voice.
I knew he was in military mode, and you didn’t argue with him when he was like that, so I moved about twelve feet away, staying behind the kitchen door.
Outside, my father shouted, “You hear me, Jack? I’m coming in. Like I said, I’m unarmed. So don’t go shooting. You’ve nothing to fear. I’ll come in, and once I’m through the door, I’ll lie flat on my face. You can search me.”
Did my father know I was here? I heard footsteps moving up the wooden steps, then crossing the patio and sto
pping outside the door. The locked doorknob rattled. The it rattled some more.
“Jack? Are you in there?”
Jack reached over, flicked the lock, and called out, “Come inside. Do exactly as I tell you. Do anything I don’t tell you to, and I’ll shoot.”
“Got it. I want no trouble, Jack.”
“Open the door nice and easy. Take two slow steps inside. Keep your face forward, and don’t look anywhere but straight ahead. Then don’t take another step until I tell you to.”
“Understood.”
I heard the knob rattle again, and then the door was pushed in.
I saw my father step forward and stand maybe eight feet away. Jack’s flashlight shone on him. He looked injured—his face was bruised, his right eye badly swollen.
He didn’t looked left or right, just straight ahead, and he couldn’t have seen me in the dark corner. “Jack? What now?”
The question was barely out of my father’s mouth when Jack lunged, and the butt of his gun came down hard on the back of my father’s skull.
As my father collapsed, Jack hit him again and again, furiously. I watched in shocked disbelief. My father tried to defend himself from the blows raining down, but Jack’s attack was brutal and relentless, the pistol cracking into skull bone with a sickening noise. It was an abrupt attack, one that even a man as capable as my father could not defend himself against. Jack kept it up, striking my father a final blow on the back of the neck until he was unconscious.
“Jack, stop!” I screamed.
I grabbed hold of Jack’s arm, but he was far stronger than me, and he pushed me aside as my father collapsed to the ground like a sack of corn.
A pair of handcuffs appeared from Kevin’s pocket as he stepped in and helped Jack drag my father’s limp body over to the couch. I saw blood ooze from the crown of his skull.
“Why?” I demanded.
“He got what he deserved.” Rage was still blazing in Jack’s eyes.
I glared back at him. “Don’t hit him again. I don’t want him hurt.”