by Alex Finlay
A scruffy dog ran up to him. “Hey there, buddy.” Matt risked giving the stray a rub behind the ears. His fur was matted, and he had scars, but he was friendly. His face looked like he was smiling. Matt couldn’t help but smile back at him. The dog made a sound like he was trying to talk.
“You hungry?”
The dog looked up at him. Matt unzipped his duffel and found a bag of pretzels, the snack from the airplane. The dog started dancing in circles.
“Not the healthiest, but here you go.” Matt emptied the bag on the ground. “See you later, Smiley.”
Matt made it to the main road, the dog trailing behind him, hoping for more food. Highway 307 was a long row of shops, bars, restaurants, and currency exchange stations. Tourists were drifting in and out of stores, buying trinkets, and shopkeepers sat on stools out front.
Matt’s stomach growled. Like Smiley, who’d wandered into one of the shops, he was hungry. He realized it had been more than twenty-four hours since he’d eaten anything. His appetite was gone. Eating, like other ordinary things, seemed so trivial now. But he couldn’t keep running on only despair. Spotting a cantina, he decided he’d get some food, then find a place to stay. The establishment was seat-yourself, so he took a stool at a tall bar table. A waitress appeared, and she mercifully spoke English. He ordered a Mexican beer and two tacos. When in Rome.
He glanced around the place. In the far corner was a group of young women, loud and rowdy and the epitome of Ugly Americans. A few tables over was a foursome—they looked like tourists from Japan—sitting politely with their neat polo shirts and hands folded. At the bar were a mix of locals and vacationers.
He wondered why his parents had picked Tulum. They’d never talked about going to Mexico. The internet said Tulum was a hot spot for celebrities, cool and off the beaten path. That didn’t sound like Evan Pine’s scene at all. Maybe one of those celebrities—wherever they were, Matt sure as shit didn’t see any—had offered to help with Danny’s case. That seemed a lot more plausible than his father deciding to have an impromptu spring break getaway. Especially since his mother had been in Nebraska. It didn’t make sense.
Matt tapped on his phone, searching travel sites for a place to stay. After several searches, he hadn’t found a single vacancy, not even in the cheap motels. Maybe he could try a walk-in, since the travel websites might not have up-to-date vacancies. Or there might be some dumps too low-end for Expedia. He texted Agent Keller to see if the FBI could arrange accommodations, though he wasn’t holding his breath, since the consular officer hadn’t even bothered to show up at the airport. Worst case, he’d stay out all night. It wouldn’t be the first time.
He started to pull up another site, but a young woman interrupted him.
“Hi,” she said, staring at him with doe eyes as she slipped onto the stool across from him. She had glossy dark hair and high cheekbones and wore a bikini with jean shorts.
“Hi,” he replied, curious. He glanced over toward the group of obnoxious American women, since he assumed she was part of their group, but they were gone.
“I’m so sorry, but would you mind if I sat with you for a few minutes?” Before Matt could respond, she said, “Behind me, those two guys at the bar. I don’t want them to know I’m here alone.”
Matt shot a quick glance toward the bar. He saw two hard-looking men with crude tattoos hunched over their beers.
“I promise, I’m not a stalker.” She had full lips, and her face lit up when she smiled.
“It’s no problem. They were bothering you?”
She nodded, twisted a strand of her hair. “Once they go, I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
He didn’t say so, but he actually liked the company. It had been a long, lonely day.
“I’m Hank, by the way,” she said.
“Hank,” he repeated.
“My dad wanted a boy,” she explained with the practice of someone with an unusual name. She had an accent. It wasn’t Southern, more Midwestern, a rural lilt. It reminded Matt of his friend Kala’s twang when they’d first met, before she started hiding it.
Hank laughed hard at nothing, then reached over and placed her hand on Matt’s. “Sorry,” she said. “Just in case they’re watching.”
The waitress brought over his beer and the tacos. Matt asked if Hank wanted anything, but she ordered just a glass of water.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to drink the water?” Matt said.
“I’m an Oklahoma girl; I can handle it.”
“I knew it, a Midwesterner. I’m one too. I used to live in Nebraska.”
“You’re a Cornhusker? I think I’d better take my chances with the creeps,” she said, smiling. “Where in Nebraska?”
“I moved a long time ago, and you wouldn’t have heard of it anyway.”
“Where do you live now?”
“New York, I go to NYU. But my home is just outside Chicago.” Matt looked down at the table. Was Naperville his home anymore? Was there anything left for him there? When he raised his eyes, Hank was studying him.
“So, you waitin’ on someone, friends?” she asked.
Matt shook his head. “I’m here on my own.”
She tilted her head to the side, gave him a curious look. But she didn’t ask.
“How about you? You’re here by yourself?” Matt asked, his eyes sliding back to the men at the bar who’d been bothering her.
She frowned. “I’m here for a bachelorette party.” Lowering her voice, she said, “I can’t stand the bride or her friends.”
“No?” It was a long way to come for someone she didn’t like.
“My brother’s fiancée,” she explained.
“Ah,” Matt said.
“The things we do for family, right?”
Matt took a swig of his beer, felt a sting in his chest.
“They’re all her friends and super drunk and annoying,” she continued, “so I hung back when they hopped to the next bar. But she makes my brother happy, so what can you do?”
“The elusive hunt for happiness,” Matt said. God knows Matt had been on that pursuit for some time. Even before, he wouldn’t say he’d been depressed or even sad. Despite the friction, he always knew his family loved him. He had close friends he cared about and who cared about him. He had, for all intents and purposes, a privileged life. But there was always this hollowed-out feeling in his chest he hadn’t been able to shake since Year Zero. “I took a class on happiness at school,” he said.
Hank stared at him, openmouthed. “Wait, you’re telling me that your college, which probably cost more than a house in Arkoma, has classes on happiness?” She said it like she was really dumbfounded.
Matt smiled, realizing how it must sound. “The class is called ‘The Science of Happiness.’ And it wasn’t so much about how to be happy, but about dealing with mental health wellness. But they did teach us an exercise that can make you happier.”
“Having rich parents,” Hank said, with a smile.
“No, it’s not money or status or even a fiancée that makes people happy.”
She leaned in, excited to learn the secret.
“It’s kindness,” Matt said. “Studies prove that doing five random acts of kindness a day leads to more happiness. But it has to be five, for some reason. I forget why.”
Hank narrowed her eyes. “So is that why you let me sit here, to meet your daily quota or something?” She smiled again.
The waitress came over with the water. Matt looked at Hank. “You sure you don’t want anything?”
“You know what, why not?” she said. “I’ll have a margarita.”
“Make that two,” Matt said.
CHAPTER 19
Matt peered over at the bar and noticed that the guys who’d been bothering Hank were gone. He was almost disappointed, since he was enjoying her company. He learned that she was an avid football fan and wasn’t kidding about her disdain for Nebraska, even though the Cornhusker–Sooner rivalry had died down in recent year
s. He also learned that she’d dropped out of community college, but planned to go back. That she was a hairstylist. That she loved dogs. He avoided telling her why he was there. It was all mindless small talk, precisely what he needed.
“They’re gone,” Matt said, directing his gaze to the bar.
She looked over her shoulder, and let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.
“Want me to walk you out to get a cab in case they’re still hanging around outside?”
“I have a rental car. But if you wouldn’t mind walking with me…?”
It was dark outside, late. The men were nowhere to be seen, which was a good thing. Matt could hold his own, but there were two of them and they looked like they’d been in their share of fights. And after he’d lost control on that frat boy, he’d pledged to stop with the fisticuffs.
A dog ran up to them. It was Smiley from earlier.
“Speaking of stalkers, this guy’s been following me since I got here.”
Hank crouched down and cupped Smiley’s face in her hand. “Oh my god. He’s so cute. Look at this face!”
The dog followed them down the main drag. Hank said, “He’s so friendly. I heard that you’ve got to be careful. There’re packs of wild dogs around here that are dangerous.” She looked at Smiley again. “But not this sweet boy.”
“You staying nearby?” Matt asked.
“No, we’re right on the beach. They wanted to be adventurous and explore the bars here in town. How about you?”
“I actually need to find a place. I was supposed to be in for just the day, but got delayed.”
“You came all the way here with nowhere to stay?” She seemed amused by that.
“Long story.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I’ll find somewhere.”
She gave him a sideways look like she knew better during the busy season. She stopped at a beat-up Toyota parked haphazardly on a side street.
“It was great to meet you,” Matt said. “Have a great time at the wedding.”
“You obviously haven’t seen the bridesmaid dresses.” She paused as if she were pondering something. “Hey, I won’t be surprised if our hotel has an opening. My brother booked a block of rooms and a couple people canceled last minute. I can drive you.”
“I don’t want to put you out.”
“You won’t be. Let’s call it a random act of kindness,” Hank said. “But I’ll warn you, it’s an eco hotel. My brother’s fiancée is an earthy type—vegan, environmentalist, self-righteous.”
Matt thought about his friend Sofia. “I love that type. And you know the first rule of Vegan Club, right?”
Hank shook her head.
“Tell everyone about Vegan Club.”
She laughed.
Matt dropped into the passenger seat. Hank drove down the gravel road, veering around people on old bicycles, past storefronts covered in graffiti and open-air food stands. After a while, the road turned desolate—the only light the weak beams from the rental car, thick forest on either side of them.
“You weren’t kidding about this place being in the middle of nowhere,” Matt said, breaking the quiet.
Hank gave him a quick smile.
Matt reached for his phone. She seemed to know where she was going, but he thought he’d look up the hotel. She said it was on the beach, but they seemed to be heading into a rural area away from the ocean.
“Shit,” he said.
“What is it?” Hank looked at him, but turned her eyes quickly back to the dark road.
“My phone, I must’ve left it at the bar.” Matt searched his pockets, then dug through the duffel, yanking out his clothes and the newspaper Keller had given him. Without a phone, he’d be screwed.
He started looking around the car somewhat frantically. “Would you mind pulling over?”
Hank hesitated. “We’re almost there,” she said.
“Please,” he said.
Hank slowed the car and parked on the gravel shoulder.
She turned on the car’s interior lights as Matt opened the passenger door, stepped outside, and crouched low, looking on the floorboards and under the seat. Why was he such an idiot with phones?
He climbed back inside and sat next to Hank, defeated. He was about to ask her to take him back to the bar when he noticed she was staring intently at the New York Times story, studying the photos of Matt and his family.
Hank looked at him. “This is—wait—this is why you’re here? This is your family?”
Matt gave a tiny shrug.
She looked at the newspaper again and back at Matt. “Oh my god.” She had a faraway look in her eyes.
“Sorry,” Matt said. “I would’ve told you—I just didn’t want to put a damper on the night.”
She looked out at the lights approaching from down the long strip of road.
Something was different. It wasn’t pity or sadness.
It was panic.
She reached under her seat, then shoved something in his hand. A phone.
His phone.
“You took my … I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t sign up for this.” She looked up the road. The headlights were getting closer. “You need to get out,” she said.
“Here?” Matt said, totally confused. He looked out into the gloom.
She leaned over, tugged at the door handle, and shoved open his door.
“Run,” she said, the other car getting closer. Then louder: “Run!”
So that’s what he did.
Excerpt from
A Violent Nature
Season 1/Episode 6
“What Was Lost”
EXT. DAY – RURAL ROAD
A mail truck plods down the road. It stops at a circular patch of land with mailboxes lining the perimeter. CINDY FORD gets out of the truck and stuffs mail into a box.
CINDY
After Danny’s trial, my sister and her family moved to Chicago. Liv and Evan lost most of their friends, and they had to sell the house to pay for the lawyer. But I think they probably would’ve stuck it out if it weren’t for their kids getting teased at school. Matt got into a fight one day and that was it—they packed up and moved.
Cindy points to several dirt roads that jut out of the circular patch of land.
CINDY
They call this area “the Hub.” One of the roads leads to the creek, where they found Charlotte. Another leads to my sister’s old house, which is why they thought Danny was involved, I suppose. But there’s a bunch of other roads, one that leads to the highway, others take you to about a dozen houses. And if you cut around those bushes, there’s an opening called “the Knoll,” a make-out spot for teenagers. If someone was looking to go after a teenage girl, all they’d have to do is lie in wait.
A run-down muscle car tears out from one of the roads, music blaring, dust flying. Teenagers scream out the window, and an empty beer can hits the side of the mail truck.
CINDY
Why didn’t I leave too? Someone needed to stay to take care of our dad. And it’s not usually like this. The kids have just been showin’ off since you all arrived with your cameras. Maybe you could do me a favor and turn off your camera for a minute.
In the distance, the muscle car has doubled back and is racing toward the Hub. Cindy leans inside the mail truck and retrieves what looks like a jar full of nails. She walks to the road and empties the jar.
CINDY
You deliver people’s mail, you learn a lot about them, and I’ll tell you, most of the people round here have no room to judge anybody. And if you try to run me outta my own town, it’s gonna cost you, and it’ll be a helluva lot more than four new tires.
CHAPTER 20
OLIVIA PINE
BEFORE
“Please, Mommy, I’ve gotta go.”
Liv looked in the rearview of the rental car. Tommy was wiggling around in the car seat, making a show of grabbing himself to let her know he was serious.
“We’re almost to Aun
t Cindy’s house. Do you think you can make it, buddy?”
Liv had just hit Main Street in Adair, Nebraska. It hadn’t changed. As promised, it was a main strip with a hardware store, a diner, an old-time movie theater, a drugstore. Adair wasn’t a depressed farming community like many in the Heartland. Most of the town worked at Adair Irrigation, the country’s largest manufacturer of water management systems. A factory town surrounded by cornfields.
They’d left Adair under the cloud of Danny’s conviction. It had been a quiet ostracism, fueled more by whispers than overt scorn. But then Netflix released the documentary, and the whole country seemed to turn on Adair, revitalizing and intensifying the town’s contempt for the Pines. The last thing Liv wanted was to stop anywhere she’d be recognized. But based on Tommy’s red face and squirming, she had no choice. She knew Parker’s Grocery had a public restroom, so she veered into the lot.
“I’m stopping, jelly bean. Hang on.” The store had a new sign but was otherwise the same as when Liv was a girl. Her father would take her to Parker’s every Saturday to buy candy, at least until the cavities sprouted and her mom put an end to it.
Holding Tommy’s hand, she walked quickly inside. Liv’s stomach clenched when she saw the woman behind the register. Danielle Parker hadn’t changed much either. Still heavyset with eyes that were too close together, and a perpetual scowl. Liv walked head down to the back of the store to the public restrooms, Tommy trying to keep up with her long strides. She clasped the restroom door handle, but it was locked. Of course it was.
“Wait here, sweetie. I need to get the key.”
“Quickly, pleaassse,” he said, nearly bursting.
Liv went back to the counter. “Hello,” she said, forcing a smile. “Could we have the key to the restroom, please? My son is about to have an—”
“Bathroom is for payin’ customers only.”
Liv paused a beat. She looked Danielle in those narrow eyes. With no time for a standoff, Liv jammed her hand into a large plastic container near the register, removed a fistful of hard candy, and dropped the colorful assortment on the counter.