by Frankie Love
He moves to leave, and I watch him go, knowing it is not fair to push. I want to respect his decency. I want to honor that.
I stand on the front porch, watching him walk away. Waving goodbye to him, Gram’s words flash across my mind. All good things are worth the wait. You can’t rush love, Hayley.
10
Luke
I spend my day at the Petersons’ house, working on their porch. I half-expect Chris to show up, but he never does. I don't even get a call from him, not even a reply to any of my texts. I'm worried about him, really fucking worried.
Even though his relationship with Stacy may not have been perfect, I know he loved her, and I know he's feeling the loss of her deeply. If I know my brother at all, he's hurting really badly right now, and I need to help him any way I can.
I spent half the morning babysitting the Petersons’ youngest little girl, only four years old or so, while her mother ran around the kitchen all frazzled and trying to get her oldest girl ready for school.
Karina is pleasant enough. We went to high school together, and she doesn’t seem to hold the fact that I've been to prison against me. I was perfectly fine looking after little Gemma while she readied Becca's lunchbox.
The little girl chattered about this and that and even tricked me into having a tea party with her dolls and stuffed animals. Feeling emasculated as fuck, I still got a good laugh when she called me Mrs. Barton, introducing me to her stuffed family as the newest member of the tea club.
"And what will you have for tea, Mrs. Barton?" she asked me sweetly, pouring me a cup of imaginary tea.
"A cucumber sandwich, please," I said in a high-pitched voice, making Gemma giggle. She presented me with an empty plate and I furrowed my brows at it. "With the crusts cut off!"
Gemma complied and cut off the invisible crust before beaming at me. God, where have those times gone?
In a flash I remember how fucking good I felt walking around campus at Washington University. Hell, I thought I’d finish school, get drafted to the NFL and come back for Hayley, a man with a future she deserved. But I swallow back the memories. They died along with my sister.
Once Karina is done with Becca's lunch, I'm deep in thought and barely even acknowledge her thorough apologies for making me look after Gemma.
I spend the rest of the day hard at work on their porch. Chris doesn't show up, and he doesn't answer my phone, which worries me, but in the end, the job still needs to get done. Late into the evening, I look at the nearly-completed porch with pride. It's beautiful—just the way I imagined it would be, and I hope the Petersons are happy with the progress as well.
On my way out, I notice the family sitting down to dinner, and I wave goodbye before heading towards my car.
Mr. Peterson, Emmett, calls after me and I stop in my tracks. I turn around as he walks down the sidewalk.
He's a few years older than me. "What's up?" I ask. Emmett furrows his brows and gives me a sideways glance. "I don't mean to be a dick, Luke," he mutters awkwardly. "I just wanted to...."
Oh god, here it comes, I think, cringing internally. He's gonna say something about the murder, and it's going to be awkward as hell.
"It's... I mean, you're doing good work on the porch."
After a pause, Emmett continues, “Really good work. Making good progress."
"But?" I ask him pointedly, wanting him to get this over with. We don't have to tiptoe around the subject.
"I'd just prefer it if your brother was around," Emmett finally says, looking at the ground, not able to look me in the eyes. "I don't... I'm sorry, man. I don't like you being here alone."
"What?" My eyes widen. "What's this about, Emmett? I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"I just don't like you being around my girls," he says, looking uncomfortable and defensive as he crosses his arms in front of his body. "Come on, Barton, you gotta understand. You're a convicted felon, for god's sake."
I just stare at him, letting his words sink in. He's right. I've been fucked by the system and I'll always have that label. Felon. Just as I'm about to reply, Gemma runs up to us and hugs my knees, saying, "Luke! Don't leave yet. I wanna show you my treehouse."
Emmett yanks her back so forcefully that she yelps, and I give him a pained look.
"Sorry, darling," I reply roughly. "I can't today. Gotta lot of work to do. Why don't you show your daddy instead?"
She pouts as a look of understanding passes between Emmett and me. I walk away with slumped shoulders and my eyes on the ground. Knowing I'll never be able to escape this goddamn stamp on my head hurts. And knowing people still believe I'm a coldblooded killer... that hurts even more.
I start up the car and drive back to Chris' place. It's my last night staying here, as I got a lease on a small house closer to town. It's only a few streets away from Hay, and it's a real fixer-upper, just the kind I want. I'm talking to the owner about doing some renovations instead of paying rent, and he seems pleased with it.
Thoughts of Hayley make me hopeful. I don't know how she feels about me long-term, of course, but that kiss on her doorstep... it was fucking magic. And I want more.
But after Stacy, it's hard to think rational thoughts. First things first, though. I need to check up on my brother and make sure he's all right.
I pull up in the driveway. There's a small light on in the living room, otherwise the house is dark. I park and exit the car, knocking on the door before letting myself in. I always feel like an intruder here. Like I don't belong. Even more so today, knowing how pained my brother must be.
I walk into the living room. The house is quiet, not a sound to be heard. I find Chris sprawled on the couch in the living room, breathing heavily and obviously passed out. Several liquor bottles line the floor around the couch and I sigh, running my hands through my hair as I take in the scene before me.
Fuck. He's gone off the deep end, and I can't say I don't understand. Chris' life has been a rollercoaster since he was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder as a child. I'm used to his emotions being extreme, to his mood swings and outbursts. I guess I don't know him as well as Stacy did, though. And I don't know how I can help after this. I move towards him, shaking him away as gently as I can. He grunts and squints against the lamp beside the couch as he begins to wake.
"Hey," I say softly. "How are you, Chris?"
"What?" he mutters. "Oh fuck, what happened?"
I don't have time to reply as realization sinks in, and he groans out loud. Jesus, I don't want to be in his spot. This is so fucking painful. I just want to punch something.
"She's gone," he says to himself. "She's really fucking gone."
"She is," I say gently. "But we'll get past this, Chris. I'll help you out, and so will Dad. You'll be fine."
"I won't be fucking fine!" he yells, his pupils dilated and his expression enraged. It's such a huge difference from the way he looked a few days ago. "I lost Stacy, man. My girl... I loved her, I fucking loved her."
"I know you did," I tell him. "She loved you too, Chris. We both know that."
Even with her wandering eye, I truly believe she did. She always had a soft spot for Chris.
"Fuck that," my brother mutters. "And fuck this goddamn town. Do you hear that? Fuck you, Willow Creek!"
"Please, it'll be fine," I try to tell him. "We'll get through this together."
"We?" he snarls at me. "What do you have to do with this, Luke? Unless you fucking killed her, too."
I just stare at him.
"You honestly believe I killed that man?" I ask. "You believe I killed our sister's murderer?"
He doesn't reply, instead he just tears at his hair and glares at me. I know he's having an episode, and I know I should try to be rational. But knowing what my own brother believes about me is fucking hurtful.
"I lost Stace," he repeats. "I lost Julie. And I lost Hayley, too, because of this fucking town." He looks right at me. "Because of you."
"What?" I say. "I didn't take Hayley from you.
You didn't lose her—she's back, isn't she?"
"Oh yeah?" he growls, getting up from the couch and advancing on me. He pokes a finger into my chest, and I can tell there will be no reasoning with him, not now that he's so far gone, and drunk out of his mind too.
"You stole her," he snarls at me. "You took her. You kissed her. You fucked her, Luke!"
My cheeks heat up and I look at the floor, and Chris laughs maniacally. "See, I fucking knew it," he says bitterly. "I saw you two leaving the forest the morning after the party. I fucking saw you."
"I'm sorry," I manage to get out. "I didn't know...."
"Didn't know what?" he asks angrily. "That I was in love with her? Fuck that, Luke, the whole town knew."
"I'm sorry," I manage to get out.
"You're not," he spits. "But it doesn't fucking matter. I lost Hayley, I made do with Stacy. I know she fucking loved me, Luke, I know she did."
His chest heaves with sobs and I find myself beside him, holding him up as tears run down his cheeks. We're brothers, aren't we? We're fucking family. "She loved you too," I tell him gently. "You know Stacy loved you. You've been dating for nearly two years. She loved you so fucking much."
"Yeah," my brother laughs bitterly. "I guess she fucking did. Not enough to be just mine, though."
My body freezes when those words leave his mouth, and I don't know what to say. I always suspected Stacy was cheating on him, but I never said a word to my brother. I knew it would hurt him too fucking much to find out about an affair, if there ever was one.
Chris grabs for a bottle of booze and I act on instinct, stopping him in his tracks. "I think you've had enough, bud," I tell him as I pick the bottle up. I'm just trying to take care of him. I hate that he's doing this to himself.
"Get the fuck away from me," he snarls. "Chris," I say. "I'm your brother. Please, I'm begging you, just... stop this."
He makes a lunge for me and we both topple to the floor, our bodies tangled as my brother tries to pry the bottle of booze away from my hands. I focus on keeping him away from me before he hurts us both, but the adrenaline rush gives him strength I never knew he had.
The bottle breaks in my hand when he slams it against the floor and I curse out loud when the glass shards dig into my palm. Chris makes a grab for the bottle, taking the half-broken thing in his hand and holding it above my face.
I clutch my bleeding hand and just stare at him. It's like I don't even know him, and fuck, I know we've been through our list of tragedies, what with Mom out of the picture and Julie being taken from us, and now this shit with Stacy, but god ... It's like I don't even know him. Like I don't know my own brother.
"Chris," I manage to get out. "Please, calm down. Don't do this."
He just stares at me with bloodshot eyes, his hand yielding the weapon shakily as he stares down at me. And then a sob wracks his body and the shard falls to the ground, narrowly missing my face and digging into the hardwood floor. My brother's hands fly to his face and he helps me up when he collects himself, not caring when I get my blood all over his expensive clothes.
We stand up, brother and brother, knowing there's gonna be a lot more shit where all this came from, but also knowing we need to get through it together—there is no other way.
Chris says quietly. "I... I don't know what happened. Things got completely out of control."
"You spiraled," I say gently. "I've seen you do this before, Chris. Has it been happening a lot?"
He shakes his head vehemently, saying, "No, not at all. It's been better since... since I've been with her."
He runs his hands through his hair, and I'm sure we both look like a complete mess.
"Can you get the first aid kit?" I ask him carefully, pointing to my hand. "I'm bleeding."
"Jesus, of course." He disappears into the bathroom and comes out a second later with the kit. We sit down on the couch and he cleans out my wound quietly. Neither of us says a word.
We don't talk about this much, but a similar incident happened when I was younger. Chris was off his meds for a while —my dad didn't want him to be taking them. During one of his episodes, Chris threw me against the wall. I'm not some sack of bones that can be thrown around like that, but it seems like my brother gets stronger when that adrenaline rushes through his veins. He hurt me pretty badly, and I have a scar to prove it. But it hasn't happened since then, at least as far as I know.
"Thank god you were here," my brother mutters, and I slap him on the back with my uninjured hand.
"I'm always here to help you," I promise him. We sit there for a while, and the silence surrounding us isn't oppressing for once, but instead comforting and calming. "We'll get to the bottom of this," I promise him.
"The police are on it," he mutters. "You know Dad will go to any lengths to find the killer."
"Yeah, well, he seemed to think it was me," I manage to get out, my voice bitter.
"I heard," Chris replies. "Such a shitty thing to do. Maybe he was pressured by the precinct."
"Maybe," I reply, though I don't believe a word of it. "But I'm going to get to the bottom of this myself if I have to. And I might need your help. That okay?"
"Yeah," he says, his voice a little strained. "We need to find out what happened."
"We do." We exchange awkward smiles when Chris speaks up again.
"By the way," he says. "I wanted to get the charm back, the one I gave her for our anniversary. Remember?"
"Yeah." I nod. He got Stacy a gold heart locket that she wore around her neck every day. When she was nervous, she used to bite the chain.
He furrows his brows. "They said she wasn't wearing it."
"That doesn't sound like her," I reply. Though if Stace was having an affair... god knows, maybe she just took it off when she was with the other guy. I don't mention this to Chris, though. "I'll look into it."
"Thanks," he replies. "I know she was wearing it the night of the party."
"That's right." I faintly remember the gold glittering against her neck. “We’ll find it."
Chris merely nods.
"We're okay, right?" he asks me carefully.
"Yeah," I smile back. I hope my fake grin is more convincing than my bleeding arm. "We'll be all right."
But I can't help but wonder how many times my brother has lost control like this, and I wasn't around to stop him.
11
Hayley
Everyone in Willow Creek is shaken by Stacy’s death. She was innocent, she wasn’t strangled for justice, for a crime she committed. She was a young woman who worked at a bar. And yeah, she never had a shining reputation, but it seems everyone has good things to say about her now that she’s gone. She’s turned from the hussy who poured Bud Light to every man and their father in this town into a saint who was taken too soon.
Maybe she never was a devil, just a misunderstood angel.
I drop off casseroles and cookies to her parents who live in a trailer on the edge of town. We were never close, but right now that doesn’t matter. I remember their daughter, and for them, that is enough. That is everything.
Stacy’s mom takes the Tupperware containers from my hand, then wraps her hands around mine, her red-rimmed eyes meeting my gaze.
"You always meant so much to her," she tells me. "I’m so glad you reconnected before we lost her."
Her mom says lost as if her life is something that can be found. But this isn’t a bedtime story for little boys and girls. There is no huntsman with an axe coming to save her, slicing open the wolf’s belly and letting the innocent girls crawl out alive and breathing.
No.
Stacy is gone. Julie is gone.
And I don’t want anyone else getting lost in the woods.
I go around town, looking for answers. Maybe I am desperate. Greedy. Wanting more than my fair share. After all, I left. But I’m not the only one who wants answers. Luke does. Chris does. Stacy’s parent do.
I plan to go to the mortician's office first. Bearing gifts, of cours
e. I’ve spent the past few weeks baking my emotions, which is better than eating them, I suppose. But I don’t feel like the hopeful girl who showed up in Willow Creek, no baggage besides the shitty boyfriend I left. The boyfriend who keeps texting, insisting I reply.
Nick’s number flashes across my screen as I’m looking through my closet for a proper give-me-information outfit. An adult outfit. One Nick actually would've approved of.
Not even wanting to take the effort to thumb him a response, I just answer, putting him on speaker phone.
"What?" I ask. I pull on black panties and a matching bra, instantly annoyed at myself for answering.
"Hayley, you answered."
"Yep. What do you need, Nick? I’ve had a shitty month and can’t deal with you being an asshole."
"Woah, woah, Hayley," he says, his tone unexpectedly soft. "I’m sorry."
"Oh, yeah?" I roll my eyes. Nick was a bad decision that lasted too long. We hooked up because I swiped right. We moved in together because we’d save on rent. I’d never met his parents and we were together for a year. Nothing about us was good. I mean, Tinder introducing us was probably the first clue.
"I am. I saw a headline about Willow Creek and went to the town’s paper online. That’s a lot of shit. Do you know anyone there that…"
"That died?" I let out the breath I’d been holding the moment he mentioned Willow Creek. Sitting down on my bed, I pick up the phone, take it off speaker and try to be something besides a bitch. Rubbing my eyes, I say, "Yeah. I do. Did."
I fill him in, and honestly, he sounds genuinely concerned about me. Maybe we were a terrible couple, but I did date him a year. He wasn’t all bad. And he is a good listener. I mean, he’s going to school to be a therapist, after all.
"Do you want me to come out?" he asks. "I’d like to see you."
"I don’t see how that’s a good idea. We’re over, Nick."
"I know, but sometimes when things are hard seeing a familiar face makes things better."