My gaze drifts over to the credenza and the pile of Victor’s mail that continues to accumulate. Underneath it all is the FedEx envelope. My heart pounds as I grasp the corner and pull it out from under the stack of mail. I turn it over.
It’s still sealed.
I press it between my palms as if I could squeeze the words out through the cardboard. When I hear Victor start down the stairs I stash the envelope back underneath the mail pile.
The chief’s house is only about a fifteen-minute drive from our house. Victor and I ride in silence. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m becoming a little obsessed with that envelope. Why hasn’t he opened it?
Why wouldn’t someone open an envelope?
There are only two reasons I can think of.
One: They know what’s inside and don’t need to look.
Or two: They don’t know what’s inside and they’re afraid to look.
I glance at Victor. He is not someone who scares easily. He’s relaxed and driving casually. He detects my stare and gives me a smile but doesn’t feel the need to talk.
I admire that. He’s not one of those people who needs to fill every silence.
Sometimes it’s nice to be with someone but alone with your thoughts.
Rachel answers the door when we ring the bell and shows us into the house. The chief’s house is newer and more formal than ours, but it’s still comfortable. He’s sitting in the living room in a recliner, reading the paper. Rachel has changed out of her work clothes and it looks like she’s wearing one of the chief’s white dress shirts over a pair of slender black pants. The sleeves are rolled up and her hair is pulled up with some clips. There’s an adorable smudge of flour on her cheek. And I swear there’s another kind of glow about her.
My Rachel. The rock of my life, who was always there for everything. That Rachel always had an anxious edge about her. I’ll admit this Rachel is new. I’ve never seen her this content, and it’s really sweet.
I bury the pang of guilt that rises in my chest as a reminder that if she hadn’t rescued me, she probably would have been this Rachel all along. But then I think, well, at least she and the chief get to be open about their relationship now. Finding out about her secret boyfriend was definitely the best thing to come out of suspecting him of being a murderer.
“Your timing is perfect,” Rachel says. “I just put dinner on the table.”
Rachel leads us to a dining room off the kitchen. The room features a long, formal table and matching hutch. There are paintings on the wall of sailing ships being tossed by giant waves. In contrast to the violent ocean scenery, the table is set with a pale pink tablecloth and matching napkins. A short vase of pure white roses sits in the center of the table.
This is an awfully formal setting for chicken casserole.
The chief takes a seat at the head of the table. Rachel sits to his right and Victor to his left. I choose the seat next to Victor.
The casserole and a large, fresh salad are laid out in front of us. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I skipped lunch too. Victor dives right in, ladling scoops of casserole onto his plate. My hand hovers over the salad server when …
“I’m not sure I can wait for dessert,” the chief says, taking Rachel’s hand in his and patting it with his other hand. His expression is giddy and his gaze lingers on her.
She shakes her head, stifling a giggle. “Not now, Charles. They’re hungry.”
“They can eat while we talk.” He’s obviously bursting with some news.
“Really, I think we should—” Rachel chokes up, the words sticking in her throat.
Victor and I side-eye each other. He clearly doesn’t have any more of a clue than I do.
“I think we’re missing something here,” Victor whispers.
“I don’t care,” I say. “There’s no way I’m skipping dinner for dessert. Rachel’s roasted chicken thingy is amazing and I’m starving.”
Rachel pinches her lips together and her eyes well up. She fans her face with her hand.
The chief takes Rachel’s hand again.
At the last second I see it. Something that wasn’t there this morning.
“I just asked this gorgeous woman to marry me!” he blurts out.
Rachel pulls her hand away from his and self-consciously displays a sparkling diamond ring on the ring finger of her left hand.
“I said yes,” she says, somewhat shyly.
“We’re getting married,” they both say at the same time.
I’m stunned. My jaw drops open. Maybe I should have been cued to this, but I wasn’t. This is the very last thing I ever thought would happen. And it’s not that Rachel doesn’t deserve it.
I glance at Victor. He’s stunned too. But he recovers more quickly. He leaps to his feet and offers his hand to the chief.
“Wow. A wedding,” Victor says. “That’s terrific. Congratulations. Sis, you’ll make a beautiful bride.”
“Thank you. Thank you,” Rachel says. “It was a complete surprise.”
Her gaze is moving past Victor and toward me and I know this means I need to say something. Something nice. And I need to say it now.
But there’s one overwhelming, pounding, singular thought, and the minute Rachel looks at me it blurts out of my mouth.
“What about me?”
Everything stops. Silence crashes in around us.
No one speaks.
The earth stops spinning.
I blink and try to focus on my eyelashes because I’m afraid to look anywhere else. My lower eyelids are full of water.
“Oh, Erin…” Rachel’s voice is low and sorrowful. She glances back at the chief. “I wanted to tell you first. Alone. Just the two of us. Because that is how we do things. I’m sorry. This just—I don’t know—got away from me. I—it was a complete surprise. But you know—”
I can’t take it. I can’t go through another “you’re the moon and the stars” pep talk. Not here, in front of Victor and the chief. I know she loves me. I do. I know I’m cared for. My life is good. I get all of that.
I even get why she didn’t tell me one-on-one, just the two of us, like everything between us has always been for my whole life.
It’s because it’s not just the two of us anymore.
20
No matter how disturbing or visceral a crime scene is, in order to be impartial, the investigator must remain immune to the emotional impact.
—VICTOR FLEMMING
Rachel rounds the table toward me, arms extended. Warm huggy, on the move. But I don’t want any part of it. I don’t want to be comforted. Not right this minute. I need to sit with this and get my thoughts straight.
I back toward the door. “I just need a minute. Give me a minute.”
All three of them stop and stare at me.
“I’ll be right back.” I turn and swiftly move toward the door.
I open it and the blast of air feels great. I continue moving straight to Victor’s car.
Three sets of footsteps follow me.
I know this is stupid. It’s not like there’s anywhere I can go. I get into Victor’s car and close the door and breathe in the rich leather scent.
Rachel’s palms flatten against the glass. “Erin, please. Let’s talk about this.”
Victor and the chief hang back at the top of the driveway. Hands in their pockets. Creases between their eyebrows. Uncomfortable as hell.
I’m trapped. Nowhere to go, nothing to say. I’m just going to have to gut it out.
I try to roll down the window, but there’s no power to the car.
My only option is to open the door. Sigh.
Before the door span is even six inches, Rachel’s hands dart in and grab both sides of my face. “Erin. Look at me,” she commands.
I turn my face to hers, shocked by her flood of tears.
“Rachel.” My voice is steady and matter-of-fact. “I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting it and so I was a little shocked. But I’m fine. It’s all good.
”
“No. You’re not good. You’re stuffing, I can tell.” She hugs my head to her chest. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I should’ve been more careful about your reaction. I just—”
“You were excited. I get it.”
“I got swept up in the moment. I was being selfish.” She pulls me out of the car and wraps her arms around me. “Your feelings are okay. They’re normal. Natural. Do not stuff them down, please. Nothing will change right now. I promise. Nothing changes until you’re ready.”
“It’s okay. Really. I’m ready. I want you to be happy.” And this is true. I feel like complete crap for ruining this moment for her. She always made everything about me, so I never suspected that she might want something more. Now I feel like a complete jerk.
“I am happy. I’ve always been happy. And you know you’re the moon and the—” Ugh. Here it comes. I fumble trying to get my hand out of my sleeve and up to her lips. But she grabs my wrist before I can silence her.
“You are our priority. We know you’ll need time to get adjusted to this and we are prepared to give you all the time you need. We’ll wait years. It doesn’t matter to us at all.” She pauses, sniffling and blotting her eyes on the edge of her sweater. “Once there’s a plan and a timeframe we’re all comfortable with, you will have choices. We’re not just going to tell you what you have to do. You’ll get to choose.”
She looks so miserable. I just want her to stop trying to fix it. This isn’t a “fix it” thing.
“What kind of choices?” I ask, also blotting my eyes with my sleeve.
“Like where you want to live. Once it’s settled … and it doesn’t have to be right away … we figured that I could move in here with Charles. Now that Victor is home he can take over Mom and Dad’s house. You, my darling, can choose. We would give anything if you will come live with us here. But if you chose to stay there with Victor, so you can be near your friends, I won’t be hurt. We’ll still see each other every day. I’m really sorry I didn’t plan a better way to tell you the news. Charles means well and he’s so excited about all of it, but especially about getting to know you. Through all of this you will remain our priority.”
I nod. “I know. I know.” I glance over at Victor and the chief silently watching our every move. I dig the toe of my shoe into a crack in the driveway. “Sorry. I’m okay. Really it was just so sudden I didn’t know how to react.”
“I understand,” she says. “Come back up and let’s finish dinner.” She gently takes my elbow. But I stand firm.
“I’m not hungry anymore. I think I really just want to go home.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m fine. But I need to be home.”
She nods. “Okay. I’ll have Victor take you.”
I nod and get back in the car and close the door.
Rachel shrugs helplessly at Victor and the chief. Victor takes this as his cue and strides over and gets in on the driver’s side. He leans toward me as he buckles his seatbelt.
“Just so you know, I’m game for whatever you have in mind, there just needs to be the promise of a meal at the end of it. Because I really am starving.”
He’s starving and there’s a gaping, hollow pit inside me.
“Take me somewhere,” I say. “Anywhere. Somewhere I’ve never been.” I soothe my head against the cool window and breathe out a path of fog. No matter what I do, my future always seems to look exactly like this.
“Roger that.” Victor checks his watch. “It’s Saturday … camp hasn’t started yet. I’ve got this.” He starts the car and turns on the lights, washing Rachel and the chief in the beams. The chief has his arm around her and she’s nervously twisting the ring on her finger.
“They look happy, don’t they?” I say.
“They really do,” agrees Victor.
We’re both lying. They look like they’re facing a firing squad.
“Did you know about the engagement before tonight?” I ask.
“No,” Victor answers. “It was a complete surprise.”
21
Survivor guilt is real and nothing to be ashamed of. But one must remember, surviving isn’t a selfish act, it’s primal.
—VICTOR FLEMMING
Thirty minutes alone in the car with Victor isn’t bad.
Rachel would be wearing out her neck flashing me worried glances every five seconds. He just drives, quietly tapping out some tune with his thumbs on the steering wheel.
Before I know it, the wheels leave the pavement and crunch over a bumpy, gravel parking lot. I sit up and take in our dinner location: a small, dark building with a bright neon sign. The Tender Tavern looks like a bar.
“They serve food?” I ask.
“Best burgers this side of the Mississippi.” Victor parks and glances over. “They have other stuff, too. But their burgers are—” He kisses his fingertips like a French chef.
“Okay. I’m down for burgers.” I open my door and get out of the car. The cool night air floats a whiff of river brine in my direction. It’s one of my favorite scents and the thing I love most about living here. I’m always near water.
We crunch over the gravel toward the weathered wooden door. Victor holds it open for me. Inside the tavern is as worn as the outside. But where the outside has been roughed into craggy splintered edges, the inside is smoothed to a fine, faded patina. The formerly light wood of the bar has been rubbed to a dark, glossy mirror, while the formerly dark wooden floor features a light, burnished path down the middle.
A waitress with a bar rag tucked into her waistband approaches us. “You here for dinner?”
Victor nods.
She grabs a couple of menus and leads us toward the part of the dining room with more light and several occupied tables.
“What about one of those tables over in the corner?” Victor asks.
“Sure, darlin’,” she says. “Anywhere you like.” She threads her way through the maze of furniture and drops the menus on the table. Then she scoops up silverware and napkins from an adjacent table and deposits them, too. “I’ll be back to get your order in a minute, hon.”
Victor pulls out my chair for me and then sits to my right. He peruses the menu briefly before tapping it on the table. There’s a hint of nostalgia in his smile.
“I haven’t been here in years,” he says. “This used to be our hideaway place when we were in high school because they were a little lax in checking IDs,” he says.
“You drank in high school?” I’m not shocked that he did, just shocked that he’s admitting it.
He raises his eyebrows. “You don’t?” Then he puts up his hands. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
I answer him anyway with a shake of my head. “The taste. Yuck.”
“Keep it that way if you can. Too many stupid things get done behind alcohol.”
The waitress comes and takes our order: two burgers with everything, soda for me, and a beer for Victor. She scoops up the menus but before she leaves, Victor stops her and cancels the beer, changing it to two sodas.
“I’m going to wash my hands,” he says, getting up from the table.
When he returns, his hair is damp and he’s grabbed a basket of peanuts in the shell from the bar. He sets it down and cracks open a nut.
“So, you know how this is going to go down, right?” he asks.
“What? Rachel and the chief?”
He plucks another peanut from the basket. “Yeah. My guess is my sister will move slowly and take a lot of time with this. It’s her first wedding, after all. You’ll probably be away at college before she ever moves him in.”
“That’s not what she said, though.” I look him in the eye. “She told me she wouldn’t do anything until I was ready, but basically it’s my choice. I can live with them at the chief’s house, or stay in our house … with you.” Saying that out loud suddenly sounds too personal. “So, you know, I can be close to my friends.”
He looks surprised, but not in a bad way.
“She said that?”
“Yes. She said she thought you’d like to live in your parents’ house for a while.”
“It’s true. I love that house.” His look drifts and becomes misty. Then he brings it back to me. “Lots of memories there. I bet you can say the same thing, right?”
I nod.
“I’m not as good a cook as Rachel, but I have a few skills. I’d be thrilled if you wanted to stay and bunk in with me.”
There’s no contest between staying in my house versus moving in with the chief. But this is way too fast. I haven’t had a chance to process it yet. “Full disclosure, I’m not very good with change.”
“Me either,” he says. “But suddenly we’re both faced with a bunch of it.” He pauses and rubs his hands across his face. “Full disclosure…” He radiates a sudden worry.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing. It’s just there’s something important that I need to tell you. And this might be as good a time as any.” He squirms a little. “It’s not bad … at least I don’t think it’s bad. Your mileage could vary. But it is important. Honesty is always important, right? And listen—this is important too—I’m getting ready to tell you something and I need to know that you’re not suddenly going to jump up and run out of here. I don’t think it would look good for me to be chasing you around a dark parking lot in this neighborhood. If you know what I mean.”
He’s slipped over into babbling. And I have a pretty good idea why. I flash back to the unopened FedEx envelope. I lean forward, pressing my elbows into the table. “Are you getting ready to tell me you slept with my mother?”
Bam! I said it, just like that. I didn’t know I had the guts.
“Whoa. What?” Shocked, he scoots back from the table. He glances around for the waitress and blots his mouth with his napkin. Then he chuckles.
“I knew. Well, I didn’t exactly know. But I saw you in the hospital put the swab in your mouth and then into the envelope along with mine. So … I suspected.”
To Right the Wrongs Page 11