by Julia Keller
Eddie
11:52 P.M.
The woman climbed into the backseat of the Blazer right beside him. She introduced herself as Rhonda Lovejoy. During the ride to the courthouse she told him she was an assistant prosecutor. She explained his legal rights to him, and advised him that anything he said might be used against him in court.
He nodded, but her words meant nothing to him. In his mind he was thinking only of Marla Kay, and of how he had likely seen her for the last time. The ties on his wrist were tight, but he barely felt them. He was in too much emotional pain to pay attention to the physical kind.
Marla Kay wasn’t his child.
The deputy did the driving. The big SUV wove through the dark streets of Acker’s Gap. Eddie looked out the window, but there was nothing to see.
“I want to help you, Mr. Sutton,” Rhonda said.
He turned to look at her. He had to use his whole upper torso to do so, shifting his shoulders, on account of his being tied the way he was, hands behind his back.
“Help me how?”
“You’ll have to pay for what you did—there’s no way around it—but there are extenuating circumstances. I’ve put in a call to the prosecutor. We have some latitude in deciding what to charge someone with, and what punishment to ask for. We’d like to try to get you some help. You see, Mr. Sutton, I think I know why you did what you did. It wasn’t right and nothing excuses it—but I do understand it. You love your child.”
“’Cept now I know she’s not really mine.”
“That’s not true.”
“Paul is her father.”
“I’m not talking about biology. I’m talking about love. You love Marla Kay. You’d do anything for her. She’s more yours than she could ever be Paul Wolford’s.”
Eddie felt a deep anger stirring in his gut. “Why didn’t he tell me? The bastard.”
“He was ashamed. And afraid. And maybe it wasn’t just that.”
“What else could it be?”
“Maybe he saw how much you love Marla Kay. And he saw how much that love helped you. Kept you going. Maybe he didn’t want to take that away from you.”
“You don’t know if any of that’s true,” he said. He wanted to believe her, but he was also afraid to believe her. Hope could hurt. It could turn on you at any time.
“No. I don’t. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Paul’s not an evil man. You know that.”
Reluctantly, Eddie nodded.
“Okay, then,” Rhonda said. “If he’s not evil, and he didn’t lie to you out of maliciousness, it had to have been something else. I think he was confused. And desperate. And I think he cares for you. Wants the best for you. And he honestly thought that making you believe Marla Kay is your child was the right thing to do.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I don’t. I’m guessing, based on what Paul said to me while Deputy Brinksneader was getting you in the Blazer. And based on what I know about people.”
“You think they cooked up the lie together, the two of them? Paul and Raylene?”
“Yes,” Rhonda said. “And his wife helped. They had to clean up a bad mess. Cover it up. When Raylene got pregnant, they had to do something. Saying she was your child—convincing you of it—was just a handy way out for all three of them. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is Marla Kay. And you. And doing our best to make sure that you get to see her, once you’ve served your time. You took her without the permission of her custodial parent, Mr. Sutton, and you threatened people with a firearm. Those are serious charges. But if you’re willing to admit what you did and accept your punishment, you may be able to have Marla Kay in your life again someday. I think that’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a good thing. Because she’s going to need you.”
He squinted at her. “Why are you talking to me like this? I don’t even know you.”
Rhonda pondered his question. “When Deputy Brinksneader called me tonight and told me what was going on, I said I wanted to come along. Isn’t that right, Deputy?”
Steve nodded, his big flat-brimmed hat moving up and down, and then he grunted. “She sure did.”
Back to Eddie, Rhonda said, “I went to high school with Raylene. I’ve lived around here a long time. Too long, I sometimes think. I don’t see the things I should. They’re too familiar. I look right past them.”
“What do you mean?”
“The prosecutor and I were over at Raylene’s apartment. It was for another case. But it didn’t occur to me until much, much later that I didn’t see Marla Kay. I didn’t ask about her, either. I was too busy stewing in my own juices. We all get confused sometimes, Mr. Sutton, and forget what’s really important.”
Deputy Brinksneader pulled the Blazer up to the side of the courthouse. The sign on the door, illuminated by a light just above it, said JAIL. An old man in a dirty Army jacket was hunched face-first next to the building, scratching at the stone with a fingernail. His hair was a wild mess and his pants drooped from his hips like drapery.
“Who’s that?” Rhonda said.
Steve shrugged. “Some guy. Been hanging around for the last few days. Goes into stores now and again, ranting and raving. Waving a stick around. Seems harmless, but he can get himself pretty worked up. Scares folks. We’ve tried to chase him off, but he always comes drifting back.”
“Might be a vet,” Rhonda said. “Mr. Sutton? What do you think?”
Eddie peered out the window. “Might be.”
Rhonda nodded. “I’ll see what I can do for him. In the meantime, Mr. Sutton, Deputy Brinksneader here will take you inside. And remember—if you can’t afford a lawyer, the court will assign you one.”
He had something more to say to her. “I never would’ve hurt my little girl.”
“I know that, Mr. Sutton.”
Jake
11:56 P.M.
Thirty-three overdoses. Four deaths, if you threw in the old-lady manager who doubled as a lookout.
No: five deaths.
He had forgotten to count Charlie Mathers.
He had forgotten because Charlie did not belong with the others. Charlie wasn’t a number. Charlie was his friend, the first friend he’d ever had in Acker’s Gap. Maybe the only friend he’d ever have in Acker’s Gap. Well, he would find out, wouldn’t he? Once the shit hit the fan. You always find out who your friends are when things go wrong.
Jake had pulled into the Marathon station. There were no other vehicles in the lot. He parked in front of the glass-walled store. He needed to think. This seemed as good a place as any; it was familiar and easy. The Blazer seemed to find its own way here, like a dog following a scent.
He knew he faced serious disciplinary action for having used Charlie as his backup at the Starliner. He might lose his job. The sheriff was letting him finish his shift tonight not because he was off the hook, but because she needed him; she had made that clear. The accident on the freeway was just the start of a very bad, very busy night, coming at the end of a very bad, very busy day. Steve was already tied up on yet another call. A hostage situation, Jake had heard. He didn’t get the particulars. He didn’t care about the particulars. He’d had enough of particulars in the past twenty-four hours. He was drowning in particulars.
The sheriff had told him very little about her visit to Doreen Mathers. Only that she had made it. She offered him no details about Doreen’s reaction; it was as if she considered such details to be a privilege, and he had squandered the right to any such privileges. They had yet to release publicly the news of Charlie’s death.
Jake knew what he had to do. He pushed the number on his cell.
Doreen didn’t sound like herself. Her “Hello?” was like a tattered rag, a thin, insubstantial thing. He had always thought of her as a strong woman, a woman who spoke her mind, did what she wanted to do. Hearing the small, trembling voice was excruciating.
“Doreen, it’s me. Jake Oakes.”
&nbs
p; Silence.
How much had the sheriff told her about what happened at the Starliner? Did Doreen know he had caused Charlie’s death?
“Jake,” she said. “I thought you might be Charlie’s brother. Calling me back. I had to leave a message. Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“I know.”
“Jake. He was such a good man.” Her voice was gaining strength again. It was as if, by talking about the man she loved, she was being restored to herself. “So funny. And gentle. Isn’t that a strange thing to say about a deputy sheriff? He did his job. He could be mean when he had to be. Tough as nails. But he was gentle inside. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yeah.”
“He loved you, Jake. I’m sure he never told you. He thought of you as a son.”
Don’t tell me that. Jake wanted to yell it at her. But he didn’t, of course. He just listened.
“He really did,” Doreen went on. “You should have heard him. He was so proud of you. The job you do, the fact that a man like you stayed here. ‘Young man like that,’ Charlie would say, ‘could go anywhere, do anything. But this is his home now.’ Oh, Jake.”
He couldn’t stand it. Not a second more. He couldn’t endure the fact that she thought well of him.
“Doreen—I’ve got to tell you something. You need to know—it was me.”
“What?”
“I’m the reason he’s dead. I called him. I asked him to help me out tonight. I didn’t have permission. I should’ve checked with the sheriff but I didn’t. I wanted him to come. I needed him. And he said yes. It all went wrong. And now he’s—”
“Jake.”
He waited. He was ready for her to tell him to go to hell. He didn’t deserve her kindness, the nice words she had said.
“Jake,” she repeated. “I know.”
“You—”
“I’d already figured that out. Didn’t make sense that the sheriff would sign off on a retired deputy joining an official operation. I’m not sure Charlie got it—but I did. And you know what, Jake? You should’ve seen him. He was so excited after you called him tonight. He was himself again. Ready to go to work. Taking care of the town. Getting rid of those damned drug gangs and the poison they bring here.” She took a few deep breaths. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m going to miss him forever. I loved that old man. We had such plans. Wonderful plans. But you know what? I’d see him sitting there in front of that TV set, night after night, and I’d think, ‘This is no life for Charlie Mathers. He’s going to get real tired of this.’ He got to do what he loved to do, Jake. One last time. All in all, I guess I’d rather have it end the way it ended—instead of watching him get bored. Feeling useless. So don’t beat yourself up, Jake. Don’t do that. Just know he loved you. And Lord knows, he loved this town.”
They talked a bit longer. They talked the way grieving people do when they want to keep a loved one in their midst for just a few precious moments more: They told stories about Charlie, funny ones and poignant ones, stories that made them sad and stories that cheered them up again. They knew they had to let him go, and they would, but for now, the stories kept Charlie tethered to them; as long as there was another story to share, he would not disappear altogether.
Finally it was time for Jake to hang up. He knew she had other calls to make, things to plan. She asked him if he would be a pallbearer at Charlie’s service. He said yes, of course. It would be an honor.
Jake put a hand across the back of his neck. The night wasn’t especially humid but he was sweating, anyway.
He looked through the Blazer’s side window, into the store. He saw Danny Lukens standing at the counter, like always. Jake would have to go inside and say hello before he drove away again tonight. If he didn’t, Danny’s feelings would be hurt. The kid was sensitive. He acted like a tough guy, but down deep, Danny was a wimp. Jake didn’t have the heart to tell him that he wasn’t all that crazy about Snickers bars.
His radio crackled. He heard Steve Brinksneader tell the dispatcher that he had cleared the hostage scene. Good for you, Jake thought. Steve was a good deputy.
Maybe Steve should have handled the search for the local dealer. Because Jake hadn’t gotten the job done. He had arrested the gang at the Starliner, including the man with slicked-back black hair and a surly sneer who appeared to be the ringleader, but he still didn’t know who the local dealer was. The homegrown bridge between the out-of-town delivery crew and the customer base. He had never managed to find him or her. That person might still be distributing the carfentanil-laced heroin.
The nightmare might continue.
He had another call to make. Now that he had talked to Doreen, he wanted to talk to Molly. He wanted to tell her about his day, about its frustrations and its disappointments and its fleeting, unlikely beauties. He wanted her in his life. And as more than a friend or a colleague. He wanted to fall asleep in her arms. He sensed—no, he knew—that she wanted that from him, too.
So what did he have to lose? He would try one last time.
From inside the store, Danny Lukens waved at him. Jake waved back with his free hand.
“Hey,” he said when she answered. “Hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“No. You didn’t.” Her matter-of-factness didn’t throw him. He was used to it by now. She added, “How did it go with the search warrant at the motel?”
So she hadn’t yet heard about Charlie Mathers. Maybe that was best, for the time being. He could tell her the terrible news later.
“There were some complications,” he said. “But we got the bad guys.”
“Great.”
“Think you’ll sleep okay tonight?”
“No,” she said.
He waited. When she didn’t go on, he said, “Does that have anything to do with me? With us?”
“Oh, Jake,” she said, and her tone cut right through him. “I won’t change my mind, okay? I can’t. You have to accept that. Listen—I like you. A lot. I really do. But it can’t be what you want it to be. Ever.”
He decided to go into Full Salesman Mode. Give it his best shot. “Listen. Malik’s no problem, okay? He’s a great kid. I know he’s your priority. I totally accept that. I—”
“You don’t understand.” She was crying. It took him a minute to pick up on that, to discern the thickness in her voice. He was startled. He had never expected to hear her cry. He had only ever seen her strong.
“Molly, Molly—please. Is something wrong? Let me help.”
She took a deep breath. With no preamble, she began her story:
“We lived back in the hollow. Medical care? A joke. Damned joke. Mostly that didn’t matter, though. We got along. When I was six years old, my mother got pregnant with Malik. She had a lot of complications. Things I didn’t understand.
“When she went into labor, my father realized we needed help. We didn’t have a phone. So he sent me down to the store to use the phone there and call the doctor. Get him to come. Well, I didn’t think it was that important. I thought my mom would be fine. Women had babies all the time. All my friends’ mothers had ten or eleven kids apiece. I wasn’t worried.
“My friend Sheila had a new bike. I was going past her house—and there she was with that bike. Prettiest bike I ever saw. Red and shiny. With a basket and a bell. And she said I could ride it. So I took my time. I rode Sheila’s new bike. And then I went on down to the store and called that doctor. Told him we needed him. But by the time he got there—it was too late. Malik was born the way he was born. And my mother died. Because I wanted to ride that bike.”
“You were six.”
“Old enough to be sent to call the doctor,” she said. “Old enough to be trusted.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he said what was in his heart.
“I can make you happy, Molly.”
“I know you can. But that’s the problem. I caused my mother’s death. I caused my brother to be the way he is. So I don’t deserve to be happy.”
“You can’t—”
“Don’t. Please.”
“I have to.” But she didn’t hang up. Not right away. It seemed that she had more to say to him. A summing-up. “I know we have to work together, and that will be fine. We’ll do our jobs. We’ll do them well. Like we always do. But I’m going to ask you not to call me again. Or talk about this. Or ever think of us as a couple. It can’t happen.” Her voice softened. “I could love you. I really think I could. But that’s the point—do you see? That’s why we won’t ever be together. It’s because of the way I feel about you. It’s because we would be happy together. After the thing I did to my family—I don’t deserve happiness. I can’t let myself feel that. I can’t—I can’t deal with the guilt of it.”
Jake waited. He hoped she would say something else. She didn’t.
A few seconds later he realized she had ended the call. She had ended something else, too, something so unfathomably immense that the dimensions of it expanded beyond his emotional line of sight. He could feel the size of it—the size of the life she had rejected, its astonishing possibilities to bring both of them a quiet daily joy for the rest of forever—even though he could not see to the edge of it. It was too vast. Too wide and too deep. He felt it the way you feel thunder, as a distant vibration that you know is filling up the sky, the world, but that you cannot grasp or measure. You can only sense the infinitude of it.
He was numb and empty and sad. He needed something else to think about, and right away. So he looked again through the big lighted window, toward the counter where Danny was tidying things up. Jake had seen the items on that counter so many times that he could name them from memory: the little round dish of pennies; the plastic rack of sunglasses; the cardboard box of air fresheners shaped like pine trees, each with a loop of twine threaded through a small hole at the top so it could dangle from a rearview mirror.