In Another Life

by C. C. Hunter

  “About what?”

  “I don’t remember.” Then I do. I remember him yelling at me to go to sleep on that dirty sofa. I remember crying so hard. I didn’t want to be there with him. I wanted my mama and daddy. I kept calling for my mama.

  How much if any of that is true?

  I swallow tears and desperation. Then I wrap my arms around her and cling to her.

  “You kept saying, ‘My mama does love me.’ Then you kept calling for me.”

  Not you.

  I release her. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “It’s okay. Scoot over, and I’ll sleep with you.”

  I do. Mom curls up beside me, even shares my pillow. She runs her hand through my hair the way she always does when I’m sick.

  “You’re right. I do love you.” Her words are meant to comfort.

  I swallow another round of tears.

  “I love you, too.” I curl up close to her. Images of the dream tickle my mind. I know I should reach for them, try to understand, but I’m too shaken. I push the dream away. And in that second, that desire to just accept her affection, her comfort feels like déjà vu. I’ve done this before. I’ve tried to forget the monster memories, the loss of someone else, and accept her. Accept her love and try to stop loving someone else.

  * * *

  Rodney Davis pulled into the back of the adoption agency. His ex-wife had called and said her brother, Jack Wallace, had damn near ordered him to show up here after he got off work. Rodney didn’t normally follow orders. But then again, maybe Jack needed something that could possibly put a few bucks in his pocket. Working as a security guard didn’t quite earn him the living style he liked, so any chance of making a few extra bucks appealed to him.

  He went to the back door. When he found it was locked, he knocked.

  The door swung open almost immediately. Jack stood there. His hair stood on ends, his suit wrinkled, and his face almost as red as his tie. High blood pressure probably because he’d put on at least fifty pounds since Rodney last saw him. But damn Jack looked like an old fart.

  “What’s up?” Rodney asked.

  “Your screwup has finally caught up with us!”

  “What screwup?”

  “How the hell can you ask that? You know what screwup.”

  Yeah, Rodney pretty much knew, but … “That’s from fifteen years ago. How could it be a problem?”

  “She’s looking for her parents! That’s how!” He gripped his hands in tight fat fists at his side.

  Rodney rubbed a palm over his chest. “Tell her they don’t want to meet her. Or tell her that they’re dead.”

  “She still might want to meet the rest of her family. And with today’s access to DNA, she’ll figure it out! I knew this would come back to haunt us! We’re screwed. And it’s on you. If you’d gotten the kid from Mexico like you said you were, none of this would’ve happened. None of it!”

  “We’re not screwed!” He refused to be screwed. Because this kind of screwed meant jail time. He’d done time eight years ago and decided he didn’t like it.

  Hell, if this shit came out, they could accuse him of killing the kid. He hadn’t killed her. Hadn’t touched her. She just died. So he’d done what he had to do. Got rid of the body and replaced her.

  Damn. He wasn’t going back to jail.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Why?”

  “What’s her name?” He took an aggressive step forward.

  “No. I shouldn’t have called you. I’ll take care of it. You already screwed this up.”

  He grabbed Jack by the neck, curled his hand around his throat, and slammed him against the wall. “What. Is. Her. Name?”

  When he didn’t answer, Rodney tightened his grip.

  “Chloe Holden,” Jack squeaked out.

  “Her address?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Rodney tightened the grip once more.

  Jack reached for his hand. “I said I don’t know.” His voice came out weak, airless.

  Rodney loosened his hold a bit.

  “All I have is her name and the license plate of the guy who drove her.”

  “What guy?”

  “Another kid. He said his name was Cash Colton. That and his license plate are all I have.”

  Rodney believed him, but held onto the man’s neck. “You gonna give it to me?”

  Jack, his eyes so wide that it looked like his eyeballs might pop out, nodded.

  Rodney released him. The man grabbed his neck and moved away from the wall. “I’ll give it to you. But you don’t have to do anything yet. She’s not eighteen yet. I’ll do what you said, I’ll tell her the parents don’t want to see her. I’ll make it convincing.”

  “Just give me the information. Give me everything!”

  23

  It’s ten o’clock on Wednesday night, and I’m in bed, looking over the Emily paperwork to see if I missed anything and waiting for Cash to get home from his college class so he can call me.

  Yesterday after school, Cash and I hung out at Whataburger reading the Emily articles. We discovered a lot of things we didn’t know. For example, the kidnapping actually happened in a park in Amigo, Texas, three hours from here. We don’t know why Emily was there, but the article stated she was with her nanny. Another one said the Fullers hadn’t been aware the nanny was taking her to Amigo. That makes me think the cops were right. The nanny was behind the kidnapping.

  Then we found an article that named the nanny as Carmen Vaca Gonzales. Discovering the name Vaca will help narrow down the three dozen Carmen Gonzaleses in the surrounding towns.

  Cash started a new search on her last night. He says if he finds an address, he plans on going there.

  But he still believes Mr. Wallace was lying. I told him about the dream, about the man in it not looking like Mr. Wallace. Yet Cash insists the agency is behind it.

  Me, I don’t know what to believe anymore. But after I spill my guts to Lindsey, she thinks Cash is right. So maybe they’re both right.

  Not only is it two to one, but also I’m learning that Cash is really good at detective-type work. He picks up on things in the paperwork that I don’t, like how none of the documents say I was wearing a princess costume. I wonder if that memory is even true.

  Even as crazy as this makes me feel, I’m still on top of the world about Cash and me. I see him at school every day. We talk on the phone every night. Last night, after Whataburger, we went to the park and got in his backseat and kissed, and talked, and laughed. I asked him more silly questions about himself.

  I now know a lot of nonsensical facts about Cash Colton. His favorite color—and yes, at first he said brown because it was the color of my eyes, but I called bullshit on that one. He admitted he liked blue. “Not blue eyes,” he insisted.

  I know his favorite vegetable is green beans. Peas make him gag.

  I know he broke his arm when he was nine. When I asked him how, he claimed he fell from a tree, but my gut says he was lying. I think his dad did it. And even now, thinking about it makes me glad the man’s dead.

  I close my eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever thought that about anyone. But I hate Cash’s father. Somehow I’m sure the pain I see in Cash’s eyes, the pain he works so hard to hide, comes from his dad. Cash’s time in foster care probably didn’t help. But whenever he mentions his dad, I see his eyes go darker and kind of blank—as if he hates remembering.

  I’ve tried to ask questions about his father, but Cash either changes the subject or says, “I don’t like talking about it.” If I insisted, I think he’d talk, but I know people have to want to share. I just wish he wanted to share with me.

  My phone dings with a text. I roll over, hoping it’s Cash, but nope, it’s Dad. He’s been texting every day. Just to say hi. I haven’t forgiven him, but I’m glad he’s trying. I’m glad he gave me back my room. I hope it doesn’t smell like Darlene.

  I read Dad’s text.

  Goodnight Sunshine.

/>   I go to send an emoji. I almost chose the one with a smile and a tear, because when he uses those sweet nicknames, it reminds me of how great things used to be—and how they aren’t so great now. But I don’t send the tear. I keep that little pain inside me. I send one with a real smile, hoping soon I won’t debate which emoji to send.

  I hear Mom’s footsteps outside my door. I panic, grab the pillow, and put it on top of the papers. My biggest fear is that Mom will find them. I’ve even been taking them to school with me.

  A knock sounds. My heart knocks with it.

  She opens the door. “You awake?”

  “Yeah.” I see one of the papers on the edge of my bed. It’s one of the newspaper articles, and it has a picture of Emily Fuller. My heart starts racing to the Jaws theme. If I try to hide it, she might see it.

  If I don’t? She might see it.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Mom says. “I’m making hot chocolate. Want some?”

  “Yes!” I jump off the bed and rush to the door, moving Mom back into the hall. I’d’ve agreed to eat a cockroach if it got Mom out of my bedroom.

  I sit at the kitchen table as she makes hot chocolate. She’s too quiet, and I’m sensing something’s off. I’m afraid of what it is.

  She’s still having good and bad days. I can tell the difference. Good days, she’s dressed when I come home from school, and I know she actually walked like the doctor told her to. Bad days, she’s still in her pj’s. Today was a pajama day. Which means she didn’t follow the doctor’s orders.

  “Did you walk today?” I ask, hoping she’ll be more inclined to do it if she knows I’ll ask.

  “A short one.” It’s a lie, and I didn’t expect that. When did she start lying?

  So you wore your pajamas to walk? I bite my tongue. “When do you go back to the doctor?”

  “Friday.”

  “Maybe you should talk to him about taking something for the depression?”

  She frowns. “Marshmallows?”

  “Sure,” I say. She drops small white bits of fluff into the cups and sits down beside me. I wait for her to tell me what’s on her mind, hoping it’s not terrible.

  My phone rings in the bedroom, and I know it’s Cash.

  “You want to go get that?” she asks.

  “Nah.”

  She looks at me. “You think it’s your dad?” The way she says dad sounds like a four-letter word.

  “Probably Cash,” I say.

  “I don’t like him very much.”

  You don’t like anything. Is this what you brought me out here to talk about? This isn’t gonna be pretty, because right now, Cash is the only good thing in my life. Well, Lindsey, too—but Cash has turned into my touchstone.

  “He’s a good guy,” I say, but if she knew what brought us together, she’d disagree.

  “Does your dad know you’re dating?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Did he even give a shit?”

  I take the Dad insult on the chin and sip at my hot chocolate; the sweet, gooey marshmallow cream coats my lips. “He thought it was a little soon, but he didn’t say I couldn’t.” I don’t mention that I wouldn’t have listened to him if he did.

  She turns her cup in circles. She breathes in. “What do you think of him marrying his little home breaker?”

  I gasp. “He’s marrying Darlene? He told you this?” Then—bam!—I wonder if that’s why he moved my things back to my room, hoping I wouldn’t be so upset. Forget my room, Dad. This is bad!

  The sweet foam on my lips no longer tastes so sweet. Everything tastes bitter. I mean, it can’t be. Dad’s got the new cow disease. Surely, Darlene’s newness will wear off! It’s not that I dream of my parents getting back together. Not after how much he hurt Mom. But … No! Just no!

  It’s as if just the thought ruins the unsnapped photos of my future. Birthdays. Father’s Days. My wedding.

  Darlene will be in those photos.

  It hurts like hell that she’s living with him, living where the memories of us used to live, but marriage? He can’t do that!

  But he can. He can do what he wants. He already has. He left Mom to deal with the cancer. He left me to deal with Mom’s cancer.

  “Did he tell you to tell me? Is that what this is about?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  “He has a charge to Borne’s Jewelry on his Visa.”

  I’m trying to understand. “You don’t know it’s an engagement ring?”

  “It’s five thousand dollars,” she says. “Your father had a rule—he never spent more than a thousand dollars on jewelry, except for my wedding ring. And he spent only twelve hundred on my ring. I guess he loves her more.” Bitterness laces her voice.

  Emotions bombard my mind. I try to get out one straight thought. And I do. I look at Mom. “How do you know what he charged on his credit card?”

  “He never changed his password.” Mom must read my mind, because she says, “If he didn’t want me snooping, he should’ve changed them.”

  “That’s wrong,” I say. But Dad’s getting married is worse.

  “Why don’t you call him?” Mom says. “See if he’ll tell you. We have a right to know, don’t we?”

  Now I know why I was summoned out for hot chocolate. She wants me to call Dad. She wants me to be pissed at Dad. I am pissed at Dad. But I’m pissed at her for wanting me to be pissed.

  “I’m going to bed!” I bolt from the chair and leave her and her anger to drink hot chocolate alone.

  * * *

  Rodney held the phone away from his ear.

  “I’m telling you I’m taking care of it!” Jack’s loud voice over the phone sounded like it might crack.

  “I don’t like how you take care of things.” Rodney sat in his car. He’d gotten the information back on the license plate he gave his coworker. The Jeep was owned by a Cash Colton, co-owned and listed on the insurance of Anthony Fuller. Probably a stepdad.

  Being a security guard had its perks. The first one being that a part-time guy working for the company was a cop. And when Rodney explained his niece had seen this car following her and they wanted to make sure it wasn’t an old boyfriend, he’d been happy to assist.

  “I got an address on the boy.”

  “That boy isn’t in on this!” Jack said.

  “No, but he knows where the girl is.”

  “No, Rod. Don’t do anything.”

  Rodney ran his hand over the steering wheel. “Quit pissing in your pants. I’m just going to follow the kid until he leads me to the girl.”

  “This is wrong, Rod. Wrong. I’m serious. I’m handling things. I got it figured out. I can do this. Besides, the girl hasn’t called or brought her parents in. She might even drop it.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Rodney stared down at the address. Joyful, Texas. Hmm. Joyful. Whoever heard of that? Hell, when this was all done, maybe he’d move there. Between this issue, his two ex-wives demanding money for kids he didn’t even see, and his girlfriend acting like a bitch, demanding he move out, he could use some joy.

  “I told you, I have it figured out. I’m going to write a letter like it was from the girl’s mom. Make it so she won’t try to contact her. Nobody has to get hurt. So don’t do anything.”

  Rodney scrubbed his hand over his five-o’clock shadow. Dare he trust the old fart? Especially when it wasn’t Jack’s ass that could wind up with a murder charge? Then again, if all this could be made to go away? Tempting.

  “Okay, I’ll stand back, but if I find out you’re holding back on me, it’s going to be your ass I’m after. I’m not going down for this. Got it!”

  He hung up.

  Then he looked down at the address again. Hell, he could go home and fight with Peggy, or he could go do some legwork. Just in case things went bad. Then again, it was late. Maybe he’d go home and see just how piss-poor of a mood Peggy was in.

  * * *

  “Sorry, I was in the kitchen with Mom,” I say
when I call Cash back an hour later. It took that long to get over being pissed so I could talk.

  “Is everything okay?” He obviously hears the frustration in my voice.

  “No.”

  “What happened?”

  I realize I’m doing it again, dumping my woes on him when he won’t share. But I don’t stop. “I need you to do something.”

  “What?”

  “You know that fake Facebook page you have?” Buttercup jumps on the bed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you befriend someone and tell me what’s on their page?”

  “Who?”

  “Darlene.” Felix rubs his face on my cheek.

  “Your dad’s girlfriend.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “If Dad asked her to marry him.”

  “Yikes,” he says.

  “Yeah.” I run my hand over my dog’s fur.

  “You don’t think she’s pregnant, do you?”

  Air catches in my chest. “No! Oh God, I haven’t even thought about that. Shit!”

  “Breathe,” he says.

  “Why would you say that?” I slam back into my pillow.

  “I wasn’t … Sorry. Why do you think they’re engaged?”

  “Mom’s been snooping on his credit card accounts. Dad bought something at a jewelry store.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s a ring.”

  “It was five thousand dollars.”

  “Okay, so maybe it was. Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind that my mom is breaking into his credit card account.”

  “Okay, I see your point. Do you know her Facebook ID?”

  “Yeah, she sent me a friend request right after Dad and Mom got a divorce.”

  He laughs. “And she thought you’d friend her?”

  “I never said she was smart.” I give him Darlene’s information.

  “I’ll send her the request and let you know if she accepts.” He pauses. “Did you find anything else in the file?”

  “No. I was reading it and Mom came in.” I move back to my bed.

  “She didn’t see it, did she?”

  “Almost.”