by E. C. Diskin
“Where’d it come from?” the officer asked.
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just find out. And tell them it’s a rush. Actually, I got this,” he said, picking up the phone. “I better cash in a favor, because I gotta know by tomorrow.” The gun was a .38. He couldn’t believe that his son could have shot Woods, but he had to know. It had been twenty years since Eddie had gone after Woods, but he would be a defense attorney’s nightmare. And juries didn’t care what addicts had to say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DAY SIX
Saturday, May 18
GINNY BARELY SLEPT, AND WHEN she finally got up on Saturday, the dread of what was to come weighed on her shoulders like thirty-pound barbells.
When Simon had asked about the gun, she froze, her first thought being that if he knew Sheriff Wilson had it, having questioned her about an attempted murder, he’d use that information against her. Gary, seizing the opportunity to rescue her again, and maybe bargain for her silence, stepped back inside the front door with a quick apology, saying he’d asked Ginny if he could borrow it. He rattled off some story about a robbery at Good Samaritan, saying the church’s firearm was among the taken items. He’d just wanted to have something until the paperwork on a replacement went through. Simon didn’t seem to care, and Gary quickly left.
When Ginny finally asked if that was what Simon had been searching for in the closet, he’d said no, but he wanted to take the kids fishing tomorrow after church and couldn’t find the rods in the garage. He was suddenly going to show himself as the better parent. She couldn’t admit not remembering where they were. Everything was now a test of her fitness. And in that moment, she lost her nerve. She needed a lawyer. And telling Sheriff Wilson the truth about Sunday night was no longer an option. It didn’t matter that he might try to help—Simon was going to use every mistake she’d ever made against her.
After getting the kids up, dressed, and fed, they headed over to her dad’s house in Eden. The kids chatted in the back seat about what they’d do first.
“Will the horses be out?” Lyla asked.
“I don’t know,” Ginny said.
“We gotta check that first,” Lyla instructed Mikey.
“What about the frogs?” Mikey asked.
“We’ll do that second,” Lyla said. Despite being four years younger, she was the boss, and it made both Mikey and Ginny laugh.
Her kids only went to their grandparents’ house on rare occasions and always looked forward to the open landscape, wildlife, the nearby pond that was full of frogs, and the neighbors’ horses that lingered near the south-line fence. The simple farmhouse with its weather-beaten front steps and a few rotting patches on the south side paled in comparison to Ginny’s house, one of Harrisburg’s few grand leftovers from the early 1900s, with antebellum-style columns and detailed moldings, but to the kids, their grandparents’ house was “the coolest.”
As soon as she pulled into the gravel drive, Lyla and Mikey took off running.
Ginny grabbed her purse and walked up the front steps, stopping to sit on the porch swing and take in the scenery. It was a beautiful piece of land, with wild grasses and flowers covering most of the closest acreage. Even the air felt cleaner here. At least for her first sixteen years, she had loved growing up in this house and living in this town. When she was a little girl, she thought she’d be in Eden forever. Her mom and she even daydreamed about the day that Ginny would find true love and her dad would divide the property, allowing Ginny to build a house of her own while staying close. That way, they figured, the grandkids would run back and forth between them. She had never wanted to be too far from either of her parents or from her hometown back then, back before First Hope and Eden and this house began to feel like a prison.
She’d often wondered what might have happened, what her life would look like now, if she hadn’t done the things she’d done, if she’d never seen the dark side of the men in her life, if she’d never known what they were capable of.
She spotted a delivery truck down the road and watched as it neared and finally pulled into the drive behind her car. The hospital bed. She directed the driver and his helper to bring it into the living room.
After the screen door slammed behind them on their way back out, she went upstairs to grab sheets and the quilt from her parents’ bed. For so many years, she’d sworn she’d never look at John as a father again, and everything about his most recent behavior had only solidified her feelings, but she was her mother’s daughter, and a nurse. The least she could do was get the bed ready for his arrival.
When she got to the bedroom, the bed was covered with her mom’s clothes. Brooklyn had obviously been clearing out the closet. She peered into the bathroom, seeing the bucket of cleaning supplies by the shower and the open medicine-cabinet door.
Both shelves of the cabinet were filled with prescriptions. She pulled each one out, reading the labels, the drugs, and the dates, and placed them on the counter. She may have left nursing years ago, but she hadn’t forgotten her training, and she recognized the drug names and what they were for: cholesterol, antianxiety, insomnia, bladder control, pain, memory issues, vertigo. Some in her mom’s name, but most in her dad’s. Some dated within the year, but several were older. Different physician names on each bottle. It was too much. She had no idea if he still took them all. She wondered if he always advised the doctors of other meds he was taking, if he even remembered whether he’d taken them. Combining some of them could lead to serious side effects.
She ran downstairs, grabbed her purse, and went back up the stairs, dumping the pill bottles into her bag. None of these excused his behavior, but they might explain the dementia-like symptoms.
The front screen door whacked against the doorframe, and the kids’ little feet pounded up the steps as they called out her name.
“I’m in Grandpa’s room,” she yelled.
Lyla and Mikey barreled into the room to report on their adventure. Ginny came out of the bathroom and sat on the bed, smiling. They were both flushed, as if they’d done nothing but run for thirty minutes. Lyla handed over a fistful of wildflowers she wanted her mom to put in a vase.
“Why don’t we come here more?” Mikey finally asked. “It’s so cool.”
“Maybe we will,” she finally said.
“Is Grandpa gonna die?” Lyla asked.
“Well, at some point. No one lives forever, but I think he’s got some time yet.”
Lyla didn’t smile.
“What is it?” Ginny asked. “You look disappointed!”
“He scares me.”
Ginny felt the same way.
“It’s that look he’s always got,” Mikey said. “One eyebrow taller than the other.”
“He looks mean. And his voice is so deep,” Lyla said.
“Well, he’s harmless,” Ginny said. He had never been harmless. “Come on, I’ve got to make up that bed, and then we need to go to the hospital, okay?”
“Okay,” they said, running off. “We gotta see the frogs first!”
When Ginny finished getting the bed ready, she hit the lights and called the kids to meet her at the car. Glancing into her dad’s study as she grabbed the front door handle, she suddenly remembered what she’d forgotten. And Brooklyn would be back soon. She stepped inside the room and carefully shut the little metal door of the gun safe without turning the combination lock.
She wanted to do the right thing, finally, but everything felt like a road to losing those kids. She didn’t know what to do.
It was a few minutes before noon when Brooklyn finally pulled into the driveway, sleep-deprived but slightly wired from the intermittent coffees throughout her journey home.
When she got inside the house, the hospital bed, covered in one of her mom’s best quilts, was set up near the window in the living room, a little antique side table beside it, and on it, a mason jar full of fresh-cut wildflowers. She stepped over, smoothing her hand over the patterns Mom had so carefully pieced to
gether. Had Ginny finally realized that being home would be better for their dad? Was it possible that he and Ginny had already mended their fences? The bed was even topped with one of Mom’s favorite needlepoint pillows, its bright flower design surrounding the proverb she’d carefully stitched: Whoever walks in integrity walks securely, but whoever takes crooked paths will be found out.
If felt like a sign, the greatest homecoming gift. Her family was healing.
She sent a quick text to Ginny telling her she was home and glad to see the bed. Her sister’s response was immediate. I’m at hospital with the kids. Call you tomorrow. Dad gets out in the afternoon. Ginny called him Dad. It felt like a miracle.
He was coming home. Life was going to return to normal. She was going to get this movie role and go back to New York, and her family here was going to be just fine. She changed, brushed her teeth, and went to the hospital.
Dad was out of bed, walking the halls with the help of Nurse Wanda. She wondered if he had even noticed she’d been gone. It had only been forty-eight hours.
“Hi!” Brooklyn said, as she approached from the end of the hall. “You look great, Dad. How do you feel?”
He stopped for a second, looked at the nurse, and then back at Brooklyn. She got closer, holding her breath. Didn’t he recognize her? Suddenly his expression changed. “Oh, hey, Brooklyn. I didn’t see that was you. My distance vision isn’t great these days.”
Brooklyn sighed with relief. “I hear you’re getting out tomorrow?”
“Can’t be soon enough. And don’t you see? I’m gonna be fine.”
“He needs to avoid stairs for a while, but he is doing much better,” Wanda confirmed.
Brooklyn followed as Wanda led her father back into the room. “Well, I just came from the house. Ginny’s already set up a bed on the main floor, so I think we’re ready. There are several steps up the front porch, though. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” Wanda said, helping him into bed. “It’s only for a couple of days. You’ll just need to help him.”
“What do you mean, a couple of days?” Brooklyn asked.
“The rehab facility won’t have a bed for a couple of days. I believe the setup at home is temporary, right?”
Brooklyn looked at her dad, who shook his head but said nothing. She wondered if he was acting agreeable so he could get out, like a prisoner plotting the best escape route. Wanda left, and Brooklyn sat beside the bed and leaned forward. “I’ll talk to Ginny about the plan. Don’t worry.”
Nothing was resolved. She’d been kidding herself, suffering from a severe case of wishful thinking spurred by her brief return to normal life. Ginny still wanted their dad sent off to a rehab facility and probably a nursing home too. She’d gotten Brooklyn out of town and set the wheels in motion. She’d probably already taken steps to sell the store and the house, and Brooklyn didn’t know how to stop it.
No matter what was going on with him, Brooklyn had to bring him home. Regardless of whether Ginny would help, she would make it happen. It was the right thing to do. She wiped at the tears preparing to fall. This wasn’t about her. It was about her dad.
Maybe she could stay for the summer, and if she got the movie role, Ginny could take over while she was gone. The dread was back. Suddenly, New York felt a million miles away again.
“Dad, I have good news,” Brooklyn said, determined to rid her mind of spiraling into panic. She reached for his hand, sitting taller. “I got a callback for a movie. It’s the lead. I think I might get the part.”
Her dad nodded. His expression didn’t change. He was always so stoic. Just once, she wanted to see him get as excited about her life as he did about catching a big fish.
“The best part,” she continued. “It’s about a girl from the Dominican Republic. Isn’t that crazy? I’d get to go. Finally! Can you believe it?”
Her dad leaned forward, pointing toward the pillows behind his back. She adjusted them, and he sat back slowly. “Be sure it’s legit, Brooklyn. You see that movie Taken? Came on cable recently. You can’t trust people. You’re too trusting to be in that horrible city.”
Brooklyn rolled her eyes and smiled. He was starting to sound more like his old self. “It’s legit, Dad, and yes, I’ve seen Taken. I’m not going to get kidnapped. I just need to get a passport. Where should I look for my paperwork? I already checked your files.”
“Don’t go rifling through my things!” he said, his volume rising. “Your mom’s in charge of that stuff.”
“Well, I can’t ask Mom,” she said, sharply. She regretted it as soon as the words came out. Her exhaustion had trumped patience.
“Why not?” he barked.
Was it possible that he didn’t remember Mom was gone? She took a breath, wishing she could start the conversation over. “Dad, I’ve been wanting to ask you more about last Sunday. If you tripped on something, I want to be sure it doesn’t happen again. It looks like you fell in the hall, right?”
“My gun,” he muttered.
“What about it?”
His eyes burrowed into hers.
“Dad,” she said, leaning forward. “What are you saying? You tripped on your gun?”
His face hardened. “Stop. That’s stupid.”
“Well, how’d you fall?”
“I’m old, okay? Enough with the questions!”
“Dad, when I got to the house on Monday, your gun safe was open, but I can’t find your gun. Did you do something with it?”
He closed his eyes.
Brooklyn waited for a moment. “Dad, do you remember last Sunday?”
“Of course. It was Mother’s Day,” he said, his eyes still shut. “I went to church, worked the store, it rained, I went home.”
His memory was fine. “Was Ginny there?”
“Ginny . . .” He opened his eyes and searched Brooklyn’s face. She wondered if he was confused again. “She hates me,” he whispered.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“You don’t understand . . .” He closed his eyes again. “I’m tired.” He put the heels of his hands to his eyes, rubbing them hard. “Too many pills,” he said, eyes closed.
“Pain pills? Did you just get some pain pills?” she asked. “Because if you’re having some side effects, I’ll call the nurse—”
“Enough. Just go. Let me sleep.”
Brooklyn stood. “Okay, big day tomorrow. I guess Ginny and the kids wore you out.”
“I haven’t seen those kids in ages,” he said. “Now please, I need to sleep.”
Brooklyn walked out of the room and stopped at the nurses’ station. “I’m sorry. My dad seems a bit off from whatever pills you just gave him. I’m wondering if there might be side effects we should worry about?”
“I didn’t give him anything,” Nurse Wanda said. “He gets something for the pain in an hour, but he’s doing well.”
“Did you see my sister earlier?”
“The skinny little blonde thing?”
“Exactly,” Brooklyn said.
“No, she hasn’t been here. I’ve been here for hours.”
Brooklyn was back to square one. Dad was confused; Ginny was lying. And he was getting out tomorrow. She didn’t know how, but she was not going to go one more day without finding out what had happened between them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DAY SEVEN
9:35 p.m.
BOLINE COUNTY JAIL
THE GUARD WALKED BROOKLYN BACK down the long hall to her cell. Her neighbor was standing at the bars, staring at her. He said nothing until the guard had locked her inside and walked away.
“Holy hell. You’re John Anderson’s girl, aren’t you?” And he was Sheriff Wilson’s son Eddie. She’d never met him, but as soon as he’d said his shoulder still hurt from a fight with Darius, she knew who he was. The truth about everyone had come out in the pages of Darius’s screenplay.
“I’ve seen your picture up at the general store,” Eddie said. “Wait a minute. You said your dad died. Did you
kill your dad?” His voice rose, incredulous, and she could hear the unspoken judgment.
“No.”
“He was a good man.”
Eddie obviously didn’t know her dad. Though maybe someone like Eddie wouldn’t care.
“I heard about his fall last Sunday. Damn. I thought he’d be okay.”
Brooklyn had no response.
“You hear about Woods’s screenplay?” Eddie asked.
She looked at the cinder block between them, wondering what he knew.
“Well, you’re sitting in here, so I’m guessing whatever happened to your dad didn’t look like no accident,” he said.
She had no response.
“Yeah, you must’ve read it. Me too.”
How? She walked toward the wall between them.
“Prick,” he said. “Made me look like some hillbilly. It’s not true. I didn’t give a crap what color that asshat was. I was just an angry kid. Maybe I used some words that offended people, but my mom frickin’ died, okay?” he said, raising his voice defiantly. “Just left for groceries one day and never came back.” He was still angry, twenty years later, about a senseless car accident.
Everything she read in that screenplay made her dislike and distrust Eddie Wilson, but she knew the pain of losing a parent. Twice now.
And today she’d learned the power of rage, its blinding force. The memories of the day rushed at her again, the assault of violence begging to be replayed in her mind. She couldn’t stop the tape, and the pain of seeing her dad, dead on the floor, knocked her back. She’d been a coward. And now he was gone.
There was no justice in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
WILSON DRESSED IN HIS UNIFORM for the last time. When he had first thought about retiring a year ago, he’d envisioned fishing, relaxing, poker games. He’d never have guessed it would lead to this day, being forced to walk away in the middle of an investigation that was pointing not only toward his closest friend’s family but even his own son. He wanted to fire Donny, stop this whole mess, and close the case.