Desperate Paths

by E. C. Diskin

  Brooklyn said nothing. Her dad was a racist.

  He sat up slowly, lifting his head, returning his focus to Brooklyn. “You don’t understand. Eddie’s arm was in a sling. I said, ‘Is this someone the reason you look like you do?’ He wouldn’t answer. I got in his face and grabbed his good arm, insisting that he spit it out, but he just said, ‘Mr. Anderson, look at who she’s hanging out with.’ We were worried. As far as we knew, she spent all her time at the church with the youth group. I went to Pastor Gary. He didn’t know anything. He said he was worried about her, too, that she’d stopped coming to youth group months before.”

  The thought of that pastor taking the opportunity to make Ginny look like the troubled one turned Brooklyn’s stomach. “Did you talk to her? Does anyone in this family actually talk about things that matter?”

  “Don’t condescend to me, young lady. I asked her if there was something she wanted to tell me, and she said no. I asked if she had a boyfriend. She said no. But I’m no fool. Talking to teenagers isn’t always the way to find answers.”

  Brooklyn had no reply. Of course, teenagers didn’t always share. She’d certainly never shared every instance of being bullied over the years, even when her parents could tell she’d been crying. She’d never seen the point.

  “We started watching. A few days later, when Ginny said she was going to school early for a project, Bonnie searched her room.”

  Brooklyn shook her head.

  “You’re not a parent. You don’t know what it’s like. Brooklyn, we had one child. One. We begged and prayed for more, but she was all we had, and we were not going to let her throw her life away. Anyway, Bonnie found a receipt in the trash can—from the Walmart in Marion—a pregnancy test. She took the truck without saying a word, and when she didn’t see Ginny’s car in the school lot, she kept driving until she got to the clinic, fearing the worst. It was pure intuition.”

  “But why—”

  “You weren’t there, Brooklyn. You don’t know. You can’t judge. She said it happened very quickly. Her child was in danger. A murderer was going to ruin Ginny’s future and kill her baby. B pulled into the used-car lot across the street. She needed to figure out how to approach Ginny, what to say. We couldn’t lock her in a closet.”

  Brooklyn rolled her eyes. “Sounds like you spent some time justifying this to each other.”

  “Don’t you judge me in my own house. This is my house,” he repeated, pointing down, raising his voice, that master intimidator still alive in the broken shell. “Anyway, it wasn’t planned, that’s what you need to understand. Another car pulled into the lot and parked right by the entrance before B could think. As soon as the man’s door opened, she saw Ginny’s car door open. Your mom was moving on instinct. Her daughter was in danger.”

  Brooklyn said nothing. It was like she’d been transported to some 1800s Wild West set. Her family solved problems with bullets and cover-ups while spouting from the Bible.

  “She thought she was protecting her child. In that moment, she saw a man who was going to ruin her daughter’s life and kill her grandchild. She just wanted to stop it. You can’t say she had choices. Ginny might have ignored B’s pleas. She might have returned another day. Parents needed notice, but the law didn’t require consent. B had to end it. She came home, shaking, and handed me the car keys. She didn’t even say what had happened.”

  “She tried to kill a man.”

  “She was defending a life.”

  “And she left Ginny at the crime scene.”

  He shook his head, as if that were the only negative outcome. “She nearly lost her mind when the police pulled Ginny in for questioning. She hadn’t thought any of it through, but Brooklyn, it’s ancient history. None of this matters. We took care of it.”

  “Yeah, by having that horrible pastor rescue her with his lies.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. That pastor has helped this family for years.”

  “That pastor assaulted your daughter. My dad—Darius Woods is the only reason she got away from him.”

  “Assault . . . that’s nonsense. Ginny adored Gary.”

  “You only see what you want to see.”

  He leaned back against the house again, closing his eyes. “We need to stop all this. You’re making my head hurt.”

  Brooklyn’s heart rate quickened, and she braced the railing, catching her breath.

  He slowly stood, shuffled to the front door, and stopped in the doorway. He kept his back to her. “Ginny was in the lot that morning because of you.”

  He actually thought she should be grateful. “What is wrong with you?” she said, straightening. “Do you think you’re God or something?”

  He swatted the comment behind his back and slowly walked to his study.

  She followed him in and watched him pick up a picture of Bonnie perched on the desk in a little silver frame. His gun, still in its Ziploc, sat beside it.

  “So you both knew Ginny was pregnant and said nothing.”

  His eyes stayed on the photo. “We intended to. It was just two weeks before graduation. We wanted to give her time to come to terms with the situation. We planned to discuss it as soon as we returned from the mission trip.”

  It was no wonder Ginny never considered telling either of them. She was a girl in crisis twice, first with Pastor Gary and then with a pregnancy. This house, with all its rules, took on new color as she imagined it through Ginny’s lens.

  Suddenly, her parents’ introversion, mission trips, charity drives—all felt like some ridiculous masquerade. The air in that house was thick with hypocrisy. Was this why Brooklyn found it so difficult to breathe sometimes? Her thoughts rolled back, cataloging her panic attacks, the recent one in the kitchen, the ones throughout childhood, the first one she ever remembered. They only happened here. In this house, this town. She hadn’t had a single attack since moving away from Eden.

  Her dad lowered himself into the chair.

  “You watched me struggle. I was treated like garbage, like I didn’t belong. You didn’t care.”

  “Of course I did,” he shouted, slamming his hand on the desk. “I just didn’t think it would matter. It might have made things worse.”

  “You were ashamed.”

  “I wasn’t. I just couldn’t . . .”

  Brooklyn turned to leave. There was nothing left to say.

  “I was afraid,” her dad said quietly.

  She turned back. His head was still down. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes. “What happened to the fearless war hero? I thought you were supposed to be brave.”

  “I know.” Raising his head, looking at her. Tears. She’d never seen tears. Not even at her mom’s funeral. “I’m sorry. I thought it was the right thing.”

  There was nothing else to say. She turned to the steps, then stopped. She had to get it out—his most recent crime. “You tried to kill my father,” she uttered, almost under her breath.

  He said nothing. She looked back, determined to get a final admission. His eyes were closed; he was holding his head in his hands, wincing in pain. The truth hurt.

  She went upstairs to her room and slammed the door behind her. She sat at the window, looking out at the view she’d known her whole life, suddenly clouded by all the secrets and lies. She looked down at her hands, balled into fists. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She’d had no feelings for Ginny a week ago. She’d worshipped her parents. She’d been lucky to have John and Bonnie Anderson, just like those church ladies had whispered all those years ago. Now, she just felt rage.

  Ginny drank one more coffee at Mary’s. Brooklyn had sent a text. I picked up John. John. She didn’t say “Dad.” Ginny had taken that from her. She looked at the time. They’d be home by now, but it might be days before Brooklyn was ready to see her.

  It was about fifteen minutes later when she finally paid the bill and mustered the courage to do the next right thing. She had to talk to Simon. He had a right to know that the kids weren’t his
. It was as if the lies and secrets had been eating away at her insides like an infection. Truth was the only medicine.

  Dark clouds had gathered on the horizon. A blue sky still hovered above, but she could feel it in the air. A storm was coming. She was at a stop sign, gripping the wheel, terrified by the forward motion and the inability to go back.

  She carefully looked left and right and left again before hitting the accelerator, suddenly desperate to get home.

  She noticed a light-colored convertible in the distance, making a right turn. It was probably Darius in that BMW, probably heading for her dad’s house. It was hard to imagine the storm of emotions Darius had to be feeling. John had stolen his child, taken away his chance at fatherhood, put a gun to his face all those years ago, and then gone on and shot him on Sunday. Darius had the right to confront him. He had a right to meet his daughter. At least John couldn’t hurt him anymore.

  As she watched his car disappear from view, her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number on the screen.

  “Is this Ginny Smith?” a man said.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Sheriff Goodwin over here at the Boline County station. I’m hoping you can come over here. I’ve gotta ask you some questions.”

  “What about?”

  “Darius Woods, ma’am. Are you free?”

  She swallowed before answering. “Of course. When would you like me?”

  “Right now.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  GINNY SAT IN A CHAIR along the wall at the station. An officer who looked barely older than Brooklyn said it wouldn’t be a long wait. She pulled out her phone and texted Simon. She didn’t know when she’d be home. His response was immediate, as if he’d been holding the phone. Where have you been? Great mothering. She had no defense. I’m sorry, she wrote. Things just taking a long time with John.

  A few minutes later, a conference door opened and Pastor Gary walked out, followed by the man who’d appeared with Sheriff Wilson at Gary’s office on Friday morning. Her heart pounded. She instantly felt her cheeks get hot, imagining what terrible things Gary might have said about her. He’d made it clear that he’d say anything to protect himself. He was as desperate as she had been that their secrets not get out. She looked at him, but he looked away, suddenly pretending not to see her.

  Her gaze followed him out until the uniformed man appeared in front of her. “Hi, Ginny. We didn’t meet properly on Friday when I saw you at Pastor Gary’s office in Harrisburg, but I’m Sheriff Goodwin.”

  “Sheriff?” she questioned.

  “That’s right. Sworn in yesterday. Sheriff Wilson is officially retired.”

  Ginny felt her insides collapse. She’d hidden evidence about Darius’s shooting and kept information from the police all week. And now the one person who might have looked the other way was gone.

  “Thanks for coming so quickly. Let’s go in here.” He led her into the room, and a young officer followed them inside.

  As soon as she sat down, Sheriff Goodwin and the young officer sat across from her.

  The new sheriff had a pad in front of him, a pen in hand, ready for answers. “Ginny, you knew Darius Woods in high school, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you knew he’d written a screenplay about those years, right?”

  “I did.”

  “And have you read it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So have I,” Sheriff Goodwin said.

  So he knew all about her history with Darius. About what Pastor Gary did back in high school. And Sheriff Wilson had already shared that someone had seen her and her car near Darius’s house around the time of the shooting.

  “I was there,” she blurted. “At Darius’s house last Sunday night. I saw him being put in the ambulance.” She’d already told the truth to Brooklyn and Darius. There was no point in any more lies.

  “Why were you there?”

  She wondered again if the right thing was to share what her dad had done or to say nothing. Darius was alive. Brooklyn knew the truth. John was still her father and the only father Brooklyn had ever known. Sharing the truth could send him to jail. If Darius wanted to tell the police what she’d told him, he had a right. But she couldn’t do it.

  “I wanted to see Darius,” she said. “He had reached out on Facebook about coming home. He wanted to see me and talk about the screenplay.” It was the truth. Just not all of it.

  “And were you upset by what you read?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” the young one asked. She could see from his blank stare that he hadn’t read it. “Because no one knew about me and Darius—no one knew I got pregnant in high school. And I knew that as soon as people realized that, they’d know . . . well, they’d know that Brooklyn was our child. Everyone would know my parents didn’t adopt a baby on a mission trip that summer like they’d claimed. It wouldn’t take much imagination to know we were all liars.”

  “Dang,” the young one said. “That’s a heck of a secret.”

  And that was only half of it.

  “Anyway, I got there as he was being put in an ambulance. I went to my dad’s and found him on the floor.”

  “And earlier in the day, last Sunday, were you with Pastor Gary?” the sheriff asked.

  “Yes. I went to church with my family for Mother’s Day. He asked me to stay afterward to talk.”

  “And did you discuss Darius Woods?”

  “Yes.”

  The sheriff took several notes.

  “Pastor Gary told us that you were pretty upset last Sunday,” the younger officer said.

  She looked at the table and said nothing. It wasn’t a question.

  “He also said after you left, he realized the church’s handgun was missing.”

  She looked up at the sheriff. “What?” Gary was setting her up. Just like he’d threatened. He was going to make sure she said nothing to Simon.

  “Ginny, did you shoot Darius Woods?” the sheriff asked.

  “No.” She couldn’t stop the tears from coming. “I could never do that. I’ve loved Darius for as long as I can remember.”

  The young officer rolled his eyes and sat back, crossing his arms. “Are you having an affair with your pastor?”

  “Is that what he said?”

  “He said a lot of things.” The officer smirked. “And—”

  Sheriff Goodwin put his hand on the man’s arm to stop the young officer from continuing. “Ginny, just tell us your side,” the sheriff said.

  “Pastor Gary assaulted me in high school,” she whispered. “Darius wrote about it in his story.”

  “So you’re denying the affair?” the young officer asked.

  She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t call what had happened over the last decade an affair, but what happened between them at Good Samaritan wasn’t assault either. She didn’t know what it was, other than a twisted and desperate arrangement.

  “Mrs. Smith,” the young officer continued, “Pastor Gary says you have a history of substance abuse—that he found you drinking alcohol in his office several times over the years, even back in high school. He also said you’d been intimate on a few occasions, that, against his better judgment, he’d succumbed to your advances many years ago. According to him, he’s simply tried to be a spiritual adviser to you.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “You never drank in his office?”

  “He gave me my first drink . . .” She wiped her eyes. “Darius knows the truth.”

  “So after the pastor allegedly attacked you in high school, did you tell anyone?” Sheriff Goodwin asked.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because at the time, I felt responsible. I had a crush on him. He made me feel special. And I didn’t say anything to stop him when he touched me. I was stunned.”

  “So maybe you encouraged his advances?” the young officer suggested.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Was it
just the one time?” the young officer asked.

  “No. He had other tactics after that. He left me alone for a few weeks, acted like nothing happened. He was very good at manipulation. Still is.”

  “Did you ever sleep with him in high school?” he pressed.

  Even the question suggested something consensual, harmless. “I never slept with him. He assaulted me on three different occasions. His office first, that was the time Darius wrote about. Then he drove me home from a youth group meeting a few weeks later. Of course, this was after he’d given several of us alcohol in his office—it made everyone think he was so cool. But when he was driving me home, he turned left when he should have turned right, saying he wanted to show me something. Pulled over on a dirt road. I asked what we were doing; he pulled out the flask, saying he wanted us to finish it together.”

  “And did you?” the officer asked.

  “I did. But then he began kissing my neck and unbuckling his belt. I was afraid. I felt sick. He told me to relax. I threw up in the car. That put an end to it.

  “The third time he was more determined. When I resisted, he got angry, told me that he didn’t think my parents would approve of my drinking. I only got away because my mom had unexpectedly shown up at church to offer me a ride home. Someone knocked on his door looking for me, and I ran out. That was the start of senior year, when Darius finally convinced me to get away from the youth group and join the theater crew.”

  The young officer sat forward. His tone was skeptical. “If he attacked you back in high school, why did Sheriff Wilson and Sheriff Goodwin find you coming from the pastor’s office on Friday? Why are you still friends?”

  Her gaze returned to the table. “Desperate people do desperate things,” she said.

  “Like shooting Darius Woods in his kitchen,” he said.