He wrapped up the weed and put his things away in his backpack. In his sock feet he made his way through the house with careful footsteps. In the dark hallway, he counted his steps to the sewing room, opened the door, and slipped inside.
He went straight to the closet and reached behind the hanging plastic bags of off-season clothes to the built-in shelf where she kept the tin file box. He retrieved the box, snapped open the lid, and removed the file containing the documents related to the settlement. He located the pages containing the bank account numbers and mutual fund and stock certificates where the payout money was invested, slipped them into his backpack, put the tin box back in its hiding place, arranged the clothes, and shut the closet door.
He stopped in his tracks. The snoring had stopped. He heard his mother’s door open, her feet on the floorboards. He ducked into the closet. If she went looking for him in his room and didn’t find him there . . .
From the closet, he listened for more sounds. She was in the bathroom. He heard the toilet flush, water running in the basin, her footsteps on the floorboards, and her door close shut.
He knew her sleep patterns—knew it could be awhile before she began snoring again. It was late, though, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He didn’t know what the night would bring, and wanted his things in order. Before he met up with Connor, he’d stop at his place and put these documents with his will and the personal note he’d attached so there would be no confusion when the time came to execute his intentions.
He raised the window and stepped out onto the roof of the sunporch. He closed the window behind him and, using the drain-pipe, lowered himself to the ground.
On both sides of the wet highway, shallow pools of rainwater reflected silver moonlight like pearls in the desert. Despite everything, his heart filled with joy. The simple gifts of the senses brought him to his knees with wonder and gratitude
Kelly came to mind—his true love and truest friend. He’d missed her the last three days, but he couldn’t be with her. Her energy and her physicality would have kept him tethered to the present when what he needed to be doing was time-traveling.
Just the thought of her woke every cell in his body and got his blood moving. She was a magnet, his true north.
At the light on Dewar Drive, he scrolled through his phone for her number and called her.
CHAPTER 46
Gray shadows drifted in through the vinyl blinds when Kelly woke late in the day. When the rain had started at noon, she’d taken it as a sign to go back to bed. With no reason to get up, nowhere she had to go, she rolled over onto her stomach and fell back asleep again.
Throughout the afternoon, a steady rain fell while she slept a troubled sleep, waking often. Each time she stirred, the summer storm lulled her back down into a dreamless peace.
Since the funeral, she’d had a hard time staying awake.
She finally rousted herself sometime late in the evening. She turned on one light and sat in the small circle of illumination. She didn’t like being alone in the big, empty house; this presented a perfect time to work on her fear of being alone. She felt naked, spinning and freezing in black empty space, her open hands reaching out and finding nothing. It would be another week before her parents and Timmy got home.
She decided to play video games, a distraction from her feelings. Later, when she got bored, she might text Max and see what he was up to. He’d want to get high, and she would join him.
She checked her phone again. Jack still hadn’t called. She might never see him again. His stupid thing with Stacey had ruined everything. She’d always known he was a liar and a cheater. So why did it bother her so much?
Because he chose Stacey.
The phone vibrated in her hand. Max.
“Hello stranger,” she said.
“Sorry I haven’t called. I’ve been going through some stuff.”
“Me too.”
“What’s wrong with your voice?”
“It’s been days since I talked to anyone; I’ve just been sleeping over here all by my lonesome.”
“Are you sick?”
“Sick in the heart, sick in the soul.”
“I know the feeling. Life sucks sometimes.”
“Like now.”
“I need to see you. Can I come over?”
“Sure. I’m a mess, though. Give me an hour. I need to clean up and shower.”
“I might be later than that. I’m meeting up with Connor. We have a few things to talk about. I’m not sure how it will go.”
“How’s he doing? I haven’t talked to him.”
“I’ll tell you when I see you. Remember what I said the other night? I’m 100 percent sure of it now. And Tim knew about it too.”
“About Connor, you mean?”
“I don’t know how he’s going to take it. I can’t say any more right now. I have to talk to him first. It’s between me and Connor tonight, the way it always has been.”
A knot formed in her stomach. “I’m getting a weird feeling. Should I be worried?”
“Everything’s going to be all right now. I remember what happened the day Tim died and I busted my head open.”
“Oh my God, Max! That’s great!”
“It is and it isn’t.”
“It’s what you wanted, though, right? Wasn’t that the whole point of therapy?”
“Be careful what you wish for.” Max’s tone was dark. “I gotta go, he’s waiting.”
“Now you’ve said too much. I can’t wait. You have to tell me.”
“What happened on the rock was no accident.”
“It was the weather, that freak storm.”
“No, nothing was an accident. My busted head wasn’t an accident. Tim dying wasn’t an accident. You have to trust me. I’m not crazy and I’m not making this up. That’s all I’m going to say right now.”
CHAPTER 47
The rain came down hard and the old wipers made noisy, useless swipes across the window in an angry beat that suited him—pounding against a thing defeated. He was angry, and for once he felt in control of it. He wanted it at his service and knew he could keep it in check. Gone were the senseless times of letting loose on someone or something to take down the pressure and keep from exploding. He’d been blind and deaf and locked out of his own memory and experience.
But now he could see and hear every last detail of what had happened the day he fell eighty feet from a rocky ledge with an inverted drop. The memory had come forward, clear and true, with the same swift ease a correct password opens a website. He’d finally gotten into his own head, and now he was welcome to explore everything stored within.
Connor had sounded incredulous, unbelieving, when he’d told him the news.
“I can’t believe it buddy, after all these years,” he said. “That’s amazing.”
As he thought about it now, stalled at the light on Dewar Drive, the words were right but the tone was wrong. That’s why he had to see Connor face to face. He’d been too long alone, isolated from himself and his friends, because he couldn’t remember his own days.
He saw it again: the memory of one thing after another, so fast, inevitable from the start—the rope slipped, he twirled in space, a weightless crab mid-air, legs kicked, hands clawed for a hold, missed it, the rope slipped, there was a weightless stall mid-air, like a plane engine stalling before the drop, and then the crash, the dark. He saw it all, and he was home.
He pulled into Connor’s parking lot and was about to turn off the truck when Connor jogged over and opened the door. “Let’s take a ride,” he said, already climbing in.
“Okay.”
“This damn rain, I have cabin fever.”
“It’s starting to let up.” Max started driving. “Where to?”
“Take the mountain road. I feel like I’ve been trapped in this town for too long.”
“I wouldn’t mind a cold one.”
“Head over to the Liquor Mart, I’ll grab us a six-pack for the road like old times.�
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When they got there, Max parked in the lot and started to get out, but Connor said, “Stay put, it’s on me,” and was out of the truck and into the store before Max could protest. He felt the excitement build. He couldn’t wait to tell Connor what he remembered. For the first time in years he would show up as his real self, his remembered, known self. He could give Connor more of himself in friendship than he had since they were kids.
Connor got in and opened two bottles. “Try this, my friend, the latest craft beer out of Denver. Prepare to have your mind blown.”
“Not what I’m in the mood for right now.” Max chuckled. “I feel like I just got my mind back.”
“So you said. Tell me all about it.”
Max took a long pull on the beer. Connor was right. It was dark and went down smooth. He finished it off in one go. “How ’bout another?” he said, handing Connor the empty.
“Here you go. Watch yourself on the mountain, though, it’s about to be slick up there after the rain.”
Max took a sip and set the fresh bottle in the holder. He made a right turn onto Foothill Boulevard going north, back toward Connor’s place and the entrance to White Mountain Road.
The road was wet but the truck held the course. They rode in silence for a while. This was the first time they’d been together in a normal, social way since before Stacey died.
Max suddenly felt the loss, the wretched absence, of Stacey spread out between them like a yawning sinkhole.
Ever since she died he’d felt a small comfort when he spoke about her. That was part of why he kept going back to Kelly. He liked talking to her about Stacey. She got it, and he didn’t need to pretend to be brave.
He looked to Connor for different reasons, for comfort and validation of another kind. He wanted that tonight, but now he didn’t know how to start.
“It’s like old times cruising, with no real destination in mind,” Connor said. “You remember those days with you and me and Timmy, riding for hours because we could? No plans, with gas money and time to kill?”
“I don’t remember everything,” Max admitted. “But I’m hoping it will all come back. Right now it’s stuff connected to trauma. Like, it’s all linked together, so when one thing comes to the surface, the others follow along after it, tied together with invisible string.”
“You freaked me out the other night, talking about Kroll and all the sick things he did to us. I put it behind me a long time ago. If you’re smart, you’ll do the same. No point thinking about it now. The guy’s dead.”
Max shook his head. “My head’s been empty for years. It fucked me up not being able to remember my own life. I’m not going to stuff it down again.”
“Suit yourself. But if you’re looking to me to listen to you vent, I’m sorry, but the answer is no. I have enough to deal with right now. You’re the last person I should have to say that to, man.”
They reached the summit just as the last wisps of storm clouds dispersed, revealing a huge moon the color of lemons. Liquid light rippled over the rocky terrain.
Max parked the truck. “I can’t talk and drive. The beer went down too quick.”
Connor shifted in his seat. “Say what you got to say, man.”
“I thought it’d be easy, but it’s not,” Max said. He picked up the beer bottle and took another sip.
“Just spill it. Rip the bandage off. Putting it off only makes it worse.”
“I remember the accident. I can see the whole thing.”
“Welcome to my world. I’ve lived with it for ten years now.”
Max looked at Connor. “I have a question for you. Who tied the ropes?”
“What?” Connor stared out the windshield, unmoving.
“Who tied the ropes the day we climbed Pagan Cave?”
“That was ten long years ago, my friend, and the whole time all I’ve wanted to do is forget. You got lucky, losing your memories. I didn’t have that luxury. I lost two friends on that rock. Tim died, and you—well, you said it yourself, you’re not the same.”
“We were novice climbers, inexperienced as fuck,” Max said slowly. “He made us do the knots ourselves to learn, practicing over and over until we got it right, until our hands bled. But he still checked them over every time because he had to, he was legally responsible for our safety, was the only one who knew what the fuck he was doing. So how did the knots fail?”
“What’s your point?” Connor looked at him now, hard.
“He messed with them. Can you think of another reason they didn’t hold?”
“I don’t know! Everything went wrong. We were fucking unlucky with that storm coming out of nowhere. It must have been the rain. It loosened things up. The rain messed with the gear.”
“So my life was fucked in a freak accident caused by a freak storm that resulted in random freak equipment failure? There was no human factor—that’s what you think?”
“That’s what everyone thinks, because that’s what happened. Don’t you think they investigated back then? And they concluded exactly what you just said. But you think you know better than anyone else because you suddenly remember a few things from ten years ago.” He sighed. “Anyway, what’s the point? Nothing will bring Tim back.”
“The truth is the point.”
“You seriously think a priest would commit murder? Why, for God’s sake?”
“Did you tell him about our plan?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Did you tell Bellamy Tim and I were going to bust his ass?”
“I think you’re losing it, man. Stacey dying has us all messed up.”
“We were going to do it after graduation. Drive over to Cheyenne to see the Bishop. We told you and you tried to stop us. Are you seriously saying you don’t remember?”
“You need to put this behind you,” Connor exploded. “It’s water under the bridge, man, ancient history. I’m looking ahead now. Because when I look back all I see is Stacey and what I was supposed to have in life. I loved your sister with all my heart. Nothing that happened before or since her death means anything to me. Think about that before you open up something that could very possibly destroy me.”
“I can’t leave it like this. It’s unfinished business.”
“Do what you need to do. I won’t be a part of it.”
Max shook his head. “Ten years and you haven’t changed.”
“I’m done with this conversation,” Connor said. “Take me home.”
They drove back to the Preserve in silence. A mile out, Connor unbuckled his seat belt.
“Pull over,” he said. “I’ll walk from here.” He opened the door and jumped down out of the truck, then leaned back inside. “Take my advice. Put this stuff back where it came from. No good can come from stirring things up. Good night, my friend.”
Max looked at Connor, saw the sorrow in his eyes, and something else, too, there and gone in an instant—the acknowledgment of the truth they shared. He watched his friend walk away toward home, skirting the pockets of water in the potholes and depressions in the dirt road.
CHAPTER 48
In the Saddle Lite Saloon the cover band was playing Johnny Cash and a few couples had just started to dance when Antelope left the smoky bar for the cool air of the summer night. Under low-hanging clouds, the scent of rain-soaked sagebrush and diesel fumes filled the air.
A late-model red pickup was blocking his Cadillac. He considered going back in to find the driver, but traffic from the rodeo fairgrounds north of town would be all backed up on Elk Street right now anyway. He’d sit for an hour, at least. The moon was high and a cool breeze came off the desert. He would walk.
He jogged up the gradual slope of the ramp onto the overpass and turned left onto Pilot Butte Avenue. Traffic was gridlocked, as he’d expected. The lights changed three times while vehicles stayed in place. Horns started up, loud, raging, everyone done with being cooped up and stuck in traffic.
Three blocks ahead, Our Lady of Sorrows loomed d
ark and deserted. In five minutes, he’d be home and in bed. He crossed the road between two out-of-county SUVs and began running along the sidewalk through the blaring horns and chaos.
The clock struck midnight, and the church bells tolled a dozen lazy swells above the noisy street. They silenced the horns and echoed back from the mountain. A silent moment followed, a pillow of soft air, before a gunshot tore a hole in the night.
As soon as Antelope heard it, his feet moved fast under him, legs galloping toward the blast and the ringing aftermath. He knew for certain in his ruined lawman’s heart that the shot meant trouble.
Doors opened and people jumped from vehicles, a herd on the run, headed toward danger. Sirens screamed and lights flashed as county and city cars bullied their way through the glut of vehicles in the streets.
At the front of the church, a crowd had already formed. The porous stone face of the Gothic structure was damp and smelled of moss and slime. Antelope entered the dark church as the county ambulance came to a stop and cleared the onlookers from the sidewalk.
He broke his stride and stopped short before the casualty that waited for him. His breath came sharp and fast, and too loud in the holy, silent space.
Trouble follows the guilty, he thought when he saw the dead man. It was one of his crazy Aunt Estella’s sayings, and he couldn’t figure out how it could be relevant to a body lying dead in a church.
Max Hart was on the floor near the confessional with a bullet in his heart and a gun in his hand.
The church was dark except for the red sanctuary light and the glow coming in through the stained glass windows from the security lights in the alley. The painted saints looked down, the only witnesses to the human drama that had just unfolded.
Antelope stood aside as the medics did a quick assessment and confirmed what was clear to him from the first look. They wouldn’t be taking Max Hart to Sweetwater County Memorial Hospital. The EMTs packed their equipment and left. In a few minutes, they would be replaced by the crime scene technicians. For the moment, it was just him and the dead man.
On a Quiet Street Page 18