Burnt River (17 page)

Monica looked at her eldest child again. “You go on up to Tara’s room and fetch her bag. And hurry. We need to get going.”

Jessie’s voice went up an octave. “You only just got here.”

“I have to get back with the car. Our truck is in for repairs, so Patrick needs to use the minivan to drive to work. I promise I’ll call you later.” She hugged Jessie before taking a quick glance around the room. “Besides, it looks like you’ve got your hands full here.”

*   *   *

Jeremy was camped out on the drawing room sofa with Natalie right by his side. As far as Jessie knew, it was the first time they’d been seen together in such an open way. Jessie caught glimpses of him as she passed in and out of the room. His watery eyes darted like fireflies, but his face was immobile. They both looked up at the sound of a sudden outburst. John’s ex-girlfriend Tanya had arrived in tears and was immediately swallowed up by mourners. She was passed from one pair of open arms to another. Her face was blotched and red. Thick drops of mascara rolled down her cheeks. Jessie edged toward the nearest exit. She had her own way of dealing with grief, and at the moment it was threatening to boil over in the back of her throat. She ducked from the room with her hands over her mouth. She was choking on it.

She slipped through the kitchen, where a group of women were busy decanting potato salad, macaroni salad, and slices of cold roast beef onto platters. They were all speaking at once and moved with the restless energy of overheated atoms. They didn’t see Jessie stumble out into the backyard where the grass was warm and the air was even warmer. The sofa next to the pool was gone and someone had arranged the deck chairs in a neat row and plucked the bullet-riddled pink flamingos from the lawn. A group of boys stood at the pool’s edge, daring each other to jump in. As Jessie turned to the west, there was a splash, followed by laughter.

You’re so dead.

Jessie picked a point on the horizon and started walking. Soon the tall grasses were brushing the hem of her dress. Dying light drifted across the seed heads and dust flew upward like ocean spray. In another hour the sun would disappear over the ridgeline and the land would lie in cool hands until dawn. She’d caught sight of Dylan rounding the back porch just as she stepped outside. He was following her, but she didn’t turn to greet him. She laced her fingers through the dry grass and twisted it. She blinked into the hard-slanting sun and imagined she was beautiful. The field dipped and rolled toward a low, wooded area where a shallow stream bled through the rocks. She kept walking and he kept following. She lost him when she entered the wood. The path was narrow and steep and even though she took her time he could not keep up.

“I’m here,” she said. She was perched on a flat rock face that slanted down to the stream. She’d taken off her sandals. The water was like ice. She curled up her toes and wrapped her arms around her knees so she could pull them in close.

Dylan leaned against a nearby boulder and stared at the water. He’d worn a button-down shirt of light cotton and a pair of freshly pressed chinos. They must have been new, because they didn’t hang loose on him like most of his other clothing. He cracked his knuckles one by one. A freight train rumbled along the tracks that skirted the western boundary of the property. It was heading north toward Canada. Horseflies the size of walnuts ricocheted through the trees. He brushed one away when it flew too close to his head.

He opened his mouth to speak and Jessie threw him a warning glance.

“I didn’t come down here to talk.”

He pulled himself up onto the boulder and sat with his legs stretched out in front of him.

They glanced at each other every few minutes, and each time Jessie shook her head. The shadows thickened and the silence grew deeper. She scooted farther up the rock and pressed her feet into the warm surface.

“Crowds make me nervous.”

“You don’t need to explain why you’re down here.”

Jessie tossed a stone into the water. “I’m not doing too well.” She put her palm to her chest. “There’s so much pressure inside it hurts.”

“Apparently it helps if you talk about it.”

“I do talk. At least I try, but it’s like there’s this buffer between me and everyone else. I feel so numb sometimes I wonder if I’m still alive.”

Jessie glanced back up toward the house. She could just make out the roofline. Sun was catching in the surrounding treetops. They looked like they were on fire.

Dylan threw a pebble in the water. “At least you can be in a room with other people. I can’t even do that.”

“You’re not missing much. Take it from me, the
room
is overrated.”

“John would always tell me that it was going to get better. I just had to give it time.”

“Did you believe him?”

“I’ve seen too much shit to believe in much of anything anymore. If I learned anything in the army it’s that there are too many ways to hurt a man. A lot of them you can’t see.”

“I dream about Ethan sometimes. I wake up trying to fight him off.”

“I’m not going to lie. It may never get better.”

Jessie picked her way over the boulders in her bare feet and sat down next to Dylan.

“I’m going to tell you something and I need to know that you’re going to be understanding because it’s a little crazy.”

“I’m listening.”

“It’s about Ethan,” she whispered, suddenly afraid that saying it aloud might make it true.

“Go on.”

“What if he’s still alive?”

“Is that what you’re thinking?”

She dipped her head and her face was lost behind a veil of hair. She’d wanted to stay strong but she was crying again.

Dylan touched her lightly on the arm. “You’re letting all those voices in your head get to you. Ethan is dead.”

“What if we got it wrong? What if Ethan was still alive when the truck went in the lake?” Her voice cracked. “He could have gotten out.”

“Why are you torturing yourself? He attacked you. You defended yourself. He’s dead.”

Jessie fished the necklace out of the pocket of her dress. She’d been worrying the chain like prayer beads as she wandered through the crowds up at the house. It was tangled in knots.

“You see this?” she said, holding it and watching the heart-shaped locket spin. “It was left gift-wrapped on the front porch this morning. There was a card with my name on it and nothing else. I thought I lost it in Ethan’s truck.” She opened the heart. “There’s a picture of Tara inside. It was the only thing that could tie me to Ethan’s death.”

“Maybe someone found it in the picnic area.”

“Then why not just give it back to me then? Why leave it on the porch while I was sleeping? Why not put their name on the card?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“You can’t answer it because it doesn’t make any sense. I might be right. He could be alive.”

“Where has he been all this time then? He would have been hurt. He couldn’t have walked away from something like that.”

“Maybe he’s spent the last year recovering. He’d want revenge. John, me, you, Tyler. We’d all be on his list.”

“You’ve been watching too many movies. Between them, John and Tyler have done eight deployments in Afghanistan and Iraq. They know when someone’s dead.”

“But you didn’t see Ethan, did you? By the time you arrived they’d already put him in the bed of the truck. You’re the medic. You’re the one person who would have known for sure.”

“You need to put this out of your mind. Ethan didn’t kill John. Someone else did.”

She held up the necklace again. “Then explain this.”

15

Macy was lying in bed with her eyes closed. She’d thought she heard her son crying, but woke up to silence. She buried her face in the pillow. The fabric was rough and smelled like cigarettes. Her head throbbed. She was too warm. She kicked the blankets away and pried her eyes open. In the dim light she picked out grainy images. A framed print of a farmhouse and a flat-screen television hung side by side on the far wall. She wouldn’t have heard her son if he screamed. He was in Helena, and Macy was still several hundred miles away in a motel room in Wilmington Creek.

She rolled onto her back. The bathroom door was ajar. Steam billowed into the room. Ray must have been very quiet getting out of bed. According to the digital clock on top of the minibar it was coming up to one in the morning. Macy searched the bedside table for her phone and found his instead. She scrolled through his messages and missed phone calls. Frowning, she threw the phone to one side and buried her face in the pillow again.

Ray had appeared unannounced at her motel room door a little after ten. She’d been getting ready for bed and was in no mood for company. For a few seconds a security chain was all that had separated them. He’d smiled and she’d tried to do the same. As happy as she was to see him, there’d also been a familiar sinking feeling. No matter how good it would be to have him there, pain would surely follow.

What are you doing here?

I felt bad that I couldn’t talk last night. I needed to see you. I had to make sure everything was okay between us.

“Need” is an interesting word choice.

It’s been a long drive and I’m tired. I have to admit it’s all I’ve got.

What about when I need you? It never seems to work both ways.

He’d held up a bottle of wine.
You can’t turn me away. I’ve brought a friend.

I’m trying to spend less time with your friends.

Now you’re talking nonsense.

Ray, you can’t just pop into my life whenever you like. It’s not okay.

Oh, come on. I’m in full view of Main Street. How long are you going to make me wait before you let me in?

She had unhooked the chain, but shrugged away when he tried to kiss her.
I keep hoping that someday I’ll be able to tell you to go to hell.

Why do you say that?

Because it’s true.

I’ve missed you.

I’ve missed you too. It doesn’t change anything.

I’ll leave if you want me to.

I wish it were that easy.

Aren’t you the one who said, “If it’s too easy it’s not worth the trouble”?

She’d lowered her voice to a whisper.
You really should go to hell.

He’d pulled her down onto the bed.
Only if you promise to come with me.

Ray stepped out of the bathroom and dressed with his back turned to her. Water seeped from his wet hair onto the collar of his dress shirt, leaving a thin, dark line along the edge.

“I went to see an apartment yesterday.”

“I’d say you could move in with me but I don’t think my mother would approve.”

“How’s she finding looking after Luke full time?”

Macy almost told Ray about her impromptu trip down to Kalispell to see her mother and Luke but kept it to herself.

“Ellen loves it.”

“But it must wear her down. You work pretty long hours.”

“Don’t worry, Luke is well cared for.”

“I’m not suggesting otherwise. I just wonder whether she’s getting enough support.”

“We can’t all be stay-at-home moms. Someone has to pay the bills.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“Have you given any more thought to amending the birth certificate?”

“I don’t think this is the right time to discuss it.”

“It’s a simple court order. I thought you wanted Luke to have my last name.”

“I never agreed to that.”

“I don’t see why you’re so against it.”

“Being alone in that delivery room may have something to do with it.”

“How many times do I have to say sorry?”

“How about I let you know when you get there?”

He sat on the edge of the bed and Macy scooted forward so she could hold him from behind.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

He kissed the inside of her wrist. “You know I don’t have a choice. Please don’t ask me again.”

“It’s what I want. I’m not going to quit asking.”

Ray mumbled a response as he bent forward to slip on his shoes. “Then don’t get upset when you don’t like the answer.”

Macy got up and peeked through a narrow gap in the curtains. A man sat by himself at the end of the diving board with his legs dangling above the motel’s kidney-shaped swimming pool. It was too dark to make out his features. He drank what was left of his beer before standing. He bounced several times and the board creaked so loudly that Macy thought it might snap in two. He steadied it before turning his gaze toward her. Macy drew the curtains shut and shrank back into the room.

She closed her eyes and tried to feel her way into the questions that always needed asking. “You said you spoke to your wife again. She hasn’t changed her mind about the separation.”

Ray was standing, his silhouette backlit by the light coming from the bathroom. Beyond him she could see the fogged-over mirror.

“That was the easy part,” he said, his eyes tightening. “Now, we have to tell the girls.”

Macy crawled across the bed and handed him his phone. “Your wife has been trying to call you for the past three hours.”

Ray held the phone up and squinted. “Don’t exaggerate. These aren’t all from her.”

“But quite a few of them are.”

“She’s the mother of my three children. There will always be something we need to discuss.”

“I can’t forget what happened last time.”

Ray put a hand on Macy’s knee and held it there. “Macy, you have to believe me. My wife and I are never getting back together again. It’s over.”

Macy watched Ray’s eyes trace over the lines of text as he continued to read his messages. In the past few months he’d lost weight, and his hair, which was once graying at the temples, was now completely silver.

“You haven’t told me what you think of Aiden Marsh. I hear he can be difficult.”

“That’s not my experience so far.” She almost smiled. “He’s been very accommodating.”

“Well, he might not be for much longer.”

“Why? Has something happened?”