Faultlines (13 page)

“He’s been by every day. It helps her, I think. You know how protective he’s always been of her.”

“Obsessed is more like it. He shouldn’t be coming there now.” Sandy stood up. “For God’s sake, Mom, he arrested Jordy.”

“It’s all right,” her mother soothed. “He doesn’t talk about the accident.”

Sandy didn’t believe her mother, and she called and asked Roger about it later. “It isn’t legal, is it? Even if Huck isn’t discussing the case with Jenna, he’s probably talking about Jordy, saying who knows what.”

“I can understand why you’re concerned,” Roger said.

“But you aren’t?” Sandy asked.

“I’ve had a chance to go over the accident report.”

“And?”

“If everything is correct, Sandy, Jordy was driving. I’m sorry.”

Sandy felt her head swim. She walked out the back door and sat on the end of the wicker chaise longue. “They were both thrown from the vehicle.”

“No, remember? Jordy says when he came to, initially, he was in the driver’s seat. He remembers getting out under his own power and going to help Travis, where he collapsed. There’s a witness, too, mentioned in the report, a tow-truck driver from Greeley, Pete Hoskins, who was picking up a car out near the scene—he says the Range Rover passed him. He ID’d Jordy as the driver.”

Sandy left the chair now, barely registering her actions, mindlessly walking the path that led between two perennial borders to her vegetable garden. Except for a row of poblano peppers, the summer-planted crops—tomatoes, squash, melon, and green beans—were mostly brown, their fruit rotting. She seldom had time to work her own gardens. She was like the cobbler whose children had no shoes.

“Try not to worry. There’s still a lot of investigating to do. I’ll be interviewing the witness myself and checking every other fact in this report. It’s possible there were other witnesses, too, that the cops overlooked.”

“This is so scary, Roger,” she said.

“I know, but, hang in there, okay? I’ll call you when I know more.”

She started dinner—Jordy’s favorite meal—baked pork chops and scalloped potatoes. She pulled what was left of the green beans, and she fixed those, too. When everything was ready, she went to his room and tapped on his door, and she was surprised when he answered, when he said he would join her.

She sat at the table, waiting. Outside, early-evening shadows crept from the woods, encroaching on the lawn, dulling its rich green color, softening the signs of neglect. Who would mow it if Jordy went to jail and Emmett didn’t come home? Sandy bit her lips together. She couldn’t think like that.

Jordy slid into the chair opposite her. He picked up his fork, set it down. “Does he know about me? Has he ever seen me?” His stare was hard.

Her mother had warned her Jordy would ask, that he would want to know. She saw his bewilderment, his hurt and vulnerability, and it wrenched her heart. It occurred to her how it must look to him, that he’d been born through a man who did not care about him, one who had contributed his DNA and walked on. “It’s not like what you’re thinking,” Sandy said. “It isn’t that he didn’t want you, or want to know you. I never gave him a chance.”

Jordy sat back. Like her, he had little appetite.

She tried to explain, but it was difficult finding the words to describe the unhappy place she’d been in, the events that had led her into having the affair, that wouldn’t cause Jordy further pain. She couldn’t say that she’d known the first time it was a mistake, and still there had been two other occasions. She couldn’t say the affair was something both she and his birth father had regretted, or that was her understanding, anyway. She took her time, choosing her words carefully, and in the end there were few of them, and they were both true and not quite true. She had been thrilled, she said, when she found out she was pregnant with him. She didn’t say she had also been frightened out of her mind and heartbroken that he was not Emmett’s child.

She did not speak of her shame. Suppose he got that twisted in his mind and somehow associated her shame with his birth? “I loved you before you were born,” she said. “So did your dad. Emmett. The guy who was there, watching you come into the world. The guy who has been here with you ever since. I know you’re confused and angry at me, and you have every right. But, Jordy, it takes more than DNA to be a dad.”

“You never told me who he is.”

“I will, if you want me to.” Could she? She felt as if she were free-falling through space, and there was nothing to stop her. Nothing to grab onto.

“I already know,” Jordy said, and Sandy gaped at him, astonished.

“How?” she asked.

“Aunt Jenna told Troy, and he told me.”

“You talked to them?”

“Not her. I called Troy. I didn’t know if he’d talk to me, but he did. He said Aunt Jenna will come around, some crap about forgiveness.” Jordy wadded his napkin and tossed it onto the table by his plate. “I said I didn’t need forgiveness. Not for that, anyway. I didn’t do anything better or worse than Trav. We were stupid. Michelle, too. She had as much to drink as we did.”

“Roger’s read the accident report. There’s a witness who says he saw that you were the driver.”

“He’s lying.” Jordy stood up. His gaze narrowed on hers. “You believe him, don’t you? Over me, your own son, the one you loved before I was even born. What horseshit!”

“Jordy,” she protested.

At the doorway that led out of the kitchen, he wheeled. “You know what?” He came back toward her. “You’re like everyone else in this fucked-up family. You think I’m a liar. Well, what about you, huh? Doesn’t seem as if you know how to tell the truth, either, does it?”

Her eyes were locked with his; her heart ticked in her chest.

“I’m going to get in touch with him, Mom, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me.”

It was late when Emmett called. Sandy had made herself clear up the dinner they’d left uneaten, and she was sitting with her laptop in the kitchen when her phone rang. She saw his name in the ID, and for a moment, the turmoil of her emotions was so fierce, her mind went blank. They were careful with each other, guarded in their speech. He talked about his mom, his decision to find someone qualified to come in and help his aunt Leila take care of his mother. He was saying he didn’t know how long it would take when she interrupted him.

“You have to come home, Emmett. I got Jordy out of jail on bail today. I had to transfer funds from savings. I hired a lawyer—Roger Yellott—”

“Wait, wait. Are you telling me that son of a bitch went through with it? Huck actually arrested Jordy?”

“Yes. Emmett. There’s going to be a trial.” Sandy paused. Her ears were ringing. She was trembling, and she crossed her free arm over her midsection. She found her voice again and explained about the charges; she mentioned the accident report, the witness statement. She said, “It could get worse—if Michelle were to die.”

Emmett’s muttered “Jesus Christ” was as much a prayer as it was a protest.

Sandy wanted to ask him if he thought Jordy had a drinking problem and whether he believed Jordy when he said he wasn’t driving, but she was afraid of his answer, his doubt that would mirror her own.

He said, “This guy you hired to represent Jordy, he was a client of yours, wasn’t he? An asshole, right?” There was no heat in Emmett’s voice, only the recollection of her frustration and his commiseration at the time.

“I didn’t know who else to call.”
You weren’t here.
That thought ran through her mind, too. “I think I misjudged him. I mean, he’s gone out of his way to help. Jordy likes him. He says he can talk to Roger.”

“Has he dealt with this before? Intoxication manslaughter, all the rest?”

“I don’t know. I guess he has. He’s a criminal, not a civil, attorney.” She had looked at his website earlier to be sure. Using her mouse now, she opened the page again. A photograph of him in the upper left corner showed him looking very grave, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes and in the curve of his mouth. Even though he’d been a pain to work with, she remembered he’d laughed a lot. He’d made her laugh. She guessed his temper could be as quick as his humor.

“It says he handles DUIs,” she told Emmett, scrolling a list of Roger’s specialties. “Manslaughter,” she read. “Intoxication manslaughter is here, too. There’s a whole page about it, what to do if you’re charged, how he handles it.”

Sandy took the noise Emmett made as his assent, and when he asked about Roger’s fees and the next steps, she explained all that Roger had told her. She had done nothing to rid herself of the burden, but she felt lighter now that Emmett knew what she knew. “We can talk to him together when you come home.” It didn’t occur to her that he wouldn’t. She went on. “Mom told me Huck is over at Jenna’s every day. She claims he isn’t talking about the accident, but you know he is. He wants Jordy to be guilty.”

“Yeah,” Emmett said. “Because that’s what Jenna wants. God, this is so fucked up.”

“Mom and Dad are trying to be fair, but they’re not here for Jordy or me at all.”

“What about his friends?” Emmett asked, and he named a few. “Cory and Evan, Georgie Fallon, all those guys?”

“Haven’t seen them. Emmett, none of them are calling. It’s as if they blame him—” Sandy stopped, not wanting to continue the litany, to say she felt she was being ostracized, too. None of her and Emmett’s couple friends had called or come by, either, since she’d been home. No one had offered her their condolences on the death of her nephew, or brought her a casserole as a token of their regret. She hadn’t received so much as a sympathy card.

The silence lingered, and it was awful for the way it lacked so much as a glimmer of hope. They couldn’t even fake it, the sense that things would get better.

“You realize you’re going to have to cash out Jordy’s college fund,” Emmett finally said, as if it was easier for him to deal with the financial rather than the emotional cost.

“No,” she said. “I’ve thought about it, and we have to find a different way.”

Emmett didn’t answer. He was waiting for her to see it, the lack of other alternatives.

“We can’t take that away from him, Emmett,” Sandy insisted. “He’s hurting so badly right now. He needs to know we believe in him and in his future even if no one else does. If we unload his college fund, how will it look?”

“I know about the hurting,” Emmett said, and for a moment Sandy was lost as to his meaning, and then it came to her that he was referring to the pain her deception had caused him. His reminder, the way he’d tossed it out there, irked her, and it frightened her. He didn’t know the half, she thought. The fact that Jordy had a different flesh-and-blood father was no abstract idea now. He was real, a physical entity, a man Jordy insisted he would know, a man who had, two years ago, written Sandy to say he would like nothing better than for her to grant his request to meet his son. Sandy had ignored his note. It had been easy enough to do when he was still a secret kept between sisters.

“You mentioned a witness.” Emmett was back to the business at hand.

“Yeah, Pete Hoskins.” Sandy matched his flat inflection. “He’s a tow-truck driver from Greeley. He was picking up a car when he says the kids passed him, going fast, music blasting. He was under the billboard near that turn—the one for Lion’s Creek Barbecue?”

Emmett knew the place. “That board is lit up like daylight at night.”

“That’s how he saw it so clearly—that Jordy was driving.” Sandy walked to the back door and looked out. The yard was full of shadows. In the distance, the barn hovered in an eerie wash of moonlight. They’d had a horse once. Jordy and Trav had asked for one, a joint gift for their thirteenth birthdays that fell within days of each other, and thinking the care of a horse would be a good tool to teach responsibility, Sandy and Emmett had gone in halves with Jenna and bought a retired quarter horse, a gentle old mare named Girlie Sue. They had barely had her a year when one night, late, during a thunderstorm, she became so frightened she broke down her stall gate and left the barn at a full gallop. They’d found her the next morning, dead in a thicket of live oaks, about a quarter mile from the house. She’d run into one of the oaks head-on and fractured her skull. The same way Travis’s head had been fractured when Jordy’s car crashed into the same kind of tree. The similarity seemed freakish to her now; it seemed alien, but that was probably the product of too much emotion, too much wanting to find some kind of sign, sense, message. When there was none.