The Far End of Happy (19 page)

This
is
being
handled
all
wrong
, Ronnie thought, pacing. She should not have let her mother-in-law go, yet she still could not come up with an acceptable way she could have stopped her.

“Ronnie, sit down. You’re driving me mad,” Beverly said.

Ronnie paused, looked at her mother, and continued pacing. “I keep thinking, there’s no bathroom in the store. I mean, wouldn’t Jeff have to go to the bathroom? Especially if he kept drinking?” She turned to Corporal McNichol and asked the question she would have squelched if Jeff’s mother were still in the room. “How do you know he’s still alive?”

“We have scopes on the windows.”

“Scopes. You mean guns.”

She shrug-nodded. “And we haven’t heard anything.”

“He could have drunk himself to death by now. You aren’t doing enough.”

The corporal thought for a minute. “Do you have an answering service on your store phone, the kind that goes through the phone company?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me.”

Ronnie and her mother followed Corporal McNichol down the hall to the office, where she asked her men to take a break so Ronnie could use the phone. They left, taking their radio static with them.

Corporal McNichol said, “I’ll leave you alone.”

“Why?”

The corporal gave Ronnie a moment to think. “These are your messages. Some of them might be personal.”

Ronnie nodded.

“But I think some of the voices you hear will address your concerns. We know what we’re doing.”

Ronnie’s hands were already flying over the keypad and entering her code. When the expected automated voice came on, she flipped the switch to speaker so her mother could hear.

“You have seventy-two messages.” Beverly’s eyebrows shot up.

Amber: “My god, Ronnie, what’s happening? They wouldn’t let me get to the store. I’ve been trying to leave the barricade and go home, but, well, I just can’t. A lot of your neighbors are here milling around. And some customers—the woman who buys one of those big sleeves of garlic every single week is over by the news van. Anyway, I’m here. Whatever you need.”

“This is Mrs. Fawke, principal at Hitchman Elementary. We want to let you know we’re all safe here, and we’re hoping you are too. The students don’t know anything yet. We told them they couldn’t go out for recess because of a treatment we’d put on the lawn. I hated to lie, but there’s no use stirring them up before we know how this will… Well, the wait is hard enough here so I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I’ve alerted the boys’ teachers, so they understand better what your sons must have been going through lately. Let us know what other support we can offer.”

“That ticks me off,” Ronnie said, talking over an earlier message from Lisa Schulz saying she couldn’t get home.

“I thought she sounded nice,” Beverly said.

“Sure, now she does. But a month ago, my two straight-A students suddenly started screwing up—misunderstanding assignments; writing about dark subjects in their journals; Will unable to spell; Andrew freaking out on standardized testing day, which was always his favorite—and it’s only once their father locks himself up with a gun that she thinks they might need support? Divorce should be bad enough to inspire offers of help. It’s the death of a family.”

Beverly fiddled with a curled corner on the desk blotter. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Well, I’m sorry this suddenly got personal for you, but it’s the truth. How else would I feel? My stepdads were as close as I was ever going to get to having a father, and you kept taking me away from them.”

“Jeffrey Farnham?” A male voice came from the speakerphone. Beverly gripped Ronnie’s arm. “Jeff, I’m one of the police negotiators. If you check these messages, I’ll call back in two minutes. Please pick up.” A chill infused the silent gap.

The next was from her editor at
Organic
Gardening
PA
, wondering whether she planned to get around to turning in the story due that morning. “If you’re on your death bed or something, have your husband call so I know to fill your spot.”
Leave
it
to
the
media
not
to
watch
the
news.

“Jeff.” The negotiator’s voice again. “Listen, I know you’re facing some tough challenges. Life can get messy. But there’s no reason to give up hope. Nothing has happened here that can’t be fixed. You can feel better again. You just might not see that on your own. Call me back and we’ll get you help.”

The voice sounded kind. Patient. Confident. Ronnie would have called him back.

“Ronnie, Anita here. I just heard on the news. We knew this was possible, but, oh my, I’m so sorry it’s turning out this way. Don’t worry about being strong for others. Be strong in yourself. God be with you, and your sons, and Jeff.”

“Anita,” her mother said. “Is that your therapist?”

“Jeff.” Ronnie put her hand up to silence her. “It’s been a half hour, and I haven’t heard from you. How are you doing in there? Maybe you feel too bad to talk right now. I get that. But there’s no need to make it worse by staying in there alone. We can get you something to eat. You can take a shower and take a nice long rest in a comfy bed. No rush on the talking, okay? You can talk whenever you’re ready.”

That man didn’t know her husband, Ronnie thought. He never took showers. He loved a nice warm bath.

“Jeff. Another half hour has passed. Maybe you’ve seen the firepower out here. Maybe you’re afraid of what will happen if you open the door. I’m going to call you back and tell you what to do. I’ll be really clear so all this talk doesn’t get jumbled in your head. Focus on how good it will feel to put an end to this. I’ll call back in five minutes.”

Ronnie leaned in toward the phone, awaiting the instructions. Her mother leaned in beside her.

“Jeff, this is the police negotiator again. Three simple actions. Set your weapon down. Open the office door. Walk through the store with your fingers laced behind your head. That’s it. Three actions: set down the weapon, open the door, walk out with your fingers laced behind your head. The outer door is propped open. We’ll see you coming and take care of you from there.”

Ronnie felt dizzy. She hadn’t been breathing. She leaned on the desk, took in a deep breath, and exhaled as she waited for what came next.

The next voice was lower. Slower; slurred. Dripping with the black ooze of evil. Almost a growl: “Tell…them…to get…the fuck…away from me.”

Ronnie and her mother stepped back as if the desk had burned them. Deep inside, Ronnie’s organs started to shiver.

“Here we go.” The officer who had driven Janet to the farm was out of the car and opening her door. He wore a vest with
POLICE
across the back. Bulletproof; she had seen enough cop shows to know that much. She just didn’t know how she had become part of one.

Janet wasn’t ready. She hadn’t organized her thoughts; they were a jumble of loss and blood and soul-numbing abstinence and shame. What on earth would she say?

The car door opened.

“This is a military grade shield. You’ll be perfectly safe behind it,” an officer said. He pulled her from the car and handed her a megaphone. “This has a pistol grip,” he was saying. “You can rest it right here, on this shooting platform. Put your finger on this trigger. When you’re ready, squeeze.”

Janet awaited inspiration. What did she ever talk to Jeff about, other than work arrangements?
Can
you
drive
your
tractor
over
the
hill
to
mow
my
lawn? Why don’t you come in for lemonade? While you’re here, could you change my smoke detector batteries?
She had to admit it: her mother had known him better. Amelia had been the one to raise him while Janet taught typing all those years. It was a necessary convenience, but Janet was jealous when Jeff would run crying to his grandmother when he needed comfort. She remembered her secret joy when Jeff had tossed aside Amelia’s high school graduation gift, inscribed in her hand: “To my Jeffrey: Love the Lord above all and read this Bible, a request from your loving grandmother.”

It was Ronnie who entertained them at Sunday dinners with stories about the boys, Ronnie who had planned the new corn maze with the pumpkin patch heart. It was Ronnie, not Jeff, who had poured out her fears to Janet after she came home from college, bonding them. Ronnie had needed her. Jeff was stronger; he’d never needed her at all. If he had fears, he managed them on his own.

The shame Janet had stuffed down so long ago emerged with a vengeance: she didn’t really know her son. He was like steel-coated chocolate, and she didn’t know how to reach the part of him that could melt.

Yet she hadn’t hesitated when offered the chance to try. She had no doubt her own mother would have done the same for her, even though she would have shamed her into submission with words from a higher authority. After all these years, snippets of the Bible still came to her as if from an audiobook recorded by her mother: “My soul is exceeding sorrowful…let this cup pass from me…”

That’s all Janet could remember. If she were going to summon her mother’s courage, she’d have to do it without God’s word at the ready. She pivoted the bullhorn on the shooting platform, aimed toward her son, and squeezed its pistol grip.

How could her daughter listen to any more of those messages? Beverly escaped back to the social hall as soon as she heard Jeff’s rotting voice, but still she couldn’t get it out of her head. It seemed meant to revile. It was a warning.

Fearful for Janet, Beverly flipped on the TV to see if there was any news. The scene that came to life before her was of the police cars lined up in front of the Schulz home. It wasn’t a helicopter shot, yet the perspective was from above. Had a cameraman somehow approached on foot from the other side of the hill? The voice was Rob White’s.

“We believe the police have brought in a new negotiator in the cruiser that just pulled up. The officer is opening the door… This is breaking news. You’ll learn as we do who this is…”

Janet emerged from the backseat. Beverly put her hand to her mouth as Janet stepped up close to a shield; her frightened eyes peeked through its window.

Beverly needed to see how Janet would do this brave thing. For so long, Beverly had stowed away words she’d never had the chance to say to Dom, fearing that if she expressed her deepest desires, the very thing she’d wanted to hold tight to would be again wrested from her grasp. But what is there to lose in saying them, when someone is facing life’s toughest moment?

The words swelled in Beverly’s heart as she watched poor, lost-looking Janet take the bullhorn in her hand.
Say
“I love you,”
Beverly silently urged her.
Say
“You are beautiful and precious.” Say “Let me stay by your side and help you find joy.”

“Jeff, this is your mother.” Through the bullhorn, Janet’s voice sounded robotic. Insincere. She looked to the officer beside her.

He reached over and dialed up the volume. “Try again. Speak nice and loud. If he fell asleep, you’ll want to wake him. As a matter of fact, hold on a sec.” He took the bullhorn from her. “Jeff, this is the negotiation team again.” His deep voice could have carried through a football stadium filled with a capacity crowd. “We have someone here who came to speak to you.” He slid the bullhorn back into the notch on Janet’s shield. “Go ahead when you’re ready.”

“Jeff, it’s time to come out now. We’ve been waiting for you all day. The boys, Beverly, Ronnie.”

Quiet. All attention focused through the door of the farm store on the closed office door.

“Look out at the horses, Jeff. They need you. We all need you.”

Quiet. So quiet.

A loud thump and explosive shatter from the office. Everyone flinched, except Janet, who fell back against the cruiser. “Oh god, did he…did he…” She couldn’t complete the sentence.

Next to her, the officer said into his radio, “Scopes, whaddya got?” After a brief silence, a voice squawked back: “I think he threw something against the door. A glass or bottle. He’s up and moving.”

The officer nodded to her. Janet’s heart thrashed within her chest, pounding again and again into her breastbone. How was she supposed to talk? She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Hoping to calm Jeff. She hated that she had no idea what was going on inside his head and heart.

She pulled herself together, took a deep breath, and raised the bullhorn to her mouth.

“Please, Jeff. Your father would want you to be strong for your boys. He loved you so much. He wasn’t the kind to show it, but he was proud of you. And I…I—”

POW!
Dust and splinters filled the farm store.

“That’s it.”

“Get her out of here, go.”

“Go-go-go-go!”

Bullhorn—gone. The door behind her opened. A large hand pressed Janet’s head down and back, pushing her onto the seat. The door shut as red and blue lights started to flash on a distracting number of cruisers. A sea of officers parted before them and tires squealed as their car raced away.

Janet couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. Her neighborhood sped past the car window at a disorienting speed. Janet’s stomach lurched; either something had to go down or something else was coming up.

Without regard for subterfuge, she pulled the flask from her purse, lifted it, and downed the rest of its contents.

What was that? It seemed like Janet had said something through the bullhorn, but Beverly couldn’t make it out. Beverly turned up the volume on the set so she could hear but still couldn’t understand Janet’s words. What was going on? What was she missing? She hit the volume button again, but it was turned up as loud as it could go.

Beverly watched for an entire minute.

She hoped Jeff would see his mother. Burst from the building and go to her, hands raised in surrender.
Come
on, Jeff. Don’t leave your mother. Don’t leave Ronnie. And lord knows I don’t need another man leaving me.
Beverly took in the entire scene, gleaning details from this horrid moment in her daughter’s life to fill in gaps she had missed in her own. Why was the picture so still? Was something wrong with this TV?

POW!
The camera jostled. Some sort of debris blew out the front door of the store. An officer pushed Janet into the car and sped away.
What
the
hell
happened?

Rob White: “Apparently the negotiation failed. We’re trying to get a better angle so we can see what happened. There was some kind of explosion or shot. Can we get a better angle?”

The next view was of the front of the store. The camera zoomed into its interior, refocusing on the back wall.

As the debris settled, she was finally able to see the office door. It had a hole the size of a dinner plate blown straight through it.