The Grove (2 page)

I turned on the shower and stood under the water until it ran cold. There was a dull ache building behind my eyes, and I knew from experience that it was going to get worse before it got better. I tried to remember the last time I’d eaten, but nothing came to me.

When I went into the bedroom to get dressed, I found some pants and a semi-clean shirt on the floor. I slid them on then crossed the room to Liz’s closet and opened the door. Most of her clothes were still hanging inside. I ran my hand back and forth along the line of fabric, then stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed.

I sat there for a while, staring into her closet and listening to the sounds of the house.

Empty houses have unique noises, almost like the rooms themselves are listening. The sensation of being observed felt so real that I couldn’t pull myself away.

I kept going back to what Greg had said, wondering if Liz and I were better off apart. The more I thought about it, the angrier I felt. I knew Greg wouldn’t say anything unless he thought it would help, but I couldn’t figure out what the hell he’d been thinking.

Liz and I weren’t better off. We were miles from better off, and he knew it.

The pain behind my eyes turned sharp, and I forced myself to get up and head to the kitchen. I needed to eat and to clear my head before going out to the ravine.

I found some ham slices and a can of Cheez Whiz in the refrigerator, and made a sandwich using two crusts of bread. It was all I had in the house. If I wanted to eat again, I’d need to go into town and do some shopping.

The idea killed my appetite, but I ate anyway.

The sandwich was dry, and when I finished it I grabbed a beer. It was enough to keep me going.

I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes. The breeze coming through the window was as gentle as a kiss, and it felt good on my skin.

After a moment I reached for the phone on the wall and held the receiver to my ear and dialed Liz’s mother’s number. I let it ring once; then hung up.

What was I going to say to her?

If what Greg said was true, if I’d threatened to kill her, what could I say? She’d expect an apology. More than likely she’d want me to beg her for forgiveness, and that wasn’t going to happen.

She was the one who’d left me, the one who’d packed up and walked out with no warning, but she didn’t care about that, wouldn’t even want to talk about that.

No, she would want to talk about my pills, and my blackouts. Nothing about her. She didn’t care about the fog that came with taking the pills, or how the color drained out of everything, a little more every day.

None of that mattered to her.

All she’d want to know was that I was taking them. Nothing else was important. But I wasn’t going to deal with that anymore, especially now that she was gone.

I finished my beer and dropped the empty bottle in the sink, then opened the cabinet above the refrigerator and took down a bottle of Johnny Walker. I broke the seal.

The pain in my head faded with each swallow.

The more I thought about Liz, the more I wondered if Greg was right after all. Even if she did come back, things wouldn’t be the way they were. She’d told me the night she left that I’d always remind her of Clara.

That wasn’t something I could fight.

I took another drink, then capped the bottle and went down the hall to the bedroom. I opened my closet and grabbed a large cardboard box off the top shelf. It was marked “winter” and filled with sweaters. I dumped them on the bed, then opened Liz’s closet and started tearing clothes off hangers and throwing them in the box.

I was going to make it easy for her.

For us both.

I’d emptied half the closet before I stopped and looked down at the dress in my hand.

It was like a snapshot.

I could remember her wearing it several times over the years, but right then all I saw was the first time. The Fourth of July. The night we grilled hamburgers in the backyard and ate outside on the porch and watched the fireworks bloom over the cornfields.

I remembered Clara saying the dress made her look thin and the way Liz laughed and smiled and told her she was a charmer.

I remembered the way she looked crossing the bedroom toward me later that night, the dress moving against her skin like a shadow, fluid and soft and warm.

I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the dress in my lap. There were no tears, but I didn’t move from that spot for a long time.

When I did get up, I hung all her clothes back in the closet, one by one, then went outside and crossed the field toward my tractor, still stuck in the ravine.

I didn’t think anything was broken, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop.

I took off my shirt and wrapped the sleeve tight around my hand. I could feel my heart beat under it as I leaned back against the tractor. A slow red stain soaked through the sleeve, and blood pooled in my palm.

I considered going back to the house and driving into town to the medical clinic, but I didn’t see the point. It would stop. I hadn’t drunk that much, and I could clean my hand when I finished getting the tractor out.

I’d gotten close, even managed to get one of the back wheels free, and I’d almost had the other one out when the board I was using to brace the tire snapped and dug into my hand. It wasn’t until I saw the blood running down my arm that I realized what had happened.

I hadn’t felt a thing.

I shook the blood out of my palm then unwrapped it and rewrapped it with the other sleeve. The bleeding seemed to be slowing, and I felt better about not going back to the house. The day was already slipping away, and I didn’t want to stop just because of a little scratch.

With my hand wrapped tight again, I looked around for another board or rock I could use to brace the tire in the mud. I didn’t see anything, so I climbed up the far side of the ravine and walked into the cottonwoods.

The air in the grove felt ten degrees cooler. I stopped in the middle of the trees and glanced up at the shimmer of leaves rattling in the breeze. The sound was calming, and I stood for a while just listening and breathing and watching the early evening light filter through the branches.

I noticed a few empty beer cans on the ground and kicked a couple of them into a pile in case I decided to come out later and pick them up.

It was a ridiculous thought. I kept searching.

Something on the other side of the grove caught my eye. I didn’t recognize it at first. When I got closer I saw that it was a purse, striped pink and blue, like ribbon candy. I picked it up. There was weight to it, and I looked around to see if anyone was there. I knew I was alone, but something in me needed to make sure.

I examined the purse. It was unmarked and looked brand new. I set it on the ground, unsnapped the latch, and checked inside.

The first thing I saw was a smaller bag, the same design. There were several makeup tubes inside.

I reached back into the purse and came out with a few pens, a checkbook, a wallet.

I opened the checkbook. The bank was local, and according to the registry the balance in the account was twenty-seven dollars and change. I dropped it back in the purse, then grabbed the wallet and took out the driver’s license.

The girl in the license photo had dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was young and she was smiling. Her name was Jessica Cammon. I read the date of birth and did the math in my head.

She was sixteen.

I looked around at the scattering of beer cans and shook my head. If I found out my sixteen-year-old daughter had been drinking in secluded cornfields—

I stopped myself.

After a moment I thumbed through the rest of the wallet. There were thirteen dollars inside and several pay stubs. I pulled one out and read the name: The Riverbank Café.

I’d been to the Riverbank Café several times. I looked closer at the driver’s license photo, wondering if I’d seen her there. I couldn’t place the face, but it was a long time since I’d been there. Maybe she was new.

I slid the license back into the wallet and returned it to the purse. I thought about going to the Riverbank Café for breakfast tomorrow. Going there would keep me out of the grocery store for another day. Besides, it would be fun to see the look on her face when I dropped her purse on the counter.

I knew what I should do was take it to the address on the license and hand it over to her parents. Tell them where I found it and let them handle the situation. But it wasn’t any of my business. I figured I should just find her and return the purse.

Her parents could ask the questions.

I snapped the bag closed without looking at anything else. The sun was beginning its slow drop toward the horizon, and soon the sky would fill with a heavy red haze. If I didn’t get back to the tractor soon I’d have no choice but to finish tomorrow. If that happened, I figured I’d call Greg and tell him to bring his truck out after all. We’d have it done in twenty minutes.

I started back toward the ravine, taking one last look over my shoulder. When I did, I noticed something lying in the corn just past the trees, but I couldn’t tell what it was from where I stood.

I moved toward it.

The wind had picked up, and whatever it was danced back and forth in the breeze. It looked like a dark jacket or a shirt caught in the corn.

I crossed the grove and stepped out into the sheltered area just past the trees. Taking a few steps closer, I stopped.

What I’d seen was a waitress uniform from the Riverside Café, a black dress with a gold stripe running along the hem. I recognized it immediately.

The girl wearing the dress was on her side facing into the field, away from where I stood. Her dark hair was matted to her head, and her legs were folded up toward her chest as if she were sleeping. One arm was stretched out in front of her and the other was down along her side, the palm facing the sky.

Even without seeing her face, I knew.

When I got back to the house, I was out of breath and covered in mud. I’d fallen in the ravine and hit my head on a half-buried rock. I could feel the steady warm flow of blood running down my cheek.

I ran to the kitchen, dialed Greg’s number, and let it ring. There was no answer. I hung up. I looked at the clock above the stove. It was almost eight. I doubted he’d still be at work, but even if he wasn’t, they could track him down.

I didn’t want to talk to anyone else.

I opened the cabinet where Liz kept the phone book and pulled it out, scanning the first few pages for the Sheriff’s Department. When I found the number I picked up the phone and started to dial.

Halfway through, I stopped.

Why would I only talk to Greg?

A thought flashed in the back of my mind, brief but sharp. It wouldn’t let me call.

It happened again.

I stood in the kitchen, blood on my face and the phone pressed against my ear, unable to move, trying to push the thought away.

“No.”

My voice was soft, a whisper against the receiver.

The thought flashed again, and this time there were images, bad images. I tried to close my eyes, but it didn’t help.

It happened again.

It wasn’t possible.

The girl hadn’t been out there for very long, that was obvious, but that didn’t mean she’d been out there last night. It didn’t mean that I’d seen her and confronted her, or that I’d—

No, it wasn’t possible.

I closed my eyes and tried to bring back anything from the night before. All I had was a confusing haze of images and words, then nothing until I woke up that morning covered in mud.

It happened again.

The thought was enough to move my hand holding the phone back toward the cradle.

I crossed the room to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. I opened it and took a drink, then held the cold bottle against my forehead.

When I pulled it away, it was bloody.

I reached for the towel over the sink and ran it under cold water, then pressed it against my forehead, wincing.

I’d caught kids in my field before, but I’d never been angry about it. All I’d ever done was ask them to leave. No fights, no problems.

But how would this look?

Greg and I had been friends since grade school, and thanks to my father’s drinking, I’d spent more time at his house than my own. He’d been there through all the bad times, and we were as close as brothers. But finding a dead body on my property the day after I’d waved a gun at my wife and threatened to kill her wouldn’t look good.

He’d have questions, and not just him.

A lot of people would look to me, and everything from the past would come up again.

I wished I’d never gone out there.

I considered waiting it out, pretending I’d never found the body. I didn’t think I had anything to do with the girl, and since no one else knew I’d been out there or what I’d found, all I had to do was keep quiet.

I thought about it for a minute, but inside I knew it wasn’t an option. I had to call.

Whatever followed would follow.

I went back to the counter and reached for the phone to call Greg. Before I could pick it up, it rang.

I didn’t move.

My throat was tight, and I felt my heart drill against my ribs. After the fourth ring, I picked it up.

“Hi, Dexter.”

It was Liz.

I carried the phone to the table, sat down, then leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. Each second that passed I cursed myself for not saying anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m OK.”

The wind blew the curtain back from the window, and I glanced up and saw the grove in the distance. I looked down at my hands on the table, saw the dried blood under my fingernails, and squeezed a fist.

“What do you need, Liz?”

“Same thing I needed last night. Half my clothes are sitting in the closet over there, all my books—”

“Come get them, I won’t stop you.”

“That’s what you said before.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess I did.”

I heard the unmistakable scratch of a cigarette lighter followed by a long exhale.

“When did you go off your medication?”

“When did you start smoking again?”

She didn’t answer, and for a moment neither of us said a word. After a while, Liz spoke.

“That’s a serious decision, Dexter.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation. You’re the one who walked away.”

“Is that what this is about? I leave so you stop your pills? How long have you been off them? A week? Two weeks?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It’s cowardly, that’s what it is.” She exhaled into the phone. “You think you’re the only one who lost something in all of this?”

She didn’t wait for me to answer.

“Clara was my daughter, too, and I feel it every day, as much as you, but that never enters your head. Nothing matters to you except you.”

I kept quiet.

“I tried to keep things together with us,” Liz said. “You can’t say I didn’t try.”

“You didn’t try that hard.”

“I tried as hard as I could.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

Silence.

“What did you do, Dexter? Did
you
try?”

I didn’t answer her. I tried to remember the sound of Clara’s voice. It was getting harder to do these days.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what?”

Liz’s voice sounded tired. I knew whatever answer I gave wouldn’t matter, so I kept it to myself.

She waited for me to say something. When I didn’t, she said, again, “I need to pick up my things.”

“Do you remember the bracelets? The ones she made out of all that string?”

“Dexter.”

“I lost every one she gave me.” I laughed. “She must’ve made hundreds of those goddamn things. Used to find them all over the house, but now I can’t find one of them. I’ve looked everywhere, under furniture, rugs. Not one.”

“Dexter.”

“Hard to believe there’s not a pile of them lying in the corner of some closet somewhere.”

“I have a couple.”

“They were all over the place, and now—”

“I can give you one.”

I ran the back of my hand across my cheek. “I’ve looked everywhere.”

“I’ll give you one of mine.”

I paused. “I’m sorry about last night. I promise it’ll be OK next time.”

“It would be better if I came by when you weren’t around. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to see you right now.”

“Why?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

“It was a bad night, that’s all.”

She started to say something, then stopped. “Do you remember last night at all?”

“I know what I did.”

She paused. The next time she spoke, her voice was quiet.

“Did you black out?”

“I told you, I know what I did.”

“That’s serious, Dexter, you know that.”

I felt the anger build in my chest, and it took an effort to push it back.

“I wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“How do you know? How do I know? You’re not on your pills, and if you’re blacking out you have no idea what you might do.”

“Liz.”

“Did you forget what can happen?”

“It’s none of your goddamn business.”

I heard her take the phone away and then the sound of her crushing out her cigarette. When she came back to the phone, her voice was calm.

“OK, it’s none of my business, but you didn’t see how you were acting last night, and I did. I haven’t seen you like that since—” She paused. “In years.”

I let that sink in, then said, “Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think I could’ve hurt someone last night? Really hurt someone?”

She didn’t answer right away, and I could tell she was choosing her words carefully. After a moment, she said, “You scared me last night. You were a different person.”

“But do you think I could’ve—”

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”