The Grove (6 page)

“Did you talk to your doctor about this?”

“The prescription should still be good.”

The pharmacist typed something into his computer and said, “That’s not the problem. You say you stopped taking these pills how long ago?”

I told him.

“Any dizziness or headaches?”

I nodded

“Shakes or tremors?”

“Sure.”

He frowned and stepped away from the computer. “You can’t just quit taking this medication like that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dangerous for one. You’re having withdrawal symptoms already, but beyond that, you could do serious damage to your nervous system.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” I said. “I’m going to start them again today.”

The pharmacist shook his head. “Mr. McCray, you can’t just start them again, either. You need to build to a level that works for you, and you shouldn’t do that on your own. Have you talked to your doctor?” He looked back at the computer screen. “Dr. Conner?”

“Not yet.”

“I’m afraid I can’t fill this prescription without assurance that he is aware of the situation.”

“I’ve been taking these pills for years. I know what works and what doesn’t.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Call him,” I said. “He’ll tell you.”

The pharmacist moved back to the computer and started typing. “I can call his office,” he said. “Would you like to wait? It might take a while.”

“No,” I said. “I’ll come back.”

The pharmacist nodded then went back to his screen.

I walked out of the store and into the morning.

“Her mother is absolutely losing her mind.”

“Well, what’d you expect?”

The woman behind the counter turned away from the cook’s window and shook her head. “Breaks your heart, to be a mother.”

The man in the kitchen said something I didn’t catch and was gone. The woman grabbed the coffee pot off the burner and made her rounds.

When she got to me, she filled my cup and said, “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

I glanced down at what was left of the omelet. “Best I’ve ever had, I told you.”

She smiled, but there was nothing behind it.

“Megan not working today?”

“She’s sick. Told her to stay away.”

She started to move on and I said, “Has anyone heard anything? About the other girl?”

She shook her head. “Sheriff Nash was here this morning, asking questions. Said he’d been all over town, but nobody seems to know a thing. I mentioned the boyfriend, said maybe they’d eloped or something, but he said the boyfriend was still around.”

“Well, there goes that theory.” I sipped my coffee. “Did he have any ideas?”

“If he did, he didn’t mention them to me.” She shifted the coffee pot from one hand to the other. “I sure hope she’s OK. Maybe the boyfriend can tell him something that’ll help.”

“He hadn’t talked to him?”

“Going there after he left here, he said.”

I frowned, and the woman must’ve noticed. “Something wrong?”

“No,” I said, cutting into the last of my omelet. “Just thought the boyfriend would’ve been his first stop.”

“Why’s that?”

I took a bite. “You always hear whenever someone is murdered the most likely killer is either the boyfriend or the husband, so I figured—”

The woman’s mouth seemed to come unhinged, and I stopped talking. At first I didn’t know what I’d said, then it came clear.

“Why in the world would you think she’s been murdered?”

“I’m just saying—”

“That girl ran off, that’s what happened. There’s no reason to think anything else.” The woman turned away so fast that some coffee splashed out of the pot and hit the floor. She didn’t notice.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I said.

“I don’t see why people have to jump to the worst so fast.” She poured coffee for the couple at the next booth then looked back at me. “There are ten million other possibilities, you know that?”

“Yes ma’am, I do.”

She came back to my table. “You watch a lot of those cop shows on TV, don’t you?”

“Every chance I get,” I lied. The truth was I didn’t even own a TV. The last thing I wanted in my house was a twenty-four-hour electronic salesman.

“It shows,” she said. “Let me tell you, they ain’t real. People don’t just wind up dead like that in real life, especially not around here.”

“No, you’re right.” I tried to smile. “I need to lay off those shows.”

“Damn right you do.” She thumbed through the pocket of her apron, pulled out my bill, and slapped it on the table. “Murdered,” she said, and walked away.

I picked up the bill, dropped a ten on the table, and left.

Crossing the parking lot, I cursed myself for being so stupid. I’d come back to see if I could learn more from Megan, but all I’d done was make myself look suspicious.

I sat in my truck for a while, wondering how much damage I’d just done, then started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

When I got to the pharmacy I went to the back of the store and rang the service bell at the window. The pharmacist was on the phone. When he saw me he raised one finger and continued his conversation.

After he hung up he came over and said, “You have good timing. That was Dr. Conner up at Archway.”

“And?”

“He said it was OK to refill the prescription, so that’s what I’ll do.” He paused. “He did give specific dosing instructions, and I can go over those with you when I have it filled.”

“How long will that be?”

“Not long,” he said. “I’ll call your name when it’s ready.”

While I waited, I paced through the aisles, eventually stopping at the magazine rack. I grabbed the thickest one I saw and flipped through pages that smelled acidic and flowery. I put it back and reached for another.

A collage of makeup and clothing advertisements, meaningless articles about sex and love. Nothing in any of them made sense.

I flipped through the magazine faster, then put it down and tried another. Then another. They were all exactly the same, and the pages blurred.

I heard someone whisper, and turned around.

The kid behind me had pomegranate red hair that spun off his head in ringlets. He had his mother’s coat sleeve in his hand and he was whispering to her and staring at me. She looked down at him, then up at me, her eyes wide.

“Good morning, Dex.”

Her name was Theresa Hall, and she’d been a year behind me in high school. We’d rarely spoken in those days, even less since then, and I didn’t have much to say to her now. I nodded my greeting.

The boy kept staring until she put one hand on the back of his neck and led him around the corner, away from me.

I wondered about his father.

If Theresa was the same kind of girl she’d been in high school, the possibilities were endless.

I was glad she was gone.

I looked down at the magazine in my hand. It was open to a page that showed a close-up of a woman’s eyes. There were no words on the page, just those two green eyes.

The pharmacist’s voice came over the speaker, calling my name. I closed the magazine, slid it into the rack, and walked back to the window.

The pharmacist watched me approach. When I got there he said, “Are you doing OK?”

I told him I was and reached for the bag.

He pulled it away. “Let’s go over Dr. Conner’s instructions.”

I listened to him run down his list and then held out my hand again.

For a moment the pharmacist didn’t move; then he dropped the bag on the counter and said, “You can pay for these back here if you’d like.”

I told him I would, and that’s what I did.

I sat in my truck and read the instructions on the label, then opened the bottle and tapped one of the pills into my palm. It was small and red, the size of a ladybug.

I picked it up and dropped it in my mouth, but I didn’t swallow. Something held me back.

Was it really what I wanted?

I could still tell what was real and what wasn’t, and I did have my tricks. I thought if I didn’t fight so hard, if I accepted what came to me, then I could control the voices and live without the pills.

I’d been on medication for so many years, and the idea that the rest of my days depended on these tiny red pills made my chest ache. If I could find another way, I’d take it. I knew it would be hard, but that didn’t matter. I wasn’t ready to give up.

I rolled down the window and spit the pill out into the dirt. I stared at it, wet and bleeding, and thought about dumping the rest out, too. I didn’t. Not yet. It was too soon to make that kind of decision. If I was wrong, if I couldn’t control my mind—

I stopped myself. I had to stay positive.

I capped the pill bottle and dropped it on the passenger seat, then started the truck and headed home. As I drove, the idea I wouldn’t be able to do it came back, and I started to wonder if I was making a mistake.

I just needed time to think, to sort everything out.

And I wanted to talk to Jessica before I made a decision.

When I got home, I headed straight for the grove. As I got closer, I heard Jessica crying. I could see her through the trees, sitting on the edge of the field, her legs tucked into her chest, rocking from side to side. I felt like I was intruding and considered turning back, but I didn’t.

When she heard me, she straightened and slid a hand across her cheek. “Hi,” she said.

I came up slow. “You OK?”

She nodded, her face hidden behind her hair.

“Megan was sick. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

I agreed, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back to the café, at least not anytime soon. I figured it might be good to let things settle down a bit. Then again, maybe not going back would look strange.

There was a lot to think about.

I sat down next to Jessica. When I did, her tears started again. I could see why.

Her body, lying in the corn, looked swollen and blue. Her eyes, milk white and rimmed purple, had come open and were staring vacantly toward the sky. Most of the vomit had washed away with the rain, but some had dried in the sun and stood out in brown streaks along her face and neck.

I couldn’t look away.

“Don’t, please,” Jessica said. “I can’t stand it.”

“It’s OK.”

“OK?” She turned toward me and I saw the lines her tears had made on her cheeks. “It’s not
OK
. It’s not
OK
at all.” She motioned toward her body. “How’d you like to look like this?”

She said something else, but the tears broke through and I wasn’t sure if I’d heard her right.

I hoped I hadn’t heard her right.

“There’s no reason to be embarrassed,” I said.

She looked up, her eyes wet and soft. “So, will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Will you help me get cleaned up?” She ran two fingers under her eyes then wiped them on her dress. “I know it’s dumb, but I don’t want you seeing me like this.”

“Cleaned up?”

I had heard her right.

“At least wash that stuff off my face.” She looked back again, and her breath hitched in her chest. “Oh, God.”

I wasn’t sure what to say.

I never should have moved her body. If they found out, I could tell them that when I saw her I wasn’t sure she was dead and I’d moved her to check. It was a good enough excuse.

But if I cleaned her, that would be different.

“It’ll look bad,” I said. “They’ll know I’ve been out here.”

“You don’t think they’ll know anyway?” She held up her right hand and wiggled her finger. “The ring?”

She was right.

“I just don’t think—”

“Please, Dexter.” Her voice was soft. “Do this for me.”

I glanced down at the body and felt myself start to give in. I think Jessica saw it, too, because when I looked back at her, she was smiling.

I found an old three-gallon ice cream bucket in the garage and filled it with soap and water at the kitchen sink. There were sponges in the cabinet above the washing machine, and while the bucket filled, I went in and grabbed a couple.

I stood at the kitchen window, listening to the water climb, and stared out at the grove in the distance. My tractor was still out there, and I wondered again how I was going to get it out. I needed to do it soon. If Greg came by again and saw it, he’d insist on helping. That wasn’t an option.

I waited until the bucket was almost full, then dropped the sponges in and carried it toward the back door. I got about halfway when the red plastic handle snapped on one side. I tried to catch it, but there was no chance. The bucket hit the linoleum and water poured across the floor.

I stood and watched.

The phone started to ring.

I picked up the empty bucket and threw it in the sink, then opened the refrigerator for a beer. I took my time opening it and answered the phone on the fifth ring.

“I was about to hang up,” Liz said. “You busy?”

“Getting ready to mop the kitchen.”

She made a quick amused sound in the back of her throat and said, “Don’t tell me you’re cleaning?”

She was trying to make a joke, but I didn’t think it was funny. I lifted my beer, drank, and then said, “What do you want, Liz?”

“What do I want? I was under the impression you wanted to talk to me. Pretty badly, too.”

For a moment I didn’t know what she was talking about. Then I remembered the messages and closed my eyes.

“Is everything OK?”

I moved to the window and looked out at the grove and thought about Jessica waiting for me.

“Dexter, are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I got your note.”

“And the bracelet?”

I glanced down at my wrist, didn’t say anything.

We were both quiet, then Liz said, “Did you get your pills this morning like you said?”

I felt the anger burn in my chest, but I held it back.

“I did.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” She paused. “What about the other thing? The blackout. What do you think you—”

“Listen,” I said. “This is a bad time. I’ve got to go.”

“You sounded like you needed—”

“Not now.”

“OK.” Liz paused. “Maybe we can meet somewhere and talk later. How about this weekend?”

I set the bucket under the faucet, squeezed dish soap into the bottom, then turned on the water. The towel on the rack next to the sink had a bright red rooster in the middle with the words
Rise and Shine
below. I pulled it off and dropped it on the floor and moved it around with my foot. The water soaked through immediately.

“You said seeing me wasn’t a good idea, remember?”

“We can meet in public.”

I picked up the dishtowel and wrung it out over the sink as I spoke. “I can’t talk right now.”

“You in a hurry to start mopping?”

I didn’t say anything. A moment later she continued.

“What about this Sunday?”

“What do we have to talk about?”

“This blackout of yours, for one thing.”

“I don’t have anything to say about that.”

Liz sighed. “Then how about our future?”

“What future is that?”

“We’re still married, Dexter.”

“Right.” I thought I knew what was coming. Normally I didn’t think I’d be able to say it out loud, but this time the words came easily. “You want a divorce?”

“I didn’t say anything about that.”

“Seems like the next step to me.”

“Is that that you want?”

I took a drink, said, “I’ve got to go, Liz.”

“I’m not saying anything about a divorce.”

“I’ve got to go.”

“Dexter?”

I hung up.

The room was silent except for the running water. I reached over and shut it off, then lifted the bucket, cradling it in my arms, and headed for the back door.

I was halfway to the grove when I realized I’d just hung up on Liz. And the best part about it was that I didn’t care.