by Kate Gable
"There is no potential," I say, shaking my head.
"Of course there is."
"You had a few dates with Luke, right? You liked him, right?" Sydney nudges me, kicking my foot under the table. I want to roll my eyes, but I hope that my expression is enough.
"Nothing is happening with Luke. I haven't heard from him in a couple of days," I say.
"So what?"
"Well, he's either busy on a case, though I don't see why he still can't text me or ask about my missing sister at least sporadically or he's just not interested."
"I thought you had a good connection?" Sydney says.
"Yeah, I thought so, too, but I guess not."
She nods and I nod as well.
I finish my glass of wine and pour myself another. We sit here for a little bit, enjoying our food and saying nothing at all. I expect my mom to ask me more about Luke, but she doesn't and for that, I'm thankful.
Instead, I let my thoughts go back to Violet and for this, I'm not thankful. It seems like whenever there's a lull in conversation or anytime that I can be alone with myself, I think about her.
Of course, being in this house isn't helping much. There are reminders of her everywhere.
After we finish dinner and are too full for dessert, Sydney and I clear the table while we force my mom to go sit down in the recliner in the living room and just take it easy. When I put the food away in the fridge, I see Violet’s report card on the front, along with some drawings that she’d made.
"Straight As?" Sydney asks. "Wow. I didn't think that they sent out report cards anymore. I thought that was a relic of the past, like taxi cabs and taking notes on paper."
"Yeah, I don't think they do, but Mom always printed out mine and now she has even more of a reason to be proud, so she's been printing out Violet’s."
"Your sister has gotten straight As ever since she was in first grade and she probably would've gotten straight As in preschool, too, but they didn't grade people then!” Mom yells from the living room.
I chuckle and say, "Yeah, she was a straight A student."
"What about you?" Sydney asks.
"Me? No. I was not much of one, not much of a student."
"How did you get into USC?"
"Well, okay, I wasn't much of a student until high school. I guess I did okay in elementary school, but middle school years were a little bit dark."
"Oh, did you tell your friend about how you used to alter your report cards?" Mom yells.
"No, I didn't. I'm not sure that's something that you should notify people of who work in law enforcement," I say.
"Oh, come on, you can tell me.” Sydney laughs. "You used to fake your report cards?"
"Yeah. I used to go to the library, photocopy them, and put in different grades."
"Photocopy them?"
"Yeah, it was really primitive because they would still come in the mail, so I would just photocopy part of it and then put a little piece of paper over the C or B and change it to an A. Mom caught onto it after a while."
"Well, you can only see so many photocopied report cards before you get suspicious."
I feel my cheeks get flushed.
"I didn't think that I was going to come here and relive every embarrassing moment from my childhood," I say.
"Hey, I thought we were all friends," Mom jokes. "If you come over here, Sydney, I'll show you some of her old yearbooks."
"Yes, of course!” Sydney yells, leaving me alone with the dishes.
We don't have a dishwasher, so I wash each one by hand. I don't really mind. I actually find the process quite soothing. I had a dishwasher in one of the apartments I lived in a while ago, but it always required you to basically wash off all of the dishes prior to putting them in there and so I always thought of that as tripling the work. Why not just scrub it one or two additional times and put it on the drying rack rather than into the dishwasher, wait for it to get done, then unload the dishwasher? Blah, blah, blah, too many steps for me.
It takes me a while to get through all the plates because, in addition to the ones we used, I also have to move all of the food to the storage containers and put them in the refrigerator, Mom’s orders. Finally, after drying my hands with a towel, I plop down on the sunken couch that desperately needs to be either reupholstered or just thrown away.
I see that my mom wasn't kidding about the yearbooks. She has each one from every year that I was in school and they are meticulously going through them.
"Instead of that, let's try to be a little bit more productive and at least look at Violet's yearbooks," I suggest.
"You're only making that suggestion because you don't want me to see you in eighth grade with pimples all over your face," Sydney says, flipping over the book that she has been looking at and showing me a picture of myself in a track uniform, bent in half after finishing a two-mile run.
"Perfect. Yeah, this is useful," I mutter to myself.
"Kaitlyn, sometimes life isn't just about being useful. Sometimes it's about other things as well," Mom says, "like enjoying yourself. When was the last time you took a few moments to really smile?"
"I can't do that, Mom. I'm a homicide detective, remember?"
"You're more than that. I know that I raised a girl who was confident, outgoing, and positive. That's not who I see before me."
I stare at her and suddenly the tone of the conversation shifts.
"What are you talking about?" I ask.
"Don't you remember all the fun we used to have putting together scrapbooks and planning trips?"
"Planning trips that we never took? Is that what you're talking about?"
"Okay, just because they didn't work out doesn't mean that it was a wasted effort."
"Well, yeah, that's exactly what it means."
She made me put together poster boards of vacations and trips that we were going to take, but we never did. So, what exactly was the point of that, besides just getting my hopes up before having them all crash down?
"Kaitlyn, you’ve really changed, ever since you have become a detective, I feel like there's this negativity that surrounds you."
I shake my head in disbelief.
"Is this really happening?" I ask.
"Okay, let's not talk about that.” Sydney tries to mediate.
"I'm sorry if my life isn't what you thought it would be," I say, "but that's how it works out sometimes. Guess what? It wasn't my dream to grow up knowing that my father was murdered."
"You shut up." Mom throws her finger in my face.
She's wearing a bracelet with a nautical symbol on it and it makes a loud jingling sound as her finger trembles but remains steadfast.
"Your father committed suicide and you know that. I don't know why you have to bring him up now, of all times."
I bite my lower lip and shake my head. All of this time and she still won't admit it. Sydney looks at me, her eyes like two big saucers.
"I'll tell you later," I say, crossing my arms in a huff.
Frankly, I don't know why I brought my father up at a time like this. I guess because I was a little bit angry at the fact that she was out here pretending that I had this perfect childhood and perfect life when things have always been pretty messed up, even before Violet went missing.
"No. She won't tell you anything true," Mom snaps. "My husband committed suicide. Kaitlyn came home and found him with a gunshot in his abdomen.”
"Two," I correct her, putting my fingers up in the air. "Two shots."
"Why does that matter?"
"It matters because people don't commit suicide with two gunshots, Mom."
"Don't talk back to me, young lady," she snaps and turns her attention to Sydney. "My husband committed suicide, okay? Kaitlyn was very young. I'm sorry that I had a bit of a breakdown that day and I couldn't stop you from walking in there, but that doesn't change the fact that he did this terrible thing and we all have to live with it now. Your father was a very selfish man."
"He was not selfis
h, Mom."
"He was a drug addict and a drug dealer. He sold narcotics to make money. You of all people should know just what kind of selfishness it requires to do something like that."
"I'm not excusing his behavior and I know that he was a dealer. He sold them at my school. That doesn't change the fact that he did not kill himself. He would not kill himself."
"I know that's difficult for you to believe, honey," she gets up and sits down next to me, taking my hand in hers, "but your father had a lot of demons. He had a lot of things that he had to get over and deal with. I'm sorry that you still have trouble accepting that after all of these years but that's the truth, God's honest truth. Now this conversation is over," she says, reaching over and kissing me on the cheek.
Afterward, she gets up and walks away, holding her shoulders with her hands. I can see her whole body tremble as she disappears into the bedroom where I found my father.
The one where nothing has changed since his death, except for the change of sheets and the spot where he had bled onto the carpet. Same headboard, same furniture, same curtains, same everything.
A few months ago, when my mom was at work, I had to go and look for some of her clothes and I reached into her closet to look for a sweatshirt. That's when I saw that all of my father's old clothes are still there all these years later.
I just couldn't believe it. She didn't get rid of anything. There's barely enough room for her own stuff and yet his occupies the left-hand side of the closet, just like it always did.
"I'm sorry about that,” I say to Sydney. “I don't know what came over me."
"It's okay. Families are complicated."
"Yeah." I nod, moving my jaw from one side to another. "I shouldn't have said that, but it's not true what she says either. I just got upset by the fact that she seems to have this whole other view of what my life was like growing up and it's just not true."
"Maybe that's just how she wants to remember it, maybe it's easier that way."
"I'm sure it is, but it's not easier on me. I want her to admit that I didn't have it that great and she could've done better, but I don't think she ever will."
"I don't think she can, Kaitlyn," Sydney says, shaking her head.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't think she can admit something like that, especially not now, but if she hasn't already, it would mean admitting that she's done something wrong. It would mean admitting that her life has been a lie and she wasn't a great mother. For some people that's really hard, especially if she tried at all and I guess she did."
I wait a few minutes and, after I feel like my mom has had enough time to properly cool off, I whisper to Sydney to wish me luck and then knock on her door.
7
"Mom, can I talk to you?" I ask when she doesn't respond.
I knock again and again. Finally, I just reach for the doorknob and open the door. I find Mom sitting on the bed with her knees tucked up to her chest and her Kindle in front of her. The room is dark and her face is illuminated just from the light of her e-book.
"I'm sorry for bringing all that up," I say.
"I notice that you’re not apologizing for saying any of it," Mom says without looking at me.
Her face is washed in blue light and suddenly she looks a few decades younger. Almost the same age as I am.
I don't know how to respond. In fact, I know how I want to respond, but I don't know if I can.
"Listen, we have something important to talk about, tomorrow's press conference. A lot of people are going to be there."
"Yeah, I know. I was waiting to see how long it’d take you to bring it up. I thought we were having a nice dinner.”
“I thought that we were having fun."
"Having fun?" Mom reaches over and flips on the light next to the bed. Suddenly she's back to being her old self. "I'm not having fun while my daughter is missing, Kaitlyn."
"Okay, I don't know what the right word for it is, but I thought you were having a nice time and I wanted to have you enjoy yourself."
"I'm not enjoying myself while my daughter is missing, Kaitlyn, or is it Detective Carr?"
"What are you even talking about? Why are you getting so upset?"
"I don't know why you have to bring up your father at a time like this. You know that we disagree, and you know that it's better if we don't talk about it, so just leave bygones, be bygones or however that saying goes."
I inhale and exhale slowly, trying to choose my words carefully.
"Okay, we have the press conference tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. I think it's better if we get there at eight thirty at the latest to prepare."
"Prepare for what?"
"You have to make a speech. You have to appeal to the public. Do you know what you're going to say?"
"No," Mom says. "I thought you were going to do it."
"I guess I can."
"Come on, you have to, what am I going to say to them?"
"It's your daughter who’s missing. I think it would be best if we both talk. The more human we appear, the more interest the case will spark."
"Human? Do we not appear human now?"
"After that display at dinner, I'm not so sure, Mom.” The sarcastic remark escapes my lips and I immediately regret it.
I suck in some air and pray that I have the energy to deal with her on top of everything else. "Okay, so I want you to think about what you want to say. I mean, of course you can say that she is a good girl and things like that, but you also need to say something personal."
"Like what?"
"I don't know, something that humanizes her." Damn it, there's that word again. I bite my tongue. "Something that just makes people want to root for her."
"I have no idea what you're talking about,” Mom says.
"Okay.” I shift my weight from one foot to another, trying to think of something. "You can say how much she loved animals and how she had all of these friends at school."
"She didn't though," Mom says.
"She didn't?"
"No."
"What are you talking about? This is news to me."
"Well, I mean, she knew people at school, but she was always taking pictures of them for the yearbook and different projects, and I don't think many of them liked that."
I hesitate for a moment and my thoughts return back to that video that Captain Talarico showed me.
She was in the room and she was recording Natalie and Neil having sex on the couch. What was she doing there? From the way that the video was shot, it was clear that they knew that she was present, but why?
I haven't had the chance to talk to either of them about it yet. Neil's parents have basically kicked me off their property and told me to only go through their lawyer.
Natalie's a whole other story.
"I'm going to go to the station and try to find out what happened with Natalie. We'll be having the press conference there. Do you know where it's located?"
"Yeah, right by the courthouse?"
"Yes, exactly. Anyway, I think I'm going to go there around seven thirty to see what I can find out, but you need to be there at eight thirty at the latest and try to think of something human."
"Human, I got it," Mom says, enunciating the word.
To my annoyance, Mom returns to her book without saying another word and I stand in the doorway like an idiot waiting to say something else.
Luckily, my phone goes off in my back pocket and after I look at the screen, I have to take the call.
"Hi, Captain Medvil,” I say.
"Yeah, I meant to call you earlier. I need an update on the Kaslar situation," he says.
"I thought that Lenore was going to give you the gist."
"Yeah, he did, but he's an officer and you're a detective the last time I checked." Captain Medvil is clearly peeved.
I swallow hard, walk past Sydney, and out onto the porch. I need some privacy for this. I can't whisper. I have to talk in my normal tone of voice, but I definitely can't do that
in this small house if I don't want my mom and Sydney to hear me getting yelled at.
As soon as I step outside, I regret the decision immediately. A cold gust of wind swirls around me and I'm wearing nothing but a thin long sleeve shirt that's cropped a little bit too short.
I tuck what I can of the shirt into the waistband of my jeans, but that only keeps some of the cold away. Flurries are already starting to fall and the temperature must be in the mid-thirties at the most.
"I'm going to submit my report very soon. By tonight."
"I heard that you went back to Big Bear. Any news with your sister?"
"No, but there's a press conference tomorrow morning, so I wanted to be here. There's actually another girl who has gone missing, her friend, under very similar circumstances, so it doesn't look good," I say.
"Okay, sorry to hear that," he says in his most professional tone.
I nod and bite my lower lip but say nothing.
"Kaslar, what's new? What update do you have?" he barks.
He doesn't have the best cell phone etiquette or in-person etiquette for that matter. Even his emails are clipped and often contain one or two words formed into a sentence.
"I interviewed him. His wife is missing. Last time he saw her was before her business trip three ago."
"Do you have the details or not?"
"Not with me, sir, but you'll have them all in the report," I repeat myself without outwardly saying that I had already mentioned the report and annoying him further.
"What was your sense from him?"
"He was very shady and shifty. He kept putting his hood up and down, avoiding eye contact."
"So, a suspect?"
"I have to talk to her friend, Elin. She's the one that pushed him to make the report. She was the one who dropped her off after the business trip and then she disappeared. His wife had an appointment to go to the gynecologist, and she didn't show up. I have to confirm that still. She also stood her friend up for lunch as well. So, it's all a little bit confusing as to what could have happened."
"Well, the husband could have done it, right?"
"In this case it's a possibility or she might've just disappeared, I don't know. I mean, if she thinks that she's pregnant and she doesn't have a good relationship with her husband. Apparently, he was not very supportive of her selling these candles for this networking company that she works for. I still have to talk to her boss, find out if maybe there were some financial problems that she was encountering. There's a lot more interviewing to take place."
