More Than We Remember

by Christina Suzann Nelson

  When would people stop finding new ways to destroy their lives and their families?

  A few children rode bikes and played ball in the streets, but fewer than there’d been even five years earlier. Emilia kept a tight rein on her own thirteen-year-old daughter, not allowing Tally to loiter where anyone suspicious could approach. She kept Tally safe.

  A boy Emilia saw regularly waved as he pedaled his bike along the sidewalk. Maybe he’d grow up to have a happy family, but even the most carefully planned lives could be stripped away in a minute.

  After a couple of turns, she pulled her car to the curb, inching forward to leave room for the garbage truck that would rumble by sometime around noon. Curtains moved in her daughter’s bedroom. Tally would be a welcome sight against the cracked paint and lopsided porch. But the girl, the very core of Emilia’s heart, was already becoming one of those kids who rarely left the perceived safety of her room. Privacy was the word of the month. A few years back, Tally had been a different child, open and the center of their family’s attention. But none of them looked the way they had back when the house was truly alive and filled with laughter.

  After stepping from the car, Emilia reached into the back seat and hefted the loaded laundry basket onto her hip. She’d washed the clothes last night at the laundromat before starting her shift, but the fresh scent of fabric softener still clung, bringing back delicate memories of her grandmother. Nana had been gone twelve years already, but Emilia still missed her like she’d passed away only the day before.

  The front door swung open, the screen snapping against the pocked siding. Roger, a mug in one hand, glared over the neighborhood.

  Her husband’s overgrown eyebrows pressed closer to each other, a sure sign today would not be one of his good days. “I’m half starved, and as usual, there’s nothing to eat in this place. How am I supposed to get over these headaches and get a job if I don’t have a decent meal?”

  Emilia eased forward. “There’s no rush on the job. The doctor said it would take time.” She came a little closer, resting one foot on the bottom step. The shape of his head was forever changed with the deep scar from where a beam had nearly crushed his skull. It was no wonder he still suffered from blinding migraines. The doctor had said it could be a life sentence, but couldn’t God grant Roger back his personality? Lately it seemed to be slipping away faster and faster.

  “Easy for you to say. You get out of this dump every day. You get to work and have fun with your friends. Me, I’m here drowning in pain meds and watching Netflix. They should have let me die.” He scrubbed his fingers into the back of his scalp, a shudder running over his still-broad shoulders.

  Emilia slipped past him without making contact. “Come on in. I’ll make you some breakfast.” As much as Roger’s dips into depression scared her, these were better days than the ones fueled by rage. “How about some French toast?”

  “How long?”

  “Twenty minutes by the time I get everything straightened out.” She held back a yawn.

  Roger’s head fell forward. “Forget it. I’m going back to bed.” He shuffled down the hall, his shoulders slumped. A moment later, their bedroom door clicked shut.

  The last bit of Emilia’s energy drained out with her released breath. She dropped onto the sofa. Fun-sized candy bar wrappers were strewn across the floor. No fun for the one who pulled clean-up duty. Two empty bottles sat along the coffee table’s edge. The television droned in the background, the theme song for their pathetic reality. That and yelling.

  If even the tiniest amount of fairness existed in the world, Emilia would be able to lie down on the couch and sleep for at least an hour. But she still had a daughter in the next room, a mess to pick up, bills to tackle, and food to prepare.

  Somehow, she’d have to find the strength for another attempt to connect with Tally before Emilia allowed herself to doze on the lumpy sofa.

  Emilia pushed herself up with the same grunt her nana used to make. Emilia was years ahead of her time.

  In the kitchen, she found an even bigger mess than the disaster in the living room. For a man who grumbled about needing work, Roger sure wasn’t managing to get much done around the house.

  Emilia piled the dishes from the sink onto the counter, then filled the basin with warm water and a squirt of blue dish soap. When the waterline had reached the halfway point, she put the dishes back in to soak.

  The next task to tackle would be the moody teen.

  Music with questionable lyrics pounded through Tally’s thin door.

  Leaning her head against the wall, Emilia pleaded with God to give her back all the things she’d lost with Roger’s injury. Five years ago, she was a mom whose life had been perfected when she met the man of her dreams, a man who loved her daughter and wanted to be a family with both of them. Every day was a gift from a loving Father, until a falling beam stole the blessings she never should have taken for granted.

  Tapping the wall outside Tally’s room, Emilia waited but didn’t hear an answer. Finally, she turned the knob and pushed. The door bulldozed against discarded clothing.

  Tally sat on her bed, her ears covered by headphones while music inexplicably also poured from the speaker on the desk. With her feet pulled up and knees tight to her chest, her daughter still looked like the little angel who loved to sit on her mother’s lap and create storybook adventures.

  Emilia and Roger would spend the rest of their years dealing with the fallout of someone else’s irresponsibility, but Tally shouldn’t have to. She was innocent.

  The bed sagged under Emilia’s weight, its firm support something enjoyed by the original owner years ago.

  Brown eyes, oversized, as if Tally hadn’t quite grown into them, looked up at Emilia. For a slight moment, she saw the little girl in her daughter, but then a glare took the place of the innocent shine.

  “What?” Tally pulled off the purple-and-white noise-cancelling headphones her grandmother had thought would make her happy. “I’m trying to read.”

  Reaching out, Emilia switched off the desk speaker. “Do you really need both of those on?”

  “It keeps me from hearing his complaining.” She cocked her head to the side.

  “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

  “It’s not fair that I have to live like this.” She crossed her arms tight against her chest.

  The urge to yell pressed at the corners of Emilia’s jaw, but she held it back. She wouldn’t add to the situation by cutting into her daughter. “Tally, I understand your frustration. Trust me, this is no picnic for me, either, but it isn’t Roger’s fault. He’s doing his best under the circumstances.”

  Tally held up a hand. “Spare me the traumatic-brain-injury speech. He’s not getting any better. I don’t understand why you stay with him. You could get a divorce, if you cared about my life.”

  Tension piled onto anxiety, forcing Emilia’s shoulders to relent. “You know it’s not that simple. Roger put everything aside to give us the best possible future. Don’t you remember how he loved us unconditionally? Why can’t you understand that he deserves the same devotion? Love is not meant for only the good times.”

  Tally’s head tilted so far to one side, her ear nearly touched her shoulder. “Are you telling me it’s love when he yells at you? What about when he threw that plate against the wall? Was that love? Is that what you’ve decided to teach me?” Her lips twitched into a scowl. “Nice parenting, Mom.”

  The tight balloon in Emilia’s chest sprang a leak, leaving her struggling to remain upright. Was it even possible to be a good wife and a good mother at the same time? Not under these circumstances. If it came down to a choice, she’d choose her daughter. Tally had always counted on her. But now, so did Roger.

  The opposing sides raged a fierce battle in Emilia’s heart. She gave Tally’s knee a quick squeeze. “I’m making breakfast.” She turned to leave, her gaze catching on the devotional she and Tally had been working through together before the accident. It
sat on the shelf, untouched for all these months. Emilia placed her hands over her heart and took a deep breath. She missed those times. The longing for the way things had been weighed down on her, and she walked out the door, shutting it behind her before allowing tears to spill over her cheeks.

  6

  Well, I’ve got chicken business to tend to.” Caroline rose from the table, lifted her coffee mug, and downed the last drops.

  “Oh no!” Brianne gasped.

  All eyes turned her direction.

  “My dog. I need to go let him out.” Her stomach, stuffed beyond full with bacon, eggs, and pancakes, wobbled. How could she have forgotten about that poor pup’s needs?

  Connor shot up, his toast dropping to the floor. “You have a dog?” He grabbed the bread and shoved it into his mouth.

  “Yep. He’s a puppy, really.”

  “Can we go see him?” Lilly scooted off her chair and slipped her bare feet into bright red rubber boots.

  “Fine with me.” Brianne’s kinked muscles ached for a shower and a long nap, but today didn’t look to be heading that way. Addison’s call during breakfast tied Brianne tighter to the kids rather than relieving her of the duty. “Caroline, do you mind?”

  The older woman was already on her way out the back door. She looked over her shoulder at Brianne, her eyes unfocused. “You go on now.” Maybe the news of the accident had hit Caroline harder than she let on. People could hold a lot of fear and grief under wraps when children were present. Brianne had seen it over and over in her work—her past work, that is. But the truth always came out, and often the children were hurt more than necessary in the end.

  Connor was out the door before Brianne could get the dishes to the counter. “Hannah, are you coming?”

  She set her book down on the table. “I guess.”

  They walked down the gravel lane, Connor and Lilly up front, turning now and again, their expressions begging Hannah and Brianne to pick up the pace.

  “Do you like living here?”

  Hannah shrugged. “It’s all right.”

  Connor and Lilly stopped at the waist-high gate to Brianne’s front yard. A pathetic whine echoed from behind the door. Brianne pulled the gate open, and the two younger kids jogged through the yard and up the steps.

  Brianne smiled. The kids would make up for the neglect Chester was surely holding against her. “Go ahead and open the door.”

  Connor didn’t hesitate. He turned the knob, and in a flash, Chester was out of the house, jumping and licking every face he could get access to, all while spreading a puddle of piddle with his spastic tail.

  “That’s disgusting.” Hannah took a step back.

  “I love him,” Lilly squealed. She slung her arms around Chester’s neck as the dog licked every inch of her exposed skin.

  Connor found a stick in the yard and threw it for Chester, who lunged after it like the wood was a cut of beef.

  Brianne looked at the oldest of the Kilbourn children. “Come on in, Hannah. I’ll show you my books. You’re welcome to borrow any of them you want.”

  They stepped inside, where the living room was an embarrassment of shredded newspapers and doggy toys.

  “I left in a hurry this morning. I should have put Chester in his crate.” Brianne scooped up an armful of paper and deposited it in the recycling bin.

  “What’s this?” Hannah stood next to the dining room table, a place Brianne used for everything but eating. Artwork in all stages of design lay spread over the wooden surface.

  “It’s called photo fusion. I take a picture, layer the image with colored pencil, and bring out the vision I originally saw in nature.”

  Hannah’s face brightened with a smile, coming alive like the photos did with the addition of the added color and depth. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Would you like me to show you how someday?”

  She looked straight at Brianne for the first time, her ocean blue eyes shining. “I would. Is my dad going to be okay?”

  Brianne’s pulse throbbed in her ears. Her life used to be a series of very similar questions from children who’d seen and experienced so much worse than the one in front of her now. Her old stock answers felt foolish; Brianne had no way of knowing what would happen next for the Kilbourn family. All she had was the truth, or the truth as she saw it in this moment. “I don’t know.” She braced herself for Hannah’s tears, but they didn’t come.

  “Thank you for being honest. Can we see the books?” Hannah turned away from the table.

  “Of course.” Brianne opened the door that led to her parents’ old room. “I keep meaning to get these up on shelves.” Cardboard dust twirled in the air as she tore the tape from a box. The contents brought a peace with them. They were the places Brianne had explored as a child, her wildest dreams and greatest adventures.

  Hannah reached in and pulled out a copy of The Magician’s Nephew. She turned it to read the back cover. “This looks amazing.”

  “It really is. You should borrow that one right away. It’s one of my favorites.”

  “Thank you.” Hannah held the book to her chest as if it were already a good friend. “I’ll read this next.”

  Foot thuds echoed through the house, coming to a stop at the bedroom door. Lilly fisted her hands, pressing them into her sides. “Connor is hogging the puppy.”

  Brianne tried to hold back a smile. “I think I have something in here you might be interested in.” She got to her feet and pulled a large plastic tub into the center of the room. “Take a look.”

  Lilly let her angry stance soften and peeled the lid off, uncovering Brianne’s favorite therapy toys: a castle, furniture, and a family of small dolls. “Whoa.” Lilly dropped to her bottom, examining each piece carefully before setting them at her side. She reached in and came out with an envelope, Brianne’s name printed on the front. Lilly didn’t give it a second glance, just tossed it to the side.

  Brianne’s chest started to burn. There was something familiar about the hesitant handwriting. She took the discarded letter and walked out of the room, leaving the distracted girls. In the kitchen, she ran her finger under the flap and tore open the seal.

  You’ve been a good friend, but I’ve done something really bad. My dad’s in jail for something I don’t think really happened. I did this. Please make it right. Tell him I’m sorry.

  Amanda

  Brianne held the letter to her heart, feeling the pounding through the fragile paper. Her mind reached for the memories of her last meeting with Amanda. She’d seen this girl as a client for years, and they’d developed a bond. She’d thought she’d known how to help her.

  What did Amanda say that day? What did I miss?

  EMILIA RECOGNIZED THE car the teenagers had been driving parked outside the Hampton residence. Hopefully that didn’t mean Ivy was here now. Emilia needed to conduct her follow-up interviews with the girls separately, though nothing new would likely come from this trip to Darlington. The testimony of Harper Hampton and Ivy Smith would be the ink the jury needed to sign Caleb Kilbourn’s guilty verdict. The drive time was worth it to put a killer away. Enough with these accidents.

  A hook-shaped door knocker hung underneath a peephole. Above the framing, a camera was mounted. Emilia gave her ponytail a yank, tightening it to her scalp. People who took home security seriously were easier to respect than those who left their safety to chance and 911.

  Emilia rapped on the aluminum door with her knuckles. Behind the barrier, a dog yapped.

  “Just a moment, please.” A woman’s voice floated from a speaker in the corner.

  Emilia turned her back to the door and looked over the well-to-do neighborhood, with its nice cars and upscale homes. The lawns were manicured and free from rusting yard art. Maybe she should look at changing jobs, see if there was anything she could get in Darlington. Maybe security work.

  A year ago, the thought would have turned her stomach. But life changed. Her work didn’t hold the pride it once had, and reviving her
community one small step at a time now felt more like a giant waste of time.

  The door clicked as the locks were opened, drawing Emilia’s attention back to the job at hand.

  “Good morning.” A woman wearing cream slacks and a light pink blouse greeted Emilia as if she’d come for a social event rather than on official police business. “Please come in. Harper will be out in a moment.” She led Emilia down a hall and into a bright room. A table was set with cups and plates. Even the scones on the center platter seemed to be organized in order of shape and size.

  Emilia fisted and straightened her hands. She didn’t much care for the clutter accumulating at her home, but this was unnerving. “I’m Deputy Cruz.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Hampton indicated Emilia’s nameplate attached to her uniform. “Please have a seat.”

  A man in a polo and khakis stepped into the room. “Looks like we’re ready to get started.” He held his hand out to Emilia. “I’m Ken Hampton. Attorney.”

  Though his lips smiled, Emilia sensed the familiar threat lawyers wore like too much cologne. “Nice to meet you.” She shook his hand, then pulled out her notebook. “I’d like to get started as soon as possible. I have another stop this morning.”

  “At poor Ivy’s house, I assume.” Mrs. Hampton shook her head. “That sweet girl. She’s so sensitive. Her car has been here since the girls got back. Her mother says she doesn’t want to drive it home.” She pulled out her chair and waited for the others to do the same.

  Emilia looked over her shoulder before taking a seat. Their daughter was nowhere in sight.

  “Please help yourself to scones and tea. I can get coffee if you’d rather.”

  “No, I’m fine. Would you mind getting Harper out here, though?” Emilia resisted the urge to check her watch. Efficient, these people were not.

  Mr. Hampton typed something on his phone, then stuffed it back into his pocket.

  A moment later, Harper came into the room, yawning. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and her makeup looked like it was freshly applied, but she wore pajama bottoms and a T-shirt cropped high enough to show a strip of skin. She dropped into the chair between her parents and set her cell next to her plate.