More Than We Remember

by Christina Suzann Nelson

  “Good morning, Harper.” Emilia slid her business card across the table to the teen. “I just need to take your statement and maybe ask a few questions. That’s it. Are you ready?”

  Harper snatched a scone and tore a chunk from the corner, plopping it into her mouth as she nodded.

  “Okay. Please start from the beginning.” Emilia poised her pen above the notebook.

  Harper blew out a sigh, as if this was the last thing she wanted to be doing. “Ivy forgot her sweater, so we were going back to get it.”

  Emilia made a notation. “Where were you going?”

  “Just a friend’s house. We’d been there earlier.”

  “Can you give me the name of the friend?” Emilia looked up to gauge Harper’s willingness.

  The teen hesitated. “Chase or Chance . . . I don’t remember. He’s just a guy we met at a game. He was having a bonfire and Snapped us, so we went.”

  Emilia held back the lecture she wanted to unleash on the girl but gave her parents a stare she hoped would pass on her concern.

  Mrs. Hampton ducked her chin, then poured tea in Harper’s cup and her own.

  “The guy turned out to be kind of a creep. We didn’t want him thinking we left the sweater on purpose or anything, so we went to get it.” Harper dumped three spoons of sugar into her cup.

  “What happened next?”

  “It was fast, you know. The truck went into the other lane, and bam, that was it. Maybe I’m just in shock, but the accident is kind of a blur. And Ivy is a mess. I don’t think she’ll be much help.” She grimaced and lifted the cup to her lips.

  Mr. Hampton blew out a huff. “Harper. This kind deputy came all the way over here for your statement. Sit up and give her the information she needs.”

  Harper rolled her head around from one shoulder to the next, then began again. “Ivy Smith and I were heading west on the Darlington-West Crow Highway at approximately 12:10 a.m. The vehicle in front of us was a large, dark pickup. Its driver veered into the eastbound lane and collided with a car moving east.”

  With academy-learned skill, Emilia managed not to allow her mouth to drop open. Harper had been trained well by her attorney father.

  Mrs. Hampton held up the teapot, as if asking Emilia a question that didn’t require words.

  She lifted her cup and allowed the woman to fill it with steaming tea, then brought it to her lips. Grass. Just like she expected, the tea tasted like water filtered off a pile of yard clippings. No matter how many times Emilia tried this stuff, it was always a variation on the same thing. “Tell me about what happened a few minutes before the accident.”

  “I don’t recall anything unusual. There was nothing until he cut over into the other lane. Maybe he just fell asleep.”

  Mr. Hampton cleared his throat.

  Harper cocked her head. “But of course, that’s conjecture.”

  “Of course.” Emilia snapped her notebook shut. “I may need to contact you again, and if charges are filed in this case, the district attorney may ask you to testify.”

  “We understand, Deputy Cruz. Thank you for coming all the way out here.” Mr. Hampton rose, his hand extended for another shake.

  There were few things Emilia cared for less than being dismissed . . . by a lawyer.

  7

  Addison pointed down Caroline’s driveway. “That’s it.”

  The backwoods definition of a taxicab, an old family van with the back seat removed, turned toward the farmhouse. Up ahead, Addison’s kids were nearing the house on foot, the neighbor walking along with them, Lilly dressed in her favorite fairy wings and rubber boots.

  Bruce, the man she’d been assured was the safest transportation in the county, parked his vehicle in the wide-open area between the front porch and the shed. “That will be twenty bucks.” He ran his tongue over what remained of his top row of teeth, making a sucking sound.

  Addison dug in her purse, finding a twenty and a five lined up in her billfold, nothing else. She handed the two bills to the driver and stepped outside into air that wasn’t scented by mildew and stale cigarettes.

  “Mommy!” Lilly leapt into Addison’s arms. “How’s my daddy doing?” She peeked around her mom at the van windows. “Did you bring him home?”

  “Not today. He needs a bit more time for his bumps and bruises to heal.” She kissed Lilly on the cheek, then set her down, holding tight to her little hand while the van backed up and turned around.

  Hannah and Connor drilled their gazes into Addison. “We want to know what’s going on.” Hannah tucked a book under her arm.

  “And you will.” Addison pulled them toward the porch. “First, I want to be clear that everything is okay.”

  Hannah’s eyes rounded, and her face paled. “That’s what people say when everything is absolutely not okay.”

  In the thirteen years of Hannah’s life, she’d never experienced trauma. That didn’t seem to stop her from having eyes always on the lookout for tragedy’s attack. Maybe she was more like her mother than Addison had realized.

  “Your father was in an accident last night.” Addison resisted the urge to shiver as cold washed through her veins.

  “We already know that.” Hannah’s face was hard. Sure, maybe she was old enough to hear about her father’s injuries, but she hadn’t matured to the point of understanding that her siblings weren’t.

  Addison bit her lip. Now wasn’t the time to reprimand Hannah for her disrespectful tone. She looked to Brianne, hoping for some help from a perfect stranger.

  Connor took a half step back, his eyes shiny with tears, then ducked his head.

  “He’s going to be okay. Really.” Addison touched her son’s arm. “But it will take some time. His leg is broken, and he’s got a pretty good bump on his head. And they fixed a cut inside his tummy.”

  “Like a stab wound?” Connor’s lip curled up in dismay.

  “No, more like a tear.” Too much television for that boy. She’d told Caleb that their son was too young for movies like Star Wars and those about Indiana Jones, but her husband saw them as rites of passage. Or maybe that was an excuse.

  “What’s all this ruckus?” Caroline rounded the corner of the house, a pointed shovel resembling a tool from the pioneer era clutched in her hands. Dark dirt drew a line down her temple and along her jawline. She grinned. “I didn’t expect you so soon. Guess the day got away from me.”

  Addison took a step closer. “You remember I was at the hospital, right? With your son?”

  “Of course. That boy gets himself into more scrapes.” She shook her head, but a slight smile deepened the lines on her face.

  Lilly pulled loose of Addison’s hand and ran around the house.

  Addison picked at a fingernail. These were the exact kind of odd behaviors she’d witnessed in Caroline recently, the reason she’d been very clear with Caleb that she didn’t ever want her mother-in-law solely responsible for the kids. “What are you up to, Caroline?” She tipped her head toward the shovel.

  “Just digging a grave. I found Ann murdered this morning.” Caroline leaned her tool against the siding.

  The color drained from the faces of Addison’s town-raised children.

  “I must have forgotten to close up the coop last night. It’s all right. Ann was a real bugger. She bloodied up Howard something good last week. Downright emasculated that poor rooster.”

  Addison gave Connor and Hannah what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “Do you need a hand?” She braced herself for the answer.

  “It’s done. Said a quick prayer and covered the bird. A waste of good meat.” She stomped the dirt from her boots.

  Hannah’s eyes bulged.

  That would do it. The girl would never eat chicken again.

  Caroline was as tough as jerky. Addison half expected her to punctuate her sentences with a well-aimed shot of spit. It was like she’d come from a different place and time, an old woman who could hold her own in a fight yet loved her family with great affection. A
ddison had always admired Caroline’s confident demeanor. She was the mother Addison wished she’d had. Maybe that was why she pushed so hard now to find out what was changing this woman. She couldn’t let it just be age. She wasn’t ready to have Caroline slip away like that.

  Lilly bounded back around the corner, pulling a pygmy goat by a leash. “It’s time for me to take Clarice for her walk. She needs the exercise. Just look at her belly.”

  Addison rubbed circles into her temples. Whatever was causing the older woman’s quirks looked to be contagious.

  Lilly stopped by the front porch, tied the leash around the railing, then shimmied out of her wings and slipped them onto the goat.

  Had it really only been thirteen days since they’d moved from Brice? All of Addison’s beautiful memories of their previous residence—moving in right after she and Caleb married, bringing her babies home from the hospital, watching them grow—had taken place in the rental house they’d left behind.

  Why had they thought this move was a good plan? If they moved into Caroline’s house temporarily, they reasoned, they’d save rent. They could be there to support Caroline through the grief of losing her husband. And they’d be right there to oversee building their dream home on the other side of Caleb’s childhood farm. The kids could have the summer to explore and adjust to their new home, and Caleb wouldn’t have to continue his long commute to his job as a teacher and coach at West Crow High.

  But in December, their thoughts had been blurred by the sweet coziness of Christmas. When the world was lit by Christmas lights, it was easy to look past reality and see the beauty of possibility.

  Six months later, life had gotten real. Caroline’s mind was failing, yet she wouldn’t acknowledge the changes. Caleb was seriously injured. Their dream house would have to be put on hold. This wasn’t the kind of scene one would find in a snow globe.

  “She’s really something.” Brianne looked toward Lilly.

  Addison blinked, her body heavy with exhaustion. “Thank you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for what you’ve done.”

  Brianne waved the comment away. “It’s nothing. We’re neighbors. That’s what neighbors are supposed to do.”

  “And love each other.” Lilly’s voice carried from the porch. “Love your neighbor.”

  The child had ears like a bat. Caleb and Addison had learned early on that they had to be extra sneaky when the conversation wasn’t suited for six-year-old ears.

  “When this is over, I’ll have to find some way to make it up to you.”

  Brianne squeezed her arm. “Really, it was my pleasure.”

  Maybe West Crow would be okay. So many of Caleb’s accomplishments as a teacher and a coach were rooted here. His childhood memories were tied to West Crow. Shouldn’t they raise their children where the concept of family had a pleasant meaning? Even if Caroline’s mind was beginning to go, she had a wealth of knowledge she could pass on to her grandchildren.

  They’d be okay.

  The scent of jasmine blossoms drifted on the breeze. It wasn’t the Hallmark movie Addison had dreamed of in December, but it was their life, and for the time being, her family was safe.

  She had this under control—or at least she would once she had a shower and a long nap.

  BRIANNE RETURNED TO her house hours later than expected with an orange Tupperware bowl filled with leftovers packed by Caroline. Sometime during the day, the older woman’s memory had seemed to come around. She started calling Brianne by her actual name and even mentioned a few memories from Brianne’s growing-up years.

  Entering her house, Brianne flopped onto the couch.

  Chester took her lead and dropped to the floor, his chin curled onto his forelegs.

  In the months since leaving public employment, Brianne had become comfortable with, almost addicted to, time alone with no one to perform to. She was no longer suited to the act of carrying conversations and the balance of small talk.

  She breathed in deep, cherishing the subtle peach scent that clung to this house long after her mother had left. No matter what was going on in her life, that smell had had a way of conquering her fears and failures—until Amanda, that is. No amount of pleasant childhood memories could sway the heartbreak of losing that girl. And no amount of sweet fragrance in the air could ever dilute the sour taste of Brianne’s failure.

  For the last few hours, she’d pushed back the emotion boiling in her middle as she helped the Kilbourn family through their own struggles. Suddenly, being alone wasn’t the paradise she’d been craving.

  Brianne rolled to her side and pulled the envelope from her back pocket. She traced her name in the print of a girl who hadn’t yet settled into her own style. And she never would. Amanda had given up the chance to become who she was meant to be. Suicide was such a final decision, an end that could never be undone, rethought, or healed.

  It had been Brianne’s job to see this coming. She was a mental health professional put in a place of authority. She should have seen the signs. She should have stopped Amanda before it was too late.

  She slid the paper out of the envelope, a single lined sheet torn from a spiral notebook, ragged edges still hanging from its side.

  Amanda must have stuffed this into the toy bin that day she showed up without an appointment. After five years of seeing Amanda off and on, Brianne had felt like she could read the girl well. But Brianne hadn’t given her much time that day. She had a mother coming in who’d just left her abusive boyfriend in hopes of getting her daughter back from state custody. That case had trumped Amanda’s seemingly casual visit.

  Had there been clues to the tragedy that was to come?

  Brianne shuffled through her memories, stretching for something that might not be there, starting to remember snippets of conversation, only to wonder if they were real or just something she needed so much that her brain created them to maintain her sanity.

  Emotion pounded behind her eyes, and tears dripped from her jaw as she perched on the edge of the sofa.

  The first time Amanda was brought in to see Brianne, it was by her mother, and Amanda had been eight years old, yet immature even for that age. It had been early in Brianne’s career. She had only returned to West Crow the month before, accepting a job with the county to provide mental health treatment and counseling.

  The memory of the little girl with the sparkle in her eyes and the perfect ringlets in her hair was not hard to retrieve. That image was so clear, like Amanda and her mother had come in only days ago.

  Amanda’s letter said she’d been wrong to make the allegation. She’d come to Brianne with that suggestion before, but Brianne had pushed it off as regret or guilt that her father was in prison. What if she had missed something? What if Amanda was right, and the abuse never happened?

  She sprang to her feet, catching a toe on Chester and stumbling forward. During her graduate work, she’d attended a seminar about memory. The speaker claimed memories were the least trustworthy in terms of evidence. Brianne had to go back to facts—her documentation of Amanda’s early sessions.

  While she’d done the necessary electronic paperwork, Brianne still had an old-fashioned streak. Maybe it was from her experience as a homeschooler through middle school, or maybe it was a connection to her grandmother, a woman who documented everything on paper. Brianne kept detailed handwritten notes on sessions, a personal journal—even her calendar was kept in a large planner. Not that she had much to write down these days.

  And Brianne still had all of her records. She was required to keep them for six years, but indefinitely was the recommendation.

  She charged into her parents’ old room. Tiny king and queen figurines were set up at a miniature table, little teacups in front of them, as though they’d been sharing a meal and conversation until the moment Brianne stepped in.

  In the corner, a stack of four blue-and-white boxes stood, all that was left of her short career. Somewhere in one of those boxes was documentation of every meeting she’d had wi
th Amanda and her mother. Somewhere in one of those boxes was the paperwork to pinpoint where Brianne had failed.

  A chill moved across her skin. She’d have to do the thing she’d been avoiding. Brianne had to look back into the past if she ever stood a chance of moving forward.

  8

  No one could hold a longer sulk session than a middle-school girl. Yet at the same time, Emilia couldn’t measure the greatness of the love she had for her daughter. Tally was a large piece of her heart, and though she often found herself frustrated, she would gladly take a bullet for her kid. Emilia reminded herself of that the next morning as she pulled to the curb in front of Tally’s school and turned to talk to her daughter.

  Tally pressed her lips together so tightly, the skin on her chin puckered. She huffed her good-bye and slammed the car door.

  Tension filled Emilia’s stomach. She pulled in a deep breath, mentally counting to five as she exhaled. Tally could shake her up faster than any crook in the county. Good luck to the day camp director. She’d need it.

  In her rearview mirror, Emilia watched a plume of black exhaust bellow from the back of her car as she hit the accelerator and headed toward the sheriff’s office. If she were in uniform and the car belonged to someone else, she would have pulled them over.

  Before Roger’s injury, she’d loved everything about her job. It was a dream come true, her childhood goal attained. But now, the day-to-day task of cleaning up other people’s messes seemed pointless and unending. Her job had become as rewarding as doing laundry, and the three minutes it took to drive from Tally’s school to work were not enough to shrug off Emilia’s foul mood.

  Inside the office, she was greeted by Meredith, the longest-running member of the West Crow squad. Meredith handled the phones and dealt with the occasional visitor. At nearly fifty, she kept the department organized, all while maintaining vampire-length fingernails and a ratted one-sided ponytail. If Sheriff Commons would allow it, she’d probably come to work in one of those torn, bare-shoulder neon sweatshirts. The 1980s wouldn’t die on her watch.