More Than We Remember

by Christina Suzann Nelson

  Inside, the discount drugstore smelled like a brothel, with every sample perfume getting plenty of use. She walked through the row of cosmetics and hair dyes. The pharmacy sat at the back of the store. Schneider’s workstation was built up a couple feet, as if his degree gave him the right to look down on the people who came for his services.

  Emilia went to the counter. A girl who didn’t seem much older than Tally popped up from behind. “Can I help you?”

  “Actually, I’m going to need to talk with your pharmacist, if that’s okay.”

  “He’ll be glad to give you a consult once your prescription is filled. I can take care of that for you.” She held out her hand.

  As if Emilia would ever want this kid knowing her personal business. This was one of the many reasons they used a mail-order service for all but emergencies. “Actually, I’m not here for myself. I’m here for work.”

  The girl gave Emilia’s uniform a quick up and down look, her eyes going wide. “Yes, ma’am.” She disappeared through the swinging door behind the register. A moment later, she reappeared with James Schneider, king of the pharmacy, walking behind her.

  Emilia shook her head. She’d known this man since before either of them could spell their own names. Small towns were like that—people trying to gain respect in a crowd who could easily remember every bump and bruise they’d gotten along the way. “Jimmy. I need a minute. Could we please talk in private?”

  That should give the girl plenty to text her friends. It would probably be all over town before Emilia even left the building. Let it. Sometimes rumors could work to the authorities’ benefit.

  “Emilia, my goodness.” James flung open the door to the elevated station and stepped through. It swung back, cracking into the wall. “Do you have to make such a scene wherever you go?”

  “When you stop acting like you’re the keeper of the town gold, I’ll stop putting you in your place.”

  He smiled. “I can’t for the life of me figure out why, but I like you. What’s the big deal you have to drag me out here for?”

  She was pretty sure the only thing James Schneider liked about her was the fact that she was the only girl who wasn’t interested in him in high school. His cockiness hadn’t come with his diploma. James Schneider had been full of himself since kindergarten.

  Emilia set the plastic bag on the counter between them. “You know what this is?”

  “May I?” He nodded at the bag.

  “Yes. Just leave it sealed.”

  James picked up the plastic and dropped his glasses into place. He turned the pill over, bobbed his head, and returned it to the counter. “That’s oxy. No doubt about it. A pretty good dose too. That would make a woman your size pretty loopy if she wasn’t used to taking it.”

  “You know anyone around here who takes this dosage?” She was fishing in the deep end here, but James had a way of needing to show off. It wouldn’t be her fault if he slipped up.

  He crossed his arms. “No way. That violates HIPAA privacy laws, and you know it. Come back with a warrant.”

  Emilia held back a laugh. The guy probably thought he was being tough now. “What if a person took this with alcohol? What would happen then?”

  He shook his head. “Not recommended. Of course, it depends on the amount, but mixing those two would knock out even a big guy. Dizzy, disoriented, then out cold. What’s this about?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.” Now he could have a dose of his own medicine.

  “Come on. I did you a favor. I have a date tonight. Don’t force me to make up part of this story.”

  Emilia pulled the bag back. “Here’s an idea: You keep this between you and me, and I won’t arrest you for obstructing justice.”

  James’s smile faded.

  “Have a good day.” She turned and left, walking back through the gauntlet of perfumes. She was bluffing, but James Schneider knew nothing about the law aside from the mandates of HIPAA.

  Outside, the air was warm, with not even a whisper of a breeze. Her belt grew heavier in the heat. She wiped sweat from her brow and climbed back into the SUV. Caleb Kilbourn was as good as caught and sentenced. Emilia had the blood work from the hospital, but she’d need the toxicology report from the Oregon State Police crime lab before she made the arrest. One more check mark on her way to taking the coach to court.

  11

  Seven days of back-and-forth between the hospital and the farm came to an end as Addison and Caleb pulled into the driveway. Another quarter of a mile, and the kids would be part of the new reality that had spread like antibiotic-resistant bacteria since the accident.

  A large sign hung along the front porch. Addison squinted to make out the words. “Look.” She nudged Caleb awake, then pointed at the childish lettering framed by beautiful drawings of flowers and birds. “The kids made you a welcome-home sign.”

  Caleb smiled. “I’m so glad to be here. I don’t even care if they make a ton of noise and make my head feel like it will explode. I’ve missed them.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s easy to say when you’ve been away for a few days.” Addison shot him a grin. “You may have forgotten Lilly’s ability to talk nonstop.”

  “Anything is better than that stinky hospital with nurses constantly waking me up. I’m telling you, it was worse than Connor’s colicky days.”

  “Yeah. That’s because most of the time I was the one staying up with him.”

  Caleb squeezed her thigh. “And we still went on to have another. That’s a miracle right there.”

  “A surprise miracle. I don’t think we would have done it otherwise.” She parked the van, then let her hand settle over his. “We’re blessed. I may have been taking that for granted before the accident, but not anymore.” Even as she said the words, fears wove into her thoughts. They were always there, like a virus that lay dormant, waiting for the first sign of weakness. And she was greatly weakened now.

  Addison brushed her palms together. They were safe, even if it didn’t seem that way. There was no way Caleb, the man she’d committed her life to, was going to face a legal battle. She just needed to find a way to dismiss those worries that tried to creep into her thoughts.

  “I know what you mean.” His smile had an edge of sadness in it, something that had never been there before except in the days right after his father’s death. Even all these months later, Addison could still smell Charles Kilbourn’s hair gel when she walked into the downstairs bathroom. It was a comfort, like a hug from the first man who’d acted like a father to her.

  The kids came around the side of the house, Lilly tugging Brianne by the hand.

  “Looks like the welcome crew is here.” Addison lifted her chin.

  “No time for kissing. Is that what you’re saying?”

  She took a long look at her battered husband, his face a palette of bruises. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She shook her head. “Your people are waiting.” Addison stepped out of the van and crossed to the other side. She slid the door open and retrieved the crutches, then handed them to Caleb. “Be careful, now. The gravel could be tricky.”

  “I’m a big boy, Mom.” He stuck out his tongue at Addison.

  “Daddy, that is not okay.” Lilly came to his side. “I’m going to help you into the house. My poor daddy!”

  Hannah rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but Addison got in a quick don’t-you-dare glare, stopping her teen before she could spill any nastiness.

  “Whoa. Dad, you look so much worse than Mom said.” Connor’s top lip curled. “Nice shiner.”

  “Thanks, son. All the pain is worth it if you’re impressed.” Caleb tried to raise his eyebrows but winced instead. “I think I’m ready for a break. Where’s Grammy?”

  Brianne’s face twisted. “She’s in the kitchen, working on some cookies. If you’re all good, I’m going to head back to my house now.”

  “Yes. Thank you so much for the help.” Addison gave her a wave.

  “Not so fast.”
Caroline appeared on the porch, a plate of cookies in her hand. “You take these home with you. And I’ll expect you to come by this Sunday for more after church this week.”

  An expression of pain passed over Brianne’s features, but she took the plate and gave a slight nod before walking down the lane.

  Caroline drew in a harsh breath. “My word, Caleb. What on earth happened to you?” She stepped off the porch, giving her son a thorough look. “There’s not a spot on your body that’s not banged up. You get yourself inside and lie down. I’ll get the Unguentine and Epsom salts.” She shook her head as she retreated into the house. “My word.”

  Addison leaned into Caleb’s side. “I get the feeling she doesn’t remember our conversation even an hour later. Once you’re well enough to take care of yourself, I think we need to get her in to see the doctor. Something isn’t right.”

  “She’s just goofing with you. Trust me, Mom’s fine. She’s a tough old bird.”

  “I don’t think so. Not this time.”

  Caleb shuffled forward on the crutches, a child on either side to help him as Addison retrieved his hospital bag. Maybe now wasn’t the time, but when Caleb recovered, she’d have to make him see the reality of his mother’s foundering mental health, no matter how much he didn’t want to accept it.

  Inside, a six-year-old Florence Nightingale made sure Caleb was comfortable on the couch. Despite the temperature outside hovering in the eighties, she’d covered her patient with two blankets and tucked them tightly along his sides.

  “I’m going to get you a cookie. It’s not a normal one. This kind is medicine. It will make you all better.” She stood, shook her head as if she were looking at a sick baby, then trotted off to the kitchen.

  “You may miss the hospital nurses by the end of the day.” Addison set Caleb’s bag near the bottom of the stairs.

  “Any word from the police?” His face grew serious.

  Addison stalled, listening for the sounds of anyone who could be near enough to hear. She came close to Caleb and knelt on the floor beside the couch. “I don’t think we should discuss this when the kids are within earshot. There’s no reason to make them worry.”

  “Their father’s being locked up all of a sudden would be more of a shock, don’t you think?” New lines etched his forehead above the track of stitches. “What did my mom say?”

  Addison inspected the carpet by her knees.

  “Addy, are you keeping something from me?”

  She wondered the same thing about Caleb. Not remembering the accident made perfect sense to her, but the entire night? Could Caleb, the first man she’d ever dared to give her trust to, be covering up something? His coming from Darlington that night left too many unanswered questions. She tried to push back the insecurities that built horrible scenarios in her mind, but they hammered on.

  Pressing against the floor, Addison got to her feet. “I told her there were some concerns about the accident. She said something about Mr. Miller’s boat and assured me it would all work out.”

  Caleb paled.

  “What?”

  “I dented up Mr. Miller’s truck and his boat on its trailer when I was driving Dad’s tractor. I was in eighth grade. I thought it was the end of the world, a mistake I’d never make it through. The fire in the old man’s eyes . . . I felt so small at that moment. A lot like now.”

  “The moral of that story is that it turned out fine.” Caroline stood in the doorway with Lilly at her side. Caroline’s denim overalls were covered by a checkered apron. Lilly wore a matching one, but hers licked the ground at her feet. “Don’t stew over what you can’t change. Miller got his boat all patched up, and you learned how to paint a barn. And I don’t recall you slamming that tractor into anything else.” She shrugged. “It made you a fine driver.”

  “It made me paranoid, and clearly my driving is in question now too.”

  Caroline looked down at Lilly. “Take your daddy a cookie. That always fixes him up.”

  “Here you go, my daddy. Eat it all up.” She handed him a cookie on a paper napkin, then brushed her palm against Caleb’s stubbled face.

  Caleb mimicked her, touching his hand to Lilly’s cheek. “Thank you, sweetie.” He took a big bite, and his eyes went wide. He coughed, his eyes growing wet.

  “Did it go down the wrong tube?” Lilly tried to lift one of his arms over his head.

  Caleb spit the bite of cookie into the napkin. “Mom, there’s something unusual about these. They seem a touch on the salty side. Did you try a new recipe?”

  “Same one I’ve used for the last thirty years.” Caroline stepped into the kitchen, returning with a cookie in one hand and a disgusted look on her face. “I can’t even give these to the chickens. The goats, maybe. They’re regular salt licks.” She took the napkin full of cookie away from Caleb.

  Addison ran her fingers through her hair. She had a husband who needed to recover, three children to care for, and a mother-in-law to watch. That was a whole lot to be taken on by a woman who felt every bit of her inadequacy coming to the surface.

  BRIANNE SAT ON the living room floor, her legs stretched out and Amanda’s file laid out in front of her. She’d avoided the paperwork the same way her brother had avoided homework. Today, she’d run dry of excuses.

  She’d reread every single document, expecting answers, only to discover her carefully created notes told her nothing about what had really happened in their early meetings. An entry from the first visit said they made the claim that Amanda’s father had touched her in an inappropriate way. Why had Brianne used the plural pronoun?

  And Brianne had waited to make the report for three weeks after that initial meeting.

  In her memory, she’d called it in after the first appointment, but the documentation stated otherwise. Why couldn’t she remember it the way it was stated right there in permanent ink?

  The inside flap of the folder had a series of pockets filled with DVDs. Brianne knew what they were. She’d recorded and burned them herself. Since she’d been new at the job, she’d kept video recordings that her supervisor could watch and critique if necessary. Most were deleted within a month, but Amanda’s case was extra-sensitive, and Brianne had worried she could mess up. In the end, maybe she had.

  At one point, not long after Amanda’s memorial service, Brianne had thought about destroying them. Until she’d opened this file, she thought she actually had. Her memory was like a deep and murky pool—even the simplest things were lost in the haze, and everything she thought she remembered was now in question.

  What she did recall well was the reason behind the impulse to crush the shiny disks. Brianne never wanted to watch the recordings and see the sweet face, the tender eyes, of the girl she’d failed. There was no bringing Amanda back. The flat image on the screen would only give a sketch of the young teen who’d felt so lost that she took her own life.

  Brianne stacked the papers in the precise order she always kept client records. While she wasn’t the greatest at home organization, her clinical skills were tighter than the Army’s.

  Something was missing.

  She thumbed through the stack again but couldn’t place what it might be.

  Brianne climbed up from the floor and walked back into her parents’ old room, retrieving another file from the box where she’d gotten Amanda’s. There in the front, along with the original intake forms, was the signed consent for recording the sessions.

  She’d been new to working independently when Amanda’s mother brought her in, so Brianne was sure she’d given the form for signing. As paranoid as Brianne had been the first three months of working for the county, she would have checked and double-checked the intake forms before Amanda and her mother, Leanne, even arrived at her office.

  Brianne began to feel clammy with a nervous energy. Why did this even matter? She’d left the job behind, handing her clients over to a woman contracted through the state. The new therapist would have to be good enough for the community, because it
was an awful lot better than having Brianne miss something that could eventually lead to the death of a child.

  Whatever she missed in Amanda’s case was still in the land of the hidden. Would it give her permission to walk away from all this if Brianne at least knew the exact moment in time when she had failed so fully that the consequences would never stop chasing her?

  Brianne slid a DVD from the folder pocket. Her handwriting across one side indicated this was the recording of Amanda’s first through third sessions. She moved the disc side to side. Light bounced off the rainbowed surface. The answers she needed were somehow trapped in this small, metallic circle.

  The hum of her phone ringing carried from the kitchen. Brianne hopped up, laying the disc on the end table. Chester rose with her, bumping into her legs as she tried to reach the cell before voice mail took over. “Hello.” She hadn’t bothered to look at the screen.

  “Hey.” The voice was familiar yet distant.

  “Hi.” It was probably a solicitor, but if it gave her another excuse to wait on watching that recording, she’d answer every question.

  “It’s Seth . . . Seth Wallace. From the sheriff’s department.”

  Brianne felt the smile burst onto her face. “And my brother’s high-school best friend. Yes, Seth, I know who you are.”

  “Yeah. I guess that was weird.”

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “No.” He cleared his throat. “I just felt kind of bad about waking you that night last week and then dragging you into all that trouble with the coach. I wanted to say that I’m sorry. But I’m also really glad I got to see you. Not that I wanted to see you in the middle of the night like that. You looked great, though.”

  Brianne’s mouth fell open. “Thanks.”

  “This is so embarrassing. Please don’t tell your brother about this call. I’ll never hear the end of it.” His groan wove through the line, making him even more endearing than before.

  “It’s a deal. But you promise not to tell him I was ready to clobber you with his baseball bat.” A little shared information seemed like a fair trade for his humble apology.