“I’ll get over there as soon as possible. Irma was always such a good friend, always the first to bring a meal to an ailing family. It’s a shame to see her taken down like this.”
They exchanged the solemn look of people giving honor to one who wouldn’t live much longer, the intersection between grief and relief understood only by survivors.
Jeff welcomed Brianne, then squatted down to shake hands with Lilly. “Who do we have here?”
The child clung to Brianne’s right leg, twisting around behind her, hands so tight on Brianne’s bare skin that the movement felt as if it would tear flesh.
Brianne reached down to remove the clenched fingers from her leg and swung Lilly into her arms. She’d never seen the kid have a shy moment, much less this kind of reaction. Her first thought flew to abuse, though it was ridiculous. That was what her years as a therapist had done for her. As far as she knew, Jeff and Lilly had never met before, and Jeff had never, not once, given Brianne the feeling that he was anything but kind and honest. Clearly, she’d allowed her education and work to jade her. Maybe she’d jumped too quickly in Amanda’s case too.
Caroline took charge. “Lilly. This is Mr. Delmar. He went to the same high school as your daddy.”
Jeff rose and pressed fists into his side. “No way. This is Caleb’s kiddo?” He looked around.
“It is. This is Lilly.” Caroline pointed toward the pair who’d entered with her. “And those two are Connor and Hannah.”
“Nice to meet you, little lady. Your dad’s an old school friend of mine.” He held out his hand to Lilly, but she shied away. “Where’s the old guy?”
Brianne’s stomach squirmed as Caroline moved away to speak to a friend. “He had an accident. I’m surprised you haven’t heard.”
“Oh man.” Jeff stepped back, his eyes asking the question he didn’t want to voice.
“He’s okay and recovering at home. I seriously can’t believe you didn’t know.”
“I just got back from camping late last night. Haven’t even heard the church lady gossip yet. Tell him I’ll come by.” He rubbed his hand over his cheek as if the smooth skin was suddenly unfamiliar.
Brianne put a hand to her chest. “Did Caroline say you went to high school with Caleb?”
“Yep. Caleb and I were good buddies back then. We connected recently, even planned to get together once he was all moved in.”
“But you were out of town when Caleb was in the accident?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Like I said, I’ve been camping. Been gone a couple weeks. We were scouting for next hunting season.”
Mrs. Kilbourn and the older kids were moving toward the sanctuary.
“You should come by and see Caleb. He’d appreciate that.” Brianne nodded, her mind preoccupied with questions. “I’d better get going. Nice to see you, Jeff.”
“You too.” He twisted the gold band around his finger.
Brianne made her way past the hum of conversations and into the sanctuary. The volume dropped, and she could hear her thoughts. For the first time in way too long, those thoughts weren’t focused on herself. She was thinking of the Kilbourns and wishing there was something bigger she could do to take some of the pressure off their family. And of course, she thought of Amanda, not as the client she’d failed, but as the young woman who also deserved to have her questions answered.
Life seemed be a long series of mysteries. It was up to each individual to uncover the truth. That’s what Brianne planned to do about Amanda. Too late to save a life, but truth needed to see the light of day regardless.
Brianne to Addison, 11:02 a.m.
Did you tell me that it was Jeff Delmar that Caleb was meeting that night?
Addison to Brianne, 11:05 a.m.
I checked with Caleb. He said that’s the Jeff he was friends with in high school.
Brianne to Addison, 11:09 a.m.
Jeff Delmar says he was out of town when Caleb had his accident. Any chance you’re remembering the wrong name?
Addison to Brianne, 11:10 a.m.
I don’t think so.
Brianne to Addison, 11:12 a.m.
Well, I’m sure there’s a good explanation.
14
Emilia pulled the last of the frozen meals she’d stored in the freezer out of the oven. The lasagna’s edges bubbled brown while the middle remained suspiciously still and pale. They could eat around the sides for now. She’d warm up the rest tomorrow.
Cooking had never been one of Emilia’s great talents. She had been outdoorsy from the beginning, more interested in playing ball than in learning domestic skills. Her grandmother might have been right: She did need the basics, but it was too late now.
Setting the pan on the counter, Emilia placed three plates nearby with forks beside them. They used to eat dinner together at the table, even when it was fast-food takeout wrapped in paper.
Once Roger was healthy enough to move on his own again, however, he’d started taking his dinner by the television or in their room. Tally took that as an invitation to eat behind her own door. Emilia remained at the table for two months, hoping the others would get the hint and come back to their family tradition, but finally, she’d given up, taking bites as she cleaned the kitchen.
She tipped her head out the opening between the kitchen and living room. “Dinner.” After five minutes, when no one came, she thought about giving up another principle and texting them, but she might as well put a television in Tally’s room if she was going that far.
Emilia tapped the doorframe as she opened it. “Tally, time for dinner.”
“What is it?” She set down her jewelry-making supplies but didn’t get up from the chair at her desk.
“That’s not really relevant, is it? Dinner is whatever dinner is.”
Tally’s shoulders slumped. “Fine.” She stood and huffed past her mother.
Knocking on the door of the room Emilia still technically shared with Roger, she listened but didn’t hear a response. She pushed the door open and stared into the dark, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Roger had a hard time with sudden changes in lighting. She walked to the bed, tapping the comforter, but didn’t find him. “Roger,” she said in a hushed tone. “Are you in here?” Her heart began to thud. She ran her hands up and down the bed, then switched on the bedside lamp. The room was empty.
Emilia joined Tally in the kitchen. Her daughter had scooped a plate of food and was already stuffing a forkful in her mouth.
“Have you seen Papa?”
“He’s not my dad.” Her eyes were dark and cold. Tally had been the one to start calling him Papa shortly after Roger and Emilia were married. Now she took back the title as if it were a loaned sweater.
Emilia set her fists into her sides and stared at the girl who was once full of compassion and empathy. Would her daughter become a bitter and angry woman? Emilia debated replaying another version of the same lecture, but Tally obviously wasn’t in a frame of mind to hear a thing Emilia had to say these days. “You’ll clean up the kitchen tonight. No arguments. When I get home after my shift, I expect this room to be spotless.” She walked away before Tally’s likely sassiness could lure her into a fight.
Outside, she checked the backyard, but no Roger. He hadn’t left the house without her at his side since he’d gone to work the day of the last fire.
She jogged down the block, perspiration dampening her collar and waist. He wasn’t cleared to drive. He hadn’t even bothered to ask if that was a possibility.
Emilia scooped her thick dark hair into a ponytail and snapped the band on her wrist around it to secure it off her neck. She’d have to call in if she couldn’t find him in the next few minutes. And that would cause an avalanche of issues at the station.
At their driveway, she looked back at Roger’s unused truck. There he was, behind the wheel, looking so much like the man she used to know.
Emilia took a deep breath. With a little more than a week left before the dreaded Fourth of July, sulfur and
smoke already hung in the air. She approached the passenger side, curved her fingers around the handle, and pulled open the door. After a moment of hesitation, she slipped into the seat next to her husband, her heart still pounding, sweat sticking her T-shirt to her back. They both sat staring out the window, no words passing between them for a good five minutes.
“This isn’t working,” Roger finally said, his hands on the steering wheel.
Emilia locked her gaze on his rugged knuckles, his hands that could accomplish any task he set his mind to, hands that had been so gentle to her, offering only love and kindness. They were still Roger’s hands even if Roger was hard to find anywhere else.
“I’m not happy. None of us are.” His words fell from his mouth as though lined with lead.
She heard the proper responses in her head, but her mouth refused to say them again. “You’re right. None of us is happy. What can we do about it?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. It helps being in here. I feel like I can think with all the noise cut off.” He chuckled, a sound like Christmas and the Fourth of July combined. She’d missed his laugh more than almost anything they’d lost. “Maybe I should move into the truck.”
She slid to the middle seat, like she’d done in their dating days, and placed one of her hands over his. “I’ve missed you.” And she really meant it. She’d been missing Roger for thirteen months, and she wasn’t ready to give up on him yet.
EMILIA SLAMMED THE department desk phone back onto its cradle.
“Whoa. What’s got you all revved up so early on a Monday?” Lineman stood at the edge of the row of desks, his arms tight around a cardboard box.
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“No one slams the phone like that for no reason. Give it up, Cruz.”
He was about the last person in the department she wanted to share her frustrations with, but he was also the only one who had asked. “The crime lab says I won’t get the official tox screen for a month. What exactly are they doing up there? It’s been almost two weeks.”
He shifted the weight of the box to one hip. “Did you tell them it’s a potential homicide investigation? That should speed them up.”
“That’s how I got the one-month time frame. Originally, it was a few months, whatever that means.”
“You’ll get what you need. Just put the rest of the pieces in place, and present the evidence to the DA the day the results come in. Then you’ll have him. You know what the lab is going to say. You smelled the alcohol. You saw the pills. It’s a no-brainer. The guy is going down.” He blew out a breath. “And the jerk is taking our basketball season along with him. I have a running bet with a buddy in Darlington. I hate losing.” He hiked up the box and walked away.
If charges were brought before the end of summer, Mr. Kilbourn wouldn’t be stepping foot in another classroom. Tally was only a year from high school. Emilia would do what it took to be sure a teacher with deadly habits wasn’t influencing her daughter.
She pulled out a blank paper. What did she know for sure? Evidence that could put Kilbourn away even without the lab workup. There was the alcohol on his breath. She’d been certain of that. And the pills on the floor of the truck. The pharmacist had confirmed they were oxycodone. James was also confident that any mixture of oxy and alcohol would greatly impair a driver, and that the driver would be well aware of that impairment.
She tapped the pencil on the paper.
Emilia had two witnesses. They were young, but neither had a record, and they were both honor students and athletes. A jury would hang on the words of Ivy and Harper. That was if Emilia could get Ivy to talk without bursting into tears—something she hadn’t been able to manage in the two interviews with the girl. Even if Ivy froze on the stand, the jury would see the trauma the accident had inflicted on these teens, as well as the victim’s family.
The impact had taken place in Georgianna Bosch’s lane, not Kilbourn’s. He had been the one to cross over. Why would a man on a straight stretch of road swerve into an oncoming car? There was no reason that didn’t make Caleb Kilbourn guilty of vehicular homicide, at the very least. And at best, manslaughter.
Emilia ran through the scene again, the blood, the smells . . . Every bit of evidence pointed to Kilbourn’s guilt.
She had to make something right come out of that horrible nightmare. And she would. Caleb Kilbourn would not have the chance to cut another life short.
15
Brianne clicked on the fan in the living room window. The end of June, and it was already in the nineties. She couldn’t imagine what August would bring. She plopped down on the sofa and dragged her cold soda can across her forehead. Too hot to do anything outside, and too hot to work with her soft colored pencils.
She fired up her new MacBook, an expense she couldn’t afford but an investment she needed to enhance the details in her photographs. She opened her search engine and typed, How long can a person put off something painful?
What came up was a list of results ranging from how to know you have appendicitis to another question asking if pain can be felt once the brain is dead. So much for her latest stall tactic. People who said therapists were the most unstable segment of the population were on to something. Not only did most of them come into the profession because of some disturbance in their own lives, but they spent hours each day listening to patients retell horrors until peace and beauty began to feel like the stuff of fairy tales.
Brianne snapped the laptop closed. She was no longer a therapist, meaning the problems of others were no longer her concern. Maybe she should Google how long it took to accept your identity in a new profession. Her fingers brushed the computer. Avoidance was becoming as consuming as any addiction.
Opening the laptop again, Brianne clicked on the bookmark for Facebook and searched for Seth. He popped up at the top of the list—forty-two friends in common. Another click and she was staring at his profile picture as if it were Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam. Not a bad way to procrastinate.
She set the Mac on the end table and stood, nearly falling over Chester, asleep at her feet.
Files were stacked but not straightened on the table next to her art supplies. On the very top, like a flag staking claim to Brianne’s hesitation, was the DVD.
She’d tried to watch it, even taking it out of the case before realizing she didn’t own a DVD player. That new laptop, the one that cost her a good chunk of her savings, was nearly naked of any ports and didn’t have a DVD drive.
She was a Netflix and books kind of girl. The last time she’d rented a DVD, she’d still been in her apartment in town, and it had been an action flick, the choice of an old boyfriend.
Men were another thing she didn’t need in her new life.
There were two choices. She could grab up the stack right now, toss it back in the box, and cover it with other boxes until she forgot about the letter and the doubt that kept waking her at night. Or she could man up and go into the basement, where her parents had left all kinds of things that could come in handy if the right moment arrived. There’d surely be a DVD player on one of the many Dad-built shelves that lined the cement walls.
“Come on, Chester.” She scratched the fur behind his ear. “If I have to go into the dungeon, you’re going too.”
He lifted his head and opened his mouth, filling the quiet house with a yawn that would wake any spiders waiting for them down the rickety stairs.
Brianne tugged on his collar. “I’m not kidding. You first.” She pulled him toward the basement door. The locks, all three of them added after Brianne moved back in, squeaked as she unlatched them one at a time.
Two furry feet planted on the top step while Chester anchored his backside on the kitchen linoleum.
Brianne grasped the handrail with one hand while holding tight to Chester’s collar with the other. She shimmied around her guard dog, careful to plant each foot squarely on the wood stairs.
A swift tug of the collar,
and it slid from Chester’s neck. Before she could grab for him, the dog was gone. “Thanks a lot.” Brianne tossed the collar onto the floor and edged down a couple more steps.
The air brushed across her arms, easily ten degrees cooler than the temperature upstairs. Under her feet, each plank moved at individual angles as her weight eased forward. A scent somewhere between dusty and musty pressed in from all sides.
Her palm slid over the end of the rail as her foot settled on the concrete floor. Brianne reached out, waving her hand in front of her until her finger found the light string. She grasped it and gave a firm tug. Light from a solitary swinging bulb opened up the space.
The silence swam around her. Growing up, when anything had to be done in the basement, her father had taken care of it. He’d once yelled at her when she’d taken it upon herself to open the basement door and start down the stairs. She could still hear the harsh words from her usually gentle father, warning her that she’d done something dangerous. He’d probably meant the rickety steps, but in her little mind, the basement had become the place where all childhood fears lived.
Now, at just over thirty, the fears still stuck in her mind, despite the independence she’d built up during her adult life.
Brianne forced deliberate steps toward the wall shelves, decorated by the still-moving shadows. The tops of the windows were darkened by dirt and nearly hidden by overgrown brush. Her father would never have allowed that to happen, but there was a security in hiding this entrance into her home.
Her parents had left behind some things they felt were necessary for the proper running of a home but not worth hauling to Arizona. A thick layer of dust blanketed the boxes stacked on the shelves. Even the labels had been obscured by the settled dirt. Brianne wiped a hand over the front of a large cardboard box, and the air filled with particles that wove up her nose and made her eyes itch.
Kitchen supplies.
Three boxes later, she found the one marked electronics.
Brianne tugged the heavy package forward and set it on the ground, sending more dust into the air and something running for the corner. She pulled her hands tight to her chest, doing her best to wrap herself in a protective layer as her heart raced.
More Than We Remember Page 10
