More Than We Remember

by Christina Suzann Nelson

  “I’ll call her right now. I’m sorry about your husband.”

  She didn’t turn back. He didn’t deserve her thanks.

  35

  Addison eyed the register belt stacked with school supplies for four children. It looked like she was starting her own district.

  The scanner beeped like the monitor on Caleb’s heart had that first day in the hospital. She’d begged God to let him live. She’d pleaded for the life of her husband and the father of her children. And God had granted her his nearly full recovery. For what? Caleb still claimed he didn’t remember a thing from that night or the days before. And he certainly wasn’t ready to make the leap to his mother having a drug problem, though he’d agreed to have a conversation with Caroline that night.

  Beep, beep, beep.

  Addison rubbed at her temples. She’d grabbed the kids and left the house without her supply lists with the items they already owned carefully marked off. The result was a very expensive escape from a certain fight.

  “Mom.” Lilly tugged at her arm. “Can I get an L.O.L. Surprise doll? All the other girls will have them at my new school, and I’ll be the only one without.” She tipped her head as far back as it could go, her mouth open in a silent beg.

  “No. Those are the most ridiculous toys ever. I’m not spending another cent today.” As Addison shoved her credit card into the slot, her phone rang out Caleb’s ringtone. She silenced it and pasted a smile on her face.

  The checker sighed as she put the last binder in the bag. “It’s a spendy time of year.” She punched a few keys and waited. The smile faded. “Let’s try this again. Can you take your card out of the reader?”

  The second try wasn’t any better. She made the mistake of glancing Hannah’s way and caught her thirteen-year-old’s horrified expression. Addison’s neck burned as she retrieved their debit card and tried that.

  The debit card saved the day, or at least it got them free to leave the store.

  Before they could reach the freedom of the parking lot, her phone began to buzz again. “You four take this stuff to the car. I’ll be right with you.” She unhooked her keys from her purse and handed them to Hannah, then gave the cart over to Connor. “Watch Lilly.”

  “Ugh, Mom.” Lilly put her hands on her hips. “I’m not a little baby.”

  Addison answered the phone. “What? If you’re calling to apologize for questioning me about what should be obvious to you and anyone with a clear mind, I’m not ready to hear it yet.”

  “Well then, you won’t have any argument with why I’m calling. Something happened. Tally’s mother came by.”

  Addison covered her mouth with her hand, then brushed it through her hair. “Did something happen to Tally’s dad?”

  “I don’t know. I assume so, but there’s another issue. Tally’s mom is Deputy Cruz. How did you not know that?”

  Addison choked on her breath. “What?”

  “You heard me right. You brought home my arresting officer’s daughter. Didn’t you find out anything about that girl before bringing her to our home?”

  “Stop right there.” She caught the looks of a couple of shoppers and lowered her voice. “I don’t think you have the right to question my parenting right now.”

  “Whatever. She wants you to drop Tally off at the hospital.” He blew out a breath so strong, it sounded like a hurricane. “Hey, let’s not do this, okay?”

  “Whatever.” Addison ended the call and stuffed the phone into the bottom of her purse.

  BRIANNE STOOD AT the counter in the county courthouse clerk’s office. All around her, cherry-stained wood was polished to a shine. Though the room was in the basement, light shone through the shallow windows near the top of the far wall, competing with the electric glare of overhead fluorescent lighting.

  Two women worked at computers along that wall. Both looked as if they’d stepped out of a women’s magazine from the seventies. Neither acknowledged her presence.

  Brianne cleared her throat, but they might as well have been holograms.

  “Excuse me.” Brianne leaned over the counter. “Could I ask a question?”

  The woman closest to her turned her chin but kept her gaze on the screen. Her mahogany hair was pulled into a bun in the back, while the top pouffed out like a show poodle’s mane. “What do you need?”

  “I’d like access to some court records. I was told I could get those here.”

  “Fill out the form on the counter and drop it in the box. You’ll get a call when the documents are available.”

  “Yes, I have the form.” Brianne held up the clipboard. “But I don’t have the case number. Is that necessary?”

  The woman blew out a sigh. She clicked around with her mouse. “What’s the name and the date of the trial?”

  “I don’t have the exact date, but it was April of 2015 and the defendant had the last name Tanger.”

  The woman’s head turned. She dropped her computer glasses down to the tip of her nose, examining Brianne. “Get ready. I’m going to read you the number.”

  Brianne waved her pen in the air.

  “It’s case number 1548695. Drop your form in the box. We’ll get back to you.” She shifted away, ending the conversation.

  The form slipped out of Brianne’s fingers and into a locked box, where she couldn’t retrieve it if she’d wanted to. At least that was done. In a few days—or possibly decades by the look of that office—she’d have the details of what went on in the trial. Then she’d know—or at least she felt that she’d know—what had really happened and if she was guilty of putting an innocent man in prison.

  Brianne scrolled through social media as she entered the hallway, desperately looking for a distraction from her own worries. All of her high-school friends seemed to be having babies. Tons of babies. And they were busily documenting every single new tooth, taste of food, and haircut as if they were raising royalty.

  A few posts down and there was a new one, fresh from the womb. Bethany Sawyer’s baby looked like something from a horror movie, but the comments below his squished newborn face were all about how lovely, handsome, and precious he was. Did the entire country need glasses?

  Someone grabbed her arm, and Brianne threw the phone in the air and lunged back.

  Seth snagged it just before it would have hit the wall. “Whoa. What’s going on in your head?”

  “Um . . . babies.”

  He took a step back.

  “No, not like I want one. Kind of the opposite. I think I need new Facebook friends who post something other than wedding and baby pictures.” Her heart resumed a somewhat normal rhythm.

  “But you’re not morally opposed to those things, right?” His gaze studied her in a way that made her feel as if she were on trial.

  “Not morally opposed. Just not in a huge hurry, that’s all.” Her mother asked each week on their Sunday afternoon phone call if she’d met anyone, as though the one goal a woman should have was to find a husband and reproduce. She’d managed to keep this thing she and Seth had to herself, but how long would it be until small-town gossip reached Arizona? “What about you? Are you in a rush to have those things?”

  “Not a rush, but I don’t see any good reason to drag out dating and engagement if you’ve found the right person. Is that what you mean?” His pinky finger grazed hers.

  Brianne swallowed. “I guess not. I don’t know.”

  “Then we’ll have fun figuring it all out together.” He placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

  The room dipped and turned as she took a long look at his blue-green eyes. If anyone could get her to change her mind, it would be Seth.

  “WE’RE GOING TO have to take him to pre-op in the next ten minutes.” The nurse tucked the bedding under Roger. “I’ll be back.”

  “Thank you.” Emilia grasped her husband’s hand. “I’m sure Tally will be here any minute.”

  Roger nodded, his eyes narrow slits. “Tell her . . . tell her I love her. And I love you.” He licked at h
is dry lips.

  A tear—how there could be any more she didn’t know—ran down Emilia’s cheek and landed on Roger’s forearm. “I should have been a better wife. I really messed up the in sickness and in health thing.”

  Half of his mouth curled up in an attempted smile. “You’re perfect.”

  “Mom?” Tally stood in the doorway, a woman beside her with a hand on Tally’s shoulder.

  Emilia motioned her daughter toward her.

  “What happened? Is Papa okay?” She took one hesitant step forward.

  “Papa has an aneurysm. It’s a problem from the accident. They need to go in and fix it.”

  “Just a simple surgery?”

  Emilia’s lungs hardened. “No.”

  The tan tone of Tally’s skin turned pink.

  Standing, Emilia reached her arms out to her daughter, who fell into them, silent sobs jarring her shoulders. “I wanted you to get here before they took him. You just made it.”

  Tally pulled her head back. “Can I talk to Papa alone?”

  Emilia rubbed a hand over her daughter’s hair. “Of course.” She went to Roger and kissed his forehead. “I’ll see you as soon as they let me. I love you.”

  “You too, sweets.”

  Emilia’s vision blurred. He hadn’t called her that since the morning of that last fire. Was it a good sign or a bad one? Lord, let it be good. She walked away, keeping that prayer on her breath and in her heart.

  “I wanted to tell you I’m really sorry about what you’re going through, and I’m sorry about not realizing Tally’s your daughter.”

  Emilia’s head shot up. Kilbourn’s wife. She’d barely registered her in the room. Now in the hall, it felt as if they were chained together. “Thanks for getting her here.”

  The woman handed Emilia three plastic bags. “These are Tally’s school supplies.”

  Emilia stared down at the binders, pencils, and folders. “You didn’t need to do this.”

  “I wanted to. I know what it’s like to have a hard time.” She turned to leave, then came back. “Listen . . . we really like Tally, and Hannah is new in the district. Please don’t punish Hannah for whatever happened with Caleb. It’s not her fault. I really don’t want the girls to pay the price here.”

  Emilia nodded. “We’ll see.”

  “I’ll be praying for your husband.”

  For a moment, Emilia almost offered to pray for this woman’s husband in return.

  Almost.

  36

  A horn honked in the front of the house. Caroline wiped her hands on the kitchen towel, grabbed her Bible, and shuffled toward the front door. “That’s my ride. Don’t wait up for me. You know how wild the church choir can get after practice.” She slapped the side of her leg.

  “See you, Mom. Don’t get into too much trouble.” Caleb reclined on the sofa, a soda in one hand and the remote in the other.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” She shut the door and hollered something at the woman waiting in a Suburban.

  Addison gave Caleb a frustrated look. Their little talk with Caroline had come to an end with Caroline denying any knowledge of the medication. Didn’t she understand how serious this was?

  A moment later, the SUV crunched down the driveway.

  Hannah was in her room, probably reading. Lilly had fallen asleep right after dinner, and Connor was glued to the game on the television alongside his dad. Caroline’s absence left Addison free to do what she’d been planning since her lunchtime discovery. She pulled open the junk drawer, giving each item a look. The pain-reliever bottle was gone, but she wasn’t surprised about that.

  Addison proceeded to rifle through every drawer and cupboard, coming up with no additional evidence to justify her suspicions. In the pantry, she found toy soldiers lined up on a back shelf, covered in a thick layer of dust.

  “I know what you’re doing,” Caleb called from the living room.

  Fine. It wasn’t a secret. At least it wasn’t something she should have to hide from him. If he had his head on right, he’d be in here helping. The concussion seemed to cement him on the path of denial.

  Addison went through each shelf in the hall closet. She shuffled through the bill basket, which jogged her memory of what had happened earlier at the store.

  At the top of the stairs, she turned left and entered the room she and Caleb shared. She’d set up a mini workstation at his old desk. On the corner was a file she put their personal bills into when she sorted the mail. Since the very beginning of their marriage, Caleb had been in charge of the finances. In a way, giving over this little bit of control had helped Addison to trust him.

  Addison pulled the file from its holder and laid it open on the desktop. Two bills from the credit card company. Caleb hadn’t even opened them. Was she supposed to take on this job now too? Since he seemed to have no intention of fighting for his freedom, maybe it was his way of transitioning her to single parenthood.

  She ripped open the envelope with the newest postmark. Red letters stared back at her as if making a public accusation. Addison was failing. Even the marriage she thought was rock solid had cracks running across the surface.

  Growing tension ached across her shoulders and upper back. She hadn’t worked outside the home since Hannah was a baby. How would she support her kids, especially with the added burden of a substance-using grandmother? She couldn’t leave Caroline alone with them.

  Addison flipped to the detailed list of purchases. They’d have to cut back now, get used to living on a strict budget. She ran her finger down the list, evaluating each line with the eye of an accountant. After ripping open the other envelope, she did the same.

  Her finger paused on a place she didn’t recognize: Virtue. There was a twenty-two dollar charge there. Maybe it was a mistake. She punched the name into her phone’s search. Virtue was a restaurant in Darlington, a nice one by the looks of it. It was the kind of place she and Caleb would only visit on special anniversaries, racking up a bill much higher than twenty-two dollars.

  She went back to the bill and checked the date so she could refer to it when she contacted the credit card company. June 12. Addison lowered herself into the hard resin chair. This was the missing piece, the place Caleb had gone the night of the accident. She dropped the phone and the papers onto the desk and wrapped her arms around her body. Virtue wasn’t the kind of restaurant where you met a buddy to catch up. It was the kind of place you met a woman and, by the size of the bill, left before the main course.

  THE CLOCK TICKED so loudly in the waiting room, Emilia wanted to rip it off the wall and crush it under her foot. Each tiny click made time move slower and Roger’s surgery last longer. What were they doing in there? She lifted Tally’s head off her lap and laid it on her folded sweat shirt. Stress always put her daughter out while it kept Emilia from sleeping at all.

  The doctor had said two hours. Two and a half had ticked away on the horrible clock. How hard could it be to cut a hole and attach a clip? Aside from the risk of death, brain surgery didn’t look like that big of a deal when she’d Googled it. Right. No big deal.

  Emilia poured a cup of coffee into a Styrofoam cup about a quarter of the size she’d typically use. She took a sip. It burned with both heat and acid.

  “It’s better to stay away from that stuff.”

  Emilia turned toward the woman who’d sat quietly in the corner knitting for at least an hour. “Sounds like you’ve been here before.”

  “Many times.” She lowered the blanket she worked on to her lap. “My husband has brain cancer.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Emilia swallowed the sour taste in her mouth.

  “Don’t be. He’s a fighter and a man of faith. If the Lord takes him, I’ll see him again when my own time comes.”

  Emilia dumped the coffee into the sink and tossed the cup in the trash. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It is and it isn’t.” A tear twinkled in her eye. “I’ve been married to that man for forty-seven years. We
raised five kids together and weathered all sorts of storms. I can’t imagine life without him, and I really don’t want to, but I know better than to question God’s timing.”

  Emilia’s jaw twitched.

  “Have a seat here.” She patted the other side of the couch. “I’m Ginger. My mother wanted a redhead, like her side of the family.” Ginger brushed a hand through her salt-and-pepper hair. “I take after my Italian dad.”

  There was something about Ginger that made Emilia want to obey, while at the same time, she ached to fight against this woman’s resolve to accept whatever came her way. She eased into her seat, gripping a pillow in her lap. “I’m Emilia. Tally over there is my daughter.”

  “What brings you here, Emilia?”

  “My husband, Roger. He has an aneurysm.”

  “That must be frightening. How are you doing with that?” Ginger touched Emilia’s hand.

  “I’m . . . I’m doing okay.” Muscles constricted across her chest. “We’ve been here before. Roger was in an accident over a year ago while fighting a fire.”

  Ginger nodded her head. “I think I remember reading about that. Praise God, he survived.”

  Emilia clutched at her neck. Had he survived? Really? Her head grew heavy. “Maybe. He wasn’t the same after.” A warm hand rubbed circles on Emilia’s back. “I miss him.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been grieving and caregiving at the same time. That’s a lot to carry on your own.”

  Grieving. Maybe that’s why she’d wondered if they would have been better off if Roger had died. At least then, the world would give her permission to grieve the loss of her husband rather than force her to pretend to be grateful for the outward shell that remained.

  Ginger pulled Emilia into her arms, where Emilia’s tears flowed once more. She’d lost her edge and turned into an endless storm cloud. Emilia hadn’t even cried the night of the accident. She’d held it together for her husband and her daughter. This last battle was too much for her to fight alone.