by D. L. Wood
Reese’s eyes reddened as he seemed to search for more words that wouldn’t come. “It wasn’t that I wanted to leave you. I just didn’t see a way to stay. She would’ve made life miserable for me if I had tried to stay in Atlanta and be a part of your life. I was so tired. I panicked. I just wanted out. I never meant to stay gone forever. I figured that after a month or two, I would re-establish contact with you guys, re-enter your lives…but she wouldn’t hear of it. I tried. I really did,” he said, a hint of wetness appearing at the corner of his lids, “but she refused. Threatened to claim I had abused her. I was afraid of what that would mean. Afraid of losing my license. Of losing Andrea—” He cut himself off, apparently regretting bringing up Emma and Tyler’s mom. The woman he had left them for. “Some part of me fooled myself into believing you two would be better off without the push and pull of divorced parents in your life. That she would give you more than I could.”
“You were wrong,” Chloe said, allowing herself the luxury of uttering the painful truth.
“I know. If I could do it over, I would do it differently. Do you believe me?”
He said it in the way a child would have asked, with uncertainty and timidity, begging with his tone the only answer that would give him any peace.
Chloe nodded.
“Do…do you think he would have forgiven me?”
Chloe’s eyes flicked away, remembering Tate, his anger, his broken heart. She couldn’t lie.
“No.”
Reese nodded, snorting softly as if impressed with her unabashed honesty. He paused before asking, “Can you?”
Chloe turned back to him, biting her lip and fighting back her own tears, as she remembered the Bible verse she had read earlier in the day.
“Give me time.”
EIGHTEEN
It was nearly one a.m. by the time Chloe crawled into her bed at the inn. It had taken forever for Emma to be discharged from the hospital. And though Tyler had fallen asleep in the waiting room, when they woke him to leave he had apparently gotten just enough rest to find a second wind. He had insisted on signing Emma’s cast before going back to sleep, and Chloe had finally left them at their house while Tyler was still trying to decide which superhero to sign as.
Leaning into the half dozen down pillows, she lifted her cell to see the three texts and one voicemail Jack had left her that afternoon. She had intended to get back to him after dinner, but then everything with Emma had happened and there just hadn’t been a good time to call from the hospital. She started to text a quick, I’ll call tomorrow, but then realized it was two hours earlier in California. Maybe he would still be up. She smiled. Those Hollywood types keep late hours, right? The thought of hearing his voice sounded really good after the night she had been through.
Taking the chance that she might wake him, and hoping he wouldn’t mind if she did, she tapped his name on the screen.
It only rang once.
“Hello? Jack’s phone,” answered an unfamiliar female voice. At eleven o’clock at night.
Chloe shot straight up, confused. “Um, I’m sorry,” she said, thinking that despite the answerer mentioning Jack’s phone, she must have called the wrong number. She pulled the screen down to check. No. It was the right number. The screen wallpaper was a photo of her and Jack standing in Times Square, superimposed with the caller identification, “Jack.”
“Oh, okay,” the woman responded.
“No, wait—I’m looking for Jack Bartholomew?”
“Yes, this is his phone. May I ask who’s calling?”
Chloe’s stomach tightened. “Um, may I ask who’s answering? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine, just in the bathroom. I just answered out of habit. I can tell him you called.”
Chloe’s mind stumbled around the woman’s words, her face scrunching in disbelief and the beginnings of panic. “Who are you?” she blurted sternly.
“I’m his wife,” came the snippy response. “Who are you?”
NINETEEN
“Did you see that! Did you see that!” Tyler yelled, pointing at the pile of milk bottles he had knocked over with a baseball to win a prize that Chloe felt sure would not be worth the five dollars Reese had forked over for him to play.
The carnival was set up in a field just off Main Street beside an old silo that now simply functioned as a landmark. All the standards were there, including a Ferris wheel, carousel, mini-coaster, house of mirrors, and plenty of overpriced carnival games. Pumpkins and hay bales were scattered everywhere, and the tantalizing scent of cinnamon and apple spice floated in the air. Happy carnival music, piped out of speakers hidden behind the hay bales scattered throughout the property, added to the frivolity.
Chloe glanced over at Tyler, trying to pull herself out of the dismal thoughts that had plagued her all through the morning and now into the late afternoon. She had come along to the festival as promised after lunch, but her heart wasn’t in it. All she could think about was the woman who had answered Jack’s phone. “I’m his wife,” she had said.
His wife? What did she mean, “his wife”? That had to mean Lila, his ex-wife, didn’t it? But as far as she knew Jack hadn’t spoken to Lila in more than a year. Not since before their divorce had been finalized and he had fled to the Caribbean island of St. Gideon to recover.
St. Gideon. Where she had met Jack eight months earlier.
Why would they be talking now? And in his hotel room? Late at night? And worse, what if it wasn’t Lila? What if there was someone else? Some other “wife” she didn’t know about? That just didn’t seem possible. Not with the Jack she knew. But then…who had answered the phone? The heavy weight of doubt pressed down, and another wave of nausea rolled through her.
“That was awesome!” Emma praised, patting Tyler on the head as he swiped her hand away.
“Aw, quit it Em,” he said, then leaned up on the divider separating him from the pimply teenager running the carnival game. “I want the purple elephant,” he barked excitedly, before turning to Chloe. “You like purple, right?” he asked, apparently taking note of the lavender top she had on.
Chloe forced a smile. “It’s one of my favorites.”
Tyler grinned and presented her with the elephant. She took it, and this time, didn’t have to work for the smile. “Thanks, Tyler,” she told him.
“No problem,” he said proudly before turning to Emma. “Let’s go ride the Scrambler again!”
“I’m out,” Chloe sighed. “Unless you want me to throw up on you.” Tyler’s face contorted in disgust.
“Um, pass,” he called out, before grabbing Emma’s hand and racing down the path between the carnival games and other rides towards the Scrambler.
“You too?” Reese asked, wrinkling his nose as he nodded in the direction of the ride.
Chloe watched the kids as she and Reese followed behind at a slower pace. “I haven’t been able to do those spinning ones for years now. I can handle roller coasters, but the spinning ones kill me.”
“Same here,” Reese commiserated as they reached the fence surrounding the ride. They leaned against it while Emma and Tyler waited in line.
Everywhere she looked, happy faces moved along, laughing and smiling, the lively music providing a playful backdrop. But for Chloe it just underscored how miserable she was. She still had not spoken to or texted Jack, despite the fact that he had both texted and called that morning. She had not had the nerve to listen to his voicemail yet. The truth was she was just plain scared to do it. Maybe there was a simple explanation. But maybe there wasn’t. Maybe the truth was as awful as she was imagining. And even if it wasn’t, whatever the explanation was, Jack had been keeping things from her. Things like meeting with his ex-wife. And there was no scenario that made that okay.
As she and Reese silently watched Emma and Tyler move through the line, she wrestled with the possibilities. Secrets. It was the thing she hated most. The thing that had hurt her most in life. People keeping secrets. Jack had once kept secrets from her, lying to her
about who he was when they had first met. He hadn’t come clean until after she had discovered the lie herself and confronted him. He said, and it was true, that he had only lied to protect her, to keep her from running from him when she really needed him around. But she had hated the lie just the same. And she had made him promise never to do it again. He had sworn that he wouldn’t. But now…this.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Reese observed, watching the kids as they boarded one of the cars.
“I just…have a few things going on,” she answered noncommittally.
Reese nodded, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “You getting your work done? Your piece, I mean? For the magazine?”
“Working on it. I’m planning on hitting it pretty hard over the next couple of days.”
Chloe’s cell buzzed. It was Jack calling again. She slid it back in her pocket. She still wasn’t ready to talk to him, and this wasn’t the place to have that conversation anyway.
As if in answer to her phone, Reese’s cell rang too. He answered his.
He listened for just a moment before exclaiming, “What?”, followed by more earnest listening. “Wait, slow down. Slow down,” he ordered the caller, whose frantic voice could even be heard by Chloe as a sharp, panicked buzzing. “Now say again—they did what?”
Tyler screamed and waved at them as one of the ride’s shiny steel arms pushed the kids straight at them at breakneck speed before yanking them right back towards its middle. Neither Reese nor Chloe noticed though, as both of them were intently focused on Reese’s call. “Don’t do anything,” Reese instructed the person on the other end of the line. “Stay right there with them. Give them my name, tell them I’m your lawyer and that I’m on the way.”
He hung up. “Chloe I hate to do this, but can you stay with them?” he asked, nodding towards Emma and Tyler. “I can’t stay, and I can’t just leave them here. I could make them go home, but—”
“No, it’s fine. What’s going on?”
He frowned. “Phillip Donner is dead. They found him early this morning. The police are at Sims’s place now with a warrant. They think he did it.”
* * * * *
The kids got in line to ride another time before finally exiting, laughing and hanging on one another. Chloe watched as Emma pulled out her phone to snap a quick photo in front of the ride and Tyler made a show of pretending to vomit on Emma’s Converse sneakers. They started laughing again as they headed her way, breaking through the throngs of people.
“Niiice,” Chloe drawled, squinting at Tyler.
“She almost did it for real!” Tyler teased.
“No way,” Emma bit back, whipping her dark hair back over her shoulder. “Not even close.”
“Where’s Dad?” Tyler asked, looking around.
“He had to leave,” Emma sniped. “Work.”
Chloe eyed her, surprised. “How did you know?”
Emma shrugged. “It’s always work.”
Chloe felt for the girl. She knew what it was like to not have any faith in your father. In this father in particular. “It sounded pretty important,” Chloe hedged, trying to make Emma feel better. “Something to do with Jacob’s dad, actually.”
Emma’s expression softened and concern replaced the bitterness. “Is he okay? What’s wrong now?”
Chloe bit her lip, not knowing whether it was appropriate to tell them. Or at the very least, whether it was something Tyler should hear. She opted to stay on the safe side. “Something’s just come up. I’m sure Reese will explain later.” She glanced over at the Ferris wheel, and jerked her head in that direction. “Who’s up for a ride?”
After the Ferris wheel, they wandered back towards the square and Main Street, the fifteen dollars Reese had given Tyler to spend burning a hole in his pocket. They spent the next hour wandering the dozens of colorful booths lining the street, while Tyler grappled with the difficult decision of what he should purchase. Although his interest was limited to the toys, Chloe couldn’t help noticing the variety of impressive goods represented by the local artisans. There were handmade soaps sliced from loaves that smelled of lavender, eucalyptus, and sandalwood; a series of original oil paintings of a red giraffe in various unexpected locales, like Times Square and the Golden Gate Bridge; and whimsical mobiles fashioned from scrap metal and soda cans. Chloe made mental notes and took photos as she went, making sure to take in as much detail as possible to include in her article.
Ultimately, Tyler’s final contenders were a handcrafted wooden marshmallow shooter or a handcrafted wooden string puppet. Still unable to choose, Tyler opted to get his face painted like a lion while he decided. He was still in the artist’s chair when Chloe’s phone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognize.
“Hello?” she asked tentatively.
“Hey, it’s Holt. Is Reese with you?”
“How did you get my number?”
“Reese. Just in case. Is he with you?”
“No. He left over an hour ago to meet Kurt Sims. Something about an emergency.”
“Yeah, I’m at the emergency. He called earlier, asked me to come on out here, saying that he needed to do something before he came out. I thought maybe he ran by the office or something, but he never showed and I can’t reach him.”
“I don’t know. But I haven’t heard from him.”
Holt exhaled in frustration. “Okay, if you do, tell him I’m at Sims’s place. It looks bad. I think we may be headed to the jail soon. Tell him to call ASAP.”
“Okay,” she started to say, but he hung up before she could get it out.
It was six o’clock and closing time at the festival before Chloe and Emma were finally able to drag Tyler away. As they walked the short mile down Franklin Road back to Reese’s house, he marched his new puppet beside him, a chocolate-colored dog with a corkscrew pipe cleaner for a tail. An amber glow framed the sky above, first silhouetting the brick buildings of downtown then, after they had crossed the bridge over the Harpeth River, the ancient maples and oaks dotting the roadside. A chill settled in as the sun faded, and a slight shiver ran over Chloe’s skin as they turned onto Reese’s street.
Once in sight of home, Tyler took off running, heading for the side door. Chloe started after him, not wanting him to get too far ahead after what had happened at the house the day before. Apparently Emma had the same idea, because she started jogging too.
When she got close enough, Chloe saw that Reese’s car was parked in the driveway, and a small bit of relief settled through her. As much as she had enjoyed spending the day with her siblings, she was ready to turn them back over and get some work done. And deal with Jack, she groaned inwardly, knowing that keeping her silence wasn’t going to make anything better in the long run.
“Wait, Tyler. Hold up,” Emma called after him. But Tyler bounded up the side steps, punched a code into the lock, and darted inside, Emma close on his heels. Chloe had just clasped her hand around the door handle when a shrill scream sounded from inside the house. Panic gripped her as, without thinking, she bolted into the house, her head swiveling frantically as she tried to detect where the scream was coming from. Realizing it was from the front of the house, she sprinted towards the front door, nearly stumbling over herself as she braked quickly to avoid trampling Tyler and Emma, both crouched on the foyer floor beside the unmoving form of their father, who lay at the base of the stairs. His body was twisted in an unnatural fashion, one leg tucked impossibly beneath him at an angle that certainly meant it was severely broken. Blood trickled both from his mouth and from an egg-sized knot on the side of his head. His children shook him, but he did not stir.
Messy, rust-colored words streaked the wall above where he lay. This was not paint. This was her father’s blood. The words had been written in a hurry, with gaps in the lines and smears from letter to letter. But the message was clear.
I MEAN IT. BACK OFF. THE KIDS ARE NEXT.
TWENTY
For the second time in two days, Chloe waited unde
r the halogen lights of a waiting room inside Middle-Tennessee Hospital. Only this time, it wasn’t a broken arm. Instead the medics had thrown around words like, “head trauma,” “tachy,” and “non-responsive.” Emma and Tyler sat in the corner of the small waiting room on the surgical floor, curled up on a sofa, their expressions vacant. Neither had said much of anything since arriving. Chloe had hoped they might drift off, but that had not happened either, despite the fact that it was now 10:00 p.m. and they had been busy since early that morning.
Reese was still in emergency surgery, something to do with swelling on the brain resulting from what appeared to be a blow to the head. The officers Chloe had briefly spoken with at the house as Reese was loaded in the ambulance said that, at this point, they couldn’t tell whether the blow was from the fall down the stairs, or if Reese had been struck with an object. They did, however, find a golf club near the upper landing of the stairs.
Once in the emergency room, Reese had been triaged. In addition to being diagnosed with a compound fracture of his leg, a CAT scan had discovered the brain swelling for which they were now operating. That was three hours ago. Since then, they had only received one update from a nurse, who reported that the surgery was ongoing and that the surgeon would be out to speak with them when it was over.
Chloe felt numb. How could this happen when she had only just connected with Reese? And how could it happen to these kids, she thought, glancing over to see Emma, sitting cross-legged with Tyler curled up in her lap. They’ve already lost their mother. What if Reese didn’t recover? What would they do then?
The door to the small room opened with a low whine borne from squeaky hinges. Holt stepped through, returning from hunting down whatever passed for coffee in this place at this hour. He had arrived at the hospital after they had, coming as soon as he had been able to break away from the Kurt Sims situation. The police had arrested Sims after all, and now he sat in a cell in the Tri-County Jail awaiting arraignment on Monday.
Holt walked over to the club chairs positioned across the room from the kids and held a foam cup out to Chloe, smiling thinly.
