Tucker is sitting in the classroom when I get back, and his mother, Honor, is by his side. I know her vaguely, the way you do in this town. Like how I know that Mindy’s been hanging out with her this last year, along with Kate Bourne, a woman who dislikes me intensely because I tried to convince her to press charges against her husband for an incident she’s done a remarkable job of keeping quiet.
“Are we waiting for Mr. Wells?” I ask as I take my seat.
“He’s out of town on business,” Honor says, her voice tight. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
I nod to Deputy Clark. He goes through his usual preliminaries with the tape, then starts the questioning.
“Do you know a man named John Phillips?” he asks.
Tucker gives him a haughty look from beneath the fringe of blond hair that half-covers his left eye. “Everyone knows who he is. Because of the fire.”
“What about before the fire?” Deputy Clark asks. “Did you know him then?”
“I’d seen him around.”
“Around where, exactly?”
“Maybe I’ve been on his property once or twice.”
“Maybe?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, okay, so me and my boys have hung out there a couple times. So what?”
“What did this hanging out on someone’s private property entail?”
“Entail? Jeez, dude. Dictionary much?”
“Tucker!” Honor admonishes.
He slinks down in his seat. “Sorry, man. Just messing with you. Stuff, you know, hanging out. Talking . . . about things. You know.”
“Drinking? Smoking? Playing pranks on Mr. Phillips? That sort of stuff?”
“Nah, man. That’s where you got it wrong. We never did any of that.”
“So when Mr. Phillips reported to the police that you’d harassed him on numerous occasions, he was making it up?”
“Maybe some other crew was hanging there. I just know it wasn’t me or my boys. We don’t do stuff like that.”
“Of course you don’t, honey,” Honor says, patting his back.
He shoots her a look. I’m handling this, Mother.
“So,” I say, “that whole cutting up a ballet outfit and leaving it in Mr. Jansen’s cubby, that was just a one-off?”
“You can’t pin that on me.”
“I’m not hearing a denial.”
“We have already addressed this with the faculty, as I’m sure you know,” Honor says. “And I’d appreciate you not bringing it up again.”
“Right, sure. Well, how about this, then?” I pass Tucker’s story over to his mother. She sucks in her breath as she reads the title. “You fantasize about starting fires, Tucker? Maybe put that fantasy into action? Things get out of hand the other night?”
“That’s just fiction. You know, imagination. Jeesh. What is it with you people? You write one little story, and suddenly everyone thinks it’s about you. Like, is that what everyone thinks about Stephen King? He writes all kinds of crazy shit, and I don’t see him getting arrested.”
“Tucker!”
“You know it’s true, Mom. This place has it out for me.”
“We’re only trying to get to the truth,” I say. “No one has it out for anyone.”
“Then why are you even talking to me? Everyone knows who did it.”
“Who did what?”
“Who started that fire.” He crosses his arms across his chest. “It’s no big secret.”
“This is no laughing matter, young man,” Deputy Clark says with a sternness that takes me by surprise. “Property has been destroyed. People’s lives are at risk. If you know who’s behind this, stop playing games and tell us.”
“Or what?”
“Or we’ll have to charge you with obstruction of justice.”
“What?” Honor says. “That’s the most ridiculous . . .” She reaches into her purse for her phone. “When my brother hears about this—”
“Oh, relax, Mom. Honestly. Fine. Whatever.” He gives that shrug again. “I don’t believe in snitching, but seeing as you’re leaving me no choice . . . It was Angus Mitchell. He told me so himself.”
CHAPTER 22
Trust Issues
Mindy
Though it was only midafternoon when she and Peter were driving Angus home from school, it felt like the end of a very long day.
As if Angus’s stony refusals during the first interview weren’t enough, all three of them had been hauled back into the room with Elizabeth and Deputy Clark to be told that Tucker had pointed the finger at Angus. He’d said that Angus had confessed to him that he’d started the fire. Angus denied it, clearly and repeatedly, and then returned to his clammed silence about anything else. Mindy wasn’t sure what worried her more: the fact that Angus had friends who might set him up for something he didn’t do, or that the possibility that he had done it was taking root in her heart.
“Don’t worry,” Elizabeth said after Angus was allowed to leave to use the bathroom. “We don’t believe Tucker.”
“Why are you so sure?” Peter asked.
“I read through those messages. Even if Angus had something to do with this, the last person he’d confess to would be Tucker.”
“Does that mean Tucker did it, then?”
“I don’t have any evidence of that either.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Back where we started, I’m afraid. Angus knows more than he’s telling us. I need you to try to find out what that is, okay?”
Mindy had stared at Elizabeth for a minute, trying to see past her professional exterior to the friend she thought she’d known so well. She’d caught a glimpse of her in the classroom, when Elizabeth had reminded Angus of his cake pop days, even though Mindy knew she was using it to try to get information out of him.
After that, although school was still in session, Mindy and Peter decided Angus had had enough for the day.
Mindy certainly had.
Her phone rang demandingly when they were stopped at the moose crossing near the game preserve. No matter how many times she saw these slim-legged creatures and the menacing palmate antlers of the males, she never ceased to be impressed.
Peter shot her a look when she reached into her purse. He hated when people talked on cell phones in the car. But when she saw Kate’s name on the call display, she knew she had to answer it.
“It’s Kate,” she said by way of explanation.
She swiped to accept the call, but Kate already seemed to be talking to someone.
“I said, put that down. Put that down now or there will be consequences!”
“Kate? Hello?”
Mindy had never heard Kate so frazzled. Had she already heard about Angus?
“Mindy?”
“I’m here.”
“Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been trying you for ages.”
“I had my phone off.”
“Have you seen the e-mails?”
Mindy’s first thought was that Kate was referring to Angus’s messages, but then reason kicked in. Kate was calling about the Fall Fling fall-out, of course, which must still be going on despite how far Mindy felt from it.
“I saw some of them last night . . . have there been more?”
“I’ve spent the whole day on the phone, but I think I’ve finally got it all sorted.”
Mindy looked back at Angus. He had his earbuds in and was listening to something angry, loudly enough that Mindy could hear it.
“Does this mean we’re going back to the original plan?” Mindy asked.
“We most certainly are not. We gave our word to that poor man, and we’re not going back on it. So what if a few people won’t show up? The tickets are nonrefundable.”
“That’s great, Kate, thank you.”
“You sound distracted.”
“I’m in the car. I really should go.”
“Did you know Honor had to go into school today because the police wanted to interview Tucker?”
Mindy felt si
ck to her stomach. “Yes, I heard that.”
“Isn’t that just too much? As if he had anything to do with it.”
“I really have to go, Kate. I’ll call you later, okay?”
Mindy didn’t wait for Kate’s permission; she just hung up and stowed the phone in her purse.
“Sorry,” she said to Peter.
“What was that all about?”
“The Fall Fling. Everyone’s pissed off we’re using it to raise money for John Phillips’s new house instead of the hockey rink—”
The car lurched forward, then back, as Peter applied the brakes sharply. Mindy felt her body snap against her seatbelt, followed by her head hitting the headrest.
Peter threw his arm out across her breast to hold her steady.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I think so,” Mindy said, bringing her hand up to her neck. She turned in her seat to check on Angus. He was still looking out the window, his head bouncing to the beat as if nothing had happened. “Did you see a moose?”
“What? No, I . . . You’re using the Fall Fling to raise money for John Phillips?”
“I didn’t tell you?”
Peter dropped his arm, gripped the steering wheel, and put his foot on the gas.
“No.”
“Goodness. I could’ve sworn I did. It’s all this stuff. The fire. The Fling.” She nodded over her shoulder toward Angus. “There’s too much going on in my head.”
“Did you know his house was being foreclosed on?”
“You mean, by the bank?”
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but . . . yes. It’s one of my files, the one I mentioned to you the other day.”
“You mean the one you had to call the sheriff about? You called the sheriff on John Phillips?”
“His house was about to be repossessed, and it burns down in a fire? You’re damn right I did.”
“But he didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, if the police thought he had, they wouldn’t have been doing those interviews at the school today, right?”
Peter’s hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles showed white.
“We have no idea what happened that night, Mindy. No idea.”
Mindy wanted to say something to contradict him, but she stopped herself. Because what could she say, really? That she was halfway convinced Angus had something to do with burning down that poor man’s house? That knowing this was a possibility made it all the more important for Mindy to make sure John Phillips was taken care of?
How do you say something like that out loud about your son, even if it’s to your husband?
How do you even think it?
When they arrived home, Peter sent Angus to his room to “think about his refusal to cooperate,” though Mindy doubted it would have any effect. They went into the kitchen, but as soon as they sat down, Peter was up and pacing.
“Can you stop that, please?” Mindy asked. “It’s driving me nuts.”
Peter sat back at the kitchen table, staring at his hands as they flexed and unflexed on its surface. The depth of his silence made Mindy feel afraid. Not afraid for her safety or anything like that, but afraid for Peter. Afraid for her family. It was a feeling she was used to, of course. Sometimes she thought she felt more comfortable afraid than not, but this had a different tinge to it.
“What’s going on, Peter? Talk to me.”
“What else aren’t you telling me?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Fall Fling. The messages. Going to talk to Ben this morning. You’ve never kept things like that from me before. We don’t keep secrets. At least, I thought we didn’t.”
Mindy knew what he meant, but she also knew it wasn’t really true. She and Peter were truthful with each other, yes. They shared the big things, the important things. But everything that had been in her head for the last twenty years? No. Peter only saw the tip of that iceberg, and that’s the way it was going to stay. That’s the way it had to stay.
“I didn’t know what to do,” Mindy said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’ve been so preoccupied with work, and I didn’t know if there was anything really happening and—”
“No. Stop. You found out our son was being bullied, that he might be getting set up for causing this fire, that he might actually be involved in it, and you don’t tell me? Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you realize how serious this is? If he was involved, we could lose everything, Mindy. Everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you been reading the papers? Whoever’s responsible for this fire is going to get prosecuted. Held liable for the costs. Do you have any idea what that would do to us?”
“I didn’t know,” Mindy said. “I didn’t realize . . .”
Peter rose and came to her side. He took her in his arms and held her to his chest.
“We have to talk to each other, Min. We’re in this together, right?”
Mindy nodded into his chest. “Of course we are.”
“No more secrets, okay? Angus didn’t do this. We’re going to prove it.”
Mindy nodded once again, but this time she stayed silent.
Because Angus was out of the house that night, of that she was almost certain.
CHAPTER 23
The Fitting Room
Elizabeth
About a year after we started trying to get pregnant, I suggested to Ben that we get tested to find out if there was a reason it wasn’t happening.
Ben said no.
At first, I couldn’t get a straight answer about why. If there was something wrong with one of us, or both of us, maybe we could fix it. And if there wasn’t anything, it might help us to know that too. Take the pressure off. Relieve the stress building between us that was making sex a chore rather than a pleasure.
But, no, Ben said. No.
I should’ve left it there. I should’ve let him have his choice. But I couldn’t. I could never leave anything alone, a fatal flaw of mine, no surprise, but this, this I really couldn’t let be.
So I prodded and pushed and inquired and made a downright nag of myself until he finally told me what was bothering him: What if it was him?
That’s what he was worried about. I wanted this so badly, he felt, so what would happen if he was the reason we couldn’t conceive? What would be the consequence of knowing that information? Would I leave? Would I choose to find my happiness with someone else to achieve what I so obviously wanted?
And oh, how ironic that the tables were turned in this way. That I, who had once been so full of doubts, was now so single-minded about wanting a family. That scared him too.
No, no, no, I told him. No. I would never do that. We were the most important thing. Forever, always. I meant those words. I repeated them and repeated them, but I couldn’t change his mind. He didn’t want to know, he said. Couldn’t I just leave it be?
And then I began to wonder.
He was the one who worked with kids, who taught them and understood them and would make such a great dad one day—better, I feared, than the mom I’d be. And didn’t people often accuse others of what they themselves were most afraid of? What if that’s what he was really concerned about? That if I were the one with the problem, he wouldn’t stay?
These thoughts worked and worked their way through my brain until the only rational thing I could think to do was get myself tested.
I’d find out if it was me. If it wasn’t, that wouldn’t mean it was him, but at least I’d be in the clear. And if it was me, well, I’d decide what to do when I got that information.
So even though I knew it wasn’t what Ben wanted, even though I knew it might cause the very problem I was most worried about, I went for the tests.
I didn’t take them in Nelson. Medical confidentiality is only a paper concept when there are only three gynecologists in town. Instead, I waited until I was called away to a fire out of state, and on a rest day I drove six hours to a city s
urrounded by green rolling hills. I paid cash for my appointment so it wouldn’t show up as an insurance claim. I gave blood and urine and suffered the indignity of a vaginal ultrasound being administered by a young technician who looked at me as if I was contemplating something wrong, and persuaded the doctor to give me the results over the phone since I wouldn’t be able to come back to get them in person.
And amazingly, after the tests were done, I kind of forgot about it. It was out of my hands now, like letting go of a helium balloon. My worry rose gently and then disappeared from view.
Six weeks later, an e-mail from Dr. Korn popped into my inbox. I took my phone with me into the bathroom like I was receiving texts from a lover. As I called the number provided, my hands were shaking.
The receptionist put me through to the doctor as I braced myself against the tub. He was sorry, but the news wasn’t good. I had “scarring on my fallopian tubes,” likely the result of an undetected case of chlamydia, which was all too common these days, he hastened to assure me, and “nothing to be ashamed of.” But my chances of conceiving naturally were “extremely low.” Surgery might correct the problem, but it might not. There was always IVF.
For a moment, my mind focused on my ex-boyfriend, Jason. He was the one who’d given me the STD that had caused this, discovered months after we’d broken up during a routine checkup. Had my doctor said something then about the potential consequences? Had I blocked it out because who really hears that kind of information when you’re twenty-one?
What was I supposed to do now? Tell Ben? Not tell Ben? He didn’t want to know this. He’d told me so over and over, and I’d ignored him. But if I didn’t tell, if I kept it to myself, then I’d be living with this enormous secret, going through the motions of trying to get pregnant when I knew it would be wasted effort. Ben knew me too well. He’d know something was wrong. And that would fester between us.
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