The Desert Behind Me

by Shannon Baker

  Dead silence. He couldn’t have been more shocked than I was. Someone inside me put those words in my head, in my mouth. The someone who knew.

  “They found him, Jamie.”

  “Did they?” I shot back. “Are you sure?”

  “You sound like her. Your mother.”

  Frank hissed and snarled. Suddenly, he spoke out loud with my voice. “At least she cares. Why don’t you?”

  “Right. Let’s step back ten years where you tell me I should be a better father.”

  “You should have been. You left us both.” These weren’t my words, but sometimes Frank’s voice won out.

  “Left you? You have no idea how hard I tried to be with you. Both of you. But as soon as she was born she was all you needed. Every time I tried to step up, spend any time alone with her, you swooped in like a jealous bird and snatched her away from me. You say you wanted me to be a better father, but you did everything you could to stop me.”

  “I—” Too much brain clatter to think this through. Did I try to keep him from her? Like how Mom put up barriers between me and Dad? It’s possible I did the same, not meaning to but always emulating her. I realized we’d been silent for some time. Larry had always given me space to respond.

  “If I did, I’m truly sorry. Neither of you deserved that.”

  Again, silence. Then the sound of a sob. “I loved her. And I love you.” He sniffed and his voice strengthened. “But I’ve got a wonderful life now. Sue and I have made a family. I can’t go through this with you. Please, don’t call me again.”

  When I hung up, the only voice left in my head was Peanut. She cried alone.

  I wiped blood from the tiles and reached for my phone. I needed to make the call I’d been avoiding.

  25

  I tried my voice in pretend conversation until no sound of stress strummed when it came out. Then I dialed Mom.

  She sounded tired. “I was having a glass of wine before bed. How are you? Why are you calling so late?”

  Damn. I hadn’t wanted to appear anything but normal. “I guess I forgot about the time change. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. It’s been another tough day, that’s all.”

  “The election?”

  She sipped. “That investigator is a pain in the ass.”

  “There’s nothing to find, so she’s going deep. She’ll move on to someone else soon.”

  Mom’s voice tightened. “No one is completely clean. This isn’t an easy job and you have to make deals to get things done. But you’re right, there’s really nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing no other sheriff hasn’t done.”

  Sheriff was a job I’d never wanted. Compromise could cross the line to corruption. I suffered guilt in the case of my early retirement. By law, I wasn’t eligible for full bennies for another eight months. I didn’t know where Mom stole the time, in manufactured unused personal leave, changing my hire date, giving me credit for working when I was locked inside the walls of a mental ward? Mom never explained and I never asked. Just cashed my checks each month.

  She always stressed about elections and they’d never been close. “John Overton is a tough opponent, huh?”

  “He’s a punk. Let’s talk about you. What’s going on in Tucson? Are you working out, eating well?”

  I paced and braced myself. “I’ve been thinking about tha-tha…. That night. The evidence that was recovered. You know, the ponytail elastic and the necklace.”

  “You shouldn’t dwell on that. The details will only upset you.”

  “Tara thinks it’s good to face it.”

  Her voice sweetened like warm caramel. “Well, I’m not sure I agree with that. Even so, if you want to remember it, please be under Tara’s supervision. You shouldn’t allow yourself to get upset when you’re alone.”

  “I’m not upset, I—”

  She interrupted, still keeping a soothing voice. “You’re upset right now. I can tell. Why don’t you take a sleeping pill and get a good night’s rest.”

  Frank was thrashing around in my head.

  “It’s time for me to come to terms with this. I think it was my fault and I’ll never get over it if I don’t find out why.”

  A hint of frustration sliced her words. “We’ve been over this. You had a date. That’s normal and natural. It isn’t your fault. It hurts me as much as it does you. But the responsibility lies with the piece of shit who did it. And he’s dead. End of story.”

  Frank growled “Goddamn liar. It doesn’t hurt her as much as it does you.”

  My feet ached from pounding on the patio as I paced. “That’s just it. I need to see the evidence, read the case file. I have to know for sure he was the one.”

  “It won’t bring you closure. It will only be another obsession, like those voices. Accept it, or you’ll never get better.”

  “I’m not obsessing. I have a right to know.”

  She stopped at that and when she spoke again, she sounded stern, the same as when she’d caught me with a joint my junior year. “You’re talking like you did back then, when you went to Forest Hills. You’re making no sense, being irrational. Take your Seroquel.”

  Two years ago, even six months ago, I would have agreed with her. I might have believed that I was going crazy. But not now. I clung to the quiet voice inside of me, even if I couldn’t hear the whole message.

  Arguing with her would only make her worry more. I sounded tired and defeated. “Okay. You’re right. I’ll see Tara tomorrow. You’ve got enough to do without taking care of me. I’ll take a pill and sleep.”

  “That’s for the best. Tomorrow will be better.”

  I agreed with her and hung up.

  Maybe tomorrow would be better, but I wasn’t done with today, yet.

  26

  I resisted the oblivion of the pill. I needed to unravel the connection. Common knowledge dictated the simplest explanation was usually the best. Maybe I was only complicating the problem, creating pathways in my imagination.

  I circled the table with the hair bow. The blonde hairs seemed like ropes strangling me. Escape took me though the French doors to the sparkling pool, glowing in the desert’s dark night.

  The girls hated me. They knew I suspected Cali had gone with the creep. I hadn’t backed off when they TPed my house, so they upped their antics. Now they watched to see if I’d overreact and get myself into trouble with Jim Thompson, the puller of strings.

  Or Cali was missing. In the hands of a killer who taunted me. He’d hurt her to get at me.

  Except the man who stole my life was supposed to be dead.

  Around the pool I trudged. Each time, I passed a cinderblock shoved behind a fan palm. A thick nylon tow rope looped it several times, the knots tight. The length of the remaining rope was measured carefully, allowing for the share that would be knotted round my ankle.

  Frank instructed me on the device not long after I moved here. He mentioned it from time to time, though I didn’t need the reminder.

  Tonight, he nudged me closer every loop around the pool. The Three joined in.

  “It’s quiet under there.”

  “Peaceful.”

  “Silent.”

  I don’t want to remember this, but I do.

  She’s eighteen months old and needs me, but my flu is so debilitating I can barely stand. Larry insists on giving her a bath and I can’t argue. I keep the doors open so I can hear. She’s giggling and splashing. He’s singing silly made-up songs. I start to doze and wake to her shouting about not wanting her hair washed. She hates it. I struggle to stand on shaky legs. For one night, she can live without washing her hair.

  I call to him. He says it’s fine. She’s crying. I’m angry. I tell him to forget the hair. I’m nearly in the hallway and he’s standing in the doorway, his back to the tub. She suddenly stops bawling.

  No longer weak, I’m there before him, shoving him out of the way. She’s on her back, eyes wide, mouth open, water covering her face.

  I yank her out. She�
�s sputtering and coughing. I glare at Larry as I carry her to my bed. I’m still shaking when I cuddle my little Peanut close to my side.

  I passed the cinder block again. “What are you sticking around for?” Frank asked.

  “No one cares.”

  “They hate you.”

  “It’s peaceful down there.”

  Rafe might have wanted to be friends, but I’d shoved him away. Patricia obviously had a complete life without me.

  Larry said, “Don’t call me again.”

  Kari wished I’d stayed silent.

  Only Mom cared about me.

  The rope looked like a friend. The water, welcome relief.

  “Do it.”

  “Now!”

  The splash drowned out all of the voices. The cool wave buried me. I closed my eyes to the glow of the pool light.

  It’s all right.

  Finally.

  27

  Boom, boom, boom.

  I didn’t open my eyes but clutched the hoodie closer to my chest.

  The doorbell dinged. Then again. And a third time.

  I squinted, locating my shorts and t-shirt in a heap on the tile next to the wicker saucer chair I’d curled into right after taking a pill.

  The banging resumed as I unfurled from the chair. The clothes and my hair were still damp from my midnight swim. The plunge had given me enough respite to realize I’d let the voices take too much control and they’d led me down the path of paranoia and self-pity. The road that steered me away from myself. The pill felt like defeat, but it kept me from destruction.

  I limped to the window, limbering up from my cramped sleep with each step. My fingers slipped through the blind slats and eased them open so I could peek out. At first I didn’t see anyone, then a quick scan revealed two little figures, fists raised to bang again. If I didn’t move, maybe they’d go away.

  They rang again, then pounded. Cheyenne put her hands around her mouth and sucked in full lungs. “JAMIE!”

  If I didn’t do something she’d have Mrs. Dempsey over here. My soggy clothes sent a shiver over me when I threw them on. The lock clicked and I swung the door open. The sun shone almost overhead, late morning already. “Does your mother know you crossed the street?” I sounded less severe than I’d expected.

  Kaycee’s round face beamed. Her fuzz of blonde hair contained bright splotches of red and blue paint clumps.

  Both little girls clutched wrinkled newsprint pages. Cheyenne might be miffed if she knew a grass green streak ran from behind her ear to her collarbone.

  Kaycee thrust her paper toward me, her chin up. Still damp with drying paint, the page swirled in royal blue and brush strokes of red. It nearly burned my hand with the memory.

  Tiny fist with a bulky wooden brush handle flicking blue paint onto the paper, over the edges, swiping the plywood we’d set up in the garage for an easel. Her singing reverberating off the walls. Painting after painting hanging from clothes pins attached to the metal shelving units.

  We surveyed them all while sipping Kool-Aid and nibbling Vanilla Wafers, as if patrons at an art gallery. Finally choose our favorites to take inside and tack on the refrigerator.

  Cheyenne flipped her paper around and held it front of her like a shield. “We made you pictures.” She held it out to me. “Mine is our grass and trees from Oklahoma.”

  I held both paintings and struggled to remember what to say to children. “It is very green.”

  “Thank you.” She took it as a great, and highly deserved, compliment. “Kaycee says hers is the lake. But you can’t really tell. She’s not old enough to do anything but make a big mess.”

  “I think it’s lovely.” I did. But it was too beautiful for me.

  Cheyenne waited with an expectant tilt of her head. Kaycee grinned at me and said nothing. I stepped farther onto my front porch and checked across the street. Sherilyn stood on her porch, the door open behind her.

  She waved. “Baby’s sleeping.”

  I waved back. The two girls kept staring at me. “Well. Thank you.”

  “Aren’t you going to put them on your ‘frigerator?” Cheyenne zipped past me. “We can help you take the old stuff off. ‘Cause if you don’t change out the pictures they get rusty.”

  Kaycee hadn’t moved so I reached to her and she placed her soft hand in mine. I dragged her into the house, leaving my door open.

  Cheyenne didn’t have any trouble finding my kitchen and stood in front of the refrigerator with her hands fisted on her hips. “Where’s all your stuff?”

  “What stuff?” I set the pictures on the counter and bent to take her hand. She resisted when I tried to pull her toward the door.

  “The mag-a-nets and pictures and notes and stuff. The stuff people gots on their ‘fridgerators.”

  She pulled her hand away. “If you don’t have mag-a-nets, how’re going to put our pictures up there?”

  Now I had to hang them up? “I’ll use tape.”

  “Okay. That’s a good idea. I’ll watch Kaycee while you go get some.”

  The junk drawer in the kitchen held only a few items, not like the overflowing mess of that other drawer, full of Happy Meal toys, rubber bands so old they cracked and broke, bits of change, nuts and nails, and myriad household detritus. In this drawer, the tape didn’t even touch the scissors.

  Cheyenne pulled her study in green from the counter and held it up against the refrigerator. “Put the tape right there.” She leaned her face toward the right top corner.

  I slapped a piece on and we did it for the other three corners and then for Kaycee’s lake. Cheyenne took Kaycee’s hand and they stepped back, glowing with pride. I had the crazy urge to offer them Kool-Aid and Vanilla Wafers.

  “Okay. Thank you. Now you need to go home,” I said.

  They seemed okay with that and followed me to the door. Together, I ushered them out my door and down the walkway, where we met Sherilyn. Her front door stood open and she held the baby monitor.

  Sherilyn rested a hand on Kaycee’s head. “You’re so good to these munchkins. They just love you to bits.”

  “I’m new, that’s all.” Wait until they get to know me.

  “Nope. There’s something about you. Kaycee fell in love and Cheyenne is not about be left out. So, you’re stuck with two new friends.”

  Uncomfortable but not unhappy, I shifted my gaze down the street in time to catch a flash of what looks like someone wearing a red hoodie. Voices surged in my ears and I’m bombarded by a thudding heart, electricity thrumming through my veins. “Uh.” I held up a hand to Sherilyn. “Wait a minute.”

  Flip flops slapping on my heels, I sprinted down the sidewalk and up the driveway of the house. Whatever I planned to say or do when I encountered whatever flagged my attention, I didn’t know. The voices urged me on and I didn’t resist.

  Nothing but a barrel cactus blooming with yellow flowers and a cinderblock wall greeted me when I rounded the garage. If someone had been there, they’d scaled the wall and were gone. I trudged back to Sherilyn.

  She eyed me with curiosity. “What was it?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. I thought maybe someone was there. Have you noticed a gray car with tinted windows cruising around?” I pointed up the street. “It’s parked there sometimes.”

  Sherilyn squinted in the sunshine to where I pointed. “Nope. Why?”

  Again, I dismissed it. “Nothing. I’m jumpy, I guess.” Over protective of children that weren’t mine. “Thanks again for the pictures, girls.” I started toward my porch.

  “Three,” Sherilyn said, out of the blue.

  I turned around. “Pardon?”

  “Friends. You have three new ones, if you count me.”

  An unexpected lump clogged my throat. She knew about the voices and still, she wasn’t running away.

  Cheyenne piped up with her bossy attitude. “Give me that. It’s not yours.”

  Kaycee whisked her hands behind her back and set her mouth in determination.

>   Cheyenne took her case to Sherilyn. “Mom. She picked something up from the ground and I don’t think she should have it.”

  Sherilyn bent down to Kaycee. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  Kaycee drew herself in and gave her mother an untrusting glare.

  “Come on, let me see,” Sherilyn coaxed.

  I pushed my hair from my face, realizing I’d slept on it wet. It surely had crimped in weird angles. I hadn’t brushed my teeth, either. Why didn’t I scare the little girls?

  Kaycee slowly pulled her hands from behind her back and held them out, fisted tight.

  Sherilyn fought a smile. “Okay, now open up.”

  Kaycee glared at Cheyenne, who hovered over her. She unclenched her hand one plump finger at a time.

  Cheyenne lost patience and wrenched the prize from Kaycee. The younger sister wailed at the injustice.

  Cheyenne held up the silver chain, a charm dancing at the end. “Is this yours?” she demanded from me.

  No. Oh please, God. No.

  28

  A dark blanket lifted from my eyes.

  “Jamie?” Sherilyn stood in front of me, concern clouding her expression.

  “Yeah.” I swallowed. “Sorry.”

  With shaking hands I plucked the necklace from Cheyenne’s fingers. Her mouth opened in offended protest. “I wasn’t going to keep it.”

  I tried to answer and managed to croak. “I know. It’s okay. I didn’t know I’d lost it.”

  The thin silver chain. A runner’s charm dangled, catching the glint of sun. It looked so much like hers. But this wasn’t the same.

  I choked as the memory pushed at me. She’d made varsity her freshman year. They’d put her as anchor on the 4X4 relay team and she’d brought home the district championship. So proud.

  We’d gone to her favorite restaurant to celebrate. Sitting around the table with only crusts of pineapple and ham pizza, Mom pulled the jewelers box from her bag. Mom beamed when she received the excited hug. I cried at so much happiness.