The snowmobile hit a bump, then went airborne. The rotating snow tracks whined in the air. The back end started to sink and gravity pulled Trish backwards, wrenching at her shoulders and locked hands. Her feet lost purchase and her stomach tumbled in a sickening free fall. Then the skis and chassis landed with a crushing impact that snapped Trish’s teeth into her lip.
But she hung on.
Brandon didn’t let off the gas. A few minutes later, he turned off Klondike and began winding his way along the creek side road toward Trish’s house. The wind had teased tears from her eyes, then dried them on her cheeks. Her wet clothes and the cold were an unbearable combination with the gusts. She thought about the “two out of three” rule. Horses could survive any two out of three. Cold, wet, and wind. Trish was facing all three.
Brandon made the last turn, going too fast. The back end of the snowmobile swung out, and for a moment, Trish thought they were going to tump over into the ditch. Then it regained traction, and they were in her driveway. The snowmobile came to a stop in front of the house. Trish was shaking like an aspen leaf, and her teeth were chattering.
Brandon jumped off. His face was red from the wind and rage. “I’ve delivered the princess home safely. Now I’m outta here.”
Snowflakes were melting on her face and pooling on her cheeks. She reached up to brush the wetness away and realized she was crying. It was so humiliating. She climbed off. Everything would be okay if she made it okay. He had brought her home even though he was upset. “Please don’t leave. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have listened to Ben.”
He shook his head. “This is whacked.”
“I know. I said I’m sorry.”
“Who do you trust, me or him?”
“You. Of course, you.”
“He’s a criminal.”
“I know.” She felt a flicker of guilt. She didn’t believe Ben was a criminal. But she’d agree with anything Brandon said if it would make things right between them.
“All criminals lie.”
“You’re right, Brandon.”
Brandon crossed his arms. He was breathing hard, and he made a huffing noise. “Where did he say I supposedly cheated on you?”
“He didn’t.”
“See? He was just making it up. Totally bogus.”
Trish swallowed back a fresh wave of tears. “I just, I love you so much, Brandon. And when we were broken up, you did go out with Charla, and I was afraid that she would, you know, do things I wouldn’t.”
“Like, she would, if I wanted her to.”
“Did you? When we weren’t together, I mean.”
“Me and Charla?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think you want me to the answer that question.” He smirked.
Trish moaned. She had her answer. “When? Where?” She hoped it wasn’t in his truck. Or anywhere he took Trish to be alone.
“You’re tripping. Why do you want to know?”
“I, uh, I guess I don’t.” She tried to believe her words. What did it matter what Brandon had done with Charla in his truck, as long as he loved Trish?
“You’re going to have to stop being so square if you want us to stay together.”
“What do you mean?”
He crossed his arms. “Like, we’ve been dating a long time now.”
“Six months, except for our break-up.”
He nodded. “So, when are we going to, you know, do it?”
His words were like a punch in her stomach. “Do it?” She swallowed hard. “I’m not ready.”
“Charla is. Other girls are. What’s your problem with it?”
Trish put her hand over her mouth. All thoughts of the cold and her humiliation were long gone. She couldn’t believe this. She thought he loved her, but he wasn’t talking like he did. Brandon was her whole world. Her eyes burned, and she deflated like a leaky balloon.
Perry came barreling toward them from around the corner of the house. He was puffing between words like he’d run ten miles, not across the yard. “Mom fell. She hit her chin. She’s bleeding. She needs to go to the hospital.”
“Hold up, little man.” Brandon frowned. So did Perry. “Trish, where was I when Ben was talking about me behind my back?”
She looked at her feet. “I don’t know.”
“When was it?”
“Earlier.”
Perry’s voice interrupted them. “Hey, your snowmobile. It’s . . .”
Brandon turned to Perry. “Get back in the house. This is between me and your sister.”
“But, my mom.”
Brandon glared at him. Perry fled to the front door. He slipped on the steps but caught himself with one hand, then scurried inside.
Brandon leaned against his snowmobile. He had a funny look on his face, like he was really happy about figuring out something that didn’t make him happy at all. “Did he come here after he took my truck at lunch? Today?”
“Um . . .” Her voice trailed off. Now wasn’t a good time to talk about this part. Not when Brandon was so angry and her mom needed her. She felt torn down the middle between them.
He cupped a hand around his ear. “What’s that?”
“Yes. Around lunchtime.”
“He talked to you here? Like, where we’re standing now?”
“Not exactly.”
“Where, then?”
“We drove around.”
Brandon stood up and punched the air with his forefinger. “You got in my truck with him. What else did you do?”
Trish tried to grab his hand, but he snatched it away. “Just talked, Brandon. That’s all. I promise.”
“About me cheating on you.”
“Yeah.”
“And what else?”
“Just stuff. He, uh, he told me about juvie.”
“Did he make a move on you?”
“No.” That was technically true. He hadn’t tried to get her to kiss him or anything. Telling her he liked her was different.
Brandon enunciated each word. “Did he touch you?”
She hesitated. Ben had put his hand on her arm. How could she explain that without Brandon going ballistic? But she couldn’t lie either. “Brandon, I didn’t do anything.”
Brandon shouted, “He did. He put his hands on you. And you’re sitting here chewing me out for what I’ve done with other girls when you were with him?”
Trish’s face crumpled. “Wait. You said you didn’t do anything with Charla.”
“Who said anything about Charla?”
Trish’s head was reeling. Brandon had cheated on her, but not with Charla? She’d been so sure it was her nemesis. “You’ve been with other girls while we’ve been dating?”
“Experienced ones.”
Trish gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Her knees felt weak. How could he say these things to her? Wasn’t he even sorry?
“You deserve whatever you’ve got coming to you.” Brandon snorted. “My mom was right. You’re just a phony little goody two shoes.” He slammed his body down onto the seat of his snowmobile. “We’re done, Trish. Peace out.”
He and his new yellow snowmobile slingshotted out of the driveway and Trish’s life.
Trish buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Chapter Thirty-five: Sicken
Buffalo, Wyoming
Tuesday, March 15, 1977, 4:30 p.m.
Susanne
Susanne woke up to find Ferdinand licking her face. “Ferdie, stop.”
The dog sat back on his haunches, towering above her and looking down his long nose and wiry mustache at her with concerned eyes. He whined. Susanne sat up and leaned against the bathroom wall. He moved closer and she stroked his head.
How had she ended up here? Her brain was like a battery with a critically low charge. But then she remembered coming in to clean up her chin. She touched her head. It still hurt, but not quite as much. She pulled herself up by the bathroom countertop. Ferdinand leaned against her thigh. The dizziness and nausea weren’t
as bad as they’d been. She looked in the mirror. Her cut was barely bleeding anymore. Some of the blood on her chin and neck had dried to a brownish-maroon crust. She re-moistened the rag and started cleaning herself up while Ferdinand kept a watchful eye on her.
The front door burst open. Ferdinand didn’t react.
“Mom,” Perry shouted. “Where are you?”
“In the bathroom by the kitchen.”
His footsteps pounded toward her. He caught himself on the doorframe. His eyes were wild.
“What’s the matter?”
“Brandon and Trish are here. They’re fighting. He’s being a big … a big …”
“Don’t say it.” She put her rag down. “Let me get my jacket.”
“You’re wearing it.”
She looked down, then frowned. “So I am.”
“Maybe we should call dad.”
“Maybe. Let me see what’s going on with Trish first.”
Perry put a hand under her elbow. Her heart swelled a little. He was such a sweet boy. Together, they walked to the front door, Ferdinand trailing them. Before they could reach it, though, the door flew open. Trish stumbled in, wet, and in tears.
“Mom,” she wailed. She threw herself into Susanne’s arms.
Ferdinand shoved his nose between their shins, trying to hug everyone at once.
As bad as she’d been feeling, Susanne wanted nothing more than to help her daughter. She stroked her hair. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“But I’m not. Brandon is seeing someone else. Someone older and more experienced. He dumped me. He dumped me.”
“Older and more experienced? Who?”
“He didn’t say.” A horrified look crossed her daughter’s face. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“Marcy told me there’s a teacher at school involved with a student.”
Perry shook his head. “No way. Brandon and a teacher?”
“I don’t know.” Trish jumped back, then noticed Susanne’s face. “What happened to you?”
“I fell and hit my chin on the deck.”
“We have to get her to the hospital,” Perry said. “You have to drive.”
“But I’m sopping wet. Can I change clothes first?”
As the kids were debating the issue, memories were surfacing in Susanne’s compromised brain. Snippets of conversations. Images from the last few weeks. And then a thought formed. A bad one. Susanne covered a gasp with her hand. Perry grabbed her elbow again.
Trish cocked her head. “What is it, Mom?”
“Coach Lamkin. She has a boyfriend. Or maybe a fiancé. In Laramie, she told me there was a big age difference between them. She wouldn’t tell me who it was, because of parents’ perceptions about her as a coach. She said I’d recognize his name when they went public.”
Now it was Trish’s turn to gasp.
“I thought she meant he was older. Then today at lunch she said she’d resigned, so she’d be able to tell me who he was soon.”
Perry’s mouth dropped open. “You think Coach Lamkin’s boyfriend is Brandon?”
Trish shook her head violently. “No. It can’t be. Coach Lamkin cares about me. She’d never do that to me.”
Susanne heard a vehicle pull up outside.
“Brandon’s back!” Trish ran to the window with her big dog beside her.
Chapter Thirty-six: Prey
Buffalo, Wyoming
Tuesday, March 15, 1977, 4:45 p.m.
Trish
A rush of hopeful feelings coursed through Trish. Brandon had changed his mind. She could ask him about Coach Lamkin. He’d tell her it wasn’t true. Everything would be okay. She peered out the window beside the door, hand on the knob.
Devastation rocked her all over again. It wasn’t him. It was someone in a brown Chevrolet pickup. A truck that belonged to someone she saw every day.
Coach Lamkin.
“It’s her.” She swiped tears from her eyes.
“Who?” her mom asked.
“Coach Lamkin.” Inside, Trish was fighting off the growing suspicion that her mother was right. The timing of Coach Lamkin showing up as Brandon left was just too big a coincidence not to be something. Was she here to gloat? “I’ll see what she wants.”
Ferdinand whined and pawed at the front door.
“Then we need to get Mom to the hospital,” Perry said.
“I’ll be fine, Perry,” Susanne said. “It’s okay.”
“Back, Ferdie.” Trish slipped through the door without letting the dog out. She stood on the stoop.
The truck parked, and a white cap popped out, then the rest of Coach Lamkin followed, bundled in a belted navy wool coat. “I just saw a snowmobile blow out of here like hell on skids. Is everything okay?”
Trish stood up straight, fighting back a sob that suddenly needed out. Had her coach betrayed her? “I’m fine.”
Lamkin put her hand on Trish’s elbow. She cocked her head as she studied Trish. “Clearly, you’re not. Where are your parents?”
“My mom and Perry are inside. Dad’s at work.”
“Was that your boyfriend?”
The sob broke through, but Trish caught it against her knuckles. Was her coach playing some kind of sick mind game with her? She regained control. “He used to be. Not anymore.”
Coach Lamkin pulled Trish into a hug. “Ah. A break-up.”
Trish didn’t hug back. “Y-y-y-yes.”
Lamkin patted Trish’s back. “Those can be bad. I’m sorry. It’s that Lewis boy, right? The cute one who plays forward?”
Of course she thinks he’s cute. “Yes.”
“Let me guess—he wasn’t faithful.”
Trish pulled away from her. Suspicions were churning inside her. “How did you know?”
“He’s a good-looking boy with a reputation. Coaches aren’t deaf and blind, you know. But did you really think you were his only one?”
Words stuck in Trish’s throat. She struggled to get them out. “I . . . yes. I trusted him. We love—loved—each other.”
“Take it from me. With a boy like him, you should just expect to share and not get all worked up about it. I’ve dated enough boys like Brandon to know.”
Trish stiffened. I’m sure you have. Are. She couldn’t stand the game any longer. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m your security tonight. You know, with the posse your parents put together. That’s how I knew about the snowmobile.”
“Were you parked on the road?”
“Yes. I wanted to give you some privacy. It looked . . . heated.”
Had the coach been watching the Flints or watching Brandon? Trish’s fingernails dug into her palms, and she realized her hands were balled into fists.
The door to the house opened and shut. “Trish?”
“Out here, Mom.” She hugged herself.
Susanne walked toward them with slow, unsteady steps.
“Susanne! Are you okay?” Coach Lamkin took Trish’s mom by both arms.
“Not really. My head hurts, I’ve been throwing up, and I fell. The kids were about to take me to the emergency room.”
Trish said, “Coach Lamkin is our security tonight, Mom. She saw Brandon here and came to check on us.” She knew her voice sounded brittle, but she couldn’t help it.
“Thank you, Barb.”
Coach Lamkin made a sad face. “I’m sorry you’re feeling bad. You seemed fine at lunch. Was it something you ate?”
Trish had never been violent before. But she was feeling violent now. Something about the way Lamkin was talking to her mom made Trish want to sock her coach in the nose.
“I wish I knew.”
“How about I drive you in?”
“Trish will do it.”
Coach Lamkin let go of Susanne and put her arm around Trish’s shoulders. Trish wanted to shuck it off but restrained herself. “Trish is too upset to be operating the truck in these road conditions. I’ll drive my truck. It’s not a problem.” She walked toward her truck
, her arm still on Trish, pulling her along.
Susanne didn’t follow them. “We need to get Perry.”
Then the squirt came running out the door.
Susanne waved him over. “There he is. Hurry, Perry. We’re leaving for the hospital. Coach Lamkin is driving us.”
“Hi, Perry,” Coach Lamkin said. She pulled a long green canvas bag off the truck’s bench seat and threw it in the bed.
“Uh, hi.” He slid to a stop. His eyes cut to the coach, then back to the bed of the truck.
“What’s the matter?” Susanne asked.
He squinted and his forehead mashed into wrinkles. “Nothing?”
Trish watched her brother climb into the truck. He had a funny look on his face that sure didn’t seem like nothing.
Chapter Thirty-seven: Witness
Buffalo, Wyoming
Tuesday, March 15, 1977, 5:00 p.m.
Perry
The inside of the truck smelled like a wet dog. With all four of them—Mom, Trish, Coach Lamkin, and him—crammed into the truck’s bench seat, Perry felt like a sardine. Of course, he had to sit in the middle and straddle the gear shift because he was the smallest. Reason number one trillion and two that he couldn’t wait for his growth spurt.
The coach pulled off her cap and put it on the dash. He snuck a glance at her. Her long red hair was prettier than Ms. Tavejie’s hair, he had to admit, but he still thought Ms. Tavejie was better looking overall. And a lot less intimidating. Coach Lamkin turned the truck in a circle, passing by the floodlight over the driveway. It shone in the passenger side window like a beacon on the white wool cap that the coach had been wearing. She gave the truck some gas, and they careened down the driveway and out onto the road.
And then it hit him.
When he’d walked outside and seen Coach Lamkin, he’d gotten a weird feeling. Like he almost remembered something, but not quite. Then he’d seen the green canvas bag—a big, long one—and the feeling had gotten worse. Now, his stomach burned. The truck bumped and bucked a little as it crossed the bridge over Clear Creek. He shrunk away from the coach toward Trish.
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