All the Broken People

by Leah Konen

  Her jaw dropped when I told her what the note had said. “You’re lucky Sam didn’t do anything worse. You’re lucky . . .” She cleared her throat. “And the police know now? About him being here?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But I’m afraid they don’t believe me. McKnight said they can’t make any real progress unless I file an official report about Davis. He doesn’t seem to understand—”

  “But why target you?” Vera asked. “Why not me?”

  “I think Sam needed to pin it on someone, and if there was a way to make it you, he probably would have. But he had access to my place, not yours. And now, here I am, calling his wife, questioning his daughter, putting it all together. I don’t think he’s thinking straight—he’s just reacting, trying to get me to stop.”

  “That sounds like Sam,” she said, looking down at her hands. When her eyes met mine, I was shocked to see tears in them, dripping silently down her cheeks.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s just—” More tears came, silent sobs rocking her body.

  “What?” I asked desperately, pulling her onto the couch, next to me, knowing we were the only ones who could protect each other now. “What is it?”

  “If it really was him, if he really left a note like that, that means he won,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Sam wanted to hurt us, he wanted to make us pay, and he did, worse than even I could have imagined.” Vera grabbed a cushion and held it to her chest like a shield. “I knew he was dangerous, and of course I suspected him, but this is more than just leaving notes in a mailbox. I don’t think he would have broken into your place unless . . .” Her voice cracked. “Unless he killed John, and he isn’t thinking straight, just like you said. This is proof, Lucy.”

  She took a deep breath. “It’s terrible, but in a way, this is exactly what we’ve been waiting for.”

  * * *

  • • •

  We agreed not to leave each other’s sides, not until this was over, and we opened a bottle of wine, the last one I had in the house, and heated up a frozen pizza, trying to act as normal as possible, to get back to the way we had once been.

  I prayed that forensics would turn up something on the note that linked it to Sam. A fingerprint, maybe? Something to tie it back to him. If not, I knew what I would have to do: I’d have to come clean about Davis to McKnight, no matter the consequences. But I wasn’t ready for that yet. I still had hope that Sam would make a mistake, show his hand before I had to show mine.

  The wine tasted bitter and acidic, and though Vera refilled my glass as she always did, I forced myself to slow down—after everything that had happened, drinking would only make it worse.

  Of course, that didn’t stop Vera. She was deep into her second glass when she drained the remains of the bottle, then lifted her drink to mine. “You know, you’re the only one, out of everyone, that’s truly been here for me. You’re the only one besides me who still believes John was good.”

  I froze, the weight of all I knew now suddenly heavier than ever before.

  “What?” Vera asked. “Why are you looking at me like that? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly.

  “What is it?” she snapped. “You’re a bad actress, you know.”

  Claire was pregnant.

  “Lucy, you’re scaring me,” Vera said. “God, just say it, whatever it is.”

  I let my eyes find hers, my friend, my protector. Rachel said she didn’t want to hurt Vera, but was that really the right choice?

  Was it really fair to let Vera go on grieving him—mourning him—when he could have done the worst possible thing?

  I pushed my wineglass aside. If I was going to say it, I had to rip off the Band-Aid, do it fast. “Last night, I saw Rachel, and she told me . . . she told me that Claire was pregnant.” I swallowed. “She told me John took care of it for her. He took her to Planned Parenthood to get an abortion.”

  Vera was so still that at first, I thought she hadn’t heard me.

  “Vera?”

  Then I saw it, the pallor of her face, as if the blood was draining out, milliliter by milliliter. Carefully, she set down her wineglass, stood up, walked to the door, and wrapped herself in her poncho.

  “Vera,” I said, but she didn’t stop. She slipped on her shoes and headed outside.

  “Vera!”

  I didn’t know what she was going to do. Grabbing my coat and keys, quickly locking up behind me, I chased her.

  “Vera,” I yelled, but she was already in the road, her pace brisk. “Vera!”

  I ran to catch up with her, the cold air accosting my lungs. “Vera, stop!”

  She kept on, around the bend, down the road, over remnants of melted snow, toward her place.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Just talk to me, please. I’m sorry.”

  It was only when she was in her driveway that she swiveled her head to face me.

  “Get in,” she said, pointing to her car.

  “What? You’re not thinking straight.”

  “I need another drink, and you’re out of wine. So get in.” She paused, eyes locking on mine. “Or get out of the way.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” I asked as we cruised down the road.

  “Fine,” Vera snapped, making the turn toward town.

  She didn’t say another word as she wound through Woodstock. past the shops, past all of it. She’s not doing this, I kept telling myself. She’s not doing what I think she’s doing.

  But by the time we reached Platform and she slowed down, by the time she pulled into the lot, I couldn’t deny it anymore. She was doing it.

  “Not here,” I said, voice quaking. “You said Sam’s always here. There’s got to be somewhere else.”

  “There’s not,” she said. “And besides, I don’t care. I’m tired of hiding. He claimed every place in this town as his, and it still wasn’t enough.”

  Opening the door, she got out, sending a rush of cold into the car.

  And I followed her, like I always did.

  Behind the bar, a large man poured one beer after the next, sweat pooling in the creases of his neck as if oblivious to the chill outside. From the back, a song I couldn’t make out blared from the jukebox, and I cast a look over my shoulder. A doorway opened up to more rooms—and more people. The place stretched back farther than I realized. Pool table. Jukebox. Old living room furniture permanently retired to the corners of the shitty dive.

  Vera spotted two free chairs at the bar, the only ones left, and pounced, her movements purposeful, her long dress kissing the dusty, beer-spilled floor as she took a seat.

  “Come on, Lucy.” She tugged out a chair so it made a scraping sound on the floor, and I felt like I was going to be sick. “Sit next to me.”

  I did, my eyes darting back and forth, looking for Sam, feeling fully exposed, but he wasn’t there. Vera shot me a crooked smile. She looked gothic, decadent, as if she made this place different through the sheer force of her presence.

  She shrugged out of her poncho and leaned forward, the neckline of her dress buckling, exposing a flash of eggplant-colored lace, the small curve of her left breast. “What have you got for red, Joe?”

  She used to come here all the time, she’d told me. How different had her life been before everything started with John? How much had this wrecked her, long before John died?

  The bartender—Joe—grunted out the limited options, his accent thick but unplaceable, like someone who’d spent a long time in the woods, and Vera ordered two Malbecs.

  “Generous pours,” she added. “You can charge me extra.”

  “Aren’t you driving?” I asked.

  She shrugged me off. “We’ll get a cab.”

  “When I first moved h
ere, you told me there weren’t any car services around here.”

  “God, Lucy, I know one, okay?” She scooted her chair closer to the bar, sat up straight. “Sam’s not even here, see?”

  “He could be in the back.”

  Vera ignored me as the bartender delivered two glasses, fat and brimming. She dug a credit card out of her bag and handed it to him.

  She pushed one glass over to me, sloshing a bit of wine onto the counter, then took a sip from her own. “Come on. Drink.”

  I rested my hand on the glass but didn’t bring it to my lips. “I’m sorry I said anything. I shouldn’t have, so soon.”

  Vera shook her head so violently, it looked like her neck might snap. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I don’t want to hear you say that ever again.”

  I froze, staring at her. I feared I’d fucked it all up, just like Rachel had. That I really might have lost her this time. “I’m sorry. I won’t.”

  Vera sat up straighter and took another sip. “Lucy, you know me, I’m a social person. I didn’t want to be some recluse. It’s not my fault that people are obsessed with rumors, but they are, and I am not going to let them touch me, not anymore. I planned on coming up here, making just as many friends as I had in the city. Going to bars like this, eating out in town. Just like you. But—” She paused, taking a sip. “They took that away from me. With their gossip and their looks and now these absurd accusations from Rachel. God.”

  She twisted the glass in front of her, almost as if she were inspecting it for cracks. “At least in the city,” Vera went on, “if you pissed someone off, you didn’t have to see them all the time. At least you could be anonymous. I played Sam’s stupid game, I played along with all of them, but it didn’t even matter. He still killed John. These people still hate me.” She took my hand in hers and lowered her voice to a whisper. “We still had to do what we had to do, didn’t we?”

  I swallowed a touch of wine, my stomach flip-flopping. “Maybe we should just tell them about that,” I said, my eyes again searching for Sam. “They know I lied, but what we did is nothing compared to what Sam did. Maybe they’ll finally believe me if I tell them.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Vera said, her hand recoiling instantly from mine. “I’m not going to throw away my life, too. I’ve already given up way too much.”

  She was right, I knew that. I couldn’t risk opening myself up to closer inquiry, either, only the way she dismissed it was so . . . callous.

  “Let’s forget about all that, okay? Let’s pretend you never said a word.” She grabbed my hand again and squeezed it so hard it almost hurt, then quickly let it go. “Let’s just have one good night. I’m begging you.”

  * * *

  • • •

  I did my best to give her what she wanted.

  I barely touched my wine, taking only the most cautious of sips, but I didn’t object when she ordered another.

  She dragged me to the jukebox, and after tossing her things onto a chair in the corner, she picked out songs like it was her job.

  I couldn’t pretend so easily. I found myself constantly looking around, waiting for Sam Alby, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t show up tonight, that McKnight had taken me seriously, that Rachel had told him what she knew and that the cops had properly taken Sam in this time, that all of this would be over soon. And that Davis, for his part, would do what he said he would—finally let me go.

  Vera drained her next glass almost as quickly, and when she wasn’t looking, I grabbed her car keys, nestled in the top of her handbag, and put them in my pocket so she wouldn’t do anything stupid like try to drive home.

  She was playing Dinah Washington, swaying back and forth, almost like she was dancing with the jukebox, when a guy my age sidled up to her—someone up from the city, most likely. With wide brown eyes, he took Vera in, top to bottom. “Nice choice,” he said to her.

  She flipped around, startled, and when her eyes caught him, they sharpened. “I’m just trying to have a night with my friend,” she said tightly.

  The guy smiled—he wasn’t giving up yet. “You shouldn’t play such good music, then, if you don’t want anyone to talk to you.”

  Her lips pressed together.

  “Sorry,” I said. “We’re just—”

  “Mourning my dead husband,” Vera snapped.

  “Jesus,” the guy said. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I was just making—”

  “Well, you did. Come on, Lucy.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me away, past the pool table, toward the next room.

  She had to stop drinking, I realized. She had to stop, or else she really would flip out—say something, do something she’d regret.

  But as we entered the next room, my worries about Vera were momentarily pushed aside.

  My heart stopped. And time, once again, stood still.

  Sam was there, in the corner. He wore a denim shirt, perhaps the same one he’d had on when he’d spilled wine on us, and his gray-brown hair gleamed in the muted bar lights.

  Staring at her—at me—drinking a beer like nothing in the world was the matter.

  The man who had been in my house just last night.

  The man who killed John.

  FORTY-TWO

  We have to go,” I said, but Vera grabbed my hand, jerking me closer to her.

  “No, we don’t.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam sip his beer and walk off, disappearing into the next room.

  “See?” Vera said bitterly. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine,” I said, my pulse ratcheting up as I imagined Sam, only a room away, how his hands had been on my things, on my knife. “He was in my house. Jesus, Vera. He killed John. Don’t you even care?”

  She took another sip, her lips purpling. They looked ravenous, a vampire’s, having just sucked blood. “You really think he’s going to attack me in the middle of a crowded bar? You said you’d be here for me.”

  My fear and guilt and heartache morphed into anger, raging like that river John was supposed to have drowned in. “I am here for you. I’m always here for you.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Are you? Because however much you supposedly cared about John, it wasn’t enough for you to actually trust him. You’re just as bad as everyone else, you know. Believing whatever people tell you.”

  “Vera, stop,” I said. The world felt suddenly shaky, like a tower of blocks—pull the wrong one, and it all comes tumbling down. Jenga!

  I could feel Sam somewhere nearby, just waiting for this moment, when all our defenses were down, to finish us off.

  Vera took a gulp of wine. “I’m not stupid, I know the truth,” she said. My heart beat faster as the corner of her mouth twisted into an awful smile. “I know that you loved him, Lucy. You wanted him to be a bad guy, so you could have him.”

  It was like my blood stopped pumping, like for a moment I was nothing more than a corpse. And in that moment, all I wanted to do was rewind and undo what she’d said. I knew I shouldn’t be so surprised. Even if she didn’t know what had really happened between John and me that night, she could read me like a book. She’d probably seen my crush from the beginning. But now, now it was out in the open between us, and I knew we could never get back to the way we were. Not when everything that had been brewing between us had boiled over, scalding us.

  “Vera,” I said again, begging. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?” she snapped. “You had a crush on him—like so many people did—but you didn’t actually care. Because if you had, you wouldn’t give up on him so easily now. You wouldn’t believe every goddamn word everyone says.”

  “We need to get out of here,” I said. “Let’s just go home. Please.”

  “You wanna go?” she said. “Fucking go.”

&n
bsp; “I can’t leave without you,” I said.

  “Well, sorry. Maybe I don’t want to be around someone who believes what you do about my husband. I expected better of you, Lucy.”

  Heart racing, I turned on my heel, rushing from the room, setting my glass, still half-full, on the edge of the pool table, pushing past the people, past the conversations, past all of it.

  I didn’t even stop to grab my coat. Instead, I rushed out of the bar, into the open air.

  There he was. Sam, smoking a cigarette.

  He’d been waiting, waiting to get me alone. To pounce. “What’s got you so scared?” Sam asked, his voice menacing.

  “Leave me alone,” I said, voice half a scream.

  I walked, briskly as I could, around him, tripping over a bit of gravel, steadying myself.

  I reached Vera’s car and felt desperately for her keys in my pocket as, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam walking toward me.

  It took three tries to get the key into the lock, it was so dark. I got in, pulling the door shut before he could come any closer. I spotted something white on the cuff of my sweater. It had begun to snow.

  Inside, the car smelled stale. I shoved the key in the ignition, twisted it, heart fluttering at the turn of the engine, the sound of the car coming to life. I fumbled until I found the headlights, didn’t bother adjusting the mirrors, and backed out of the parking lot, blinding Sam.

  I felt awful about taking her car, but I was too scared of what would happen if she tried to drive like this. She could call a cab, like she said. Or I could go back, get her later, once she’d calmed down, once the bar was getting ready to close.

  Sam wouldn’t attack her, not in front of everyone.

  I blinked several times, trying to focus.

  I made my way through town, past the shops, the restaurants, everything closed and dark. As I curved down the road, snow kissing the windshield, blinking every other second, I wished for New York City, for Brooklyn, for cabs and car services, for tall buildings, city lights, and people in the streets. I wished so badly I were anywhere but here.