Dirt

by Cassia Leo

  The message Emily left this morning turned my stomach to twisted steel.

  Hi. It’s Emily again. Your mom called today. She asked me to tell you she misses you and hopes you’ll call her to say happy birthday when she turns sixty-two next week. She said if she doesn’t hear from you, she’s going to try texting me some pictures of your nephew, Jason, who she said is starting to look just like you. Should I forward those to you? As usual, if it’s okay to give them your new number, just let me know and I’ll pass it on. Your mom is apparently as stubborn as you. She still won’t accept the number unless you say it’s okay to give it to her. Anyway, I guess you’ll hear from me again soon.

  Emily and I had been having a one-sided conversation for two years. Lord knew what my mom had told her about me since they became phone pals. But I had to respect them both for their persistence, and their insistence that I should be able to resume communication with my family on my own terms.

  I just wished I knew what to say to my mom. There was nothing I could say that would make Dane’s suicide okay. And there was no one who could convince me that I wasn’t partially responsible for Dane’s death.

  “Who butchered your hair?” Edna asked as Laurel and I joined her on the sidewalk.

  I smiled, pointing my thumb in Laurel’s direction. “Officer, this is the butcher you’re looking for.”

  Laurel gasped. “Geez, no hesitation fingering me, huh?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she realized the double entendre and clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Damn fucking right, I would not hesitate at all.

  “It’s not that bad, is it?” she asked Edna, clearly trying to steer the conversation back to the haircut.

  Edna flashed me a sweet smile as she insisted my hair didn’t look so bad, though I didn’t know if she was smiling at my bad hair or at Laurel’s slip of the tongue.

  I used the opportunity to distract myself from thoughts of Laurel, and the many things I’d say — and do — to her if she weren’t married. I’d have to settle for doing those things with a complete stranger after Laurel left.

  “Did you finish up the repairs on that vehicle, sweetie?” Edna asked me, changing the subject. “My grandson is looking for a car and I think he likes those old muscle cars.”

  I shook my head. “Almost. She’ll be ready in a couple of weeks, I expect. Give me your grandson’s phone number and I’ll get in touch with him. Send him some pics.”

  Edna’s eyes glazed over a bit, as if I might be speaking too fast for her. “Okay. Come on over. I have his number in my pocketbook.”

  As Edna headed back toward her house, I shrugged at Laurel. “You need me to come by and help with that mesh?”

  She flashed me a beautiful smile. “I’m fine. I think I can handle it alone. Thanks… for everything.”

  I tried not to let the pain register on my face at the revelation that she was really leaving. “It was nothing,” I replied with a smile, then I turned around and headed toward Edna’s without another glance in Laurel’s direction.

  As Edna stood aside for me to enter her house, she wore a knowing grin. “You’ve sure helped Laurel out a lot. Her garden is looking stupendous.”

  I shook my head. “It’s nothing more than what Beth did for me.”

  She nodded as she led me toward the kitchen with the faded oak cabinets and orange Formica countertops. “Of course. You and Beth were thick as thieves. It’s terrible what happened to her, but I’ll bet she’d be very proud of you two.” She opened up a drawer in her kitchen and pulled out a pink pocketbook. “Have you thought any more about getting in touch with your VA worker.”

  Every time I spoke to Edna, she asked me if I’d spoken with my worker. Her son Benjamin was an army captain and one of the first to be deployed to Fallujah in 2003. He committed suicide in 2008, three years after his second tour ended.

  “I think I’ll call him this week,” I replied, but this time I wasn’t trying to placate Edna. This time I meant it.

  The warm smile on her plump face solidified my resolve. I would schedule a meeting with my VA worker as soon as I left Edna’s house. Then, I would text Emily, giving her permission to pass along my new phone number to my mom.

  23

  Laurel

  It took two and a half hours to put up the galvanized mesh in the backyard by myself. Afterward, I lingered for forty minutes in my second shower of the day. I wanted to arrive at home clean and revitalized and ready for a fresh start with Jack.

  I packed a few of my favorite pieces of clothing and the framed photo of my mother and Junior I’d placed in the downstairs office. I carried the red suitcase down, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to look around the living room. I couldn’t really be sure if I’d forgotten anything important, because everything in my mother’s house felt important to me now.

  Unlocking the deadbolt, an impending sense of doom came over me as I pressed down on the latch and pulled the front door open. I lifted the suitcase over the threshold, setting it down softly on the porch as I stepped outside. As I turned toward the door, I hesitated, my heart fluttering wildly.

  For a split second, I was overcome by a very familiar torture that sucker-punched me every so often. The awful feeling that I’d forgotten Junior inside.

  I couldn’t breathe, clawing at my chest as it tightened painfully. Finally, I let out the sour air in my lungs, and quickly reached for the door to pull it closed.

  Grabbing the handle on the suitcase, I lifted it up and lugged it down the stairs. I stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, pride swelling in my chest as I stared at the rows of freshly planted hydrangea and honeysuckle lining the walkway. I admired the bright-green foliage on the newly trimmed laurel hedges along the garden fence and the gardenia tree in the corner.

  I had accomplished what I had come here to do, with a lot of help from Isaac. And Isaac had been helped by my mother. So, in a way, it was still my mother who had guided me.

  I smiled as I rolled the suitcase to the SUV. “Thanks, Mom.”

  As I drove along I-84, I tried to imagine what I’d be doing right now if I had never left Hood River. But I didn’t dwell on this thought long. No amount of speculation could ever provide the answer to the one question I had that still plagued me: Would Jack and I ever feel whole again?

  I might never know the answer to that question. But the only way to find out was to try. Even if Jack and I couldn’t figure out how to be good for each other. Even if, God forbid, we didn’t make it through this. I never wanted to be that far away from Jack again.

  * * *

  When I pulled into the driveway of our three-bedroom house in Hood River, Jack was leaning against the rear bumper of his truck, which was parked on the right side of the garage. He was busy typing on his phone. He looked up at the sound of my car and flashed me a soft smile as I pulled into the parking space on the left.

  Jack made his way to the door leading into the laundry room. “Is your suitcase in the back?” he asked, as I rounded the front of the SUV and headed toward him.

  I tilted my head back so he could plant a kiss on my lips as I passed him. “Yes. Thank you.”

  He retrieved the suitcase from the Tesla. I hit the button to close the garage door, then he placed his hand on the small of my back and led me inside.

  My first instinct, as I stepped into the laundry room, was to check the drawer where Jack normally kept his gun. I had faith that he would honor our deal to get rid of his firearms if I allowed him to hire a security team. But I’d have to give him some time to purge the house of all weapons. I could call Drea and ask her to have lunch with me, so I wouldn’t have to be here while he gathered up his arsenal.

  Or maybe I should just find a grieving parents support group, as Bonnie suggested. The idea of sharing the details of my son’s death with a group of suffering parents felt scarier than anything I’d ever done. I couldn’t bear the thought that even one of them would judge me for leaving Junior that night knowing that th
ere had been burglaries in the area recently.

  As I stepped into the bedroom, I was not surprised to find the bed made and everything in its place. Jack lived his life with discipline and precision. He approached every task with the pursuit of perfection in mind.

  I wanted to ask him if he’d also cleaned up his office to get rid of the disturbing case photos. I wanted to be able to enter the room without constantly reliving the worst moment of my life. The killer lit a fiery anger inside my husband that night. Those case photos, the surveillance footage, the Facebook group, and websleuths.com kept the anger very well fed.

  But I knew in my heart that angry man wasn’t the real Jack. I wanted the Jack that I celebrated my third anniversary with two years ago. The one who seemed ready to emerge from the dark cave he’d been hiding in for two years. I wanted him back. Every part of him.

  It was selfish, because he probably wanted the woman he’d fucked on the waterfront that night. The woman who supported him in everything he did.

  The woman who looked for errors in his code when his eyes were glazing over. The woman who stayed home and planned out every aspect of our home life so he never had to worry about the little things. The woman who made him a better man.

  I’d have to wait before I could broach the topic of the case photos in his office. Tonight, I would focus on settling in and getting some rest.

  Jack pushed the red suitcase into the walk-in closet and shut the door. Out of sight, out of mind. I turned away from the bed to face him as he approached. The triumph in his eyes was unmistakable.

  “I’m meeting with a guy on Monday to discuss an armed security detail,” he said, grabbing my hips to pull me close. “I don’t trust a rent-a-cop without a gun to protect you.”

  “What about when I’m running errands or working at my mom’s house? Are they going to follow me around everywhere like a bodyguard? Do I really need that?”

  He shook his head. “You agreed to the security detail. I want you safe whether you’re here or at your mom’s. These past few weeks have been torture,” he said, brushing the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone. “Thousands of miles away from you in Japan, unable to protect you… I couldn’t rest.”

  I laid my hand on his chest, comforted by the warmth of his body radiating through his gray T-shirt. “Will the bodyguard be in the house with me?”

  He chuckled softly. “Only if they need to use the bathroom. See? This is why we need a bigger house, or at least a bigger property. So we can build a guesthouse for these kinds of situations.”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t want a bigger house or a bigger property.”

  I didn’t have to explain why. He knew I worried that our large, dazzling estate had made us a target for burglary. Even with a bodyguard, I didn’t know if I would ever feel safe displaying our wealth like a calling card to thieves and murderers.

  His eyes were locked on mine as he seemed to be deciding whether or not to argue with me. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  I managed to keep from rolling my eyes as he let go of me and headed into the hallway. I sat on the edge of the mattress and looked around at the rustic reclaimed wood nightstands; the soft-beige tufted velvet headboard; the stunning crystal chandelier; the single silver picture frame on Jack’s nightstand, displaying a photo of me holding Junior as I lay in my hospital bed.

  My fingers glided over the $1,200 silky sateen duvet. It all looked different than I remembered it. It didn’t feel like the rustic-glam design I’d attempted. It looked tired, almost dead.

  Jack was right. We needed more pictures of Junior in here.

  I kicked off my shoes and crawled to the far side of the bed, sliding under the sheet and burying my head under the covers. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the crisp scent of Jack’s skin.

  I didn’t care that I had to leave for him to start sleeping in this bed again. I clutched the sheets to my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t know how much time had passed, but I woke to the feeling of the bed moving.

  Jack pulled the covers off my head as he slid in next to me, fully clothed. “I didn’t want to wake you, but I couldn’t wait any longer,” he said, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

  “I wasn’t trying to fall asleep,” I said, snuggling up to him until my head was nestled in the crook of his neck. “I forgot how much I missed being surrounded by your scent. It’s like a drug. It knocked me out.”

  He squeezed my shoulder and kissed the top of my head. “I need to tell you something.”

  I slid my hand under his shirt and softly raked my fingernails over his warm, taut skin. “What do you have to tell me?”

  He let out a short sigh. “Remember Natalie? The girl I dated before you.”

  I gently tugged the short trail of hair below his navel. “What about her?”

  His grip on my shoulder tightened as my hand moved down to the button of his low-slung jeans. “I told you we broke up because she cheated on me, but that was a lie. The truth is that she broke up with me because… Well, it’s kind of a long story, but she was raped at a party our freshman year. I… lost track of her at the party and I thought she had left with someone else.

  “The next day, when she finally called me back, I accused her of cheating on me. I didn’t find out until a few weeks later, after we were already broken up, that she had been raped that night. Other than not being able to save Junior and your mom, it’s the one thing I’m the most ashamed of.”

  I took a deep breath as I imagined the young Jack I’d known in college, devastated by this perceived betrayal from his high school sweetheart, only to realize he was wrong.

  I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m glad you shared that with me, but you have to understand that what happened to her is not your fault.”

  Even as I spoke the words, I realized how glib I must sound. All our friends and relatives had been telling us that what happened to Junior and my mother was not our fault, and we clearly had not internalized their words.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, before he could respond. “That was a totally patronizing thing to say.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. No one knows better than we do how ‘it’s not your fault’ is a lot easier to say than it is to believe.”

  “But even if we don’t believe it, doesn’t mean it’s not actually true,” I replied. I didn’t want Jack to feel as if he’d failed. “You were eighteen years old. You did everything you knew how to do.”

  “I could have protected Natalie better,” Jack began, his volume escalating. “And I should have done everything in my power to keep that murderer out of our house. I don’t believe for one second that I did everything I knew how to do. There was so much more I could have done. I should have gotten a security team the minute I signed that deal with Kent.”

  “Please, Jack. You have to stop blaming yourself.”

  He shook his head. “I have no intention of letting these kinds of regrets keep piling up like some fucking mass grave of all the people I wasn’t able to protect.”

  I sighed as I realized where this conversation was going. “I know you want a bigger house, but you have to understand that it scares me. No, it terrifies me.”

  He grabbed my chin and lifted it so he could look me in the eye. “I’ll get rid of the guns. I know they set you off, and we don’t want them around if we have another child. But I can’t compromise on the security. We need a bigger house so I can hire a team to protect you without getting in your way. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “To us,” I corrected him.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to us, ever again.”

  I laid my head on his shoulder again. “If you think we’ll be safer in a bigger house, I trust you.”

  He kissed the top of my head again. “Thanks, but I wouldn’t trust me if I were you,” he said, flipping me onto my back. He used his knees to spread my legs as he pinned my wrists to the bed and gazed down at me with a sinister hunger in his eyes. “Sta
y right here. I’ll go get a chair and some rope. But before I do that...”

  He reached over, slid the top drawer of his nightstand open, and his hand disappeared inside. His fist was closed as he pushed the drawer shut. I smiled as he opened his hand, revealing my platinum, diamond-encrusted wedding band.

  I sat up in bed and stared at it, relief washing over me. “I miss that ring.”

  He laughed as he grabbed my hand and slid it onto my finger. “I love you more than you can imagine,” he said, placing a soft kiss on my knuckles.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, “I can’t imagine loving anyone more.”

  24

  Laurel

  Jack hired a five-man security team: three security guards for our house and one for each of us. When Jack introduced me to Ace, my new six-foot-six armed bodyguard who looked as if he’d been carved out of a mountain, I had a difficult time imagining a scenario where anyone would ever attempt to hurt me in his presence.

  But the three guards assigned to our house and the one assigned to Jack were different.

  One of them, Wendell, was about Jack’s size, maybe an inch or two shorter. He was the team leader and would be stationed at our house on a rotating eight-hour schedule with the other two guards, Gustaf — a sinewy ex-green beret with dark, glittering eyes — and Rich — a tall, handsome ginger and former Navy SEAL. Jack’s part-time bodyguard, was none other than Matt Wesley, his best friend Nate’s brother.

  Neither Jack nor Matt mentioned salary, but I imagined that if Matt gave up his security job at Intel to work for Jack, we had to be paying him well. Which meant that the other guards were getting paid just as well or better to work full-time. We were likely paying at least a half-million a year for this team.

  It still amazed me that this was a drop in the bucket for us. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized how strange it must seem to everyone that we were so obscenely wealthy and living in such a small house. It seemed our days of modest living were coming to an abrupt end.