3 Madness in Christmas River

by Meg Muldoon

  I went over to the stove in the living room and fed it another log from the woodpile. It crackled happily. I stood by it, enjoying the warmth.

  “That must have been really hard,” he finally said.

  I sighed.

  “You just never think it’s a possibility,” I said. “You spend years and years with somebody, and you think that you know them like the back of your hand. Then something like that happens, and you realize that you never knew the first thing about him.”

  “And that maybe they never knew the first thing about you.”

  I glanced over at him, surprised.

  His words lingered for a while. We both listened to the sound of the wind howling outside and the fire breaking down the wood.

  “Sounds like you know a little something about it,” I said.

  He started to say something, but then stopped.

  “It’s all a bunch of bullshit anyway,” he said, shaking his head.

  “What is?”

  “Love,” he said. “All you do is sacrifice, and for what? For someone who ends up hurting you more than you ever thought anyone could. And the joke of it is that you gave them the knives to do it. You told them where you’re weaknesses are. You told them where it hurts the most.”

  I was taken aback.

  It’s funny how you look at someone and judge them. Looking at Owen, I would have thought he didn’t know the meaning of heartache. That in fact, he was the one to dole it out. Maybe it was his good looks, or the way he acted. But he just didn’t seem to me like someone who loved very deeply, or who hurt very deeply either.

  But I suddenly realized that I had been dead wrong about him.

  And realized that most people in this town were probably wrong about him.

  I thought about asking about the details of what happened to him, about the woman who hurt him, but I thought better of it.

  I knew from experience that rehashing those memories didn’t help a thing.

  It just dragged out the pain, making it hurt all over again.

  I cleared my throat.

  “It gets better, you know,” I said. “Sometimes it’s just about finding the right person.”

  He got up and went over to the counter, grabbing Daniel’s three-quarters full bottle of Jim Beam.

  “May I?” he asked, holding it up.

  I nodded.

  “You want any?”

  I shook my head.

  He twisted the top off, pouring himself a large glass. Then he went back to the table.

  “You think Sheriff Brightman’s the right person for you?” he said.

  “I know that I love him with everything I have,” I said. “And that’s enough for me.”

  He rubbed his face.

  “What’s any of it good for anyway?”

  He downed the whiskey at an alarming speed.

  It had been the most I’d ever seen him drink, and I could tell it was starting to take effect. His cheeks were turning a deep shade of candy apple red.

  “I came all the way across the country to get away from her, you know, thinking that it’d help if I moved to a small town in the middle of nowhere,” he said. “But it’s just as bad as it was back there. I might as well have stayed in Pittsburg.”

  He poured himself another drink.

  “I would have done anything for that girl,” he said. “Anything. Jump off a cliff or in front of a train. I would have given her anything she wanted. But it wasn’t enough. Not enough to keep her.”

  He stared into nothing, his eyes clouded with memories, no doubt.

  I sighed.

  There was no easy answer to heartbreak sometimes.

  “Maybe you just need someone to take your mind off of her,” I said. “It wouldn’t be hard in this town. What about that Haley girl you were talking about?”

  He scoffed.

  “Haley’s a Play Misty for Me type, if you know what I mean,” he said. “I’d end up with a knife in my back at the end of our first date.”

  I smiled.

  “Well, okay, that I can understand,” I said. “But there are plenty of nice girls here.”

  “I don’t want any of them.”

  I knew how he felt. I went through the same exact thing after everything that happened to me. I couldn’t picture myself ever being with somebody else, let alone ever getting married again.

  But here I was, about to walk down the aisle for a second time.

  Maybe the only thing that healed a broken heart was time. That, and the love of someone special who understood you.

  I thought about saying that to Owen, but seeing his face, I knew it wasn’t going to get through.

  He took another large gulp of booze, reminding me of a teenager set loose at a wedding reception, drinking as much as he could before his parents found out.

  “All I can tell you is that one day, it won’t hurt so bad,” I said. “You’ll meet someone else, and they’ll treat you right. You won’t even remember what this other girl looked like. And you won’t be bitter anymore.”

  “And I’ll live happily ever after,” he said, drinking the rest of his glass. “Just like in a fairy tale.”

  “No. Like in life. You’ve got your ups and your downs, but it’ll come out even in the end. But you can’t give up on everything just because you got your heart ripped up.”

  I was beginning to sound more and more like Warren these days.

  But it was good advice. And even though Owen couldn’t hear what I was saying, some day, he would.

  He didn’t respond. He leaned back in his chair.

  “So does he still live here?” he asked, changing subjects again abruptly.

  “Who?”

  “Your ex.”

  “No, not for a while,” I said. “He’s just back in town for a little bit. He said he was headed to Mexico in a few weeks.”

  “Is he still with your friend?”

  I shook my head.

  “What’d he want earlier?”

  I smiled faintly.

  “Something stupid,” I said.

  “What?”

  “He wanted me to forgive him,” I said. “Seems like he’s been holding onto something that’s been dead a long, long time.”

  He finished the rest of his drink.

  “Not too bright, is he?”

  “No,” I said. “He never was.”

  I was surprised by it, but in some ways, it felt nice having Deputy McHale here. It was nice having somebody to talk to while the storm raged on outside.

  Chapter 36

  I took a seat on the old leather sofa next to the stove. I brought my legs up to my chest and watched as flakes piled up on the porch railing outside.

  “There’s a girl for you, Owen,” I said. “She’s out there. Whether or not you want to believe she’s there, she is. And she’s just waiting for you to find her.”

  His response was another swig.

  There wasn’t any way he was driving anywhere anytime soon.

  Had I known that, I probably wouldn’t have offered him anything to drink.

  I figured that since I’d gone through the trouble of building a fire and toasting the house up, I might as well spend the night in Daniel’s house. I could walk back home in the morning. And Owen could hang around until he was sober enough to drive himself home.

  He got up from his chair, bumping into the table. He steadied himself, and carried his glass over to the sofa, sitting down next to me.

  “And here I was thinking you weren’t much of a drinker,” I said.

  “I’m not,” he said. “I’ve given it up. Or at least, I did.”

  He took another large gulp.

  Just then, my phone started ringing. I rummaged around in my jean pocket, pulling it out, relieved to see that it was Daniel.

  I hadn’t heard from him all day.

  I answered, my heart beating hard when I heard his voice, even though it was garbled by a bad connection.

  Owen got up and staggered back over to t
he table, draining more whiskey into his glass.

  He had made quite the dent on the bottle of Jim Beam.

  “Hey Cin, I…” Daniel started saying, but then the reception got fuzzy and I couldn’t understand anything more.

  “Daniel?” I said, pressing the phone to my ear.

  “At the… I’ll… Later…”

  Owen started laughing at something over at the table.

  “Look at Sheriff Brightman here,” he said, holding up the photo album. “He’s just a funny-looking kid!”

  I shot him a sharp look, but he didn’t notice.

  “Who…” Daniel started saying, but it cut out again.

  “It must be the wind,” I yelled into the phone, not knowing if he could hear me or not. “’I’ll try calling you back.”

  I hung up the phone and then dialed his number.

  It went straight to voicemail.

  “Dammit,” I said, biting my lip.

  I left him a message, telling him that everything was okay and not to worry. I told him I loved him.

  I hung up the phone and let out a sigh.

  I just hoped the wind would let up soon, and we would get a chance to talk.

  I rubbed my face, put the phone down, got up, and went over to the table. Owen was flipping through the photo album I found upstairs.

  “I can’t believe that’s the sheriff,” he asked, pointing to the younger kid in the photos.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s him all right. Looks like a trouble maker, doesn’t he?”

  Owen smiled lopsidedly. One of the few genuine smiles I’d seen out of him.

  “And that’s his brother?”

  I nodded.

  “Does he still live here?”

  I shook my head.

  “He died,” I said. “A while ago, when Daniel was just a teenager.”

  Owen raised his eyebrows.

  “Really?” he said, his eyes growing large. “How’d he die?”

  “He was shot,” I said. “Just in the wrong place, poor kid.”

  “Jeez,” he said. “So sad. Heesh’s—”

  He slurred.

  “He’s never said anything about it to me,” he said, slowly.

  “That’s why Daniel became a cop,” I said. “He wanted to find the person who killed him and bring him to justice.”

  There was a moment of silence as we gazed at the photos.

  “Sheriff Brightman’s a good man,” he said, glancing down at me. “Just, a really good man.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes he is.”

  I could feel Owen’s stare lingering on me. I looked up at him.

  His eyes were glazed over, and his heavy breath reeked of alcohol.

  “He’s lucky, too,” he said.

  I shivered, suddenly feeling terribly uncomfortable.

  “I don’t know about that,” I said, looking away.

  I closed the album and cleared my throat.

  “No, he really, really is,” he said.

  I looked back up at him, noticing too late what was happening.

  A moment later, he fell into my arms.

  Chapter 37

  Owen nearly cracked his head on the wood floor.

  Luckily, or maybe unluckily for me, he took me down with him when he collapsed, and I cushioned his fall.

  My butt hit the floor hard, and I grimaced.

  “Son of a…” I said out loud.

  But nobody was listening. Owen had passed out, his head resting on my leg.

  I realized that bringing that bottle of wine out had been a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

  But how was I to know that something like this would happen? In the time I knew Owen, I hadn’t seen him have more than three drinks altogether. It wasn’t in his nature to drink a lot. Or so I had thought.

  But dredging up all those painful feelings from his past must have been too much for him to handle. And, like so many of the broken-hearted who went before him, he tried to drown his sorrow in a bottle.

  He’d done a good job of it, too.

  I gently pushed him onto the floor, and got up. My tailbone was hurting something wicked, but nothing was damaged too badly.

  I wondered if I should call Billy Jasper to come and take Owen home, but then thought better of it.

  There was no point in dragging Billy away from the sheriff’s station when there was a nice, comfortable couch right by the fire that Owen could crash on.

  I leaned over him, just to make sure he was breathing. He was. From the times I had to take care of Evan when he’d had too much to drink, I knew that Owen just needed some sleep and three Advil in the morning.

  I went down the hall and grabbed a few blankets and extra pillows from the linen closet. I set the sofa up for him, and then grabbed a hold of his feet, dragging him unceremoniously across the floor.

  He grumbled as I propped him up on the sofa, using leverage to hoist his body.

  By the time he was in a decent sleeping position on the cushions, I was out of breath.

  Owen was a lot heavier than he looked.

  I unlaced his shoes and placed them on the floor. I draped the blankets over him, and adjusted the pillows under his head.

  With his red cheeks, he looked just like a little boy.

  I shook my head silently.

  I went back over to the fire and sat there a little longer, watching the logs burn down into embers. Then, I blew out the candles on the table, grabbed the photo album, and went into Daniel’s room.

  I called Warren to let him know that I was crashing at Daniel’s house for the night. Then I curled up under his blankets, looking out the window at the storm. I held onto his old photo album, thinking about how hard life was sometimes.

  But that we never had any other choice but to keep moving forward.

  Chapter 38

  I woke up in Daniel’s bedroom early the next morning, looking at the dark ceiling, thinking about Owen.

  I felt for him. I’d been exactly where he was not too long ago. I remember the nights were the worst. I’d stay up, watching late-night infomercials, home shopping networks, anything to take my mind off of the numbness I felt. I drank too much and ate too much, trying to feel even less.

  Sometimes I wondered if I’d still be stuck in that pattern if Daniel hadn’t walked back into my life.

  I thought back to the way Owen looked at me before passing out and falling into my arms.

  He just needed somebody. That was the only way he was going to get over what he’d lost. That was the only way anybody got over a broken heart.

  I grabbed the phone off the nightstand. There were no new messages from Daniel.

  I tried calling again and only got his voicemail. I thought about leaving yet another message, but realized it wouldn’t do any good.

  There were no new messages from Marie either.

  I was beginning to think something really bad had happened to her. What if her car had gone off the road into a snowy embankment? What if Kara was right—what if she had met an old flame, and taken a trip with him to the casino? Except, maybe her old flame was a psycho murderer?

  I knew from what Daniel had told me about missing person’s cases that the longer someone was missing, the worse their chances of being found became.

  For a split second, the thought crossed my mind that Marie might end up like Anthony Matthews. Just a face in an old faded photograph. Nothing more.

  I shivered.

  Lying in bed thinking about it wasn’t going to help a damn thing.

  I got up, threw on the flannel robe resting on the chair by the window, and walked quietly down the hall to the living room.

  A pile of blankets sat folded on the sofa.

  I went over to the front window and pulled back the curtains.

  The patrol car was gone.

  I was glad to see that Owen survived the night, and that he had been well enough to drive himself home. Though I was sure he had one hell of a hangover this morning.

  And part of
me was glad that I wouldn’t have to suffer through awkward conversation with him this morning.

  I rubbed my face and went to the kitchen to make some coffee.

  I was halfway through grinding some beans, when I realized that the power had come back on.

  Chapter 39

  “Cinnamon Ann Peters,” Kara said, busting into the kitchen, her stylish high heel boots clicking loudly against the tile. “I don’t even know what to say to you.”

  I almost dropped the pan of freshly-baked Chocolate Bourbon Hazelnut pies that I had just taken out of the oven.

  When I had walked in early this morning, the pie shop had been colder than the bottom of a frozen lake. But after putting on some Clarence Carter and baking a few batches of pie, the kitchen was back to its usual cozy temperature. The torturous smell of melted milk chocolate lingered in the air.

  I placed the pan of pies safely on the counter and grabbed a bag of baby carrots from the fridge.

  Baby carrots were my hated friends these days.

  Kara took a seat at the kitchen island and stared at me with wide eyes.

  “What now?” I said, sitting across from her and ripping into the plastic bag.

  “I can’t believe that you haven’t told me about this,” she said. “I mean, I thought we were best friends. And here you are, holding out on me. I had to hear it all from old Gertrude Baxter.”

  I didn’t have the faintest idea of what she was talking about. I nibbled on the tasteless carrots and waited for her to continue.

  She clicked her tongue against the top of her mouth and placed a hand on her hip in frustration.

  “C’mon,” she said. “Nobody else can hear us. You can tell me.”

  “Tell you what?” I said, glancing over at the freshly baked pies, all chocolaty, gooey and delicious. I could almost taste them. Maybe I could just have a small slice. Just a teeny, eeny, itsy bitsy piece to tie me over for the rest of the—

  “Tell me about a little someone we like to call Deputy Hot Stuff,” she said, drumming her bright holiday-red nails against the counter.

  “What?” I said. “I’m sorry, are you talking about Daniel?”

  She sighed and shook her head.

  “Now you’re just playing dumb, Cin,” she said. “I’ll spell it out for you. I’m talking about you, Deputy Owen McHale, and the fact that his patrol car was outside of Daniel’s house all night. And… that you were there too.”