SORRY CAN'T SAVE YOU: A Mystery Novel

by Willow Rose

  Is that what is bothering Ryan?

  “And that is?”

  “Clarice wasn’t very liked by her colleagues.”

  “I heard she wanted to complain about their interrogation methods?” I ask.

  “Yes, she saw them use methods that she didn’t want to be a part of. We’re talking cramped confinement, stress positions, sleep deprivation, insects placed in a confinement box, and waterboarding. She refused to participate in this and went to her superiors to file a report. She was then placed on guard watch to guard the gate and put on suicide watch. They claimed she wasn’t well mentally.”

  “And her report?”

  “Gone. I’ve tried to get it, but it’s gone, they say. They say it never happened.”

  “But you’re certain it did?” I ask.

  “Clarice wouldn’t lie about something like this. Why should she? She knew that she’d become unpopular with the others. She stood up for herself, and it cost her her life; that’s what happened if you ask me. And, of course, the Air Force doesn’t want that to come out, so they call it a suicide. It all happened so far away, so we have no way of proving they’re wrong. My parents have tried to engage reporters from the big TV stations, CBS and ABC, but they won’t run the story. I guess it’s all up to you. Anything you can do will be of great help.”

  Frank leans over and touches my hand, taking it in his just as the front door slams shut, and Ryan steps in.

  Ryan stops as he sees us, then looks down at our hands. Seeing this, Frank pulls away, but it’s too late. The damage is done. Ryan has seen it.

  I leap to my feet, blushing. “Ryan, I…you know Frank, right?”

  Ryan stares at us, his fists clenched. Then, something changes, and he smiles. “Of course. Hi, Frank. What brings you here?”

  I look at Frank, and we exchange glances for just a few seconds too long. I don’t know what to say to Ryan. I can hardly tell him I am digging into Clarice’s death; he’ll only get angry at me for messing with his world, sticking my nose where it doesn’t—and never will—belong.

  “No?” he asks and throws his keys on the counter. “No one can come up with an explanation? Not even a lie?”

  Frank gets up. He grabs his phone from the table, then walks to the door. “I should…probably.”

  “Yeah, you should…probably,” Ryan says.

  I nod and force a smile. I am staring mostly at my shoes, feeling like a child caught in a lie. Why does Ryan always make me feel like I am the one letting him down?

  Frank sends me a last concerned smile before he walks out the door, leaving me alone with Ryan.

  Chapter 18

  The silence is so thick it almost hurts. I don’t even look at him as I turn around. Ryan is staring at me, hands on his hips.

  “Well, that was embarrassing,” he says. “You even think about what people might say? Seeing him come here while I’m not home?”

  “Is that what you’re worried about?” I ask and look up. “What the neighbors will think? What your war buddies might think? Because I am way beyond that already. They’ve been talking about us since you got back. You don’t think they notice you’re never home? You’ve been gone three days, Ryan.”

  “Oh, and that gives you permission to have an affair? We had a fight. I left because I was afraid of losing my temper. I am trying to keep myself together here, Laurie. You’re not exactly making it easy on me. First, you accuse me of having slept with Sandra, and now you’re with him? I don’t know what’s happening around here. How long has this been going on?”

  “I am not having an affair,” I say. “We were just talking.”

  “With your hands?”

  “I was comforting him. He was sad. We talked about his sister; you remember her? You remember Clarice?”

  Ryan’s smug grin is gone. His eyes go blank for a second. Then he points his finger at me, moving very close.

  “Don’t you dare mention her name.”

  “Why not? Why can’t I talk about her, huh?” I ask. “Why doesn’t anyone talk about Clarice? Or about Sandra, for that matter?”

  He shakes his head with a scoff. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. Please explain it to me,” I say.

  He pauses. The finger comes down. He turns away from me for a second, then faces me again.

  “Don’t make this about me. I just caught you with a guy, and now you want to put the blame on me?”

  “That’s not what I was doing,” I say

  “That is exactly what you did. And you always do this because there can never be anything wrong with perfect little Laurie, can there?”

  “You’re making no sense any more, Ryan,” I say. “I don’t understand what’s going on with you.”

  He is biting his lip. I can’t tell if he is angry or ready to cry. It seems to be either-or these days. There is no in-between.

  A tear escapes his eye, and he wipes it away. I shake my head and want to walk past him, but he blocks my way. I gasp as he stares down at me. I am scared he’ll grab my throat again, and I can barely breathe. He grabs my face between his hands and stares into my eyes, his look piercing through me. I feel my heart rate go up and fear he’s going to hurt me.

  But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans over and kisses me. He presses his tongue in between my lips and holds me in a tight grip. The kiss is awkward and a little too demanding, but I kiss him back.

  “I love you so much. I hope you know this,” he whispers. “I can’t do this without you. I’m struggling here. I’m scared of myself and what I might do. That’s why I go. That’s why I can’t stay. But I’m trying to get better. I really am. Don’t leave me, please.”

  I can barely breathe as he looks into my eyes, holding my face tightly between his hands. I can feel his warm breath on my face, and the tears are streaming down his cheeks. His veins are popping out on his neck, and he is shaking.

  “You hear me, Laurie? I can’t get through this without you. Don’t give up on me. Please.”

  I kiss him back, and we hug awkwardly. I am crying too now, my heart beating so fast.

  “I’m trying,” he whispers. “I’m trying to get better.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Ryan,” I say, wiping away my tears. “I’m here. Just stop running away from me. Please, stop running.”

  That night, Ryan stays with me, and we make love in our bed again. As he falls asleep, I lie awake, staring into the ceiling, wondering about what Frank has told me. I get up and check my email, then find one from him. Smiling to myself, I open it.

  Hi, there, lovely lady,

  Thank you for a wonderful lunch. I truly enjoyed spending time with you. I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble? Are you okay? Here is the material you asked me to provide. If you choose to use it, remember not to mention any names. I still want a job, at least for now.

  I hope to see a lot more of you soon.

  Love,

  Frank.

  I smile again, then look at Ryan, who is still heavily asleep. I click the files Frank has sent and open them, then read through all the devastating material. The autopsy, in particular, makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t understand most of what is written since you have to be a forensic expert to translate, but I get the gist of it, and then there are the pictures. They alone are enough to make anyone feel sick.

  I close the files, then close the lid on my laptop and sneak back into bed just as Ryan turns in his sleep and places his arm around me. I close my eyes as the words to my article are already shaping in my mind.

  I know exactly how to write it. I also know it is going to create quite a ruckus when I do. But at this point, I don’t care anymore. The truth has been buried for way too long.

  It’s time for it to get out, even though it is going to hurt.

  Chapter 19

  I work on writing the story whenever I have the time, which isn’t much these days. I am busy taking care of my family, running errands, shopping, and doing laundry. You know,
the usual stuff, the things no one notices gets done, but think just kind of happens on its own.

  Ryan is home with us, staying the night. Every time he leaves the house, I fear he won’t come home, but so far, he has come back every time since the day he found me with Frank in the kitchen, and we enjoy every second we have with him. But I can tell even the kids have that anxious look in their eyes, asking, how long will it last this time?

  My parents are back from their trip and keep calling, wanting to see the kids. I invite them for dinner that same night, feeling like I have been keeping them from their grandchildren, and so I make a second run to Publix, thinking I can still make it back before the kids come home. I buy everything my parents like, including my dad’s favorite beer, but also make sure there are a lot of vegetables with the chicken, so my mom can see how healthy I am keeping my family.

  I don’t know why. I just do it out of reflex. I am sure my parents are way more concerned about my marriage than our health right now. Yet, this is what I can control. I can’t fix my marriage before tonight, but I can make a healthy meal and make us look like we’re doing well.

  I rush back through town and drive onto the base, praying I won’t be picked for a random inspection. Luckily, the car in front of me is picked out, and I can go straight through. With the groceries clinking in the back, I drive past the landing strips, toward the living quarters. We live in the south housing area, but I promised Vera I’d buy her some toilet paper and take it back to her place, and she lives in the north housing area, so I go there first. I place the pack outside on her doorstep as I know she won’t be home till later, then get back into my minivan and drive down her street, hoping the ice cream in the back hasn’t melted.

  I turn a corner by the end of the street when I suddenly slow down to almost a stop. I stare at a driveway and the truck parked there in particular. It’s black and has a sticker on the back that says, US AIR FORCE inside of an American flag, and next to it, one that says, GUNS SAVES LIVES. I know both stickers and the truck a little too well.

  Ryan.

  I stare at the house behind it. I don’t know who lives there, but wonder if it is one of his war buddies and drive on. I pause at the end of the street, then look at my phone, unable to escape a nagging thought in my head.

  Is it a woman he’s visiting? Another affair?

  I grab my phone, heart pounding in my chest, then dial his number. He picks up right away.

  “Hi, babe. What’s up?”

  “I was wondering when you’d be back today?” I ask. I listen to his breathing. It sounds ragged—like he is in the middle of something. Do I hear voices? Another person breathing in the background? “My parents are coming to dinner, and I was wondering if you had time to make your famous spareribs? I’m also making chicken, but maybe we could grill some ribs for my dad’s sake? You know how much he loves them.”

  Boy, I can lie about spareribs!

  “Uhm, I don’t know. Around three o’clock, I think. I can make spareribs if you want me to. I’m at the medical center right now and don’t think we’ll be done till then, but there will still be time when I get back if I’m not too tired, that is. Jimmy is being tough on me today.”

  “Okay,” I say, my heart dropping. Another lie. Is it really that easy for him now? How much can I trust what he has told me? Is everything he said the other day about him trying to get better a lie too?

  “Jimmy wants me to go; we got work to do, but I’ll see you later,” he says, then hangs up.

  I sit in my car, staring at the phone, a lump in my throat, wondering how long this has been going on. How long has he been lying to me?

  He comes home at three o’clock exactly, almost like he has planned it. He seems distraught and stays in the garage for a long time after I see his truck arrive. I am peeling potatoes and chopping carrots as he finally enters the house.

  I don’t know what to say to him. I’ve been thinking about it all day, coming up with a thousand ways to confront him. I want him to know that I saw him and that I read the messages to Sandra. I want to ask him what he is up to. But I am not sure of exactly what to say because the fact is, I don’t know who lives in that house, and the more I think about it, the more I realize that he could come up with a million excuses to explain why he was there and not at the center where he claimed to be. I wouldn’t know whether it is true or not. I am not properly prepared for a real confrontation. I need more ammunition. So, I decide not to say anything as he comes through the door.

  Not yet.

  He stops and stares at me, and I finally look up. I try to avoid his eyes because I am afraid he can tell something is up, but my eyes meet his anyway. I feel a pinch of anger in my stomach but manage to suppress it.

  “So…how was your physical therapy?” I ask, thinking he can see straight through me. He can hear it in my voice, can’t he? Or see it in my eyes?

  He doesn’t answer. He looks away. Something is off with him; he’s different somehow, in another place in his mind. He barely looks at me, just goes to the fridge and takes out the ribs. He rubs them with barbeque sauce and goes outside to light the grill. I keep looking for lipstick marks on his shirt or a different smell on his skin, but I don’t find any convicting clues. As he disappears outside with the grill, he leaves his phone on the counter, and I stare at it for a long time while preparing the salad, then pick it up and open it. I glance toward the sliding doors leading to the yard, making sure he’s not coming. I tap his password and am happy to realize he hasn’t changed it. I open his texts and scroll through them. He’s been texting his friends a lot. I recognize Chip and Ted and then some others, Sonny and Seth, among others. They mostly goof around, sending each other stupid gifs and making plans to go out for beers or a run on the beach. It all seems very innocent. Nothing unusual. I open the most recent text message he has sent, and it is to Ted. He tells him he’s gonna come by today to pick up his stuff, and thanks him again for letting him sleep on his couch while he got himself together.

  I read it three times, feeling like such an idiot. Here, I had thought he was having an affair with someone when he was, in fact, just picking up his stuff after sleeping at Ted’s place for the past three days while calming down so he wouldn’t hurt me or the kids.

  I stare at the door, then put the phone down, feeling all kinds of emotions rush through me. I am so confused right now. Am I just seeing things here? Sandra? This visit today? Is it all just me being super paranoid?

  Maybe Ryan is actually just struggling to get better, and that’s why he kept leaving? It isn’t because he has some other woman he is seeing on the side?

  I smile, relieved, as he comes back inside for more barbeque sauce. I hand him the bottle, then pull him into a deep kiss.

  “What was that for?” he asks. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “I’m just so happy to have you home; that’s all.”

  Chapter 20

  My parents arrive, and I can tell they’re worried. When they see Ryan, my dad’s face lights up, and he goes to the grill with him, where they each get a beer. Meanwhile, my mom helps me with the food, putting it out on the table in the yard. The kids are fighting about something stupid, and I have to tell them to stop. Isabella helps set the table, while Damian goes into the yard to throw his ball. My dad goes to play with him, and soon they are tumbling around out there, laughing loudly. I enjoy watching them and turn to look at Ryan. He is smiling at me while drinking his beer. I smile back.

  We eat, and it all feels really good and amazing and just the way it is supposed to be. Me and my family. All together. Even Rosie, our dog, is enjoying this, sitting by Ryan’s feet, probably hoping some food will drop.

  My dad and Ryan talk football while my mom tells me about a book she read recently that I really ought to read.

  I’m not really listening. I’m trying just to enjoy the moment. It’s harder than I thought, and I wonder why. It’s because of that thought that won’t stop nagging me.

 
Why did he lie? He could have told me he was picking up his stuff at Ted’s. He didn’t have to lie.

  “So, you’re doing well again? You and Ryan?” she then asks.

  I smile. “We are.”

  “That’s good. You don’t seem very happy, though,” she says. “You’re distant. Is something wrong?”

  “No, no, everything is just fine. I’m just a little tired; that’s all.”

  I smile again, wider this time, trying to seem sincere. Ryan and my dad are discussing loudly now, and I can tell Ryan is getting agitated. They have moved on to politics, and they never can agree on that. Ryan is drinking more beers and seems to get more and more tense. I worry this might end badly. I don’t want it to. We were doing so well.

  By the time they finally leave, Ryan is drunk and can barely stand still on his feet as we say our goodbyes. As soon as they’re gone, Ryan goes back into the yard and sits on a chair, then continues to drink. I start cleaning up, then put the kids to bed. I know he’s just drinking more while I do all this, and as I come back out, I am worried.

  “I’m going to bed now,” I say. “Are you coming?”

  He pauses for a long time, then places the bottle in front of his lips and takes another sip.

  “Why did you call today?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “Am I not allowed to call you?”

  “You called me while I was at the center. You never do that. Were you checking up on me?”

  I shake my head. I’m tired, and I sense he just wants to fight. I don’t want to. I want to sleep. I want to get by for one day without us fighting.

  “No. I wanted to make sure you had time to do the spareribs,” I say.

  “Your parents think I’m cheating on you,” he says.

  I frown. This sounds odd in my ears.

  “They said that?”

  He drinks again. “No, but I can tell. The way they look at me. Did you tell them I’ve been cheating on you?”