“Look”—Jordy sat forward, interrupting—“I know the guy is whacked, but he saw the Range Rover right before the accident happened. He knows—”
“You don’t need Burrows anymore.” Roger put a hand on Jordy’s arm.
“What do you mean?” Jordy and Sandy asked together.
She was aware of Jenna and Emmett behind her; she would have sworn that, like her, neither of them was breathing.
“The night of the accident, like Sergeant Huckabee, I was on patrol in the vicinity of CR 440 and FM 1620,” Carter said. “I was actually looking for Burrows. I’d followed him from the Little B. I knew he was up to no good—but that’s another story. Anyway, I was right behind Huck, maybe five minutes later to the scene. I know why he got the idea you were driving, son.” Carter looked at Jordy. “But I had a feeling about it, that he wasn’t right.”
“He wanted it to be me—see, because I—” Jordy looked at Sandy, eyes pleading with her. He knew that she knew about Coleta. Libby must have confessed to telling her, Sandy thought.
She said, “I think everyone here knows about Coleta now, Jordy. Well, maybe not Sergeant Carter.”
“You told—?”
“It had to come out, Jordy,” Emmett answered, and Sandy was grateful.
“It was in the letter Huck wrote.” Sergeant Carter shoved his hand over his head, uncomfortable.
“We heard he’d left a note,” Sandy said. “It’s true?”
“It wasn’t a suicide note, exactly. It was a letter of resignation,” Sergeant Carter answered. “He said he was leaving town, but he didn’t say how. Although he did say he was tired, that he felt like he wasn’t up for the job anymore. He talked about John, about missing him. He blamed himself for how John was killed. That sort of thing. It kind of rambled.”
“I didn’t realize he was still carrying so much guilt,” Jenna said quietly. “I didn’t know about his feelings—he never said—”
Sandy patted her knee. “He took John’s death hard. Probably harder than he let on.”
“I know how that feels,” Jordy said.
“What will happen to Coleta and Heidi?” Jenna asked, addressing the sergeant. “Do you know?”
“Preliminary word is she’ll get her green card. Something about the death of a sponsor. It speeds up the process?” He shook his head. “Weird as that sounds, and I could be wrong.”
The silence felt tense and confused, tangled with an assortment of emotions no one could really name.
The sergeant socked his fist into the palm of his other hand.
Emmett said, “You were saying Huck’s idea about the accident wasn’t right, in your opinion.”
Carter looked relieved. “Yeah, so, without getting too technical, when a car spins, the people in it tend to go in the opposite direction of the spin. The Range Rover rotated in a clockwise direction, which is why Travis went out the driver’s-side window and why you landed in the driver’s seat.”
“Yeah, and somehow, I got out. I had to help Trav.”
“Adrenaline,” Emmett muttered.
“Yeah. But here’s the other thing about a crash—when the car collides with an immovable object like a tree, the folks inside tend to recoil, especially their heads. Those cuts you sustained on the right side of your face? That happened when your head collided with the passenger-side window hard enough to shatter the glass.”
Sandy felt the hair rise on her neck, her arms. She cupped her elbows.
“When I examined the car, I collected tissue I found on that window. I just had a feeling, and I sent it to the lab to find out who it belonged to, you know, to determine whose DNA it was, because I knew that would tell us for sure who was riding in that passenger seat. We got the results this morning.”
“It was mine?”
“Yep, son, it was.”
“Oh my God.” Sandy felt light-headed.
Jordy’s fingers went to the divot at his hairline. He stood up.
Roger did, too. He laid his arm across Jordy’s shoulders. “You’re one lucky guy, you know that? I’m not trying to diminish what you’ve been through. But that was one hell of a hit you took. You’re damn lucky you survived.”
Jordy looked at Jenna. They all did. Sandy’s breath paused, seeming to wait.
Jenna left her armchair and crossed the floor to Jordy, and when she was right in front of him, she reached up and cupped his cheek. Tears filmed her eyes.
Sandy brought her tented fingertips to her mouth.
Jordy covered Jenna’s hand with his own. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and his voice was rough. “It should have been me.”
“No, Jordy.” Jenna’s tears slid down her cheeks, and she swiped at them almost angrily, then laughed, a small, broken sound. “He would have said the same, you know? If you had died, he would have wished it was him.” She looked at Jordy. “You two,” she said. “You were like the other half of each other, you know?”
A noise broke from Jordy, as if what Jenna had said, coupled with all they had lost, was too heavy to bear. Sandy and Emmett went to him, and together with Jenna, they held him, their boy who was left.
19
This is where you were the first time I came here.”
Libby sat back, squinting up at Jordan. “Weeding,” she said. “It never ends.” She got to her feet. “You look good. Happy. Free.”
“Yeah. I can’t believe it’s over.”
“I’m happy for you,” Libby said.
“You want to get those boxwoods in the ground? I heard a rumor we may get some rain tomorrow. Real rain. Not those little showers we had a few days ago.” He was referring to the day Libby had picked him up outside his dad’s apartment when they’d gone to Jenna’s and everything had unraveled. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Let’s do it,” she said.
They worked in near silence for the better part of the morning, cutting the lattice, then nailing it to the front porch edge in a diagonal design. They stopped at one point and drank the fresh lemonade Libby had made the evening before. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back,” she said when they sat on the front steps to drink it.
He looked at her. “I said I’d plant those boxwoods.”
Libby nodded. People said a lot of things.
“I was kind of hoping we could be friends. I don’t have a ton of those right now.”
“Well, I’m here anytime,” she said.
When the boxwoods were settled in the ground and watered, she made lunch. Chicken-salad sandwiches on croissants, fresh fruit and chips.
“I’m going to build the house.” Libby sat across from Jordan. She was so pleased he was here, ridiculously pleased. But she wouldn’t let on. She might scare him.
“Really?” He grinned. “It means you’re staying, right?”
“Yes, I think so. I think Beck would want me to follow through with our plans. Besides, it’s the last house Beck designed. It should be built.”
“I could help with the landscape,” Jordan said, taking a bite of his sandwich, wolfing it down, really.
Libby thought she’d never seen anyone eat with such gusto. “I’d like that.”
“Mom would help, too. She’s great at design.” He speared a grape with his fork, then paused it halfway to his mouth. “We could do a pond.”
Libby smiled. It was his use of the word we that delighted her. She wasn’t Jordan’s mother; she couldn’t hope to be part of his family, but she could see that she mattered to him.
“How is your aunt doing? Your mom told me she’s living with your grandparents.”
“Yeah. She has her house up for sale. She’s thinking of building on my mom and dad’s property.”
“That’s good. I was so glad to hear from your mom. It seemed as if maybe your family was beginning to put itself back together.”
“Yeah. Except for Dad, I guess. He still hasn’t come back home.”
Sandy hadn’t mentioned Emmett when she and Libby had spoken on the phone the other day. She dabbed
at her mouth with her napkin. “I hope they can work it out.”
“Me, too,” Jordan said. “I told my dad he shouldn’t hold it against her, something she did twenty years ago.” Jordan met Libby’s gaze. “I told him he’s my dad, you know?”
“Yes,” Libby said. “He certainly is. What did he say?”
“He knows it. He’s just stubborn.”
They ate for several moments in silence.
Libby broke it. “So, now that you’re a free man again, will you go back to school?”
“Yeah. I wanted to tell you. I’m leaving tomorrow. I can still do late enrollment. It’ll be tough at first, catching up.” He stopped, bent his weight on his elbows, traced a pattern with his fingertip, not looking at her. “I drink too much,” he finally said. “I don’t know if I have a problem, you know, like whether I’m an actual alcoholic—” He looked at Libby and made a face.
“Beck, your birth dad—there’s a history of drinking in his family.” Libby set her fork down. She’d been waiting for the opportunity to tell him this. “His sister, Mia, still drinks a lot, but Beck quit, a long time ago. He never really knew why he started or why he stopped.”
“Did he go to AA?”
“No. Are you thinking of taking that route?”
“I’m thinking if Trav had lived, he’d find a way to make something good come out of all the bad that’s happened. That’s the kind of guy he was.”
“Do you have something in mind?” Libby asked.
“There are a lot of kids on campus who drink, and a lot of bad stuff goes down because of it. Not just car accidents, but fights and sexual assaults. You don’t know half of what you’re doing when you’re drunk. You make bad decisions. It seems like there ought to be a way to put the brakes on it, to look out for each other better.” Jordan leaned back. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, thinking I can use my experience to make a difference. It’s just—I know it’s what Trav would have done, and I don’t want him to have died for nothing. I want to honor his memory, to make it stand for something. I don’t want him to be another statistic. Another stupidhead who drove drunk and killed himself.”
Libby reached out, cupping his elbow in her palm.
“If only something—one good thing—could come out of this. You know what I mean?” he asked. His voice was rough with emotion, and it tore at Libby’s heart. She understood, she said. She surely did.
20
On a Wednesday morning in late September, Sandy was at the kitchen sink tossing the last of her coffee out and rinsing her mug when she spotted the car, a light-colored sedan, coming up the drive. No. The word appeared in her brain, a protest. She recognized that car. It belonged to Patsy Meade. What was she doing here? Sandy still had no proof that the woman wasn’t as much of a lunatic as Ricky Burrows, who was thankfully back in the custody of the Colorado state mental hospital he had escaped from. It was unlikely, though, that he would be prosecuted for stabbing the nurse there. His mental state was too precarious.
Libby had told her that when she’d joined Emmett, Jenna, and Troy for a farewell dinner with Jordy before he’d gone back to UT a few weeks ago. They’d grilled hamburgers. Libby had brought a pot of cooked fresh green beans from her garden. They planned to get together again the next time Jordy was home for a weekend.
A knock came on the back door. There was a moment when Sandy considered pretending she wasn’t home, but it passed.
“I was hoping you would see me,” Patsy said when Sandy opened the door.
“Do you want to come in?”
Patsy said, “Yes,” but she didn’t sound at all sure.
“Can I get you anything? I have iced tea. I could make coffee?”
“No, thanks. I only came to say that I’m sorry to have caused you distress. I was wrong about Jordy, wrong to accuse him.”
“I appreciate that,” Sandy said.
“Is he here? I’d like to apologize to him.”
Sandy explained he was back at school.
Tears came into Patsy’s eyes. She wiped at them with the back of her hand and then pressed it to her mouth, obviously fighting for control. “Michelle’s doctors don’t think she’s going to wake up.”
“Oh, Patsy. Oh, I’m so sorry.” Sandy’s own eyes welled up. The wave of her compassion closed her throat. It was strong enough that she would have embraced Patsy, if there had been anything in her demeanor that suggested she would welcome such comfort. But there wasn’t a shred of warmth. They were adversaries in a way, players in a mutual catastrophe. But Sandy had left the field with her child intact, while Patsy had not. She envied Sandy for that and resented her. At times, Sandy felt the same chill of antagonism from Jenna, and it was hard. It made Sandy feel as if she should apologize for her son’s life. She never would, though. She would never say it, those words: I’m sorry Jordy lived, as if Jordy were a gift she didn’t deserve.
Patsy found a tissue in her purse and blew her nose. “Her father and I have separated,” she said.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink? A glass of water?”
Patsy seemed not to hear. “He wants to take Michelle off life support. He’s talked with the doctors about harvesting her organs. He says she would give life to others. But how do you do it? Kill your own child? He says he can’t stand seeing her this way. But it’s not about him.” She thrust the tissue back into her purse. “If there’s one good thing, though, that has come from this, it’s that I see my husband very clearly. I see the kind of father he is, one who can give up on his daughter. I see the sort of husband he is, that it’s always about him. Well, not this time. I’ve hired an attorney, and I’m getting a court order. Michelle is not going to be offered up like a field of corn, ripe for the harvest. People come out of comas; they wake up. Miracles do happen. Don’t you agree?”
Sandy said yes, that of course she believed in miracles. But looking at Patsy, her adamant, wide-eyed glare, Sandy thought not even Patsy believed there would be one for Michelle. It was simply that she couldn’t face it yet, the heartbreaking reality that her daughter was already gone.
Sandy walked Patsy to her car, and she started to get inside, but then straightened, and turning to Sandy, she said, “You don’t know how lucky you are.”
Sandy started to protest. It was not all jolly times. Emmett was still living at the apartment. She and Jenna were still estranged to some degree, and their parents—well, their parents were doing the best they could to distribute their love and support evenly between their daughters. And Jordy was still groping in the dark. He had nightmares and questioned why he’d been spared and how his life mattered. Why hadn’t it been taken. No, it wasn’t all jolly around here.
Patsy put her hand on Sandy’s arm. “I don’t mean to dismiss what you’ve been through.” She dropped her hand, looked away, looked back, and her breath came out in an irritated gust. “But your son is alive; he has a future. Everything else—anything else that’s wrong in your life, or that you might have lost, or think you need and don’t have—it’s nothing by comparison. Trust me.”
She turned away, opened her car door, then turned back. “You know, losing a child is the one thing I have always said I wouldn’t survive. I guess I’ll find out, won’t I? If my husband wins. If the court says the doctors can stop the machines. You should thank God you don’t have to learn this about yourself. That’s all I’m saying.”
Patsy settled in the driver’s seat. “Treasure every moment. I mean, you must know, right? Since you got the same god-awful call in the night that I did—just how quickly it can all be gone.”
In one second.
One breath.
Less, even.
After Patsy left, Sandy couldn’t get it out of her mind, the sense of how fragile life was.
She had a busy day, back-to-back appointments, and by the end of it, she was tired, but instead of going home, she drove to the Kennedys’ and parked at the curb behind Emmett’s truck. Getting out of her truck, she hoped
he was in the apartment and not the house. She hoped Grant and Brenda wouldn’t see her and try to waylay her. She walked alongside the house with her head down. Emmett appeared at the top of the apartment stairs and stood watching her from the landing.
“I wondered if we could talk,” she said, looking up at him.
“About?”
“Us. What we’re doing.”
“I’ll come down,” he said.
They walked to a nearby park. It was nearing dinnertime now on a school night. The park was mostly deserted. They sat in the swings.
Sandy said, “I don’t know how to start.”
“Why did you come?”
“Because I want there to be a way to fix this—fix us. But maybe there is no fix. We can’t be like we were.” She paused, hoping Emmett would say something, give some clue to what he felt, but he didn’t. He only moved the swing idly and stared into the middle distance, where shadows made long brushstrokes across the rough ground.
“We aren’t the same people,” Sandy said.
“No,” Emmett agreed.
“I’m not that girl anymore, the one who led you to believe Jordy was yours.”
She felt Emmett look at her.
“I’ll be sorry for that until I die; I can apologize until I die, but it won’t change what I did.” She met his gaze.
“It’s my call, is that what you’re saying? Whether we have a marriage, a relationship, depends on whether or not I can get past it. Deal with it.”
“You have to forgive me, Emmett. If you can’t, then we have no reason to go on together. I can’t live with it—your resentment of me, the constant reminder of how badly I screwed up. I know it. I was wrong. I’ve admitted it, and I’ve apologized. I can’t be sorrier. I can’t take it back.” Her voice shook. She wanted to touch him. If only there were a way to physically impress on him the depth of her remorse. She lifted her hand, and it hovered between them for what seemed like an eternity to her.
He didn’t look at her. He didn’t even seem aware of her presence.
It was in the moment that she, giving up, lowered her hand that he took it and, pulling her and her swing to him, kissed the tips of her fingers, her palm, the inside of her wrist. He gathered her into his embrace, and she breathed him in—his smells, the starch in his shirt, the pine scent of his aftershave, a fainter underscore of oil and earth. It was the way he always smelled after spending the day at a drilling site. The familiarity of it, the feel of him in her arms, made her ache. Tears of relief, happiness, a peculiar rush of anxiety, scarred the undersides of her eyelids. She thought of Roger, her brief attraction to him. She might have given in to it, especially the night when she’d foolishly had so much to drink, and she was so thankful she had not, and grateful to Roger that he’d been such a gentleman. Her old self, that long-ago girl she’d been, had once taken advantage of just such a distraction. She had used Beck Hennessey as a temporary remedy for her grief over Emmett’s absence. Maybe she had learned something from that in spite of herself. If she were to have to face that again, Emmett’s leaving her, then she would deal with it alone. She would find her own strength, her own way along the dark road, using the light she had.
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