by David Bell
“But what . . .” Sierra raised her hand to her eyes, as though she were shading them against a bright light. “What if she’s . . .”
“Hurt?” Jason said. “She didn’t say anything to Colton.”
Sierra was shaking her head. Back and forth.
“And don’t worry about the cat. That’s nothing.”
“It’s not that.”
It came to Jason then with the suddenness of revelation. Sierra wasn’t really worried about Jesse Dean. She was worried about something else, something even more dangerous related to her mother.
“The bottle?” Jason said. “Are you worried because they were passing around a bottle?”
Sierra’s shoulders started shaking. Jason took a step toward her, but she managed to say, “What if she starts again, Uncle Jason? What if she starts again?”
For a moment, Jason didn’t know what to do. He moved closer to his niece, reaching out to her with one hand. But he couldn’t just pat her on the shoulder, could he? He couldn’t just tell her to buck up and hope for the best. So he took the girl in his arms, letting her rest her head on his shoulder while she cried over the fate of her mother.
“Twenty-four more hours, kiddo,” he said as he held her. “Let’s give her those twenty-four hours.”
Chapter Eleven
Sierra stopped crying eventually and then told Jason she just wanted to read for a while to ease her mind. Jason asked her to come downstairs, to sit in the living room with him so they could read together until Nora came home, but Sierra declined. She said she just wanted to be alone.
Jason brought his book to the kitchen table and opened a beer. Once again, he couldn’t concentrate on reading, and he found he couldn’t enjoy the beer either. While he had never struggled with alcohol, he simply didn’t have the taste for it that night as the quiet of the house settled around him. He kept thinking of Hayden in that car, the bottle being passed back and forth. Had she fallen again? He knew recovering alcoholics had to change the patterns of their lives. They couldn’t run with the same crowd or go to the places where they used to drink. Had Hayden come back to Ednaville, fallen in with her old friends, and lapsed into the same behavior?
Nora came home around nine thirty, and she took off her jacket as she entered the kitchen.
“How’s it going?” Jason asked.
She laid the jacket aside, came to the table, and sat down. “How’s Sierra?”
“She’s fine,” Jason said. He pushed the beer bottle away. “Fine, but upset.”
In a low voice, Jason told Nora everything that Colton had told him about seeing Hayden in town with Jesse Dean. While he related the details, Nora lifted her hand to her mouth and cupped it there as though stifling a cry. But she didn’t say anything. She listened, and she kept listening in the same way as Jason added the part that Sierra told him, the part about Hayden apparently talking to or about Jesse Dean on the phone.
When he finished the story, Nora moved her hand and let out a deep breath. She didn’t say anything.
“Do you want a drink?” Jason asked.
Nora shook her head.
“I don’t have much taste for it either.”
“And Sierra heard all that?” she asked. “What this Colton guy said.”
“We moved away to the street, but I think she listened at the window. She might as well hear it all. She’s seventeen. She’s seen the best and worst of her mom.”
“Would this Colton guy really know Hayden if he saw her?” Nora asked. “Can you trust him to be accurate?”
“He was in love with Hayden in high school. In lust, I should say. A lot of guys were. But he was just a few feet from that car. He’s right. It was her and Jesse Dean. No doubt about it.”
Nora folded her hands, her elbows resting on the tabletop. She almost looked prayerful. “I think you’re wrong. I think we need to call the police. If this guy, this Jesse guy, is a criminal, and he’s with Hayden, we need to let the police know. They could help her. Maybe she is in trouble.”
“It’s not a crime to fall off the wagon. And it’s not a crime to hang out with a petty criminal and a thug.”
“He didn’t see her actually drinking anything, did he?” Nora asked.
“What are the chances she didn’t?”
Nora pushed herself up and started across the kitchen. She grabbed the phone. “I don’t care what you think. We need to tell someone—”
“Wait.” Jason stood up as well. “Just wait.”
“What?”
“There’s something else. Something you haven’t thought of.”
Nora held the phone in her hand. She looked back at Jason and stopped, waiting.
“What? What haven’t I thought of?”
Jason came over and took the phone from her. He set it back down in the charger. “I didn’t think of this right away either, but I thought of it tonight after I talked to Sierra. We don’t know where Derrick is, do we? Sierra says he’s in Indiana, but who knows? She hasn’t heard from him in two years. If Hayden has really fallen off the wagon, if she’s out with these guys partying and drinking and driving or whatever else they’re doing, and we call the police and report them, what’s going to happen to Sierra? If Hayden ends up in jail for something, what about Sierra?”
“She can stay here. With us.”
“Sure. Maybe. We’re okay with that. But do you know that’s how the system would work? You heard what she said last night. She almost had to go into foster care once. What happens if some social worker shows up? Even if she goes into the system for a few days, and we have to get her out . . . I don’t want to think of that yet.”
Nora leaned against the counter. She seemed to be in agreement.
“And her father,” Jason said. “If he came back for her, or if she were sent to him . . . I think we’re better off just having her here and waiting to see what happens. Hayden said she’d be back in another day. I’m willing to give Hayden that. I told Sierra the same thing.”
“You didn’t mention foster care to her, did you?”
“No, of course not. But she knows. I guess she’s less worried about that than we are. She wanted to call the police too.”
Nora folded her arms across her chest. “You have to go out looking for Hayden tonight. We can’t just sit here.”
“I’ve thought of that. Where would I look?”
“Start at the park where Colton saw her.”
“They were leaving.”
“Do you know where this Jesse guy lives?”
“I might be able to find the house he lived in almost thirty years ago. I might.”
“Well?”
“And what would I do there?”
“If Hayden’s there, you could bring her home.”
Jason stepped away. He walked around the kitchen with no real purpose in mind. He felt caged up. Uncertain. He wished he had insisted on going with Hayden. He could have demanded to know where she was going. Or he could have followed her. But what would all that have done? Driven her away? Pushed her toward something else? Something worse?
“Okay, I’ll go. I’m not sure what good it will do, but I’ll go.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m doing it for you. And for Sierra.”
“Just make a quick circuit of the town, then come home. If you don’t see anything, come right back.”
“I’ll get my keys.”
“I’m going to change and check on Sierra.”
“Oh,” Jason said. “The cat.”
“Shit, I forgot all about it.”
“It was the Nelsons’. Pogo. I took it over there. In a bag.”
“Sorry. Damn, I bet their kids will be crushed.”
Jason decided not to mention Sierra’s suspicions. There was enough going on.
“I’m sure they are,” he sa
id. “That’s another good reason not to have kids. You don’t have to tell any children their favorite pets are dead.”
He grabbed his keys and left the house.
* * *
Jason drove with the windows down, the cool night air filling the car. The sky was clear, the stars bright. He kept wiping his hand against his pants leg, the memory of handling the dead cat still fresh in his mind. He entertained the foolish hope that he’d see an abandoned kitten on the side of the road, one he could bring home to the Nelsons.
He stopped at Center Park first. The park and the parking lot were empty, the sodium-vapor lights casting their glow on nothing. Jason drove around the parking lot, but he didn’t know what he was looking for. If Hayden had been there earlier—and he had no reason not to believe Colton—then why would she still be there long after everybody else had gone home? He made a circuit of the lot, then came back where he started and parked by the entrance. He stared at the small lake, which was still and barely rippling.
They had a family picnic at Center Park once. It was for their parents’ anniversary. Jason couldn’t be sure of the number, but it must have been twenty-five or so. Some of his aunts put it on, renting out a picnic shelter and cooking food. No one had mentioned it, but Jason could see the worry on his mother’s face when Hayden wasn’t there when she was supposed to be. They all were thinking it—even relatives who barely knew them but certainly knew of Hayden’s wildness. She’s drunk again. Irresponsible. Undependable.
Hayden showed up almost an hour late. Relatives were making speeches, toasting Jason’s parents with cans of beer and sparkling wine. His parents drank in the attention, but the distracted looks remained on their faces. The party wasn’t the same for them without their other child being there.
Jason gave his little toast. Something clichéd and embarrassing. He didn’t remember many of the words, but he knew he said “I love you guys” about five times. His mother hugged him. His dad patted him on the back. He was the good boy, the reliable one. At least we have Jason, his parents probably thought.
Hayden showed up when the toasts were about finished. Jason saw her park her car and breeze through the parking lot, her hair loose in the hot wind, her purse oversized and dangling from her left arm. He moved to intercept her, just to make sure she wasn’t going to embarrass herself and everyone else.
“Hey, big brother,” she said.
“Hey, little sister.”
The odor of alcohol came off her in waves. Jason wondered if she had been bathing in it.
“Is Mom mad I missed the toast?” she asked.
“They’re just finishing,” Jason said.
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“Mom and Dad are happy,” Jason said. “They’re fine.”
“Ah, I see,” Hayden said. “They’re happy I’m not here.”
“They’re just happy.”
“I’ve got my toast ready,” she said.
“They’re finished—”
“They have to hear from me,” she said. “I’m their baby girl.”
She made a deft step to the left, and then she was past Jason before he could stop her. She walked through the crowd to the chairs where their parents sat, and Jason heard the murmurings. Hayden ignored them.
Both of their parents looked up, their faces showing fear and surprise. Hayden leaned down and kissed each of them on the cheek, and Jason could see his mother offering Hayden a seat, asking her—telling her—to sit down.
But Hayden wouldn’t hear of it. She spun to the crowd and held her arms out, asking for quiet.
“Oh, Jesus,” Jason mumbled to himself. He took a step forward, but there was nothing he could do to stop what was about to come.
“Are you all awkward now?” Hayden asked, causing nervous laughter among the relatives and friends. “Are you all worried about what crazy Hayden is going to say?”
Jason was. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, digging them in deep. He looked at the ground. But then Hayden started talking. Her words weren’t slurred. She didn’t ramble. She didn’t curse. She delivered a straight-ahead, heartfelt appreciation of their parents and family, making sure to emphasize the unflinching, unconditional love they provided.
“I can only tell you all,” Hayden said that day, “that I was born into the best family in the world, with the best parents in the world.”
Everyone applauded. Hayden hugged their parents, who were both wiping their eyes. The party resumed, only it had taken on a new energy, one provided by Hayden. She walked through the crowd until she reached Jason. She stood before him and shrugged.
“Well, big brother? Did I surprise you?”
Jason acted out of instinct. He reached out and did something he rarely did—he hugged his sister. He pulled her tight against his body, and as he did, she let out a little “whoop” of surprise.
“Wow, Jason,” she said. “You surprised me with the affection.”
Jason held her a moment longer, and before letting go, he said, “And you never fail to surprise me, Hayden. You never fail to surprise me.”
Jason watched the dark water. He reached up and wiped a tear from his eye.
“Shit, Hayden,” he said, even though no one could hear him. “What are you up to now?”
He shook his head and started the car, deciding that sitting in a darkened park wasn’t going to get him any closer to answering the questions he had. He was about to put the car in reverse when someone—or something—knocked against the driver’s-side window.
For the second time that evening Jason nearly jumped out of his own skin. He looked over, through the closed window, and saw a thin, ragged-looking woman standing there. Jason thought she was homeless. Her hair was cut short, almost in a buzz, and she wore an army jacket over a stained long-underwear shirt.
Jason thought about driving away, even going so far as to place his hand on the gear knob, but the woman made a gesture asking him to roll down the window. She made the gesture again, and then she said something that sounded like his name.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Roll it down, Jason,” she said.
No doubt about it. She knew his name.
He lowered the window. “Do I—?”
“Well, well,” the woman said. “Jason Danvers. Mr. Big Shot.” She spoke with a slight lisp, and Jason saw that she was missing two front teeth. “You actually rolled the window down for me.”
Jason studied the face. He saw the deep lines, the sunken eyes. But there was something familiar there, something from the past that nagged at his mind.
“You don’t remember me?” she asked. “Figures.”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Rose? Rose Holland?”
“That’s right, Fancy Boy. You remember me from high school, don’t you?”
“Sure. It took a moment.”
“I look different, don’t I? Strung out, right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Right,” she said. “You don’t travel in my circles.”
“I didn’t in high school either,” Jason said. “You were popular, more popular than me. Weren’t you—”
“Yes, I was on the homecoming court. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” Jason said. “What are you doing out here?”
“I could ask you that,” Rose said. “But I bet we’re looking for the same thing. Do you know what that is?”
Jason wanted to say: Drugs. But he didn’t think Rose would appreciate him making assumptions about her, so he didn’t answer.
“Are you looking for your asshole sister?” Rose asked.
Jason’s heart sped up. “Yes, I am. Have you seen her?”
“Where is she?” Rose asked.
“I don’t know,” Jason said. “That’s why I’m looking for her. She was here earlier tonight. I
f you see her—”
“Can it.” Rose stuck her face into the car, so that when she spoke, Jason felt her spittle hit his face.
“Hey.” Jason leaned back.
“I came by your house earlier today looking for that bitch sister of yours.”
“She’s not at our house. I was just there.”
“I know. I left a message, though.”
“What message?”
“But I’ll give the same one to you, and you can pass it on when you see her.” Rose poked Jason in the chest, her eyes still angry. “Tell her to stay away from my man.”
“Who’s your man?” Jason asked.
Rose stepped back. She straightened up and tugged on her army jacket as though suddenly concerned about her own appearance. “You’re so precious and stupid,” she said. “You don’t know who anybody is.”
“Who is he?” Jason said, his own anger rising. “Who is Hayden with?”
Rose tilted her head to one side. “My man,” she said. “Jesse Dean Pratt.” She spit once on the ground, then turned and started off into the night.
Jason pushed his door open and stepped out. “Rose? Wait.”
She kept walking.
“Rose? If you see Hayden, tell her I’m looking for her.”
Rose slowed for a moment, turned toward Jason, and casually flipped him the bird. Then she kept walking away, and Jason decided it was best to let her go into the darkness.
* * *
Jason drove down his street. When he passed the Nelsons’ house, just before turning into their driveway, he winced. He thought back over the events of the evening—the perfectly laid-out cat on the back porch and Rose’s statement that she had left a message at the house. Had Sierra been right? Was Pogo’s death related to Hayden, specifically Rose’s search for Hayden?
Jason felt a little nauseated at the thought. The hands that poked his chest might have wrung Pogo’s neck. He parked and went inside. Before going upstairs, Jason made a careful circuit of the house, checking every door and every window, clicking locks into place and tugging and pulling on knobs. He just felt better knowing the house was as carefully locked as possible.
