Grave Little Secrets

by Collins, Stacy R.

  “I wonder if that’s for the guy who was in the wreck,” I whisper to Jake. My heart speeds up at the thought of the life that was dramatically altered because of me and my stupidity.

  Jake shrugs his shoulders and continues up to the front steps, still holding my hand in his, which is now sticky with his sweat. He keeps tightening and loosening his grip on my hand, obviously as nervous as I am. I rub my thumb across his knuckles, hoping to calm us both, but I don’t think it’s working. We approach the front door and I, hesitantly, reach out with my free hand to ring the doorbell.

  “Alex, stop,” Jake says, a hint of panic in his voice. “I really don’t think this is a good idea. Maybe we should just forget about it.” His grip tightens even more, causing my fingers to smoosh painfully against his.

  “Jake, I can’t stop. You know why I need to do this. If you don’t want to do it with me, you can go wait in the truck.” I wiggle my fingers, trying to get him to loosen his hold.

  “You know I’m not gonna let you do this alone,” Jake huffs out, letting go and wiping his palm on his shorts. I shake out my hand to get the circulation going again. While he’s drying his hands on his clothes, I take advantage of the distraction and ring the doorbell. It chimes out the intro to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Jake jerks his head up and stares at me wide-eyed.

  “What the hell, Alex,” he spits out at me through his teeth.

  “Sorry,” I tell him, shrugging my shoulders.

  I’m reaching out to ring the bell again when an elderly man swings the door open. He looks to be in his seventies with graying red hair. He’s probably just a few inches taller than me, with pale skin that’s obviously not seen the sun in a while, and covered in freckles. His thick black-framed glasses rest on his slim nose, and his plaid sweater vest does nothing to hide his bulging beer belly. Fighting against my nerves, I extend a slightly shaky hand toward him and introduce myself.

  “Hi, I’m Cara Jones.” I’m able to keep my voice strong, despite my growing apprehension.

  That was the name Jake picked for me to use, and surprisingly enough, I actually like it. The man gives my hand a sturdy shake, introducing himself as Edward Hughes.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hughes. This is Jake, my, um—” What do I call him? My friend, my boyfriend, a relative?

  Jake steps forward while I’m still deciding and answers for me. “Boyfriend,” he says proudly. My heart skips a beat at hearing Jake call himself my boyfriend. I give him a little smile before turning back to Mr. Hughes.

  “So, what can I do for you two?” Mr. Hughes asks, his undeniable Jersey accent lining his words.

  “Well, sir, I’m doing a research paper on the dangers of distracted driving and I was told your family has some personal experience in that area. I know this may be hard for you, but I was wondering if it would be all right to ask you a few questions.”

  He clears his throat and rubs his thumb and forefinger along his stubbly chin, the same way my dad would if he had to make a difficult decision.

  “If you’re not comfortable discussing it with me, I completely understand. Jake and I will go.” I turn to leave, disappointment blooming in my chest, when Mr. Hughes speaks up.

  “No, no, that’s not it, I just need to check with my daughter first. It was her husband and son who were in the accident. If you two can wait here for a minute, I’ll go and ask her.”

  “That’s fine, sir, take your time.”

  Mr. Hughes heads back into the house and I hear Jake let out a deep breath.

  “He seems nice,” I say, attempting to calm Jake down.

  “Yeah, I guess so, but I don’t know, Alex, something isn’t right. I really don’t think we should be here.”

  Jake’s nervousness is beginning to rub off on me and I’m starting to rethink this visit myself. Maybe it was a horrible idea. Maybe we should run to the truck and take off before Mr. Hughes gets back. No, I can’t do that. I need answers. I need to know if they have any idea about what really happened.

  “It will be fine, Jake. I’ll just ask a few questions while you try to snoop around and we’ll be out of here in twenty minutes, tops. Just stick with the story, and please, whatever you do, don’t screw up and call me Alex.”

  “Okay, Cara,” he says sarcastically.

  Mr. Hughes comes back to the door followed by an attractive middle-aged woman who must be his daughter. She looks to be in her early forties with bouncing curly red hair, and she’s wearing a loose fitting green halter dress that makes her green eyes pop. They remind me of Luke’s. Luke…oh God, do I tell Jake about Luke? Do I tell Luke about Jake? Oh God, I cannot be worrying about this right now. Focus Alex, I chastise myself.

  “Hi, I’m Lisa,” she says in a soft-spoken Marilyn Monroe voice. “My father tells me you want to ask some questions for a paper.”

  “Yes, ma’am, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Um, sure, I guess that would be okay,” Lisa says a little hesitantly, looking toward her father.

  After a moment of silence, she turns to Jake and gives him one of those megawatt Hollywood smiles that could get guys swooning from miles away. I look over at Jake and see that his eyes are glued to Lisa. A streak of jealousy shoots through me like a cannon but I ignore it. She is a very attractive woman. Even I was taken aback when I saw her. With her full pouty pink lips, she invites us in, so Jake and I follow, her hips swaying as she leads us into the entryway. Jake can’t take his eyes off her, sweeping his gaze up and down her body and lingering on her ass. I nudge him in the ribs and mouth at him to stop, anger building with each step we take. I have to stay focused, though. I cannot allow myself to get sidetracked. I need to push these feelings aside, for now anyway.

  She leads us into a sitting room off to the left. It has a cozy, homey feel to it and smells like Pine sol. Pictures line the walls in the room. Some of Lisa, her father, a few of a woman who I assume is Lisa’s mother based on the matching green eyes, a young boy in a baseball uniform, some of him perched on his father’s lap, and more of him wrapped in his mother’s arms, but the one on the mantel seems to stand out amongst the others and holds my attention. I walk over to get a better look and I feel Lisa following me.

  “Is this your husband?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes,” she replies, reaching across me to pick up the picture, her honeysuckle perfume wafts around me and tickles my nose. “He passed away in the hospital not long after he arrived.” She sniffles a few times and her father hands her a tissue, patting her shoulder. “Sorry, I still get a little emotional when I think about it.”

  “Please don’t apologize.” Especially not to me, the one responsible for your pain. I’m holding it together fairly well, but I’m not sure how much longer that will last. I take one last look at the picture of the man whose life I ended. He has, or had, short black hair, dreamy slate gray eyes, and nice muscles that strained against the fabric of his red dress shirt. He had an angular, chiseled chin and strong cheek bones. He was very good looking, and I can picture him and Lisa together, happy and laughing. But soon, that image changes to one of him covered in blood, his head smashed against the steering wheel, and his coal black hair streaked with wet, red blood. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and force it away.

  Okay, stop it before you get all emotional, I scold myself. I puff out a breath and head over to the sofa to have a seat beside Jake, who looks distressed and out of place on the floral print fabric. I pull a notepad and a pen out of the bag I took from Jakes’s house and sneak another glance at him. Sweat beads line his upper lip and he keeps wiping his hands over his shorts. I don’t understand why he’s so nervous. I’m the one who should be flipping out right now, not him. Oh well, I’ll just ask the questions as quickly as I can before he goes into full blown panic mode.

  “Well, like I said, I just have a few questions and then we’ll be out of your way.”

>   “That’s fine, dear.” Lisa settles into a matching floral print chair across from me, her dad standing behind her protectively with a hand on her shoulder. “What school is it that you go to anyway? And why on earth do they have you doing a paper over summer break?”

  Shit, I wasn’t expecting that question. I feel Jake shift beside me and I know that he’s thinking the exact same thing. Neither of us prepared an answer for this.

  “I’m actually taking a summer writing course at Crystal Tech,” I say. Jake snaps his eyes over at me, probably surprised I was able to come up with a story so quickly.

  “So, you’re in college? You look so young. I assumed you were still in high school. You look to be about the same age as my son, Jeffrey.”

  “No, ma’am. I’m still in high school. I’ll be a senior this year. I’ve always had a love for writing, so I decided to take a course at the college.”

  “Oh. My son will be entering the twelfth grade also. Do you go to school at Quincy High? That’s where Jeffrey goes.”

  “No, ma’am. I’m actually home schooled, but my mom is considering sending me to a public school for my senior year. You know, to prepare me for college.”

  “Well, Rosetta has a wonderful school system. I’m sure your mother would be very pleased.”

  “I’ll be sure to let her know that. So, may I go ahead with the questions?” I hate to be so blunt, but I have to hurry and get us out of here.

  “Yes, I’m sorry.”

  “The answers to some of these questions were probably covered in the articles about the accident, but I’d like to ask them anyway if that’s okay with you. Sometimes the press doesn’t include everything.”

  “That’s fine,” Lisa tells me, the tension in her body palpable. I hate putting her through this, but I have to find out if she knows anything.

  “Okay, well, my first question is: What exactly caused the accident?”

  Lisa takes a minute before answering, clearing her throat a few times. “The police said one of their own men, who was off duty at the time, was looking up a number on his cell phone and he veered into the other lane. There weren’t any skid marks on his side of the road, so it was as if he never even looked up. He never saw my husband coming.” Lisa’s hands twist the tissue her father gave her until it’s nothing but tiny confetti-like balls in her lap.

  As I continue writing down her answer, Jake asks to use the bathroom. He may appear to be a ball of nervous energy, but at least he remembers the plan. While I have them busy with questions, he is supposed to go snooping around, looking for any clues that might tell us if they know the truth.

  “You’ll have to use the one on the second floor. The one down here has been on the fritz and the plumber can’t make it out until later this week. Just go up the stairs and take a left. The bathroom is the last door down the hallway on your right,” Mr. Hughes tells him.

  Jake politely excuses himself and heads upstairs.

  “So, it was your husband and son in the car that day?”

  “Yes, my husband had kept Jeffrey out of school so they could go golfing with some of my his old college friends and their sons. They tried to get together at least twice a year.”

  I can see she’s fighting hard against her emotions and I’m beginning to worry she’ll put a stop to the questions if I take too long, so I hurry on to the next one.

  “And no one witnessed the accident?”

  “No, they were on a small back road that isn’t traveled by too many people.”

  “Does your son recall anything from the accident?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I read somewhere that people who experience a tragedy can sometimes suppress those memories, but later they remember. I don’t know if that’s the case here or not, but does he remember anything from the accident? Like what happened before or after?” I notice Mr. Hughes glancing up the stairs. Dang it! Come on Jake.

  “No, when he woke up in the hospital he had no memory of what had happened. He didn’t even remember golfing earlier in the day.”

  I hear the stairs squeak as Jake comes back down. I quickly wrap up the questioning, eager to learn if Jake found anything. Lisa doesn’t seem to be much help anyway, so there’s no sense in continuing to make her relive that horrible day.

  “Well, I think this will probably do it. Thanks for your time. I really do appreciate it.” I must admit, I’m relieved they don’t seem to know the truth, but also a little disappointed that we weren’t able to get any clues as to who’s behind all the threats.

  “You’re welcome, dear. My son will be here in just a bit, if you want to stay and talk to him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, although I’m not sure how helpful he would be. He went to stay with some family out of town for a while but he called and said he was coming home for a few days.” I look at Jake, but he gives me a slight shake of his head telling me no.

  “How is your son doing?” I ask.

  “Oh, he’s so much better. The doctors weren’t sure if he’d ever walk again, but by God’s will, he did.”

  I wonder if he has to use a cane, like Tyler? What if he is Tyler? I feel the cool sweat as it gathers on my forehead. Could it be? No, there’s no way. Her son’s name if Jeffrey. Plus, he lives here, four hours away. But, Lisa said he had been visiting family. Could that family be in New Hope? A sudden wave of nausea comes over me and I have to swallow several times to clear away the acid taste gathering in my mouth. This is crazy. I have to quit jumping to conclusions. I’m getting myself worked up over nothing. Coming here was definitely a bad idea.

  That’s great,” I tell her. “But we’ve already taken up enough of your time.” I barely get the words out of my mouth when the front door opens.

  “That must be him now,” Lisa says. “Jeffrey, is that you? We’re in here.”

  I turn to greet Jeffrey, forcing a smile, and have to suppress the urge to scream bloody murder as I come face to face with her son.

  Tyler.

  “JEFFREY, THIS IS CARA,” LISA says to Tyler.

  My eyes feel as though they are going to pop right out of their sockets and roll across the floor as Tyler stands there, propped on his stick, staring holes through me.

  “She was just asking us some questions about the accident for a paper she’s writing for school, and this is her friend, Jake.”

  Tyler limps a bit closer to me, and all I can see is him lifting that cane and hitting Anna over the head with it. I reach back and take Jake’s hand, hoping he realizes something is very wrong and that we need to leave, right now. Jake steps in front of me like a human shield and pushes me further behind him.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Jeffrey, but we really must be going now,” Jake says, his voice steady and strong. I send up a silent prayer, thanking God that Jake got my unspoken message.

  “Thank you again for your time,” I say, unable to hide the quavering in my voice. I shove my pen and notebook back into my bag, hoping to make an exit before my cover is blown. Jake leads me toward the door, and I avoid making eye contact with Tyler.

  Just as I’m about to pass him, thinking we may actually be in the clear, he quietly whispers, “We really need to talk, Alex. Or should I call you Cara?” He lets out a chuckle, and I practically run the rest of the way to the door, causing Jake to stumble behind me.

  Jake and I climb into his truck, and I try, unsuccessfully, to control my erratic breathing.

  “Alex, what’s wrong? What happened back there?” Jake still hasn’t started the truck and I want nothing more than to get away from this place. “Alex, talk to me,” Jake says, placing his hand on my bouncing knee.

  “I will, just get us out of here!” I manage to squeak out. I feel like I just ran a marathon. I can’t seem to get a full breath and my muscles are bunched so tight they hurt.

  Jake turns the ignition and pulls out onto the r
oad. As soon as we’re away from the house, I instantly feel calmer. My breathing begins to slow, offering my lungs some much needed relief, and my hammering heart follows suit.

  “That was him. That was Tyler,” I blurt out.

  “Tyler? Where, I didn’t see anyone?” Jake looks in his rearview mirror.

  “At the house. Tyler is Jeffrey or Jeffrey is Tyler. It doesn’t matter who is who, because they are the same person!”

  “You’re losing me here, Alex. What are you talking about?”

  “Jeffrey, Lisa’s son, is Tyler from New Hope.” My voice comes out high and squeaky.

  Jake gives me a confused look then slams on the breaks, thrusting me forward, when his brain finally catches up to what I’ve been trying to tell him. I throw my hands up and brace myself on the dashboard.

  “Tyler, from New Hope? The one you told me about? He was there? With us?” Jake keeps looking back and forth between the house and me.

  “Yes, that was him. Jeffrey is Tyler.”

  Jake rubs his hands over his head and starts chewing on his bottom lip. He always does that when he’s thinking hard about something. Usually, that really turns me on, but romance is the farthest thing from my mind right now.

  “Okay, hang on. Let me pull over somewhere so I can get all of this straight.” Jake coasts into a gas station and parks by a dumpster. He turns in his seat to face me, his expression displaying his concern. “So, Tyler is Jeffrey? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Did you not hear what he said to me when we were leaving?” I’m getting really annoyed with him. How many times am I going to have to tell him this?

  “No. What did he say?”

  I tell Jake exactly what Tyler said. He sits there, not saying or doing anything. Did he hear me? Is he as confused as I am, because I don’t have a clue what Jake’s thinking right now.

  “Okay, I’ve got to try and wrap my head around all this.” Jake’s voice jerks me back from my thoughts. “You’re sure that Tyler and Jeffrey are the same person?”