I want Brad and Logan to move Eli. Lift him out of this grave and take him to the station. I insist. I tell them I’ll carry him back to the lodge if they don’t move him. I insist again, and they agree when I start to lift the steel tub by myself.
Chief calls back with instructions and advice from area agencies: Rein yourselves in… Don’t let anyone disturb the scene … Don’t jump to immediate conclusions … Take your time and think … Clear the scene … A detective is being assigned and is on her way… Don’t touch a thing until she gets there…
Like Nate had suggested: call in someone else. Except I’ve already convinced Brad and Logan to put Eli in one of their vehicles. I want him out of this godforsaken place. I want him inside a warm building, near people, surrounded by voices. I need his remains protected. But I’m overwrought with guilt as they drive off the property. My parents wouldn’t have done this. They would’ve held him for hours. I gave him away. Irrationally, I pushed him from a place within half a mile of his home.
I shout for them to bring him back. Scream and kick the snow next to the fetid root cellar. “Bring him back.” I turn to face Nate, struck by the whispering wind.
Bring him back.
nineteen
“Wait and see,” Nate says for the millionth time. “You don’t know if it’s him.”
“Is that why you had that look on your face when you saw me walking down the hill?” My eyebrows shoot up. “Because you didn’t think it was him?”
I add another log to the fire. Flames ignite and cast a glow onto the lobby floor where Joss and Jim have spread a blanket and are falling asleep. Joss, a true friend, chose the floor over one of the beds so she can be within earshot, just in case I need anything. But at four in the morning, she can’t hang in with me much longer. After apologies and hugs throughout the night, swollen eyes and pockets full of used tissues, we’re beat.
“I thought we’d searched every inch of Tilford Lake. All these years, and after finding him, I didn’t even hold him. I didn’t touch his hand to let him know I was with him. It was so fast, Nate. I forgot to tell him someone who loved him was there.” I rub my forehead. “Everything happened like a dream. Why didn’t I say something to him?” I drop onto one of the leather chairs in a daze, Nate in the one across from me, our legs slipping under blankets. “The last time I saw Eli was years back. It’s hard to picture him that small.” I close my eyes to push my thoughts away, to clear the scene of the root cellar. “This isn’t how it was supposed to turn out.” I whip my hair back and forth to get the smell of dirt and mildew to wane.
“Initial reactions don’t mean a thing,” Nate says.
“That’s not true. Everyone felt it. We all knew when we were out there. Hard to imagine it’s anyone but Eli.”
“That’s the problem. We’re imagining and not being realistic.”
“I’m being realistic. You’re not. That was my brother. Is. Is my brother.”
“With no teeth or hair, it will take time to identify—”
“Please”—I press my fingers to my forehead—“please stop. I don’t want to think about why his skull was in pieces. I saw him, Nate. I know.”
He leans forward. “Find the hope that you lost.”
“Why? So it can be ripped away from me again?”
He drops back and puts his feet on the coffee table, rubbing them against mine. “Brad and Logan are imbeciles.” He tries for a smile.
“No kidding.”
“They made a mess out of everything.”
“I know. I wish you were a Tilford Lake cop instead of one of them.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not cop material.”
Jim quickly sits up to object.
“Keep your mouth shut,” Nate warns.
“He’s heard that one before, Salem.”
“What did I just tell you?”
“Everyone’s always on his case about becoming a cop. I’ve been pushing him since high school.”
“I’m not the type,” Nate says, his voice firm.
Jim lowers back down and places his arm over his eyes to block the light of the fire. “I’d love to know what you think ‘the type’ is.”
“Anyone but me.”
“Wraaang.” He uses a loud nasally voice. “That’s ass-backward and you know it. Live the dream, Nate.”
“I am.”
“Then live a bigger dream. You’re better than stalking guys cheating on their wives and tracking people down. You’ve always been better at everything. I could never keep up with you.”
“I’m not better at everything. And being in situations like this one isn’t how I want to live my life.”
Jim props himself up on his elbows. “Then why’d you come? You knew you’d find her brother’s remains. You knew.”
Nate shakes his head incessantly.
“You knew exactly why you were coming here … besides to fuck your first crush.”
“Drop it.”
“You’ve talked about Salem since we were ten.”
“Jim, don’t push me.”
“I don’t push you enough. Now tell her why you have a quiet job hiding in the shadows.”
Nate’s feet hit the floor. “Lay off. If I were a cop, I’d get pushed into situations I have no control over.”
“You’re right.” Jim puckers his lips and starts to whistle. His head rocks to a made-up tune, an act to annoy Nate. He tugs his ear, whistles more. Then suddenly stops and looks directly into Nate’s eyes. “Better to hit the bottle than to save lives and live up to your name.”
“Goddamn you, Jim. One more word”—Nate holds up a finger—“one more, and I swear.”
Joss spreads the blanket over their heads, making Jim disappear to help end the battle. “Leave him alone,” she says in a sleepy voice. Jim kisses her and his outline shifts alongside hers.
“He said you knew you’d find Eli,” I say to Nate, accepting what Jim said as the truth. “Did you see something when you were a kid?”
Nate stares at me for a minute before lowering his head. “No. You’ve asked me that already.” He draws circle patterns on the arms of the chair.
“Grady gave us bad vibes.”
“Who’s us?” He looks up.
“The kids in town. You had the same gut feeling as the rest of us, or you saw something.”
“I didn’t. I saw him cleaning bones, but I never saw the bones pieced together like the animals in the root cellar. I didn’t know he made all those mutilated creatures until I read your granddad’s letter.”
The image of a two-headed chipmunk with a rat’s tail gives me cold shivers. And the spine made to look like a centipede, and the rabbit … the rabbit skeleton with tiny bird skulls for feet.
“The cellar is intact compared to the cabin, doesn’t seem like Grady was the one who cleared his place out,” he says. “It’s more like people came and stripped it, but no one knew about the cellar or it would’ve been cleaned out like the rest of the property.”
“You’re probably right.”
“You know anyone who could’ve done it? I wouldn’t mind getting back some of my gram’s stuff for my mom.”
“Joss and I can ask around. Kids using the cabin as a party house might’ve felt like everything in there was fair game. But it could’ve been anyone.”
I look from one end of the lobby to the other. Sixty years of family possessions under one roof. Three generations. What happens to everything when I die? Who will take the furniture, the clothes, the mementos? Will the photograph above the door end up in a landfill? Will the lodge get torn down? I’m too young to have to think about such things, and too old not to worry about it.
I tuck my blanket under my chin for comfort.
“Sorry, Salem.” Nate’s voice emerges as a faint whisper. I can tell he’s referring to Eli. I answer with a quick nod, a little sad he’s dropped the wait and see what the detective says, wait for more evidence, wait fo
r DNA results. “Wish there was something I could do.” He puts his feet back on the coffee table, pressing his toes against mine. He sits quietly, his hair as dark as the hour, and limp from being out in the snow.
“You found him, Nate. That’s everything my family ever wanted.”
“If it’s him.”
I look up at him through my eyelashes. “Thanks for saying that. I’d feel better if it were you at the station with Eli, not Logan or Brad.” My insinuation that he should be a cop is unintentional this time.
Nate keeps his eyes on me. The orange glow of the fire sends glimmers along his cheekbones, but there’s an expression of unspeakable pain in his tired eyes. I watch his throat as he swallows thickly.
“People always say that, you know. That I should be a cop, or they ask why I didn’t want to be one, like it’s the same job I have without the paycheck and the benefits. It’s not. They’re two separate worlds.”
“Just tell her,” Jim mumbles. “Chicks dig damaged men.”
“Go to sleep.”
“Just helping you out, making it easier for her to find out you’re messed up.”
“I’m not mes—” Nate stops mid-sentence, takes a goliath breath. I can hear him processing his response. He pinches his nose and says, “Jim. This isn’t the right time.”
“You’re afraid,” Jim says.
“That’s not it.”
“It is it. And it’s okay. I keep telling you to be open about it and you’ll feel better.” Jim’s hand slithers out from under the blanket. He feels for the 6-pack a foot from his head. Without looking, he grabs a bottle and flings it in the air toward Nate. “Good catch,” he says when the bottle doesn’t break.
Nate puts half the beer away in three gulps. Jim might be right. The men I’ve known locked their emotions away. Especially fear. They projected themselves as powerful animals in wealth and actual strength. My ex-husband with his motorcycle, the toys he bought to compete with his friends, how he acted like a hotshot and bossed me around. He was a dictatorial ass who hid his feelings. It was all about power, central to his existence.
“Your face is red like it was when you were tearing apart your living room,” Nate says.
My ex-husband believed that being a tough-guy with authority led to happiness. His emotions didn’t extend beyond that. I say there’s more to life than always being happy. Everyone needs to let the bad in to have a deeper appreciation of the good, experience fear to gain self-confidence. I told him that once. I did. And he laughed.
“Salem, talk to me.”
I pull my sweater cuffs down to keep from biting my nails. I’m disappointed in myself for thinking about him. “It’s bitterness this time … and maybe it was last time. I can’t remember.”
“About?”
“Men. Nothing important.”
He slides his palms down his thighs and claws his knees. “We suck, don’t we?”
“Not you. And I mean nothing important compared to the rest of the night. I’m just overthinking my past.”
His hands slide back up, the tension easing in his shoulders. “Exactly why the stuff about being a cop doesn’t matter, not with everything else going on.”
I smile and he smiles back, lifting his blanket for me to come over.
Joss turns away from Jim, and an outline of a loving spoon position forms under the purple and white polka-dotted blanket, the same colors as the crocuses lining the drive. As I nestle alongside Nate, I notice the wilted crocus crown resting above us on the fireplace mantel. Its beauty has died, but Virginia’s intent to awaken love has tunneled into our lives.
Nate pulls me into an embrace and kisses the top of my head. His masculine scent of sweat and sandalwood masks the stench of the cellar, providing some relief. We hold hands under the blanket, but my mind wanders away from his touch.
I was courageous when I walked down the hill and into the dark cellar. Connor would’ve been proud. But after a glimpse of the brutality, the air turned so cold it pricked the inside of my nose and throat. It was difficult to swallow. I couldn’t find my breath. The voices outside erupted into the small room, causing my eardrums to ring. Then my eyes stung. I kept looking up to see the moon, but only saw soil overhead.
• • •
“Look up, Salem,” is what Connor said the night after Eli went missing. “You see it?”
“See what?” I looked up.
“The moon. It’s the easiest object to find in the sky, except when the skies are gray.”
“Oh, I love that song about gray skies. Grandma sings it to me all the time. You are my sunshine…”
“I’m talking about the moon, not the skies. You know it formed when a chunk of Earth got torn away by a big impact.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you know?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Maybe another chunk got taken away last night and Eli’s on it. If we see another moon, he might be there. Then we can go get him.”
“He’d be dead.”
I looked to see if our parents were nearby. I saw them along the edge of the forest. “Connor, don’t say that,” I whispered.
“He couldn’t breathe, Salem. Not on the moon.”
“Oh, then he’s definitely not there.”
Connor looked around then hugged me, something he started doing more often after that night. He even sat through me singing the sunshine song with only minimal complaints about my flat voice.
“Love you, Salem,” he said.
“Because I make you happy?”
“Sometimes.”
“You’re supposed to say when skies are gray.”
“Yep, greatly”—he spread his arms wide—“hugely”—he spread them wider—“you make me monstrously happy … when skies are gray.”
• • •
Showers of sparks from cracking firewood float into the chimney. I sit up and hug myself.
“It’s okay, beautiful.” Nate massages the nape of my neck, guiding me back to his side. “Close your eyes,” he whispers. He yawns and stretches his legs, causing me to yawn and stretch mine. My head lowers to his shoulder, in range of the steady beats of his heart.
I take longer, deeper breaths as the early morning drones on, finding relief when my limbs grow heavy, and I fall into a velvety sleep.
twenty
One fall night when the moon bloomed bright and large, Connor let me use his pirate hand telescope to scan the sky. Convinced Eli was up there, I tried to find him, but he was hiding and wouldn’t come out. I sat on the front steps and peeped through the tiny hole, copycatting Connor’s pose when he’d use it to watch birds nesting in the tall pines or to scout for boats on the lake. The telescope worked for him. He found extraordinary magic with it. I saw only the dead of nightfall and heard only a biting silence that greedily gnawed at my spirit.
No color. No movement. No Eli.
After that, I daydreamed about my disappearance. If Eli could vanish without a trace, when would I wake up and be in a faraway land? What would become of me?
When I awoke this morning, my belief that this was possible became a reality. Not when, when would I disappear, but what has already become of me? Where have I gone?
Some would say I dried up after graduating from high school, fettered with iron shackles in my marriage. Others would say it was after my mom died, that my limbs took root inside the lodge, making rare silhouetted appearances in the front window. I breathe, but that doesn’t mean I exist … something to mull over. It doesn’t have to be. This girl can break free, sow pink into her cheeks, not settle on a prearranged course. It doesn’t have to be.
“Salem, you there?” Joss asks.
“I’m thinking.”
I balance my cell between my ear and shoulder and open the front curtains. Dust motes cascade in the bright sunlight. I squint, grappling with mid-morning. The spot on the front porch where I sat with the telescope years ago is slick with black ice, a hazard tha
t hinders my escape.
“You like the yellow or the red?” Joss asks. “Yellow or red, babe.”
“Lemon or strawberry?” I question her vagueness.
“Yeah.”
“The white powdery donuts with the jelly filling?”
“Yeah, come on. I’m holding up the line.”
I blow at my bangs and switch ears. “You know, I’m not all that hungry.”
“You gotta eat.”
“Are there any bagels?”
“Nope.”
“Muffins?”
“Nope. I’ll get you a red one.”
“I’ve got frozen waffles here I can eat.”
“Donuts are healthier … three reds, one yellow,” she orders. “You think Nate likes red?”
“Is that strawberry?”
She ignores my question.
“Hello?”
“Jim … hey, Jim. What kind does Nate like?”
“Joss, get whatever you want.”
“Wait, grumpy. What about a drink?”
“I’m fine with what’s here.”
She smacks her gum. Twice. I bet her hand is on her hip. “Am I bothering you? Are you and Nate in the middle of a hot fuck or something?”
“Hey, Joss. Can you hear me rolling my eyes? Hear that? I’m doing it again. Listen.”
“Yep.” She smacks her gum. “That’s really special.”
I put my hand flat against the windowpane. Exterior frost crystals turn to liquid under my palm and trickle down the glass. “Food and sex are the last things on my mind.” A delicate outline of my hand remains when I pull away. “Whatever you want to get is fine.”
“A red jelly and a coffee, coming right up.”
I end the call, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Nate is in the shower. Ollie is taking his after-breakfast nap. Virginia, still unaccounted for, and my other rooms sit empty after the four women took off to stay in the next town over. Granddad is my remaining companion. His neatly stacked letters are on the reception desk, soliciting my attention. With only two left to read, I pick one up, slip into the armchair next to the fireplace, and unfold the cream-colored paper.
The Release of Secrets: A Novel Page 17
