Half Life

by Helen Cothran

  She laughed mirthlessly. “And you’re as stupid as Pete was. And now you’re going to die, just like him.”

  As she raised the gun sight to her eye, I held up my right arm.

  38

  After I raised my arm, all was confusion. From behind bushes and rocks, people shouted and appeared suddenly as if made of moonlight and wind, weapons glinting in the cold light. Voices in the dark yelled at Faith to drop the gun, they kept yelling at her, but she didn’t drop the gun, she gripped it tighter as she stared wildly around her like a cornered animal. A flashlight beam caught her face, revealing confusion and anger and fear. I kept waiting for her to lower the gun, we all kept waiting for it.

  “You’re done, Faith,” I said above the cacophony. “It’s over. Throw the gun away.”

  She swiveled her head toward me, eyes trying to focus on my face. Her upper lip was turned up, she was snarling, her whole body was vibrating, shaking. The longer she looked at me, the more tense she became, her body coiled like a snake, and I saw then that the plan, all neatly laid out in Trent’s office this morning, had not worked like we thought. I should have remembered that Faith was not a quitter, she would never just lay down her gun and let me walk away. She was in too deep, had already taken the one big moral leap after which nothing else mattered. She may lose Matthew and her kids now, but she would not lose the moral high ground. She had something to finish for God. And she hated me, I could see it in her wild eyes, her clenched jaw, the sinews of her hands as she leveled the rifle at my heart.

  I stared at the gun. When the certainty of my fate hit me, it gave me the courage to do what I had to do, what no one else could do for me now.

  I looked at the rifle. The barrel wavered, back and forth, up and down, as Faith looked around and processed what was going on. I knew that soon the barrel would steady. Soon she would put the gun sight to her face, and then it would all be over.

  Faith’s eyes scoured the scene, right, then left, then right, and as she looked left again, she turned to her left, just a little, and the gun went left with her, just a little.

  It was now or never.

  I lunged at her, grabbed the gun barrel, yanked as hard as I could. The gun flew out of Faith’s hands into mine.

  She reacted like a demon. She was big and fast and filled with furious strength. It was like watching a movie played on fast-forward, she reacted that fast. She moved so quickly I didn’t even process her charge until she was on me, her body colliding with mine like an explosion. With one blow of her arm she knocked me to the ground, and while I was falling she wrenched the gun from me. I landed on my back, my head smacking the ground, the air knocked from my lungs. As I lay gasping and dazed, I stared up at her, saw the gun pointed at my head.

  I sucked air into my lungs and kicked at her as hard as I could. At the exact moment my boot connected with her left knee, I heard a gunshot and saw Faith jerk, convulse, her big body pitching forward and to the right. She collapsed onto her right knee, and I saw a red stain spread across the front of her shoulder. Jesus, Trent’s boys had missed the kill shot, they had fired at the moment I kicked. Faith had been collapsing, and the bullet had only grazed her. Still, she was in pain, maybe even in shock. She glared at me with huge eyes. The shot that was supposed to take her down had only enraged her, and she turned it all on me. I knew the deputies wouldn’t shoot again now that she was down, we were too close. That moment had come and gone. Jesus.

  Faith still held the gun, and I grabbed for it. I could feel its smooth cold shaft slide between my fingers, and then I heard another gunshot, saw the flash as Faith fired. I felt instant pain, a gigantic searing in my left shoulder that made my world go black. I struggled against the darkness, tried to breathe, to remember where I was and who I was fighting and why. My vision cleared, my thoughts swirled back. I saw that we played tug-of-war with the gun, our hands clawing at the weapon, yanking and fighting for it, our fingers slipping on the steel. The pain in my shoulder angered me, gave me strength. I yanked with my good right arm for all I was worth, ripping the gun out of Faith’s hands and flinging it away from me as hard as I could. I heard it clatter on the stones a few feet away.

  In an instant, Faith scrambled after it, crabbing over me, her weight crushing me. I pushed wildly at her, shoved her big body off me. I started clawing my way through the gravel toward the gun, I had to reach it before lunatic Faith did. But as bulky as she was, and as injured, she moved quicker than I would have thought possible. I couldn’t stop her but I had to slow her down. I punched out with my right arm and caught her on the left side of her jaw. Faith cried out and rolled to her right. I rolled left and got out from under her. I reached out as far as I could, I could feel the hard barrel of the gun and grabbed it.

  I grasped the gun in both hands, swung it laterally over the ground and slammed it into her skull. I heard a loud crack, and Faith went still.

  Everything went quiet. I lay heaving in the dirt, the gun clutched in my hands. I stared at Faith, red gash leaking blood into her hair, her big body still. The pain in my arm roared back, sound came back, time came back.

  “Sam?” I heard a voice sounding far away. I looked over to the rim of the crater. I saw a figure silhouetted on its edge, running toward me in the moonlight. “You okay?” Trent huffed as he trotted up to me.

  I looked at him, looked at Faith, looked at my blood-soaked sweatshirt. “Never been better, Trent. Never been better.”

  39

  After Pete’s funeral I invited people back to my place for refreshments (meaning booze). The only takers were Vanessa and Eddie—Trent was eager to get home to his kids, Matthew was too broken up to do anything beyond breathing, and Gabby seemed to have had enough of Eddie and me. She was inconsolable, and while I felt compassion for her loss, I was just selfish enough to be happy that she didn’t want Eddie to comfort her.

  When he tried speaking to her at the service, she shrunk away from him like he had Ebola. They had talked briefly, their awkward conversation comprised of platitudes like “I’m so sorry for your loss” and “what will you do now,” the type of things that strangers say to one another. As I looked on their encounter, I thought that the rift between them had started with Miguel. Gabby had called Eddie’s brother a good-for-nothing liar, and Eddie, the loyal brother, had defended him. It had been more than a simple fight. The argument had forced Eddie to take sides, and once Eddie takes a side, he is fiercely loyal. And I think Gabby finally realized that Eddie wasn’t going to accept her unconditionally, as he had perhaps the first time around. Eddie demanded respect for those he cared about and wouldn’t put up with people who didn’t give it.

  The rift had widened that day in Coffee Buzz when Eddie defended my approach to the investigation, which was tantamount to taking my side against hers. I wondered if she would ever forgive him for that. Eddie had helped take away from her the one thing that made it possible to live with Pete’s death: Raul’s guilt. Blaming Raul allowed her to channel her grief into anger.

  And I had exonerated him.

  At the funeral Gabby wouldn’t even look at me. She seemed to blame me for Pete’s death now that I had done what she asked me to do—find out what happened to her brother. I guess she always believed against all hope that Pete was alive and had somehow just misplaced himself. She would never forgive me for destroying that hope.

  While the rest of us attended the service, Connor, who loves a party even if it is a wake, had made the preparations. When we arrived at the house, we were greeted with beer on ice, red and white wine, margaritas, brie and sharp cheddar, crackers and French bread, and, bless him, a giant bowl of potato chips. We jumped on the drinks first, then moved to the comfort food. Connor tried to be appropriately solemn, given the occasion, but his inherent immaturity kept bubbling to the surface. Before we finished our first drink, he tossed a cheddar cheese cube into the air for Lacy, who heaved her body into space, snatched the cheese, and came thundering down on all fours. When she hit the ground wi
th a loud “umph!” we could feel the house shake. Connor clapped his hands and hooted, and grabbed another cheese cube.

  I grasped his wrist. “Don’t.”

  He looked at me like a little boy told to put his toys away.

  “Do you want a repeat of last week’s GI incident?”

  My brother’s eyes grew wide. He gulped and put the cheese back on the tray. “Thanks, Sam.”

  Lacy saw the treat disappear and plunked herself down on the floor with an aggrieved sigh. She gave me the stink eye.

  After filling plates with food, we filed outside to the patio. It was a lovely day, warm and still and sunny. Birds sang in the trees. The newly renovated garden looked beautiful, and Vanessa gasped when she saw it. Connor beamed and offered to show her every plant and rock. While they embarked on the tour, Eddie and I sat down in the double rocker. I was glad to have the time alone with him—there was something I needed to say.

  “How’s the arm?” he asked, pumping his legs to get the swing going.

  Not wanting him to dote, which he is inclined to do, I waved away his question. “It’s fine. It was just a flesh wound.” The truth was that it had hurt like hell for days after I got shot, but it was now three weeks later, and my arm felt much better.

  It had taken three weeks for the medical examiner’s office to process Pete’s body and release it. The deputies had found his body the night Faith tried to kill me. Trent told me the sniffer dogs hadn’t been at the rifle range for more than twenty minutes when they located him. The deputies also found Pete’s car, which Faith had driven from the rifle range and ditched in a wash after killing Pete. When Trent told me all this, I realized that I, like Gabby, had hoped against hope that Pete would suddenly walk back into town and resume life like the intelligent, caring, flawed man he was. Trent’s news made his death real.

  I shook myself. I needed to put all this behind me, focus on getting my book done so I wouldn’t lose my job. I had been feeding Vince chapters as fast as I could finish them to keep the hounds at bay, but he was not happy with me. I hoped I hadn’t pushed him too far this time.

  I could see that the garden tour was nearly over, so I tried to say what I wanted to say. But my mouth didn’t cooperate. I would need to work up to this. So Eddie and I just sat there silently, swinging back and forth, listening to the birds. I looked at Connor as he walked toward us, at his dark curls and boyish smile. He was sweet-tempered and thoughtful and always kind. I shuddered to think how I would feel if he were suddenly transformed into “a body,” laid to rest forever in the desert sand.

  After Connor and Vanessa sat down, Connor said to me, “Now that the garden is done, I know our deal is technically over and you can kick me out now. But I wondered if I could stay a bit longer, you know, until I get things together.” He smiled wide, looking like a bunny or puppy or some other adorable creature.

  Vanessa caught my eye as she lowered herself into a chair. We both raised our eyebrows.

  Eddie elbowed me in the ribs ever so subtly, and I thought I heard him snigger.

  I was still thinking of Pete and was therefore feeling sentimental and foolish. Plus, the margarita had kicked in. My mouth opened and I heard myself say, “You can stay.”

  “Yes!” Connor exclaimed and stuck his hand out for Vanessa to high-five.

  Our sister looked at his outstretched hand, then at me, her pretty face contorted in an effort not to laugh. She tapped Connor’s hand with her red nails and said to him, “Now that your hidden talents have been revealed, I have a whole yard that needs work and a couple of IOUs from you. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Connor’s arm dropped like his ligaments had been severed. Vanessa would be a harder master than I was, and she had more IOUs. With effort, he nodded and squeaked, “I need another drink.” He downed the last of his beer and hurried inside as if pursued by wild dogs.

  When he was out of earshot, the three of us roared.

  Connor finally came back with a fresh beer, which I noticed was already half gone. He sat down gingerly and was careful not to meet Vanessa’s eyes.

  Vanessa, subtle as ever, asked Eddie, “Will Gabby stay in town now that Pete is gone?

  Eddie shrugged. “She said she isn’t sure.”

  Vanessa and I glanced at one another. The good news was that Eddie didn’t seem concerned that Gabby might leave Desert Rock. The bad news was that Gabby might not leave Desert Rock.

  Eddie seemed eager to change the subject and asked me, “So what will happen to Faith Thornton?”

  I shrugged. “I got her to confess to both murders out at the rifle range. Trent heard everything. She’ll go to prison for the rest of her life, I assume, or get the death penalty.”

  Connor asked, “Do you think Matthew knew that his wife was a killer?”

  “I think so.”

  “Will anything happen to him?” Connor wanted to know.

  “I don’t know. It’s not like he had proof that Faith killed two men, but I guess he should have gone to the authorities with his suspicions. That’s for Trent to work out.”

  Eddie said, “Slight change of subject. Where does the nuclear waste dump stand?”

  “It’s still too early to tell. Mayor Tyler hasn’t even submitted a formal proposal yet.”

  Connor spoke for all of us. “God, I hope it just goes away.”

  We sat quietly, thinking over the events of the last few weeks. Dappled sunlight danced in the yard as a mild wind sprang up. Somewhere a bumble bee buzzed.

  I looked over at Eddie. Who could blame Gabby for falling in love with him?

  I thought again of what I wanted to say to him, then jumped out of my chair muttering, “I need another margarita.”

  Vanessa waved me off. “Sit. I’ll get it, I need a refill myself. Connor, come with me, I want to talk to you about our deal.”

  Connor gulped, then followed Vanessa into the house like he was going to his death. Lacy joined them, probably hoping for more cheese cubes. I wasn’t fooled by Vanessa’s ploy. She didn’t need a refill or to talk to Connor—she wanted to leave Eddie and me alone together. What, did she think that we’d propose to one another right there on the patio swing an hour after attending a funeral? I rolled my eyes and smiled. She was too absurd.

  Eddie and I sat gently swinging. Our thighs touched, and I could feel his body heat through my capris. I breathed in his clean masculine scent, a combination of soap and aftershave and something dark and woody, primal. His presence was stimulation and salve, excitement and comfort. The man was incredibly important to me. Still, the words would not come.

  Eddie finally beat me to it. “Sam, I want to explain—”

  I shook my head. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

  “But—”

  “Really. You don’t. But I owe you one. I acted like an ass and I—”

  “You were right,” he said simply.

  “But I . . .” my voice petered out. I found myself looking up into the trees, as though everything I felt and wanted to say were written there but in a language I did not understand.

  “I know,” Eddie said.

  We fell silent. I could smell the fresh earth of the garden, the sweet scent of flowers, the woody tang of cedar chips. Baby birds chirped in the trees, hungry and wanting. The sun was low enough in the sky that its rays slanted under the patio overhang, warming my skin.

  Gently, I leaned into Eddie, elbowed him gently. “We have a good thing going, don’t we?”

  “We do.”

  “I don’t want to mess it up.”

  “What makes you think it would get messed up?”

  “I count on us, Eddie. I don’t want us to change.”

  I heard him sigh. “Change isn’t always bad, Sam.”

  “But it can be.”

  “It’s not like you to be scared.”

  He was right. And yet there it was. “I know.”

  Eddie sat forward, stopped the swing, put his elbows on his knees. “Thank you for l
ooking into Pete’s murder for me. I know you didn’t want to do it. It means a lot to me.”

  I leaned forward, too, and put my hand over his. “I would do anything for you, Eddie.”

  He looked at me, eyes probing. I felt in their shimmering depths a question that he would not ask because he knew deep down I would not answer.

  At least not today.