Relentless

by Mike McCrary

  Davis drops some cash on the counter, then grabs the bag from the cashier’s hand.

  “That’s too much, friend.”

  “Keep it,” Davis says, exiting the store as fast as he can.

  “We don’t take any tips. Policy.”

  Davis races to find the safety of his car. Dropping the bag into the passenger seat, he starts the car, letting himself breathe again. The air conditioning hits his face. He loves the way it cools the heat off his face. He tries to get ahold of his bouncing emotions. He feels like he’s coming undone. The velocity of his fall is increasing, multiplying by the second.

  He slams his hands on the steering wheel again and again, harder and harder, to the point he only feels a slight tingle in his hands as they slap the leather over and over again. The dash rattles and jumps. The change in the cup holder dances. He watches the palms of his hands pound the wheel, almost marveling at how hard he can hit the thing without feeling anything. Only faint pressure, but that’s even becoming more and more faint. He wishes he could do that with the rest of him.

  To his mind. To his emotions.

  Get to where he feels nothing.

  He stops slapping the wheel. His hands tingle. His lungs are heavy like he’s been running hard sprints. He wants to cry. Wants to give in, to unload these feelings that are dragging him down. The desire for it all to stop is overwhelming. He stares out the window, watching the people come and go, but seeing nothing at the same time. They barely register as humans, perhaps not human at all. They’re all only things to him right now. Faceless blobs in motion.

  He’s losing his grip on things, that much is clear.

  He’s slipping away.

  If he isn’t already gone.

  26

  Davis walks into the lake house.

  He sat out in the car for several minutes getting himself together, knowing that he looked like hell, before psyching himself up to come inside. Knowing that his emotions were bubbling near the edge, he did his best to calm himself in the car, practiced smiling into the mirror. Faking that everything is okay. He worked through a few lines and a laugh to keep in his back pocket.

  Hattie is playing a board game on the floor with the girls. She glances up, barely acknowledging he’s there.

  The dog jumps on his legs.

  Davis knows she’s off, that she’s not over the walk. She’s not back to good. Not vaguely close. He didn’t expect a miracle while he was gone, but he hoped for the best. There’s a vacancy in the way she moves her piece around the board. A lifelessness to how she’s playing with their daughters. He’s never seen this before, never seen her so removed.

  His mind is still fumbling with thoughts of the cashier at the store. On the drive back he convinced himself it wasn’t Justin, then convinced himself it was, then not again. Now he’s landed at not being completely sure. It’s safer to be suspicious than completely dismiss the idea it was him. It’s the smarter way to play this.

  It could have been him.

  It can’t be.

  Was it him?

  The girls giggle, finally, and so does Hattie. She looks over to her husband, getting a real look at him for the first time since he’s been back. He’s still a mess, despite his best efforts. His eyes are still red. His face hangs from his skull like a wet towel over a rack.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  Davis is lost in his own mind. Picking at the edges for answers. There are none to be found.

  “Sweetheart?”

  His nose was different, but something about his voice sounded familiar.

  “Hello?”

  Those pictures. Oh God, the pictures. Is Tilley really dead? Did I—

  “Davis!”

  He jumps, stumbles back, then turns to Hattie as he’s shaken free from his trance. Forced out of his head and into the real world. The girls laugh then begin to roll on the floor, thinking the expression on Daddy’s face is funny. He looks like he was suddenly awoken from a nightmare—eyes wide, face frozen.

  “What’s wrong? Did something happen at the store?” Hattie asks.

  “No.” Davis scrambles to find cover. “I was working through a presentation in my head on the way back. Sorry, I got lost for a second.”

  Hattie gets up, not really buying it, but not wanting to dig into whatever is going on between them in front of the girls.

  “Did you get coffee?”

  “Yeah, yes. Here. And…” He shows her the ice cream like it was some lost artifact never seen by civilized eyes.

  “Oh,” Hattie says. “Thanks. That’s nice.”

  She takes the coffee and ice cream and heads to the kitchen. Her walk and expression are void of her normal energy for life. Davis’s strange behavior is starting to wear her down. He can see it, too obvious to ignore now, but he has no idea what to do about it. Solutions fail him. The pictures on his phone burn through his head like a horrific slide show, one after another, tearing away at him.

  He looks to his girls.

  They play, then fight, then play. Not a care in the world, only mild flashes of drama that fade away as quickly as they started. Both of them wrapped up in a feeling of safety. Safety forged by trust and love, both of which Davis has put into jeopardy. He has betrayed their trust.

  He thinks of the cashier.

  Davis heads into the kitchen. He leans against the counter while Hattie fills the coffee maker with water while avoiding eye contact. No hint at wanting conversation.

  He thinks of the cashier. Of the things he said. They felt knowing. Personal.

  “Did you tell anyone we were coming here?” His words are biting, accusatory. He didn’t mean them to be, but he’s losing the ability to control the way he communicates. Words are merely a tool for getting answers, now.

  “What?”

  “Did you tell what’s-her-name down the street or post anything anywhere?”

  “No,” she says, turning toward him. She’s clearly not happy with his tone. “You said you wanted to get away. Just us. You wanted privacy. Said you wanted to get some things done and, oh yeah, spend time with your family.”

  Davis looks down. That’s what he said. His own words weaponized against him.

  “Am I missing anything?” she says, holding her stare. “Now you’re doing what? Accusing me of a security leak?”

  “No, I—”

  “What is going on with you, Davis?” She softens, her eyes filled with concern and confusion. “Talk to me. Something is clearly wrong.”

  Davis can see it all over her face. It’s in her voice. She’s worried. She cares about him, about them, and wants to help, but she doesn’t understand.

  How could she?

  Davis doesn’t understand any of this either. He’s wandered into a place that he never intended to visit. A wrong turn, a misstep, led him, led them, to a bad spot. One he’s not sure he can navigate. One he could really use her help with—Hattie the Great would know what to do—but he knows he has to do this without her.

  She has no idea what’s wrong, and Davis hopes she never will.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “Just tell me what is happening. Let me help. I’m a pretty smart kid.”

  Davis cracks a smile. It feels nice. “It’s not that.”

  “What. Is. It?”

  Davis gets lost in her eyes. Eyes he’s known for so long.

  He remembers something they set up between them long ago. They developed a signal between them they used mostly at parties or bars. A wordless, subtle signal to let the other know something needed to be done. Usually meaning that one of them was trapped in a conversation they wanted desperately to get out of. Sometimes it was used when one of the girls was out of control and they needed some help fast. One time, Davis was fumbling with fixing the fence and gave her the signal from across the yard. It was simple: make eye contact and then bite their lower lip. That was it. They’ve used time and time again and it’s saved both of them over the years.

  As he looks into he
r eyes, he wants so badly to be back at a party with her. To go back to those days.

  They’ve been through a lot together. Good times and bad. They survived the pitfalls of most marriages, lasted longer than a lot of their friends. Davis knows this situation, this Justin situation, is like nothing they’ve been through before, however. This isn’t anything like the feeling of being buried alive in money problems. It’s not going nights without sleep, worrying about food and shelter while your babies sleep next to you. It’s not the helpless feeling of not being able to cover your bills no matter how hard you stretch.

  This is far worse.

  This is a different kind of animal.

  And it’s threatening to tear them apart.

  “Tell me,” Hattie begs.

  The pictures in Justin’s email sear, burning him down from the inside out.

  “I’m really tired,” he says, his eyes filling. “That’s all.”

  She bites her lip. Only now it’s completely different than when they were younger. She’s completely defeated, knowing there’s something important he’s not telling her. He was close, maybe, to telling her, to letting her in. They were so close to cracking this wide open, together, but he recoiled back into his secure place, retreated deep into his own emotional quarantine, walling her off once again.

  She turns away, focusing again on the coffee.

  “It’s the business,” he tries. “There’s a lot of stress, that’s all.”

  “Okay.”

  “Really, that’s it. I’m sorry—”

  “It’s fine. I’ll make some coffee. Go check on the girls.”

  Davis sees that things are anything but fine, but he also knows when to stand down. He slips out from the kitchen and heads back into the living room. He stands a few feet away, watching the girls. They continue to laugh and fight, then fight and laugh. What normally would be a wonderful moment watching his children is anything but that.

  His shoulders rise up toward his ears. A tension spike reaches up to his head. As he rubs his temples, he notices the blinds are wide open, giving a full view of the living room from the outside. Davis rushes over, shutting them fast. He checks the locks on the front door two, then three times. Scanning the room, he starts making quick calculations of entry and exit points. He’s going through a worst-case scenario planning exercise in milliseconds.

  He hears Hattie finishing up in the kitchen. He’ll check the back later.

  Needing to check in with his email and with Todd, Davis decides to head to his makeshift office. As he passes his girls, he pats them each on the head as he slips into the small bedroom he’ll use as his office.

  Opening up his laptop, he lets it whiz and whirl as it boots up its digital brain. While he waits he closes his eyes, trying to recharge. To reshuffle his mental deck. Hoping a quiet alone moment will give him some sense of calm.

  It does not.

  The second he shuts his eyes the images scream through his mind once again. The pictures. Justin. The women. Tilley with her throat almost ripped out.

  He squeezes his eyes tighter, shifting gears in his head now, replaying his last few conversations with Hattie. Each one was an escalation. Every word displaying her diminishing trust. Her eyes questioning her husband more and more. He allows himself a moment to imagine her leaving him, her walking out with the girls. The simple act of thinking about his family leaving him causes his throat to close, inducing a hard cough to fire from his lips.

  Her packing.

  Him pleading.

  The girls crying.

  Tilley with her throat cut.

  “Hey.”

  Davis spins around in his chair toward the door. Hattie stands in the doorway, barely making eye contact as she hands him a cup of coffee. It’s the perfect shade of caramel, just enough cream, the way they’ve always had their coffee.

  “I just realized I need a couple of things for dinner,” she says. “Sorry, should’ve had you pick them up while you were out.”

  Davis freezes, thinking of the cashier. He starts to get up, grabbing his keys. She puts up a hand. “No, I’ll go, you just got back. Get some work done. The girls want to get out for a second anyway.”

  Davis can’t let them go to that store. Not while there’s even the vaguest possibility Justin might be there. He knows it’s not him. But it might be.

  “I should go.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She motions to the computer. “Do whatever you need to do and come back to us.”

  Davis looks to her, lost. Her words hit hard, even if she didn’t intend them to. Her expression hits even harder.

  “Okay?” she asks.

  He nods. “Please go to a different store. Not the one at the bottom of the hill. Go to the one farther in town.”

  “Why? That’s like fifteen minutes farther out.”

  Davis scrambles. “The one I went to was a mess. Remodeling and stuff. The girls will drive you nuts there, trust me.”

  “Okay,” she says, a hint of disbelief trailing in her voice as she leaves.

  There’s an undeniable coldness to her, as if she were talking to a stranger. Maybe Davis is imagining things, or being too sensitive to everything, but he feels the two of them are miles apart. It’s in everything she’s done since he got back from the store. Her speech. Her stance. That woman in the doorway just now looked like his wife in every way, but she seemed almost like a complete stranger.

  A stranger in his own marriage.

  Davis leans back in his chair, watching Hattie gather up the girls and lead them out the door. Tears begin to well in his eyes like a hard rain that’s been growing in intensity. The water levels are building up more and more with each passing moment, rising faster and faster.

  And the dam is about to burst wide open.

  27

  At dinner that night there’s an unmistakable emptiness.

  The growing distance is palpable. Even the girls can sense it now. They aren’t giggling or cutting up at the table as they usually do. They pick at their food, sitting quietly while stealing quick glances between them. Mostly looking down, but occasionally looking at their mom and dad. They’re young, but they can see something is wrong between them. They can feel it.

  Hattie smiles forced smiles back at them. Davis does the same. Damage control. The girls give half-smiles in return then look down, pushing food around their plates with limited interest in eating it.

  The only sound at the table is the occasional clicking of forks and spoons. Davis can’t remember a night at the dinner table that was this quiet. No chatter about the day. No laughter. No joy. Not even the hum of sisters bickering. He wants to tell them to start talking, wants them to make some kind of sound.

  He wants to scream out, Say something!

  He doesn’t.

  He cuts another chunk of chicken and chews in silence. The air in the house seems to have become thick. Tight.

  Hard to breathe in here, he thinks while rubbing his throat.

  Davis considers checking the thermostat, even though he knows that’s insane. The temperature out here by the lake drops at night. His face feels hot again. Flush. He tugs at his T-shirt collar. His palms have a wet coldness to them that’s been coming on since the store. Setting down his fork, he rubs his thumbs into the palms of his hands, trying to solve the problem he’s ignored since this afternoon. He notices Hattie stealing a glance at him. Davis quickly picks up his fork, returning to his chicken.

  Hattie clears her throat, breaking the silence. “I forgot,” she says. “I ran into someone who said they knew you.”

  Davis drops his fork onto his plate. The clang makes the girls jump in their seats.

  “What?” Davis says.

  “A guy at the store said he knew you. Nice guy. A little off, but nice.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he’s known you for a while—”

  “He what? Listen, this is important. What exactly did he say?” Davis’s questions are hard. Bitin
g. His heart pulsing up into his throat. “What did he look like?”

  “He was—”

  He grabs her hand, squeezing it way too tight.

  “Tell me everything, Hattie. What did he do?”

  Hattie rips her hand back, looking at him like he’s lost his mind.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Davis, what—”

  “Was he dumb and goofy or was he slick and good-looking? Cool? Hip guy, wearing nice clothes?”

  The girls look to each other, not liking what’s going on. One of the girls’ eyes begins to water. The other is getting mad. One mad, the other sad at whatever is happening to their daddy.

  “What is this? Are you, what, jealous?” Hattie says. “You think I’m picking up guys at the lake house store?”

  “No. Hattie—”

  “What is going on with you?”

  “Nothing. Just tell me what the hell happened at the—”

  “I can’t even—"

  Davis slams his fists down on the table. The plates and glasses jump.

  “What the fuck happened?” he screams.

  The room goes silent.

  An old clock ticks in the living room.

  It’s as if all the energy had been sucked out of the house in the blink of an eye. Davis looks around the table. His wife and daughters look back at him like he’s a complete stranger. Someone other than the man they know is sitting at the table with them. As if he’s some crazy homeless man swinging at invisible people on the street. Someone they want to get away from. Someone they need to fear.

  Seeing the look in his daughters’ eyes stops Davis cold. It’s a look he’s never seen from them before. A look he’s never seen from anyone. They’re afraid. Afraid of him. He’s been angry in front of them before, sure, but not like this, and never like this with their mother.

  Something snaps inside of him. He wants to get up and hug them. Tell them he’s sorry. Explain that everything is okay.