Anna and I spend our free time in Apalach and Eastpoint, since that was the area where Gauge lived, going from store to store and door to door, asking anyone who will let us if they’ve ever seen the bracelet or the woman who used to wear it.
Nothing comes of it.
Nothing comes of anything we try.
While in the area, we had also looked for Daniel, following up on a couple of leads we had come across recently. Nothing had come of them either, and I’m beginning to wonder if anything ever will.
On the drive back I actually wondered which, if either, case we’d close first. I had no idea I’d find out so soon.
Ironically, as is so often the case, I find what I’m looking for in a moment when I’m not looking for it.
Anna and I are on our way back home from a day of knocking on doors in Apalach when we stop in the No Name Café in Port St. Joe for coffee and books.
The No Name is a book and gift shop with a deli and coffee bar. Passing puzzles and trinkets for tourists, while Nora, the young woman behind the counter concocts our usual coffees, Anna and I browse the books, each of us picking out a few that we hope to read as we lie beside each other in bed tonight.
When Barbara Radcliff, the owner, rings us up, I pull some cash out of my pocket to pay. As I do, the plastic evidence bag with the bracelet remains comes out with the random wad of bills.
“What is—Let me see that,” she says.
I hand it to her.
“Do you recognize it?” Anna asks.
Barbara examines it closely and carefully through the clear plastic wrapping around it.
“Where did you get this?” she asks. “Why does this say evidence?”
“Have you seen it before?” I ask. “Do you know who it belongs to?”
“Belongs or belonged?” she says.
She turns to one of the other two women behind the counter and asks her to take over at the register, then asks the other one to join the three of us in the back.
When the young woman, a part-time employee named Nora, joins Anna, Barbara, and myself in the back corner of the store, Barbara hands her the bracelet.
As she takes it and sees what it is, her eyes grow alarmed. She glances at Barbara, then me, then begins to cry.
“It’s hers, isn’t it?” Barbara says.
Nora nods.
“Whose?” I ask.
“April’s,” Nora says. “Did something happen to her? Is she . . .”
“April Bennett,” Barbara says. “She worked here for a short while. Just sort of passing through. Something I think she did pretty much everywhere. Sweet but sad girl. She and Nora got pretty close though.”
“When you can,” I say to Nora, “will you tell us all about her?”
“Is she . . . dead?”
“Are you sure this is her bracelet?”
She nods. “It’s a one of a kind. She wore it as a sort of joke, you know. It’s an antique silver spoon she made into a cuff bracelet. That’s why it’s open like that. It was an old tea spoon from like 1911 or something. That’s why it’s so small. She twisted and hammered it. That Old Colony pattern is unmistakable. It’s hers all right. She was always making things—mostly to sell.”
“Why was it a sort of joke?” Anna asks.
“A silver spoon,” she says. “April was an orphan, grew up in the system. Never had anything. Definitely not born with a silver spoon.”
Barbara says, “She had a very rough life—abuse, sexual and otherwise from foster dads, bullying from other foster kids, neglect, you name it—but . . . she was so kind, such a good person. Never complained or made an excuse about anything. Hardworking. Grateful for everything she ever got, grateful for every day. Meek. Mild. Sweet. Only two ways you could tell she was . . . that she had the kind of life she did was how . . . sad her eyes were and how insecure in general she was.”
I look back at Nora. “How long since you’ve heard from her?”
“She met a guy who was gonna love her like she finally deserved,” she says. “Who was gonna take care of her and give her the best of everything. He was leaving his wife and child for her. They were running away together. She swore not to tell anyone his name and she didn’t. She said she would contact me after she got set up in their new place far away, and that she’d come see me when they came back for his kid eventually. Last time I saw her was the last day she worked here. Never heard from her again. She was supposed to leave with him the next day. I . . . I had hoped she’d gotten a good life finally and just forgot about me, but I knew that’s not what happened. I thought the best case scenario was that he stood her up or left her after a while of being together and she was too embarrassed to reach out to me. But I knew better. I knew not to ask around either. She said he was some kind of cop. Is she really dead? Is it possible her life was that bad all the way through?”
It is possible. More than possible. It’s probable. But I don’t tell her that. I don’t tell her how the innocent suffer and the evil are rarely punished—and almost never like they deserve or in any kind of timely fashion. Instead I join her in grieving for a mild, kind soul who gave life far more than it ever gave her, who suffered more in her short life than most do in lives three times as long, who was brutally murdered, burned, and buried and left by herself all this time in an unmarked grave, and who was missed by nearly no one.
“Who killed her?” Nora asks. “Was it the man she was supposed to run away with?”
I nod. “His name was Gauge. He was a game warden in Franklin County. Remember the shootout on Cutoff Island?”
Nora shrugs, but Barbara nods.
“He was killed that day. Lived less than fifteen hours longer than April did.”
“Good,” Nora says. “Thank God for that.”
79
Then
* * *
Her things are packed, but they’re not going with her.
He told her to leave everything behind.
All of it, he had said, is part of your old, sad, lonely life. Leave it all behind—your old things and your old self.
Something she’s only too happy to do. Well, except for the silver spoon bracelet she had made herself. For some reason she can’t part with it. Reaching down and touching it with her other hand, she thinks, Surely he won’t mind if I keep this one small memento. Probably won’t even notice.
Can this really be happening? Is she finally going to get a happy ending? She hadn’t believed the unlucky ones like herself ever really did.
We’re starting a new life together, he had said. Way away from here. Just the two of us. We’ll go where nobody knows our names and be happier than either of us ever imagined.
That won’t take much for her. She’s never imagined being particularly happy. The best she’s ever hoped for is pretty modest—to be safe, to have food, to have shelter.
Can she really add to be loved to that list?
I’m gonna love you like you never been loved, he had said. To care for you like you’ve always deserved.
Will he? Will he really do all that for me?
He said he would. Has said it over and over. And she mostly believes him. And what has she got to lose?
What’s the worst that can happen? That he doesn’t show? That he doesn’t come and pick her up and take her away from her old life and self? Or that he does, that he takes her somewhere far away and decides, after he’s been with her for a while, that he doesn’t love her after all and leaves her? She’ll just start over in a new town. Like she’s done so many times before.
A knock at the door of her tiny home—little more than a shed she rents behind someone’s real home—and Goodwill is here to pick up the boxes containing all the worldly possessions of her old life.
She was hoping he would arrive before Goodwill did, so she would really know he’s coming, but . . . it’s not like she’s giving up much even if he doesn’t show. The truth is, if Goodwill knew what these old cardboard boxes contained they wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t both
er at all.
She opens the door wearing the pretty new outfit he bought her and gives her bravest smile to the young black men in the blue Goodwill shirts.
—Just these three boxes here, she says. Thank you.
She starts to rip the bracelet off her wrist and toss it into one of the boxes, but she just can’t bring herself to do it.
—Need a receipt? the taller of the two asks.
She shakes her head.
As they leave with everything she has amassed in her sad little life, she wipes at unexpected tears and tries to pull herself together. Can’t be crying when Gauge arrives.
There were several times when she didn’t think this was really going to happen—and part of her still doesn’t—like the time he seemed to be having doubts about leaving his baby boy.
What if we take him with us? she had said. Instead of coming back for him.
She still remembers the way he had shaken his head and looked at her.
She had panicked inside, felt everything she ever wanted slipping away, and made her biggest blunder of their entire relationship. She had always been so careful. So cautious. Tried too hard to tiptoe atop the eggshells to keep him happy. But this time . . .
She hadn’t meant it the way he took it, but she shouldn’t have said anything at all.
Maybe I should talk to your wife, she had said before she realized what she was saying, before she realized words were coming out of her stupid, stupid mouth.
She could tell instantly he thought she meant it as a threat, that she would expose him, reveal their affair, but she hadn’t meant that at all. She meant so Casey could see that she was a good person and they could talk woman to woman about caring for the son the three of them would share.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
He hadn’t hit her like she expected him to.
What he did was far worse.
He—or rather something inside him—had shifted. As mysterious and unknowable as he had been before, he was now the Iceman. She shivers now just thinking about it.
She tried to explain what she meant right then and there—and several times since—but the change in him wasn’t a temporary reaction to a misunderstanding. Something she hopes will change when they get to the new town and their new life together far, far away from here.
I wasn’t threatening you. I didn’t mean . . . I’m not a threat to . . . anyone. I’m just a silly girl. I love you. I’d never do anything to hurt you. Not ever. Even if you leave me. Even if you . . . no matter what you do . . . I’ll never do anything to hurt you. Not ever.
Had he believed her? She can’t be sure. Can’t be sure about anything with him. But she doesn’t believe he did.
So why is he still leaving with her?
Maybe he’s not. He’s not here yet, is he?
True.
And then suddenly, miraculously, he’s here.
Her prince. Her white knight. Her hope at happiness has arrived.
—They already come and get all your stuff?
She nods. –Just a little while ago.
—Did you erase your phone and give it to them too?
—Did everything just like you said to. Everything. You sure you still want to do this?
—Absolutely. Just have to make a quick stop first.
Does she dare ask where or why?
—Oh yeah? she asks, unable to help herself.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
—Yeah. For us. For our future.
—Where’s that?
—I buried some fresh-start funds—a lot of them—out in the swamp not too far from the river in Wewa. We’ve got to go by, dig them up, and then we’re home free. You willing to help me dig a hole out in the swamp if our future is in it?
80
Now
* * *
Anna and I are cooking dinner together when the doorbell rings.
It’s the first of two times it will ring tonight and the far less shocking of the two.
We’re making fresh field peas, fried green tomatoes, cornbread, garlic-crusted chicken breasts, and new potatoes.
Sam will be home tomorrow and Anna is also baking a cake to celebrate her return.
I’m saddened again to think about Sam’s improvement and the fact that Daniel isn’t here to see it—and might not be ever again.
To be more accurate and honest, Anna is cooking. I am mostly watching, helping with little things here and there, though she keeps insisting I sit down over at the table by Taylor and prop my leg up.
“I’m even more in the way on crutches?” I ask. “Or is it not possible for me to be more in the way than I normally am?”
“The only difference I can discern is you’re groping and fondling me less than you normally do.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I bet I can balance on one crutch and still have a hand free to explore your beauty while you work.”
“You could at least try,” she says. “Let a girl know she’s still fondle-worthy in the kitchen.”
Before I can try to let a girl know she is most certainly still fondle-worthy and always will be, the doorbell rings.
“Hey, Hopalong,” Anna says, “you wanna hop over and get that while I stick this in the oven?”
When I open the door and see that it’s Heather, I say, “Howdy pardner.”
She looks confused .
“Come on in.”
She does so slowly, gingerly moving through our galley kitchen and taking a seat on a high stool at the tall cypress table.
“Sorry to interrupt dinner,” she says.
“You’re not,” Anna says. “Just starting on it, really. Please stay and eat with us. How’re you feeling?”
“Mostly like a fool,” she says. “Can’t believe I trusted the bastards all these years.” She then glances over at Taylor who is eating Cheerios off her highchair tray and says, “Sorry.”
“Which bastards in particular?” I say.
“Mike and Jean Thomas.”
“Least you didn’t marry him,” Anna says.
“Huh?”
“When I make a statement like I can’t believe I trusted the bastard, I’m actually referring to my ex-husband, so . . . it could be worse.”
“Oh.”
The kitchen smells of garlic and other seasonings that make me both hungry and happy. And though I wish Johanna were here, having Anna and Taylor make this fifty-year-old brick ranch feel like home.
I sit down across from Heather, putting aside the notebook with the draft of the letter I am writing to let Alec Horn’s daughter know his final thought was of her.
“Don’t feel like you have to sit here with me,” she says.
“No, please keep him over there,” Anna says.
“Off his leg?”
“Away from dinner.”
She laughs, and in another few moments Anna joins us at the table with glasses and a pitcher of sweet tea. Without asking if we want any, she pours each of us a glass, offering and adding lemon to Heather’s before sliding it over in front of her.
We are quiet for a few moments, sipping on our tea.
“I want to thank you again for all you did,” Heather says. “Both of you.”
“Our pleasure,” I say.
“I didn’t do much,” Anna says, “but was honored to be involved.”
“I so wish Caroline was here to see it,” Heather says. “She had such a hard life toward the end, but to . . . actually see her son shot like that . . . killed right in front of her. Her only child riddled with bullet holes while she watched.”
Anna and I both glance at Taylor and I think about Johanna.
“I can’t even fathom,” Anna says.
I can, but wish I couldn’t.
“She said she wanted to die right then and there,” Heather says. “That she came so close to picking up one of the guns and shooting herself in her broken heart. Actually lifted the gun from where it had fallen inside the boat, but . . . felt like she had to tell everyone what had ha
ppened, what he did, how very brave he was. Wanted to be the one to tell me, to grieve with me.”
I think about April Bennett again. And Remington. And Martin Fisher. And Nicole Caldwell. And Lamarcus Williams. And Angel Diaz. And Stacy Andrews. And so many other innocent victims, lambs led to the slaughter by wicked, violent men, and I am overwhelmed with sadness and pain and despair.
“I think I can’t be any more grief-stricken and distraught,” Heather says, “and then I imagine actually seeing him being shot the way Caroline did and I think . . . there are levels of despair I know not of.”
I look over at her, then to Anna, and realize all three of us have tears in our eyes.
“I actually came by because I have good news,” Heather says, wiping at her eyes.
“Talk about burying the lede,” Anna says with an attempt at a smile.
Taylor tosses a Cheerio onto the table. When I pick it up and eat it, she throws another at me.
Anna tells both of us to stop then asks Heather what her news is.
“I finally know what I’m going to do with the land,” Heather says.
“Oh yeah?” I say. “What’s that?”
“Make a memorial to Remington and April,” she says. “Make a wildlife sanctuary named after and in honor of them, create a park, a place of contemplation and connection with the wild beauty of this area and even to take pictures—though none will be as exquisite as those Remington took.”
“No, they won’t,” I say. “That’s a beautiful and brilliant idea. I love it. It’s perfect.”
“I also plan to set up camera traps throughout with still cameras and live video feeds that can be watched online from anywhere in the world.”
“Nice,” Anna says, “I like that.”
“I’m going to sell part of the land to pay for everything and to create a not-for-profit for the prevention of child and domestic abuse. The April Bennett Foundation.”
“That’s . . . incredible . . .” I say. “Just so, very generous and kind of you. And so restorative in a way. It’s things like that that mean evil won’t win, that darkness won’t overtake the light.”
The Remington James Box Set Page 41
