He’s never had quite this dynamic before, but he does have a history of caretaking, maybe even a bit of a savior complex. Is that what this is? Or just the challenge? Is there something in him that’s causing this?
Why can’t I walk away? Just let go and move on. That’s what I’d advise anyone else to do. But God I love her so much. I so want this to work. What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I help her any better than I am?
As he covers her with a blanket, she opens her eyes and looks up at him so lovingly, she seems like a different person.
—I love you so much, she says, her voice small, sweet, childlike.
—I love you too.
43
Going over the phone dump from Shelby’s cell reminds Sam she should call Daniel, and she calls him while pouring over the records in a random vacant office at the sheriff’s department.
—Hey, she says.
—Hey.
—Whatta you doin’?
He laughs.
—Let’s see how well you know me. What do you think I’m doing?
—Trying to solve my case for me?
—Don’t know about that, but I am reading the old case file. That okay?
Now she laughs.
—Why do you think I left it out? she asks, her voice still warm with laughter.
—It’s fascinating, he says.
—I won’t get mad if you solve it, she says. I promise.
She looks up from Shelby’s cell phone records, pausing a moment to appreciate how good things are, how comfortable they are with each other. She’d given up on ever having a relationship like this, of ever finding a man like Daniel Davis, a long time ago.
—You sure? Don’t want to risk you making me sleep on the couch.
—I’ve never made you sleep on the couch.
—Meant that more metaphorical than literal.
—Oh. You’re scared I’m gonna withhold your favorite thing.
—Not saying you would, just that it’s not worth the risk. Of course, you could be so happy and grateful, you smother me with . . . ah, my favorite thing.
—I know I’ve been a competitive bitch in the past, but this time there are two cases. One for each of us. You solve the old one. I’ll solve the new one.
—Brilliant, he says. But if I do happen to solve both . . .
—I’d be so happy I’d forget to be competitive.
He lets out an incredulous laugh.
—While I’ve got you, he says, can I ask you a few questions about the old case?
—Sure. I’m just—Can I call you back?
44
—The fuck you been?
Will finds Keisha waiting for him where he dropped her off, irritated and impatient, she and Duke both so wet with sweat they look like they’ve been running in a rainstorm.
—Sorry. Thought I saw something. Went off on a wild goose chase.
He helps her into the boat.
—Sorry I left you so long, he says.
She shrugs and sits down, this time Duke lying on the floor of the boat at her feet.
He puts the motor in reverse, the engine clicking and locking into gear, then backs up, turns, shifts into forward, and heads back toward the landing in the darkness.
—Anything? he asks.
She shakes her head.
—Covered a lot of ground—even more than I planned ’cause I had some extra time ’cause somebody left my ass––but she didn’t come out over here.
He nods.
—So . . . whatta you think happened?
—She was here. She moved around some. She may’ve gone into the river, but if she did, she either came out close to where she went in or didn’t come out at all—either drowning or gettin’ in a boat and leaving that way. That’s about all me and ol’ Duke here can tell you.
45
—Play time’s over, Sam says. You understand?
She is seated next to Keith and across the table from Julian, John Lee, and Julia.
It’s her interview now.
A few minutes before, she had called the sheriff out into the hall, shown him her discovery, and asked to have a go at Julian. Weary and at wit’s end, he relented.
—Keith, I’m not gonna sit here and let my client be subjected to abuse.
—You got something to say, say it to me, Sam says, her voice as hard and frosty as her face.
—We’re outta here, John Lee says, standing.
—You got two choices, Sam says. Sit down and advise your client to answer my goddamn questions, or I arrest him for murder right now.
—Murder?
—Two, actually.
John Lee drops back into his chair.
She looks at Julian, locking her green eyes onto his brown ones until he looks away.
—I meant what I said, so don’t try me. You’ve been jerkin’ us around all afternoon. That ends now.
He doesn’t respond.
—Understand?
He still doesn’t respond.
—Grunt if you hear me.
He nods.
—You said you and Shelby broke up, right?
—Yeah.
—When?
—I don’t know. A while ago.
—That vague bullshit’s not gonna work anymore. Tell me exactly when.
—Tell her, son, Julia says.
—We’ve got her phone records, Sam says.
He still doesn’t say anything.
—It shows a certain pattern. You guys are together, all in love, and you call a lot. Just what you’d expect. Right? But then you break up. The calls stop, right? Or, let’s say she dumps you. So maybe you keep calling for a while. Maybe she even talks to you some, but the calls would be less frequent, shorter—a different pattern. Actually, I guess I really don’t need you to tell me when you broke up. I can tell from her phone records.
Sam pauses, but no one says anything.
Picking up the printouts again, she pretends to peruse them.
—Okay . . . let’s see . . . according to your calling pattern . . . you guys . . . haven’t broken up.
Julia and John Lee turn and look at Julian.
—What? he says. We’re broken up. I swear.
—Not only have you not been calling less, Sam says, you’ve been calling more. You guys have talked more this week than any other time. These are the records of a couple still together, still in love, still in nearly constant contact. Where is Shelby?
—I don’t know. I swear.
—For fuck sake, you spoke with her this morning.
—I didn’t.
—You called her as recently as one o’clock.
He looks at his mom, who’s looking at him a little differently now.
—Mama, you’ve got to believe me. I’m—
Sam slams her hand down on the table.
—Where is Shelby?
—I told you. I don’t know.
—You’re lying.
—I’m not. I swear.
—What’d you do with her?
—Please. God. Please.
—Is that what she said?
—What? No. You’ve got to believe me. I wouldn’t hurt her. I wouldn’t. What about Mr. Ake? He called her all the fuckin’ time.
—Julian, his mom nearly shouts.
—They talked, sure. And we’re talking to him, but I’m more interested in some other calls she made right now.
—It’s getting late, John Lee says. I think we should—
—Planned Parenthood, Sam says. Not just once, but a few times—and not that long ago. About the time you started looking at rings and talking about running away together.
—Julian, look at me, Julia says. Is Shelby pregnant?
46
Sitting in a chair in the living room, feet on the coffee table, computer in his lap, sipping coffee, listening to Taylor sleep, Marc scrolls through the pages of Shelby’s life. He’s finding this young lady he shares a house with interesting, intelligent, insightful. Her charm, humor,
and compassion pour forth from every page, but he’s finding nothing that he needs to report—at least not until the next page comes up and he sees this:
FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
But we’ve been so careful.
We’ve been sort of careful.
How late are you?
Late. And I never am. I’ve never been a day late and now it’s weeks.
What are we going to do?
I bought a test. I’m about to take it.
Keep texting me as you do. I’m here.
Do we wanna talk about what we’re going to do if it’s positive, or wait to see if it is?
What do you want to do?
I don’t want to have a baby right now, but I don’t want to have an abortion either.
We could get married. I could get a job. You could finish school.
Really? You would want to?
You kidding? I love you.
You’re so sweet. There’s no way we can but it’s so sweet of you to say.
Why can’t we?
I’m taking the test.
Right now?
Peeing on th litle thingy rihgt now. Texing with one hand.
How long does it take?
Five minutes.
Want to have phone sex while we wait?
:-)
I’m serious. Sext me.
Sext yourself.
Did you really just tell me to go sext myself?
Can we really handle this?
Yes. We’ll be totally awesome fucking parents. We can handle anything together.
You think?
Don’t you?
I’m scared. Understatement. I’m freakin’ right now.
Settle down. It’s going to be okay no matter what it is. I promise. I’m with you.
But you’re not. You’re there and I’m here.
You want me to come over?
And sneak in? See? We can’t have a baby.
We can do anything. I swear it. We’ll figure it out. We will.
I hope so, because it’s positive.
Marc wants to wake Taylor, but he knows she’s in no condition. He needs to call the sheriff or the FDLE agent, but can’t tell them before he tells Taylor, can he? Got to. No choice. Shelby matters more than anything right now.
47
—Yes, Julian says, his eyes falling with his demeanor. She is.
—How long have you known? Julia says. Why didn’t you tell me?
—Not long.
—You should’ve told me, she says. I would’ve helped you.
—Sorry.
—So you two didn’t break up, Sam says. And she’s pregnant.
—Were you running away together? Keith asks.
Julian nods.
—What happened? Sam asks.
—She didn’t show up. Stood me up. Went to have the abortion instead.
––Where? Keith asks.
––No idea. She didn’t include me.
—So she decided not to have the baby, Sam says.
He nods.
—Not to run off with you, not to marry you, not to be a family? Sam Continues.
—Right.
—That’d make anybody mad, Sam says. Would me. I understand. You just lost it for one minute. Just—
—What? Julian says, his voice rising No.
—She’s killing your baby, your chance at keeping her, at making her yours forever.
—No, Julian says, lowering his voice again, regaining a modicum of control. It’s not like––
—Tell us what happened, Sam says. We’ll understand. You know we will. Where is she? You didn’t mean to hurt her. It was an accident. No one’s fault.
—I haven’t even seen her today. I told you. She didn’t show up. I swear. I don’t know where she is. Check the clinic, check with Mr. Ake—it’s probably his baby anyway.
—Son, Julia says, you’ve been telling us all day that you and Shelby broke up.
—We did, he says. The moment she didn’t show up this morning. Whether she’s having an abortion or it was never mine to begin with, we broke up when she left me standing there waiting like a fuckin’ fool.
—Julian, his mother scolds again.
—You stupid son of a bitch, Keith says.
Julian jerks his head around at Keith and glares at him.
—What’d you call—
—Think about it, Sam says. Maybe she didn’t stand you up at all, but was abducted on her way to meet you.
48
Running.
Stumbling.
Falling.
Rolling.
Leaping.
Running again.
The swamp she’s running through is thick and green and humid. Hands and face stinging. Flesh cut, ripped, torn. Branches. Limbs. Vines. Twigs. Thorns.
This morning, she had been so hopeful, so happy, so excited about her future. Now, she wonders if she even has one.
Frantic.
Running for her life—and the potential one inside her—on what was supposed to be her wedding day.
Who’s doing this to me? And why? Why me? Why today? Why?
Can’t . . . go . . . any . . . further.
Whatta I do? Whatta I do? Whatta I do?
When she can run no more, she slows and searches for a place to hide. To her left is a pine flat filled with palmettos. Tight. Compact. Full fans. Perfect.
Entering the flat, she scans the area. Sees no one. Carefully, she wades into the thicket, picks out a spot, and lies down flat on the ground, disappearing beneath the blanket of branches.
Aware the clumps of little palms are a favorite nesting spot for rattlesnakes and wasps, their fruits a favorite food of black bears and feral hogs, she knows hiding here is not without risks, but they are relative. She’s got to stop. Got to hide. Would rather take her chances with the dangerous creatures down here than the one chasing her.
So tired.
So thirsty.
So distraught.
I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die out here all alone. I’m never gonna see my mommy again.
As her heart rate and breathing decelerate, she begins to cry.
She should be more prepared. Mother Earth had trained her better than this.
Nearly everything she knows about the river and swamp and environmental activism, she learned from Marshelle Mayhann, a local legend everyone referred to as Mother Earth. Radical tree hugger, river swamp savior, leathery lady of the land, Mother Earth had been one of the few people Taylor had allowed Shelby to hang out with. For years, she had ridden up and down the river and traipsed through the swamps with Mother, listening carefully, learning all she could, so she too could fight the good fight to save her native soil from the greedy motherfuckers who were so set on raping it.
A few moments later, glistening, as if seen through a rain-streaked windshield, her tear-filled eyes behold a red-banded hairstreak butterfly float down and flutter around, a delicate, dancing dot of blue-gray. Rust-colored streaks. Small black smudges.
Its beauty and fragility simultaneously buoy and break her heart.
She had awakened so in love with Julian, so thrilled to be heading out on an adventure with him. Now, she’s hurt and hungry, terrified and lonely, and in serious doubt she’ll ever see him again.
What’s he doing right now? Is he looking for me? Is Mom? Marc? Sheriff Keith? Anyone?
49
Marc jumps when the doorbell rings.
So focused on Shelby’s journal, he’s forgotten the world around him. The noise is startling in the quiet house, but Taylor, still passed out on the couch, doesn’t stir.
Hopping up and placing the laptop where he has just been, he rushes to the door before a second chime could rouse Taylor.
In the few moments it takes him to cross the house, he realizes he could be running to receive bad news about Shelby.
Please, God, no.
In the open doorway, Julian looks diminutive and depleted. Is it fear? Guilt? Worry? Or what the cops put h
im through?
He hesitates to come in even after Marc invites him, then glances around nervously when inside.
Marc realizes how little he’s visited the lodge, how scared he must be.
—Ms. Sean here? he asks tentatively, as if he hopes the answer is no.
—She’s asleep.
—Oh. Okay.
Marc finds it difficult to believe the boy before him could have hurt or killed Shelby—an opinion the sheriff just called and told him he shares.
—Anything I can do for you? Give her a message?
—Nah. I’s just . . .
The house is night quiet and has an aura of emptiness—absence of something more than light and movement.
—How are you, Julian?
He shrugs.
—Me and Shelby were gonna . . .
—I know.
—You do?
—You guys were gonna marry. Start a family, right?
He looks wide-eyed and surprised at first, but then slowly nods.
—I’ve spent all day thinkin’ she just didn’t show, he says.
Marc nods, but doesn’t say anything.
—Thought all kinda bad stuff about her.
Marc continues to nod.
—But she wouldn’t do that, would she? Just not show up, not say anything.
—No, she wouldn’t.
—I’ve been so fuckin’ mad at her. So stupid.
Insecurities make monsters of us all, Marc thinks. He’s learning a valuable lesson about perception and projection, but at what price?
—She’s the best person I’ve ever known. Who would take her?
—I’m not sure. We’re all trying to figure that out.
—If something happens to her . . .
Something already has, Marc thinks. The only question is what.
50
—Do I disturb you? Sam asks, a sweet, playful lilt in her voice.
—Greatly, Daniel says, completing the favorite and oft-quoted movie line.
—I’m on my way to track down and interview a few possible suspects, she says.
The Remington James Box Set Page 50
