by Nicole Snow
I'm walking out of the bathroom with Mia in tow. The entire day is shot and it's already dark.
We're parked at a tiny little gas station on the other side of town. The owner, Fred, is a sports junky who's completely oblivious to anything except his Hawkeyes winning. He smiles and thanks me for the crumpled cash I use to buy us a couple candy bars, then turns back to the TV broadcasting the game.
Chocolate is the least my girl deserves after the fucked up day I've given her. Not even the morning chase, which she innocently enjoyed, but the mind-mending boredom after.
I'm paralyzed. Taking any route out of town feels like a fatal mistake. I surf the radio stations for a hint, a word about traffic conditions and police activity, but Port Eagle is the armpit on the river between Dubuque and Davenport. If there's a manhunt going on, or even just the town's three man police crew lined up on every road leading out of it, I'll never know until I run smack into them.
I wish I'd packed my scanner, damn it.
After another half hour at the station, I finally fire up my engine and drive us down the road. Fred's pump is no place to spend the night with the twenty-four hour lights blaring in our eyes.
There's an eyesore about a mile away, an old rail junction with a crumbling fence. The dead grey building next to the decommissioned tracks has been a dumping ground for years. Perfect hiding spot.
My truck looks like nothing from the road, tucked between a rusted tractor and a Honda missing its windshield. Just another dark ghost, gone and forgotten.
For once, that's how I want to stay while I try to think. Sort out whether the cover of night will do us any favors.
Mia sips her cocoa and mumbles to herself. Guilt throbs in my veins. I can't keep her cooped up in this truck forever, especially if we're staying for one more night. I need time to think, to look the town over, to raise my morale.
What the hell do I do? Sitting here through dusk isn't doing us any favors.
Turning, I reach for my little girl's hand, pinching her fingers. “How about a drive? Break up the monotony.”
“Seattle, daddy?” Her eyes go big.
I smile and a numb half-laugh slips out. It's the first time in forever, so long I've forgotten the sound in my throat. “Nah, that'll be a few more days.” If we decide to head to Alaska at all, it'll be through Washington. “I mean for tonight, before we turn in.”
Honeybee nods, more than a little disappointed. It turns the wrench in my guts harder. I hope the place I have in mind doesn't bring back too many bad memories, and make this even worse.
I'm eerily calm approaching the Kelley residence. Mia drifts off before we're even there, blissfully ignorant to the pain that starts ripping through me once I'm on Sadie's street.
It's after eight o'clock. The house is weirdly dark, barely lit. There's no sign of Jackson's truck – the only thing that really matters.
I switch off the lights and wait. I count five minutes, trying not to rip off the steering wheel.
This is where I lost her. The woman I wasn't supposed to love, much less marry. She, who taught me I could live in the present, without being shackled to ghosts who haven't shut up since my fist crashed into Jackson's face.
Cinnamon hair and mischief lips. Promises I wasn't meant to break. Heart and fucking soul.
Red, beautiful Red.
God damn it.
I step out of the truck and close the door lightly, hand tucked in my pocket. Every step crunching through the snow is deafening. It doesn't slow me down.
I make it to her doorstep, slide the envelope into the screen, and beat it. It was risky coming here, riskier still to stay.
If all goes well, she'll find my note tomorrow.
She'll have till noon to make her choice. If she buys my explanation, finds it in herself to forgive, and realizes I'm not a total monster, then maybe I won't leave my ruined soul behind.
Maybe, we'll have a chance.
13
Guide the Way (Sadie)
I can't sleep. I tell myself it's normal, the same thing since Jackson went berserk. But if I'm being honest, deep down, the sandman abandoned me the day I lost Marshal.
I'm awake after four listless hours, anxious as ever. It's barely past nine. I shower, dress, and head downstairs, just in time for the day's main event.
“Mom?” I freeze, one-step into the living room, staring at my mother like she's a phantom.
She turns slowly, dad eyeing her anxiously. “Nice to see you, dear. It's good to be home.”
I go running. For once in my life, I throw myself at my mother, wrap my arms around her, and she hugs me back just as hard.
I'm sure dad hasn't briefed her on the latest drama, or the fact that they'll be grandparents in eight months and counting. Too much, too soon, after weeks of intense psychotherapy. His eyes are warnings when they land on me, understanding, but begging me to take it easy.
“How are you? How was it?” Two questions down, and only ninety-eight more to go. It seems like an eternity since she's been away.
My mother sits up straight, little sign of her unruly fidgeting. “It was...dreadful, really. What else would you call being committed?”
“Steph,” dad whispers, rubbing her arm. He's trying so hard not to upset her, fearful something might trigger a relapse any second.
This is a trial run. If she can't hack it here, or backslides, then she could be away for months.
“Mom, you're okay.” I need her to be. Because I don't know what okay means anymore.
“Someday. For now, I'm just better. The pills help stop the urge to scream and tear our lovely home apart.” She looks at me and smiles. I'm thankful treatment hasn't broken her very blunt spirit. “And what about you, dear? Still babysitting for our friend?”
My smile fades. Dad's hand slides completely off her arm, his face going pale. I don't know what to say.
“Peter?” Mom looks from me to him, bewildered.
“Nothing, nothing. I just really need some coffee. Care for a cup, anybody?” He heads into the kitchen, aiming a desperate look my way. Don't say anything, his eyes say.
Mom turns back to me, a glint in her eye, leaning in. “So, you're toying with me. What's going on? Where's Marshal and that precious little girl?”
“Away.” I never knew one word could cut my throat. “He's left town, mom. Family business. Said it was urgent, I believe. I'm not working for him anymore.”
There's a small crash in the kitchen. We both turn. Dad looks at us sheepishly, lifting a small saucer out of the sink. Rather, one broken half of it. “Butterfingers. You gals are sure you don't need anything?”
Mom sighs, slumping in her chair. “I'm so sorry, dear. So, you're living here again full time then? Such a bore. My condolences.”
Oh, mom. You have no earthly idea.
I take coffee after all. Dad brews a fresh pot of decaf, just for me. I'm doing everything by the book for this pregnancy, well into weaning myself off caffeine.
Once he sees mom's brain is still in one piece, he's comfortable enough to leave us alone. I sit with my mother making small talk, sugarcoating the tragic irony growing inside me.
She gives the doctors and nurses who tended her brutal reviews. I pretend to give her my full attention, the impossible. Of course, there's plenty of guilt to go around.
How long will I have to sit on my secret? Weeks? Months?
If Jackson finds Marshal, maybe sooner. I hope he doesn't, and for no good reason.
“We did some work in your bedroom. Want to see?” I force a smile, hoping the clean new bedroom-studio waiting upstairs does her some good.
“Sure, dear. It's important to know where I'll be spending ten hours out of the day. These damn drugs are narcotics, I swear.” Yawning for emphasis, she stands and we walk together.
I lead her past dad mopping the dining room. He looks up, mouthing a single word: easy.
Duh, I mouth back, following mom upstairs.
She moves cautiously into the bed
room, past the miserable mess where I'm sleeping. I'm glad I remembered to shut my door. I've been too down the past few weeks to catch up on laundry, or even arrange the things Jackson retrieved from Marshal's place.
We stop at the entrance to the room. My mother pokes her head in and sniffs, then gives me a restless look. “Birch themed. Predictable, I suppose, but it'll do.”
The breath I'm holding in slips out. No freakouts. That's good.
Before, mom refused to let anyone touch her things. Now, she's accepted the clean slate we've tried to give her. A few deflated words feels like a miracle, like we've averted a storm.
Maybe people really can change.
“Are you tired, mom?”
She shakes her head, brushing past me. “No. And I'm in no mood to work either. Not for a couple more weeks, the doctor said. I'd better pretend to listen. Give the drugs some time to settle before I fight them tooth and nail for my muse.”
I wish this was more of a victory. I'm trailing behind her, heading downstairs. I almost crash into my mother's back when she stops on the last step, her eyes narrowed, peeking through our glass door.
“What's that?” She lifts a finger, pointing to the small scrap of paper lodged inside.
Shrugging, I head over. Probably just an ad, but why in God's name anyone would want to brave an Iowa winter to go door-to-door, I'll never know.
I open the door and pull it out as fast as I can. There's no time for the familiar handwriting to hit me with mom standing over my shoulder.
A short, surprised hiss slips through her teeth instead. “Ah-ha. So, it's him, isn't it? I knew he didn't just up and leave.”
My cheeks combust, burning red insanity. I fight the urge to rip it up with my hands before I even open it. Surely, that's better than the scream I'm holding in.
“Oh, don't look so guilty, my love. I'll leave you to your love letters. Someone will fill me in sooner or later, but just between us, I hope it's you. Your father still thinks I'm liable to become a fire breathing dragon.” Mom claps me on the shoulder and trots away, humming to herself.
Dare I? My fingernail slides under the seal. It's harder than paper, more like tearing fabric.
The note falls open. A precious artifact from another life, which ended the day I threw Marshal's ring in my nightstand drawer, never to be seen again.
I take a deep breath. Let's get this over and done.
Dear Red,
I'm not risking everything to get this to you for sweet talk.
So let's get straight to the point: I love you.
Really. Truly. So fucking much.
Wish somebody told me love comes with a lot of regrets. Wish even harder none of the shit with your brother happened that night. Mostly, I wish I'd told you the truth from the get go.
This isn't getting on some high horse. We're both liars, him and me. Difference is, I'm finally coming clean. I'm done spending another second on this planet without you knowing the truth, thinking I'm a monster.
Maybe that's how it's supposed to be, but I'd rather lay it out and take my chances. Here's where we're at, darling.
I didn't kill Jenna. Once upon a time, I tried to make it work for all of one week. That's as much as the bitch and I could stand each other. Then she jumped on the highway and crashed in the river. It was so goddamned miserable I tried to forget it ever happened. I lied to myself so long I misled you, and I'm sorry.
I never cut her brakes. She left Mia hungry and ran off a cliff. Ask for the pages your brother omitted if you don't want to take my word for it. The cops put me through the wringer, and I walked out alive because I didn't kill her. Their investigation proved it.
Now for the rest: I did cut your brother's brakes.
You didn't read that wrong. I wanted his ass dead.
If you want to turn me in, here's my confession.
I've had a vendetta against his lying, scheming soul since the service. His bad intel killed three of my best friends, fellow Rangers, good men who left their families for nothing. He lied to our officers, led us into an ambush, and then called in an airstrike without checking to see if my team was out of the combat zone.
Death wasn't even the end of it. Their parents, their kids, their widows are still suffering. I was drunk that day on the Fourth and I couldn't hold it in anymore while our hometown hero passed by. I did something stupid, and he punched me in the face.
I tried to ruin him then and there, without thinking about it, and it backfired on me.
I've spent the last few years plotting the best way to get him ever since, to avenge my dead friends and my own fucking name. Until last Christmas, that was my obsession.
Then you came.
You slayed the demons. You gave me hope. You saying yes to being my wife was the best minute of my life. Right up there with the first time I ever laid eyes on my little girl.
You, Red, are the reason Jackson is still breathing. I tried to off him and I couldn't. Just fixed his shitty brakes instead, then drove his truck to your parents place, safe and sound.
I swore off killing him for you. Hell, I even realized I did wrong.
I still want to get even. But if I ever do him justice, it'll be legal, proper, and it'll happen without hurting a hair on his nasty face. Promise.
Also, we're leaving soon. I've got my little girl ready for a long trip. Mia misses you.
So the hell do I.
We want you with. If you're able to look past his lies, if you can handle my darkest truths, join us.
If you can forgive, even if I don't deserve it, then I'm ready for anything.
I'd love to have your lips. Still crave them more than air itself on the nights I can't breathe.
Pretty much every night since I lost you, Sadie.
Make that every night for the rest of my miserable life if it's really over.
Come see us at the old junction stop by noon if there's any love left in your heart. Call a cab. We have to leave today and we'll sort the rest later.
Yours forever,
Marshal
I can't move until I've read it three more times. Then my knees just work like they're lighter than a cloud. They carry me upstairs.
My hands, light and happy, plow through the mess of my belongings. They stuff the essentials in a suitcase. There's a shiver up my spine as I slide my ring back on.
I hadn't realized how truly naked I felt without it. I tuck the note into my purse and sling it over my shoulder.
I pass dad at the base of the stairs. He's heading up and I'm going to sit by the door, waiting for my ride.
“Where's the fire, Sadie? Looks like you're going away for a long time...” He frowns, trailing off.
Crap. I'm caught and I know it. I stand there silently, staring at my dad adjusting his spectacles.
“It's nothing. Honest. I'll be home before you know it, dad. I'm...just going into town to unload some junk.” I've never been an awesome liar. This comes out so weak, even I'm ashamed.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Sadie?”
There's no fooling him.
I should've known. He's too experienced for this. Spent too many years unraveling Jackson's lies, ever since he started acting out in his teens, and then too many more dealing with mom's torrid half-truths and exaggerations.
“Let's try this again: I'm going away with a friend. It's everything going on here, dad. I just need to get away before I lose it. Promise I'll stay safe. I'll call whenever I can. It might...honestly, it might be a while.” I look down, wondering if he'll let it go. “I'm sorry to do it like this, especially today. But, dad, I have to leave now. My mental health is kinda at stake.”
His hand lingers on the banister, rough grip sapping his strength. He hangs his head and sighs. When his eyes return to mine, they're conflicted, then understanding. “I can't keep you here. Please, babe, just don't do anything illegal or dangerous. If it's him...damn it, just stay safe. Get out of here before Jackson comes sniffing. He hasn't been thinking clearly since the day
he almost knocked you down.”
“Dad?” I'm in disbelief. I drop everything and squeeze him until his glasses come loose. “I'll never forget this. Thank you.”
“Yeah, now run along. Looks like your taxi's here. I'll tell your mom everything tomorrow over brunch. We'll manage, one way or another, just like we always do.”
I give him one more hug and then grab my things. It's hard to believe I've gotten so lucky.
Now, I just have to decide whether the next time I lay eyes on Marshal, I smother him with kisses or slap his face into a tailspin.
“Here, ma'am? You're sure?” The middle aged cab driver looks back in the mirror, doing a double take at the dirty place I've asked him to drop me off.
I search for signs of Marshal. It's several seconds before I catch faint movement, a reflection inside one of the few windshields still intact in the parking lot.
A signal. It has to be.
“I am, and thank you,” I mutter, shoving a ball of cash at the cabbie. An ultra-generous tip should keep him from asking any questions.
I wait until he starts pulling away before I move. Then I'm speed walking through the opening in the rusted chain link fence, careful not to trip over the debris. I hear a car door open.
Suddenly, he's running toward me. It's less than a minute before his massive arms crash around me, and the lips I've needed for weeks forge tears.
Our kiss is a collision. I put my hands around his neck and sink my nails in his skin.
We come together like a storm.
Angry. Blistering. Melancholy. Raw.
Every last feeling on passion's atlas, plus some uncharted. I try to suck the life out of him, but he does it better, drinking my pain and love and confusion. And I taste his, sweet sustenance, even in its dark and ugly parts.
I see the sun when his grip finally lessens, and I'm able to gaze into those blue eyes I've missed like priceless pearls.
“Never letting you out of my sight again, woman,” he growls, his fingers pressed against my back through my coat. He's going to shear it off my body, I swear, leaving nothing but his warmth for protection.
