“Ah,” said Phil, nodding his head. “I see.” A quarter mile or so later, he sighed. “That’s a tough one. I know what you mean. Hard to do all the time, though. Funny how it doesn’t matter how hard you try, you always screw up, sooner or later.”
He was speaking so generally he could have been talking about anything, but Joe didn’t care. The comments seemed to fit his situation perfectly and he felt oddly grateful for this stranger’s company. The dark, comfortable truck cab wrapped him in a kind of anonymity and the endless fields with their nameless crops slipped by, unchanging, indifferent.
Joe watched the headlights on the dark ribbon of road until Phil snorted and said, “One of my wives divorced me after I forgot to fill the gas tank in the car – she got stranded in the rain, middle of nowhere.”
“She divorced you for that?”
“Third time I did it.” He laughed and so did Joe. Then Phil went on. “It wasn’t even that, really. I told her she should have checked the gauge – she knew I forgot sometimes.”
“Oh no.”
“Know why I said that? I’d been scared shitless, afraid she’d had an accident, the rain and all. And I was so damn mad at myself about the gas.”
“I know how you felt, I think,” said Joe.
“You sure your girl’s as mad as you think? Maybe you’re just mad at yourself.”
Joe thought that over. “Oh, I don’t think she’s mad at all, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? If I can’t forgive myself?”
Now Phil thought for a while. “Guess you’re right. Doesn’t pay to be too hard on yourself, though. Gave that up quite some time ago, myself. It’s just a habit, you know.”
“I disagree,” Joe said, but then remembered something. “Emily said once I enjoyed being hard on myself.”
“Ah, well, that makes it harder to quit. Maybe next time you find yourself thinking what an asshole you are, just try to stop that one time. It’s like I did with cigarettes. Don’t try to stop all at once.”
Joe thought that would be remarkably good advice if he wanted to feel better, which he didn’t. “I’ll think it over,” he said neutrally, knowing he wouldn’t.
Any attempt to change his attitude was pointless. Joe knew now he couldn’t ever adjust to caring so much, not with danger lurking everywhere, waiting to snatch Emily from his arms and carry her away forever. He hadn’t been happy before he met her, but at least he’d been safe from the searing pain that was always, always a part of loving someone.
Phil began the tale of his long battle with nicotine; Joe’s mind began to drift and his eyelids were drooping. He fought sleep, fearing what his dreams might bring, but exhaustion and stress were catching up with him. He heard a rising inflection in Phil’s voice and knew he’d been asked a question – when he didn’t respond, Phil drove on silently.
Hovering between consciousness and sleep, Joe accepted the inevitable as memories began to drift to the surface. In time, he would re-learn how to lock them away. He’d done it before and it should be easier this time, once the freshness of the horror had faded.
Emily had been unconscious for only thirty seconds; she’d opened her eyes, complained about the head pain, even laughed at her clumsiness. He’d helped her up and suggested she lie down for a while, and after a few protests, she’d agreed. But on the way down the hall, she’d hesitated, put her hand against the wall and vomited.
He was adamant about the hospital. And then on the way, she’d vomited again and slumped in her seat, her head on her chest. When he pulled into the ER entrance, he’d slammed on the brakes and run inside, screamed until someone came with a gurney.
They wouldn’t let him stay with her, but they let him use a phone. His voice, he remembered, had been calm when they’d answered at the Elmore house. After her mother and father arrived, he’d said he was going for coffee and walked out of the hospital.
A tow truck was hooking up the car he’d left in the driveway, but it didn’t matter, he hadn’t intended to take it anyway. He did make a mental note to send the Elmores an apology and some money someday. During the long walk back to Hope Falls, he kept his mind occupied simply by counting steps, a technique he’d learned long ago.
By the time he reached the house, it was nearly eight o’clock. He didn’t bother with much – just got the money he’d stashed in a kitchen drawer and filled the food and water bowls for Flash. Someone from the Elmores would come to pick her up, he knew. At the last minute, he changed his mind and got the duffle bag, tossed in a few things. Better to travel light, he knew; he had another long, cold walk ahead of him. But he also knew that sooner or later, he’d wish he had another pair of socks.
It wasn’t worth the trouble to clean up this time – this time he knew he was never coming back. That high school boy who’d left everything shipshape sixteen years ago wasn’t in charge now. To hell with all of it, Joe thought, and walked away without bothering to lock the door.
Now he heard a long blast from a car horn, opened his eyes and realized he’d slept – and for quite a while. The sky had taken on the grayish cast of false dawn and the air that streamed in Phil’s open window was thirty degrees warmer than it had been up north. A CD of country ballads was playing softly; Phil was smiling and humming, his elbow braced on the window ledge.
“Should be a nice morning,” he said. He jerked his head at an exit sign as they passed. “Place up ahead I like to eat, good food, waitresses aren’t so rushed they act like robots. I’m going to have a meal and then sleep a few hours, skip the morning traffic headed into LA.”
He downshifted and swung off the highway at one of the Bakersfield exits. Fuck. Joe hated Bakersfield. The truck stop was enormous, with every amenity a long-haul guy might need. Phil parked at the perimeter of the parking lot, climbed down and locked the cab. “Better come on with me,” Phil said. “Best get something to eat before you pick up another ride.”
Not caring much one way or the other, Joe followed him in and sat down, his coat and bag beside him in the booth. Though he had the feeling he might never be hungry again, a cup of coffee sounded okay. The waitress came by; Phil got steak and eggs and when Joe said “Just coffee for me,” wouldn’t believe Joe wasn’t too broke to eat.
“Make it two,” Phil told the waitress and then to Joe, “Never be too prideful to accept a meal, son. I can see you’re not real easy with the idea, but you can’t do everything all on your own, all the time.”
Sure you can, thought Joe. Once you get used to it, it’s easy. He knew from experience that never counting on anybody but himself would become automatic – all he had to do was build the walls up again. He kept those thoughts to himself, though, thanked Phil and changed the subject.
The minute the waitress set down his plate, Joe realized how hungry he was – his last meal had been the fried chicken lunch. With Emily… “Never asked what you’re hauling or where you’re going,” he said to Phil, the words coming out in a rush.
“Oh. Appliances, mostly. Funny thing – they’re waitin’ on air conditioners out in the Springs. In December, no less. That’s a thing I like about California – don’t like the weather? Just drive an hour or two.”
For the rest of the meal they stuck to similar neutral topics. Business was picking up and when the check arrived, Phil looked around. “Want me to put in a good word for you? Couple of guys in here I could ask.”
Joe declined, saying he’d decided to get a few hours sleep himself. Outside the restaurant, they shook hands. Joe turned to leave, then heard Phil call him back. “Half those guys inside are headed back up north, you know. All I’ll say is this – sometimes running away solves the problem, but sometimes it makes things worse. Think on that,” he said, and walked away.
Don’t need to, Joe thought. I already know. He looked over to the motel thirty yards away and noticed all the women milling around, sipping coffee from cardboard cups, chatting. A pretty girl with bright blue hair who’d been leaning against the wall of the restaurant straightened up and bega
n walking towards him. For a half second he considered it, then smiled at her, shook his head and started walking. There’d be another motel up the road – and maybe he’d pass a bar with a six a.m. opening time.
Chapter Seven – December 30
Memory was turning out to be more unpredictable and fragile than Emily ever imagined it could be. A lot of the time it was like channel surfing on a very old, rabbit-eared TV set – a clear picture on one channel, nothing but snow on another, a couple other channels where the picture faded in and out.
She was doing pretty well with everything that had happened leading up to Christmas Eve – after that, events were either out of place or gone entirely. Whenever she slept, she woke disoriented and surprised to find herself in Hope Falls. The doctor had told her not to worry, the brain was an astonishing thing, blah, blah, blah, just give it time. He’d added, rather off-handedly, in Emily’s opinion, that a few things might never come back – the accident and the events that directly preceded it, for instance. Fine by me, Emily thought. If you’re not concerned, neither am I.
Still, it was sometimes disconcerting to feel so aimless – she knew she wasn’t behaving the way she usually did, but couldn’t seem to summon up the energy to mind all that much. She felt better now that she was home, but her head felt stuffed with cotton and her emotions seemed muffled somehow. She’d drifted placidly through the past couple of days without caring very much about anything at all.
She’d called her boss at the station to tell him she’d had an accident and wouldn’t be back until next week; when he started to argue, she simply handed the phone to her father and walked away. On some level she was aware of how important her job was to her, but she’d worry about that some other time, she decided.
And there was the necklace. The hospital had sent her home with a five-page printout of recovery instructions and a large plastic bag filled with the vomit-stained clothing she’d worn into the ER. Emily was watching a lopsided bowl game in the living room when her mom came up from the basement, something shiny dangling from her hand. “I washed this off for you,” she said. “I’ve never seen it before, is it new?”
Examining it, Emily knew it was a gift from Joe, knew it meant a lot to her – but that was all. She ran her finger over the engraving, feeling instantly warm and safe and comforted, but at the same time detached, as though she’d received it years ago and kept it as a precious reminder of the past. She slipped it over her head and said, “Joe gave it to me.”
Her mom sat down and took her hand. “Honey, he told us he’s in love with you. Are you in love with him?”
“Yes,” Emily said softly, because she knew it was true, even if she couldn’t feel it right now. “When did he tell you that?”
“In the emergency room. When your dad and I got there, he came over and all he said was ‘I fell in love with her, so of course.’ And then he walked away.”
“You understand what he meant, don’t you, mom? Because of his family and everything?”
“I think so, honey.” After a pause, she said, “Emily, do you have any idea where he might be?”
Emily looked up. “Oh, he’s gone again,” she said dully. “He was trying, but this was too much for him. He’ll never come back now.”
For a moment, Emily’s mom looked as though she might try to argue with that, say something reassuring. Then she sighed. “The police are coming to talk with you again this afternoon. Do you understand what all the fuss is about?”
Emily shook her head and her mother went on. “He was out of control in the emergency room, told everyone over and over that he was sorry, it was all his fault, he hadn’t meant to hurt you. They took that literally. Apparently, a little later he also told them you tripped and hit your head on the windowsill, but by that time they were busy with you and not really listening and they thought he was trying to change his story.”
“Oh, I see.” Emily was nodding. “Mom, do you think I should make something up for the police? Tell them I remember now, I tripped on some construction debris, something like that?”
“No, dear, I think that might make things worse. That detective knows you’ve had time to hear what Joe said – he’ll assume you’re trying to back up the story, I think.”
“And besides,” Abby said as she walked in, “concussed or not, you’ll always be one of the worst liars in the world.”
Emily smiled. Everyone, all her life, had refused to play cards with her after a couple of hands. She thought of the time she’d gotten a good poker hand and watched all her friends fold immediately. “Emily, you should try to stop bouncing in your chair. Kinda takes all the fun out of it,” someone had said. She laughed a little as she remembered and saw her sister and mother exchange a look. “What?” she said.
Her mom patted her hand. It’s nice to see you smile and hear you laugh again. That’s the first time, you know.”
No, she hadn’t known. “Have I been that mopey?”
“Oh no, dear. Just a little…listless, I suppose,” her mom said.
“Nah, mopey’s exactly right, mom. But we forgive you – the doctor said depression’s a common reaction and I assume you’re not going to be such a horrible wet blanket forever.”
Emily knew her sister was teasing her so she worked up a smile. I’m going to have to practice that, she thought. Get in front of the mirror and learn how to smile without looking like a mannequin. “Mom, getting back to the cops… I’m not going to mess things up, am I? I still feel so, so flattened out – I won’t sound right when I tell them I know Joe’s not responsible.”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine, dear, just be honest and—”
“Just be as flaky as usual and they’ll be gone in a jiffy,” Abby said and stood. “I’m going up to start packing.” She crossed behind Emily and patted the top of her head. “Sis, I’m going to get Emma up from her nap. Want to watch “Beauty and the Beast” again?”
“Sure,” Emily answered. That would make five times in two days, but what the hell – she had nothing else to do.
“Better wait until the police are gone,” her mother put in. “They’ll be here any minute.”
When they arrived and started the interview, Emily gradually realized she’d be fine, mainly because she remembered nothing about anything they thought was important. They’d asked to speak with her alone and after her mother left the room, Detective Slocum told her a lot of this was just routine and asked about her relationship with Joe. Looking as if it didn’t matter one way or the other, he’d asked if they were “intimate,” in a very flat tone of voice.
Lately, even at the best of times Emily wasn’t picking up much nuance in conversation and euphemisms were beyond her. She began a long soliloquy on how she and Joe had been inching towards that, how sometimes it seemed they’d known each other forever and sometimes they were still so awkward together. She mentioned how great the sex was and how they both knew they were falling in love, but neither of them had been brave enough to... She trailed off.
She’d noticed the detective was staring down at his notes and appeared to be trying to hide a smile – his lips were twitching. The uniformed guy who’d come with him was over by the hearth, picking cards off the mantle and looking over each one carefully, as if searching for hidden messages in “Merry Christmas” or “Holiday Wishes.”
Slocum cleared his throat and said, “Okay, moving on, your mother tells us you left here around one to go over to Mr. Chandler’s house. Is that correct?”
That was the beginning of a long series of questions Emily couldn’t answer. After a while, concentrating made her head start to ache and she stopped trying. The detective seemed to pick up on that right away – he shrugged and closed his notebook. “We won’t have to bother you again, Miss Elmore. You understand, I hope, that the hospital had a duty to report the incident, but this is really a Hope Falls matter. I hear they have a search warrant for his home now, so I expect they’ll be able to wrap things up pretty quickly. But you will let
us know right away if you hear from Mr. Chandler, won’t you?”
With virtually no inflection, Emily said quietly, “Oh, I’ll never hear from him. Neither will you. But don’t worry – I know he didn’t hit me. Everyone should just let it go. Really. Let it go.”
With another puzzled look, Slocum wished her Happy New Year and the cops left. She stretched out on the sofa and closed her eyes. Her mother came in to ask if she wanted anything and Emily didn’t bother to answer, just shook her head.
*
The only thing Joe didn’t like about this bar was the way they announced last call, with that fake-cheerful “you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here” shit. But for a Bakersfield dive, it wasn’t bad – the place was windowless and dimly lit at all times of day; the mostly local clientele kept to themselves, and the working girls that occasionally drifted through were the easy-going, non-aggressive type. And Clark the bartender had a nice, heavy hand when he poured. All Joe ever asked for in a bar, really.
He’d picked up a little extra cash the past couple of days, hauling cases of liquor down to the cellar, washing glasses, sweeping up. The first time he’d come in, two, no three days ago, the bartender had been complaining about his lack of help and Joe had volunteered his services. He was holed up in a cheap motel a quarter mile up the pike, an easy walk at closing time, if he wasn’t too drunk.
So at least for the time being, he’d established a routine he could live with – get up around noon, grab some fast food, wander down to the bar and work a while, then take what had become his usual stool and drink until closing time. Of course, the thirty-forty bucks a day wasn’t covering the room and his bar tab, but it meant the savings would last a little longer.
Pretty soon it would be time to move along, anyway. Maybe he’d wander a few miles south to the junction, find somebody headed east, try Arizona for a while. Didn’t matter really – what mattered was finding his way back to the numb oblivion that had carried him through the past few years. Tonight he was thinking of the house back in Hope Falls and imagining that with each drink, he was turning off the lights in another room forever. His bedroom, with its memories of Emily, he would save for last.
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