“I think it’s time to put out the torch,” Holly answered instead. Nothing cutesy, nothing that implied she was going to give this a few hours and change her mind. No, she’d felt guilty enough for screwing around while her son was in danger and she felt like perhaps the whole ordeal was punishment. It was time to realize that this was not ever going to work out. She’d been right all along.
Guys like Joel didn’t end up with girls like her.
“Hey,” he said and she could hear the emotion in his voice. “You’re worth carrying it for you know.”
She closed her eyes, touched by the flattery, but unmoved. This was so black and white.
“Suit yourself,” she answered and turned from him. She unlocked her door, walked inside, and shut it behind her. Then she counted to sixty before walking down the hall to head straight to the bathroom, every part of her body crying out. Her phone lit up and she answered it.
It was Brian.
“The baby is sick,” he said.
“So, you’re not coming?” Holly asked. She tried not to sound too disappointed, but she knew the fear seeped through. If he couldn’t spend the night, she’d ask Maeve and Derek next. Except Maeve was ovulating and she’d probably feel weird about making a baby in Holly’s house.
“We have two options,” Brian said as Holly paced between the kitchen and the door, not turning on a light. “You come over here tonight,” he said, meaning his downtown condo in the Pearl district. “Or I drag the whole family over to you.”
“I’m an asshole,” Holly replied. “But…”
“Yeah, no, I thought you’d say that,” Brian said. “Don’t worry. We’re already packed and in the car. Be there in twenty.”
Brian, his wife Martha, a short woman with long black hair and fake breasts, and their toddler twins descending upon Holly’s house. She’d already pulled out Alex’s old toys for the kids who were two and a half and beautiful and feverish, but playful.
“I’m sorry to hear about everything,” Martha said and she gave Holly a hug as Holly led them to the guest loft.
“Hug those babies,” Holly sniffed. “I don’t know when they grow up, but…” she whistled long and low. “And make yourself at home. Please, raid the place like you own it. Drink all the liquor, you name it.”
“That’s generous. How about this…” Martha said as she unloaded their bags and began to examine the small pack-n-plays set up inside the room, “…if you really want to help me out, can my husband sleep with you tonight?”
Holly smiled and froze. “Huh?” she asked.
“The bastard snores. If he’s up here, he’s gonna wake the kids. I don’t care where he goes, but let that man leave me be.” She smiled and began to make herself at home, and Holly took the hint, heading back downstairs where Brian was turning her kitchen table into a work station.
“Your wife said you have to sleep in my room tonight,” Holly said and she smiled.
“Because I snore?” he replied without looking up, his ponytail long enough to flop over his shoulder. “I’ll take the couch.”
“This house has more than one guest bedroom, actually.”
“I negotiated this house for you, so don’t think I knew before packing my car exactly how the sleeping arrangements will go. Family in the attic loft and I’ll take the room next to Alex. You’re off the hook for hosting me anywhere else.” With that, he lifted his head and looked at her.
He had dark circles under his eyes.
“I’m sorry I don’t know more,” she said. “He’ll come home soon. He has to. When was the last time he called dispatch?”
“Not since we found the hotel room.”
“I’m so scared, Brian.”
“I know, sweetheart,” he cooed. He walked over and put his arm around her. She wondered why he now smelled like Italian Dressing and wondered if he just really enjoyed salads. His beard scratched her ear and he sighed. It was the perfect amount of intimacy and Holly began to cry. She sobbed desperately into Brian’s shirt, getting snot and tears on to his polo.
“I broke everything off with Joel,” she confessed.
Brian didn’t say anything. He rubbed her arms and kept hushing her. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand.
“He knew about Violet. Knew she was with Alex. And he didn’t tell me.”
“What would you have done if you knew?” Brian asked. It was an innocent question, but in Holly’s fragile state, it felt like too much of a judgment. She knew she’d made the right choice to send Joel away. She knew it and she didn’t need to explain herself.
“I’m heading upstairs. Make yourself at home.”
Brian nodded and went back to work. He scraped a chair out and plopped down, opening up his computer and following up on leads. Holly watched for a few seconds before turning and heading upstairs—the case, the day, the ashes of an attempt at intimacy all strewn behind her.
Holly just wanted to sleep.
By the time she’d reached the landing, Brian had turned on music. The quiet murmur of music stayed downstairs, but pieces of it tripped upstairs. She groaned as the chords began and she recognized it as the song the evening.
The outdoor school song.
The one that made Joel wistfully dream about what could have been.
Yes, she thought, bitterly and with great big, angry tears. And now I get to be reminded of what won’t be.
She shut her door and buried herself under the covers, drowning out the day and the ache and the melodies of a song she never wanted to hear again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
How many times had he counseled broken hearts? How many times had he put his arm around a young boy or girl who sobbed and sobbed about the loss of the only person who would love them? It was a lie, of course, to think that there was only one person out there. A total lie, but often the biggest lie humans tell themselves.
And he gave each child who passed through his office nursing a break-up the same two pieces of advice his own mom gave him when he was in high school. “You’re not grown yet, you just aren’t. But you’re close. Now is the time to learn and glean all the relationship knowledge you can so that when you are grown, you can look at someone and fall in love and say, yes, I choose this because I know it’s different and I know it’s better.”
The key, for teens, was to validate their union and their emotions while giving them hope for the future.
He realized maybe it wasn’t just teens who needed that route. Validate: He’d put Holly on some sort of pedestal and convinced himself there could be a future. But he was wrong; he’d always been wrong. She didn’t want kids and he wanted a family—he wanted to coach little versions of himself on the soccer field and he’d kept an old box filled with books from his childhood that he wanted to read and pass down. There was his ragged version of Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and Richard Scarry. He had every book by Beverly Cleary and he realized that was what he was hung up on: the picture of getting to pass along his own idyllic childhood.
And if Holly wasn’t going to budge, if she really couldn’t see why he might not share everything with her right away and why he might want a family, then those were deal-breakers. That was it.
She was a story.
Not the story.
He slumped down into his couch, a lumpy and old-fashioned hand-me-down, and tried to imagine a different ending.
No. She’d been hurtful and adamant, and he wasn’t going to chase.
A small voice grew louder and it tried to remind him of her situation: her son is missing and she’s distraught. But no. The timing was wrong, again, and timing was everything. That was what the universe was trying to teach him.
That was the second part of his mom’s advice.
“When the universe gives you love, you rush into that love like a dog that just discovered his owner left the gate open…always. And you always prepare for whatever that love will teach you. Whether it stays or whether it ends. Rush in and love and learn.”
&nbs
p; His mom was a suburban Zen master who smoked weed on the weekends with her yoga buddies and never got angry. He couldn’t be her, but her advice was solid.
He’d done that. Joel rushed into the chance of love and he let himself follow her and he’d pursued her, and…she shut the gate. He took a deep breath. So, he had to mourn and learn. Mourn and learn, he said to himself like a mantra, as if to convince the universe that he understood what was expected of him.
His phone buzzed.
He thought it might be Holly, texting to apologize.
It was Carla.
CarlaCell: Heads up. Admin pulled me in today to ask me some questions about you and the mom.
Joel took a breath. He didn’t want to read the rest because he was already getting upset and he knew this wasn’t going to end well.
CarlaCell: Wanted to know if you’d been discussing being intimate. If you’d been in a position to possibly send her sensitive data.
Joel: What? NO. That’s so ironic and ridiculous. “The Mom” broke up with me tonight because I wouldn’t give her data I knew was protected.
CarlaCell: You need to call the union first. Then admin. They’re digging, Joel. They’ve got something. Admin said you faxed files protected under FERPA to her lawyer.
Joel: Bullshit.
CarlaCell: Your fax code, Joel. They asked if I helped.
Joel didn’t know what to text back after that. Holy shit. He’d been completely set up. He typed a few things, erased them, and then took a deep breath and counted to ten, practicing what he preached on the field. If he didn’t calm down, he was going to break something.
Joel: I didn’t do it, Carla.
CarlaCell: Union. Now. I told the truth. Go get protection now.
He put his phone down and walked away. It buzzed, possibly still Carla, so he ignored it. But then it kept buzzing, longer and angrier. It wasn’t a text. It was a phone call. His boss.
With a deep breath, Joel answered.
“Hey there,” he said.
His principal cleared his throat. “There’s no easy way to say this. It’s in writing, but I wanted to let you know in person. Pending an investigation, Joel, I need you to stay home. Paid administrative leave.”
Joel was only partly listening. He’d pulled up his email to scan it once more before they denied him access to it. There was a new message from Violet.
He paused.
“I’m glad you called,” Joel said.
“This isn’t the way I wanted this to go down, Joel,” his principal said, but Joel didn’t care.
“I didn’t do this,” Joel said. “You’ve been played. I’m probably exactly where they want me to be…at home, unable to actually help.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Rusk,” his principal said and Joel noticed the slip from familiar to formal, and he realized that it was over. The man didn’t believe him, “I don’t think you’re in a position to help any further…”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to ask my colleagues about my sex life,” Joel said with a pointed and clipped growl.
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Exactly,” Joel said. “Tread lightly. I’m innocent and I’m not going anywhere.”
He hung up.
Violet went home. Per Alex’s instructions, he’d helped her now sneak back to her house. That’s where she was.
And she was willing to talk.
Mr rusk. Look. lots has happened since my last note and now change of plans Im home. Can’t tell u where he is. Dont know. Im home though. I can talk.
Joel didn’t hesitate. He googled Brian Jenkins and called the man’s office and left a message on the voicemail system.
“Hey, Brian,” he said clearing his throat. “I know where Violet is. And I want to take Holly with me to talk to her.” Shit. He was asking for trouble. “Can you set that up? I don’t think I’m in a position to go to Holly directly right now.” He hung up.
If Brian had gone over there to take care of her instead of him, then he was certain the lawyer already knew about the fight and the break-up and the confusion over what he could tell her and what he couldn’t.
It didn’t matter. Joel was angry and he was determined to figure out who had it out for the both of them—no, not for Holly, but for Alex because he believed that whoever was out for them both wasn’t going to stop until the damage and the destruction was irreparable.
He saw an unknown number pop up on his screen and he answered it.
“Brian Jenkins here,” said that funny man with the beard and the long hair, his voice bombastic and quiet at the same time. “Holly said she’ll be ready in five. You driving? I don’t want to send you both in your own cars because last time that happened, I ended up loaning Holly five-hundred dollars for her insurance deductible.”
Shit, Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d pay him back. He’d pay that back.
“I’ll come pick her up,” he said sitting up from the couch.
He didn’t know how she’d treat him when he got there, but he steeled his heart for heartache. They had to find Alex and nothing else mattered until he was home. Now, he understood.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mrs. Winslow was a large woman. She looked older, gray, with wrinkles across her forehead unmasked by makeup, and she wore a button-down blouse that pulled at her chest and created little gaping pockets that showed her skin and bra. She tugged up on her pants and nodded to Joel when she opened the door.
They’d been expecting them.
“Mr. Rusk,” Mrs. Winslow said. “I appreciate your discretion. We’re trying to keep it out of the press for a bit. My brother, is, um, helping us find a lawyer. I’ll have Violet come down.”
It was a nice night and Joel suggested they talk on the back porch. There was a small bistro table set to the right of the door and he motioned for Holly to sit down. He stood behind her, watching the door with a certain level of determined uneasiness.
He didn’t have to tell her that he had now crossed some sort of professional line; he and Holly hadn’t talked on the way to the Winslow house—he had texted to say he was in the driveway and she shuffled out, clutching her purse, looking tired and grateful and still unhappy with him.
He told himself he didn’t care.
This wasn’t about him and Holly. This was about helping Holly find her son.
Violet emerged on to the porch, wary and quiet. She looked at Joel and then to Holly, already cautious of the two adults waiting for her—Holly had been certain she wasn’t going to tell them anything, but then she sat down at the bistro table opposite her and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I don’t know where Alex is anymore if that’s only why you’re here,” Violet said. Then she turned to Joel and leveled her gaze, attempting to channel something that resembled power. “I told you, Mr. Rusk. I told you that the people who hurt Claire weren’t going away…”
“You didn’t say that,” Joel reminded her. “You said you were worried about dying for the same reason. Not by the same people.”
“That was right when I said it,” Violet tried and she looked to the ground, unable to make eye contact with either adult. “Then it just got…out of hand…”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Holly understood her role was to remain quiet and listen.
But she wanted to scream at the child, with her mass of tangled hair in a knot on her head, her jeans tight and ripped and the glint of her belly-button ring sparkling under the porch-light.
“You don’t know, Mr. Rusk. You don’t know. Going to the police didn’t work out well for Alex,” the girl said and her eyes flickered to Holly for a moment. “You his mom?” she said and stared at Holly.
Holly cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said, wanting to say more but forcing her mouth shut.
“I’m sorry about what we did to him,” she said in a broken voice, softened into a whisper. Violet looked at the bistro table. “He fought for us and that’s why he
’s in this mess. Because he knew who killed her…”
“Violet—” Joel said and he moved out from behind Holly and got down on his haunches; Violet looked at him and they were nearly eye-level. He put a hand on Holly’s knee to steady himself and with a beseeching grimace continued. “You have the power to stop this.”
“I already tried,” she said in a small voice. “I wrote a letter to the police and they never even contacted me. Then Alex,” her eyes went to Holly and then to Joel and then to the ground, “ran away and he called me and said he was going to blow the whole thing wide open. And I was threatened and so…”
“Blow what whole thing open?” Holly asked without being able to stop herself.
Violet shrugged.
“Come on,” Joel urged the child. “What did he mean?”
“He knew who killed Claire,” Violet said. “He figured it out. That’s what he meant. And he was going to make sure they were punished for it.”
“But you don’t know?” Holly didn’t buy it.
“Violet?” Joel asked. He didn’t blink. Violet was visibly uncomfortable and she shook her head, looking one way and then the other. With her mouth tight, she stood up and walked briskly away, her arms swinging.
“Come inside,” she instructed. “I’m not talking about this here.”
She walked to the door and went in without waiting to see if Joel and Holly would follow.
After a quick hello to the Winslow again as they walked back through the living room, Violet took them into her room. She shifted her laptop and positioned the screen toward her visitors.
“This is the letter I sent to the police. They didn’t take me seriously. They questioned me and said that my details didn’t match up and then they let me go.” The girl’s face was rigid with insolence and anger Holly couldn’t place, but she read the letter—with flashbacks to reading Alex’s letter not that long ago.
Dispatched Confessions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 2) Page 23
