Burnt River

by Karin Salvalaggio

  “Yeah, I get your point. I just think it’s a waste of time. Besides, you seem to forget that Tyler’s nephew Connor was staying at his place.”

  “Connor is only six, not exactly a reliable witness. Given the pressure we’re under to get this right, I say we have to follow every lead.”

  “That leaves Lana Clark’s ex, a firefighter named Nick, and a dot-com millionaire named Bob Crawley.”

  “I’m liking Charlie Lott for this. It is troubling that he’s dropped out of sight. What has he been doing all this time? Living out of his car?”

  “Obsession is a very powerful motivator. Lana is a beautiful woman.”

  “She is.”

  “But there is a slight problem. Why would Charlie Lott send a text message to John’s mother?”

  “He and John were friends back in Georgia.”

  “I doubt they were that close.”

  Macy sipped her wine. The restaurant had emptied, leaving just the two of them. She looked out the window. Her motel was right across the street. She’d checked in but had yet to see her room. The façade was classic 1950s. It didn’t look promising. Her room was on the upper floor and the door practically opened onto Main Street.

  She swallowed back some more wine. “I suspect you work every day.”

  “You suspect right.”

  She looked down at his hand and noticed he still wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “So how’s the wife?”

  “We’ve been divorced for three years.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  “Does she live around here?”

  “No, she’s over in Billings. Figured it would be better if she had a fresh start. We kept running into each other. It was too easy to slide back into something neither of us wanted anymore.” He looked up from his plate of food. “I hear you have a kid.”

  “Yes. I managed to do something right.”

  “How’s that working out? Your hours aren’t exactly child friendly.”

  “We live with my mom. She can’t believe her luck.”

  “You never got married?”

  “It doesn’t seem to be in the cards.”

  He pushed his plate away and picked up his beer. “Look, I’m sorry for the comment I made about married men earlier today. It was out of line. Like I said, I barely know you.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s nothing I don’t tell myself on a regular basis.”

  “You seem like a nice lady. You deserve better.”

  She finished off what was left in her glass and reached for the bottle again. “We all do.”

  The waitress put another beer in front of him and he tilted his glass toward Macy. “Here’s to that.”

  “And anyway, it’s not like I planned it. You slide into these situations. You have all these ideas of what your life will look like, but then you make do.”

  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  “I want to explain myself. I don’t want you to judge me.”

  “I’m in no position to do anything of the sort.”

  “It’s complicated. He’s the father of my child.”

  He peeled the label from his beer bottle and smiled. “Now you’re going to have to explain.”

  Macy took a deep breath and tried to focus. If she was going to overshare she wanted to make sure she was making sense.

  “The first time he and his wife separated they lived apart for nearly two years. I started seeing him a few months after they split up. Unfortunately, they ended up getting back together again.”

  “And you ended up pregnant.”

  “I don’t regret it. Luke is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Anyway, the man in question recently announced that he was leaving his wife and wished to resume our relationship, but after eight months he’s not moved out of the family home and lately I hardly see him.”

  “You must realize what it looks like from the outside.”

  “No matter what I do, I end up feeling guilty.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe he’s only saying these things so he can get close to his son?”

  “It has crossed my mind. I’ve been trying to distance myself, but it’s tricky. He’s the father of my child. A part of me really wants this to work.” She paused. “Why do you think we’re attracted to people who can hurt us?”

  “I don’t know, Macy. I suppose it has something to do with actually wanting to feel something. I guess it would be easier to be with someone who lets you glide along the surface, but who wants to live that way? The problem with your situation is that there is no balance.”

  “All I know for sure is that I’m tired of hurting.” Macy leaned back and stifled a yawn. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall asleep. Aiden looked deep in thought.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I got a little serious there, didn’t I?”

  “You did indeed.” He rapped the table with his knuckles. “If you’re going to get serious, I’m going to order a serious drink. You want something?”

  Macy swirled the wine in her glass and admitted that she did.

  * * *

  They walked back to her motel together, occasionally bumping shoulders when they misstepped. Both had their hands dug deeply into their pockets. He helped collect her bag from her vehicle, which she’d parked around back. She pointed to the enclosed stairwell.

  “I think I can make it from here.”

  “Too risky. You might get lost.”

  Macy wasn’t sure who started it. One second, they were walking side by side, and the next they were midgrope, backed up against a wall at the base of the stairwell.

  “This is a bad idea,” he said, fumbling with the buttons on her shirt.

  “Exceptionally bad,” she said, kissing him harder.

  He slid his hand up her shirt. “But it is nice.”

  “Very.”

  His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and his hand stopped moving. He put his forehead against her shoulder. “That would be my conscience calling.”

  “I’m sorry to hear you have one.”

  “I should go.”

  She held him a little tighter. “Probably a good idea.”

  He kissed her on the shoulder and groaned before backing away. He nearly tripped on the stairs.

  Macy laughed. “You’re not driving, are you?”

  His finger waved in a northerly direction. “I live a block that way. It’s 23 Sutter Street, in case you have a change of heart.”

  She saluted him. “Duly noted.”

  “Tomorrow, can we pretend this never happened?”

  “That’s probably for the best. Sleep well, Aiden Marsh.”

  “You too, Macy Greeley.”

  Macy peeled away from the wall and gripped the handrail tightly as she made her way up the stairs. She passed by her door twice before seeing the room number. No doubt Aiden was laughing at her from across the street. She had to admit she liked the sound of his laugh.

  “Good kisser too,” she said, closing the door behind her.

  The room was a time capsule from the 1950s. Everything from the curtains to the wallpaper to the furniture was retro, but it was clean and didn’t smell of the former occupants. She sank down on her bed and slid her phone out of the pocket of her jeans. The text messages from Ray had become more insistent as the evening wore on. She looked at the time. It was only just coming up to ten o’clock. With any luck she’d get eight hours of sleep. She took a deep breath and typed, checking the message twice to make sure she had it right.

  I’m finally in my motel room. Call me. We need to talk.

  She hit Send with a flourish and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and down a couple of ibuprofen, stripping off her clothes and leaving them rumpled on the floor. There was a text from Ray waiting for her when she climbed into bed.

  Sorry, no can do. How was your day?

  Macy squinted at the phone and threw it to one side. Just as she closed her eyes the phone buzzed again.

&n
bsp; Macy? You still awake?

  She sat up and the room started spinning. Yeah, I’m still here.

  What’s wrong?

  I’m surprised you care.

  Come on.

  It’s wrong that you can’t pick up the phone and call me. That’s what’s wrong. Don’t even get me started on the rest of my list.

  It’s too late to get into this. I’ll call you tomorrow.

  Why not now?

  I can’t and you know it.

  Your wife knows you’re leaving so what’s stopping you? You live in a five-bedroom house FFS. Go downstairs to the kitchen. I need to talk to you.

  I’m really sorry. I promise I’ll call tomorrow.

  Now.

  I have to go.

  Then go already.

  We’re okay though?

  I don’t know.

  Macy turned off the lights and pulled the covers over her head. She didn’t feel drunk anymore. She only felt angry. She closed her eyes and sank farther into the pillows, rolling over onto her stomach and burrowing in deeper when the phone buzzed again. This time she ignored it.

  10

  Jessie stood in the front window and watched Wade make his way across the yard toward the bungalow he’d been living in since his farm had failed twenty-eight years earlier. He stooped with difficulty to pick up a stick to throw to the dogs. Five Labradors were running circles around his legs, almost tripping him up. They were usually locked up at night, but Wade had thought it best that they were set loose. Someone comes up here causing trouble and they’ll get chased off. He’d also thought it best that he sleep on the sofa, but Jessie had told him she’d be fine on her own. She double-checked all the doors and windows before heading upstairs. By the time she reached the first landing she was shaking. Two steps farther on and she could barely breathe. She crawled up the remaining stairs and lay marooned in the hallway outside the family bathroom. For a long time she pressed her cheek into a carpet that smelled of bare feet and was coated with a fine layer of dust. She cried properly for the first time since she had heard the news about John. She imagined him a hundred different ways. Memories tumbled on top of each other, some bringing her joy, others compounding her pain. There was no beginning and no end. Thoughts of Tara brought Jessie to her feet. She stumbled down the hall. A trail of discarded toys led her straight to her daughter’s bedroom.

  A fan sat next to a large east-facing window, drawing in fresh air. The outside lighting cast erratic shadows across the property. The dogs emerged from beneath a spiderweb of tree branches and fanned out across the lawn. In the distance, the swimming pool glowed greenish blue. One of the dogs bent to drink while another barked at the inflated alligator as it drifted across the deep end. Jessie removed the flashlight from Tara’s bed, its pinpoint bulb dimming. A frayed copy of an old comic book rested on the girl’s chest, rising and falling with each breath. Jessie placed the book on the nightstand before shutting the door behind her and stepping into her own bedroom across the hall. She peeled off her shirt and threw it in the clothes hamper with the rest of her things, but by the time she’d brushed her teeth she’d changed her mind about going to bed. It might be a long time before she had another chance to look through her mother’s things. The doctors at the hospital had given Jessie all of Annie’s personal belongings, including the key to her bedroom door. Jessie padded down the hallway, wearing only a T-shirt and boxer shorts. Annie’s room was nearest the stairs, and as usual the door was locked. For the past few years Jeremy had been sleeping downstairs in his office.

  With its single bed and writer’s desk, the bedroom was as austere as a monk’s cell. The closet no longer had a door and there were very few items of clothing, since Annie had burned most of her belongings in a bonfire two years earlier. The walls were bare, aside from drawings that Tara slid under the door. The barred window had Plexiglas panes instead of glass. During a particularly heated encounter with Jeremy, Annie had smashed the original window with her bare hands. At the hospital, she had told the doctors that Jeremy was trying to kill her. When pressed, she had to admit that she had been speaking metaphorically, but it was too late. Jeremy had already been brought in for questioning. He moved a bed into his office that very same day.

  Most of Annie’s journals were kept on a bookshelf. Jessie picked up the one that was sitting open on the desk. Although the pages were undated, Jessie assumed it was recent, as it wasn’t yet filled. The handwriting was small and tightly controlled. The sentences were well structured. The vocabulary was rich and the prose refined. Once again Jessie was struck by how coherent her mother seemed. In one section Annie described her childhood home in Connecticut in intimate detail, beginning at the front door and working her way through all sixteen rooms until she finished up at the back door. The house was nothing like the home Jessie had visited during the summers she went back east with Annie and John. By then her grandparents had moved south to a retirement village in Florida. There was nothing for the children to do aside from hang out at a local shopping mall or watch television with the sound turned down low. When their funerals came in quick succession, John had joked that their grandparents must have died of boredom.

  Jessie moved to the next section of the journal, which was also undated. At some point her mother had visited some hot springs about twenty miles north of town near a tributary that ran west from the Whitefish Range. She’d gone in late spring when leaves were at their brightest and the world was full of promise. There was a tree filled with offerings left by visitors. They twinkled under a sky crystalized by starlight. Bathing in the springs was meant to make you feel reborn. Dying there would grant you immortality. I left an offering and held my head under but He said it wasn’t my time. He wrapped me in cotton towels and I returned home to face a slow death here instead. Annie drew a map pinpointing the exact spot. Jessie closed the journal and stood staring into space. She had no idea who He might be.

  She skimmed the pages of the other journals, looking for further references. In one passage Annie referred to his thick dark hair and in another to his friendship with Jeremy. At times the writing was so rich in erotic detail that Jessie skipped entire sections. Jessie went back through the journals one at a time, trying to establish a timeframe, but it was impossible to say whether the affair had happened recently or years ago. It was also impossible to say whether or not the whole thing was a figment of Annie’s imagination. Jessie dropped the final journal on the bed and walked over to the window. The Plexiglas was filmed with dried breath and fingerprints. She wiped it with a tissue dampened with spit and stared out across the expanse of lawn toward a low grouping of outbuildings. Every light in Wade’s house was on. Jessie waited. She didn’t see Wade, but had the feeling that his eyes were on her. Wade had always been there for them. He’d often acted as a liaison between Jeremy and Annie. Maybe Annie had built up an entire fantasy world around Wade while she stood looking out the same window. Then again, maybe there was more to Wade than Jessie realized.

  Jessie couldn’t remember what he had looked like when he was younger and had a full head of hair. All that was left now was a narrow ring of white, which he kept clipped close to his scalp. He was in his late sixties, and she couldn’t imagine that he’d ever been attractive enough to turn Annie’s head. They’d always called him Wade; never Uncle Wade like had been suggested on occasion.

  Jessie went downstairs to the living room, where the photo albums were stored in a cupboard. She flipped through the earlier ones and the plastic-coated pages creaked with age. The old photos were burnt orange and lemon yellow, losing color and definition. In some of the albums, photos were missing from almost every page. All that was left were shadows where they had once been, and crossed-out captions. Always wearing a hat, Wade stood on the periphery of family photos, arms crossed and smiling stiffly. She picked up another album and a photo slipped from the pages. Jeremy stood between two men, one of which she thought might be Wade. Jessie flipped it over. Her paternal grandmother had exc
ellent penmanship. She’d written the date and the names in long, careful lines. Thirty-two years earlier Jeremy had gone hunting with Wade Larkin and Layton Phillips, now the governor of Montana. Back then Layton still had a shock of red hair, which now everyone suspected was dyed, as it was the color of salmon past its sell-by date. Wade’s hair was jet-black and he was quite good-looking.

  Jessie slipped the photo between the pages and went down the hall to her father’s office. The employment records were kept in a tall filing cabinet. She switched on the overhead lights and flipped through the name tabs. Wade’s file included his original letter to Jeremy asking if he’d be willing to take him on. It was dated July 1982. The bank had just foreclosed on his farm. He wrote that nothing had been the same since he lost his wife, Alice, in a fire a few years earlier—that his luck had gone from bad to worse. Jessie pushed the file drawer shut and looked around the office. There was a small drawer below the desk where Jeremy kept his personal files. It was locked but she found the key in the bowl full of spare change. Her heart froze over before she even had a chance to start looking. There was a file on Ethan Green. She pulled it out and set it down on the desk. No one in the family or in Jeremy’s employment was allowed to mention Ethan by name. They’d fallen out over a business matter when she was only a baby. She opened the file and sifted through a pile of correspondence between her father and a lawyer named Giles Newton who had an office in Collier. He was acting on behalf of Ethan Green. None of the letters mentioned the dispute. They were haggling over a sum that was to be paid to Ethan. Ethan’s lawyer called it restitution, while Jeremy referred to it as extortion. The language was terse and the letters went on for three months. In the end, Ethan agreed on the sum of thirty thousand dollars. In return for payment, he was to sever all ties with the Dalton family. The money was transferred to a private account at the Flathead Savings and Loan five months after Jessie and her brother were born.

  Jessie copied down the name and address of the lawyer in Collier before returning the file to the drawer and locking it away. Upstairs she gathered the rest of her mother’s journals. Once he was home, Jeremy would probably read them, and there’d be no way Annie would ever be allowed to come home again if that happened. Jessie put the journals under the loose floorboards in her bedroom and crawled into bed. The backlit curtains glowed ghost white, and outside, the occasional dog barked. There wasn’t a hint of a breeze. She kicked the sheets away and lay sweating in the darkness. Her parents had been together for nearly thirty years, but the fact they were married seemed to matter little to either of them. Jeremy spent most nights in town with his girlfriend Natalie and Annie spent all her time fixated on events that may have happened before her children were born. Jessie closed her eyes and felt her body soften. Although she doubted he would tell her why Ethan and Jeremy fell out, she would contact the lawyer in Collier in the morning. If that didn’t work, she’d go speak to her mother.