by Shawna Seed
“I understand,” Brian said quietly. “It’s hard to say ‘I was raped.’ It was for me, too.”
The trajectory of the conversation suddenly became clear to Elizabeth, and she cursed herself for not seeing it.
“Oh, Brian. I didn’t realize…”
“When things were really bad for me afterward, I thought about how you kept going, how you didn’t let it destroy you,” Brian said. “You have no idea how much that helped. I might have been one of those guys who hangs himself in his cell if not for that.”
“Brian, I’m so sorry.”
Elizabeth reached for Brian’s hand and squeezed it. She wanted to say something more, but too many emotions were too close to the surface, and she didn’t trust her voice.
“I remember those nightmares you used to have,” Brian said. “Did they go away?”
“That’s why I drank,” Elizabeth said. “So I could sleep.”
“Did you get help? Talk to somebody?”
“About the drinking?” Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I just quit. And the other… I couldn’t bring myself to drag it all out again. I just want to forget, you know?”
Brian looked at her for a long time, like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t.
“Why don’t you come outside and talk to me while I cook,” he said, finally. Seeing her hesitate, he added, “Nobody can see into the back yard. You’re safe.”
Brian’s back yard was enclosed by a new-looking fence, but everything else was scruffy. The small concrete patio was cracked and the yard beyond was patchy, more weeds and bare spots than grass. The patio held a charcoal grill, two cheap plastic lawn chairs and an old-fashioned metal glider pocked by rust.
“It’s kind of a mess back here.” Brian put the steak on the grill. “When I have time, I’m going to jackhammer this patio and fix everything up nice.”
He nudged one of the plastic chairs toward Elizabeth with his foot. “I just cleaned that one off this morning so I could have my coffee out here.”
Brian inspected the other plastic chair, which was covered in bird droppings, before settling on the metal glider. It groaned in protest.
“Somebody put this out at the curb,” Brian said. “It just needs the rust sanded off and some paint and WD-40 and it’ll be fine. Another project on my to-do list, after the kitchen, and the patio. Oh, and I want to finish the attic, too, put a bedroom up there.”
“That’s a long list,” Elizabeth said.
“I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking to you about my to-do list,” he said. “This is unreal, Shar.”
Shar. Brian had been the first to call her that. Cliff and Missy eventually picked it up, but she would always think of it as Brian’s name for her.
“It’s been a long time since anyone’s called me that,” she said.
“What do your friends call you now?”
“Everybody calls me Elizabeth,” she said, skirting the issue of friends.
“Elizabeth.” Brian frowned.
“What, you don’t like it?” Elizabeth tried to sound playful, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded.
Brian, to her relief, smiled. “It’s a classic, I guess,” he said. “It just seems kind of standoffish. You were never that way.”
Elizabeth had never been called standoffish – not to her face – but its synonyms had received a workout from jilted lovers and exasperated co-workers: reserved, distant, cold.
“I think I probably am now,” she said, and then, because she didn’t want to talk about her life: “Your yard is huge.”
Brian let her change the subject. “When I bought this place, I was thinking I’d get a dog, you know, for company. But Coco’s afraid of them right now, so I’m holding off until she’s older and until I know I’ll have plenty of time to train it.”
He got up to check the steak and turned it.
“I want to convert the garage and put my workshop there,” he said. “Then I can run the business from home and I’ll be here to deal with a dog.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” Elizabeth said.
“I just have to get the money together,” Brian said. “The business would be in good shape if I didn’t have to rent space. But I don’t have the money to do the garage because I have to pay rent. Catch-22, right? You probably read that book.”
“I did,” Elizabeth said. “My bachelor’s is in English lit.”
“You went to college?” Brian face lit up, and Elizabeth felt something inside her give way. Thinking about how proud Brian would be had buoyed her through many lonely days in college.
“I have a master’s, too,” she said. “Library science. That’s how I used the money.”
“That’s good,” Brian said, nodding. “Really good. I’m glad.”
When the steak was done, they went inside, and Brian showed Elizabeth where to find plates.
“One of my stepsisters redecorated and decided those didn’t go anymore. So I got nice dishes and her daughter gets free guitar lessons,” Brian said.
“Seems fair,” Elizabeth said.
“Not really,” Brian laughed. “But it’s not worth trying to argue with her. She’s the bossy one in the family – a lawyer.”
It wasn’t until she took the first bite that Elizabeth realized how hungry she was. In the past few days, she’d eaten almost as little as she’d slept.
“Have you ever talked to a lawyer about your situation?”
Her mouth full, Elizabeth merely shook her head.
“It might not be as bad as you think,” Brian said. “The cops never knew about the money. They assumed I was a sucker who didn’t even get paid his share.”
“But Kevin knew you got paid,” Elizabeth said. “Do you remember that last night before the storm, you called me from the jail? Kevin ransacked the bedroom while I was on the phone. He said he was looking for your good clothes for your next court appearance, but he pulled everything out of the dresser.”
“You think he was looking for the money?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe he was going to take your Three Musketeers shirt, to replace the one on Missy.”
It was clear from Brian’s expression that he didn’t want to discuss Kevin and Missy. Elizabeth decided not to force the issue.
“The money may not even matter anymore,” Brian said. “I bet the statute of limitations has expired.”
Elizabeth had researched this question. “The statute of limitations for money laundering is five years,” she said. “But they can charge you with conspiracy on the original crime, which can change the equation about a million different ways. And the identity theft laws are practically impossible to figure out. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“That’s why you need a lawyer,” Brian said. “It’s not like you stole someone’s information and used it to rip people off. This is a victimless crime.”
This was another issue Elizabeth had researched. “Not exactly. There was a real Elizabeth Ellsworth from Louisiana,” she said. “She drowned when she was four. Her family probably wouldn’t be very happy to know someone is impersonating her.”
“A lawyer could…”
Elizabeth was out of patience. Why wouldn’t Brian leave it alone?
“I’d lose my job, Brian. I could go to prison.”
“Maybe not. You could get your life back.”
“My job is my life,” Elizabeth said. “There’s nothing else – nothing to get back.”
Elizabeth was suddenly, overwhelmingly tired, so tired that she thought she could put her head down on the table and sleep right there. Instead, she pushed her empty plate away and stood up.
“I’m too tired to talk about this,” Elizabeth said. “I’m going to go. I’ll call you, I don’t know, next week or something.”
Brian stood too. “Stay here,” he said. “You shouldn’t drive. You’re too tired.”
“I don’t think I should stay,” she said. “What happened before, that was a mistake.”
“There’s a f
uton in the other bedroom,” Brian said. He carried their plates to the sink. “It’s not deluxe or anything, but it sleeps OK.”
Elizabeth watched Brian wash the dishes, sorely tempted by his offer. Somehow the thought of getting in her car, finding a hotel and checking in seemed overwhelming.
Brian stacked the plates in a dish drainer. “Where are your keys? I’ll move my truck and put your car in the garage,” he said.
Elizabeth dried the dishes and put them away while Brian was outside.
He was back a few minutes later. “I brought your bag,” he said, hoisting Elizabeth’s overnight bag. “If the gun’s in here, you need to take it back to your car. I’m a felon – I can’t have it in my house.”
“It’s behind the spare in my trunk,” Elizabeth said. “I shouldn’t have brought it, but I wasn’t thinking very clearly this morning. I had this idea that I’d have to prove everything to you.”
“Have you ever cleaned it or anything? It was a cheap piece of crap 20 years ago,” Brian said. “You need to be careful with it.”
“I hadn’t even unwrapped it from the shirt until last night,” Elizabeth said. “I only have it because I haven’t been able to figure out how to get rid of it. It’s not like I can take it to Goodwill.”
“No, I guess not,” Brian said. He pointed down the hall. “This way.”
The guest room was at the front of the house with a window that looked out onto the porch. It obviously served as an office, music room and playroom.
The futon was shoved against one wall. Next to it were guitar cases. A desk across the room held a laptop and neat stacks of folders and papers. All the cables – computer, printer, cell-phone charger – were tidily banded together.
Under the window stood a tiny easel with a pad of paper.
Elizabeth bent down to look at the child’s drawing propped there, a blue square with some squiggles next to it.
“Did Coco draw this? Is it your house?”
“Drawing is her favorite thing,” Brian said. “She gets that from her mother. Tonya wanted to be a fashion designer. That’s where Coco got her name – like Coco Chanel.”
Elizabeth wandered to the desk. She picked up a framed photo of Brian holding a baby who looked impossibly tiny in his arms. His face was turned away from the camera – all of his attention was focused on Coco.
He would have been a good father.
The thought sped out of nowhere, sideswiping Elizabeth. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back, not wanting Brian to see.
He crossed the room and was at her elbow. “She’s not even an hour old there. I was the first one to hold her. I hurried up there because we wanted to get the ball rolling with social services, so Tonya wouldn’t leave the hospital with the baby. But the nurse asked me if I wanted to hold Coco, and the minute they handed her to me…”
Brian noticed Elizabeth’s distress and put his hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly. “Are you OK?”
Elizabeth nodded furiously, dabbing her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Sorry,” she said, laughing a little. “That’s just my biological clock going off. It does that sometimes – a lot, actually. Just ignore it.”
Brian squeezed her shoulder. “When Tonya was pregnant, I kept having this dream about this beautiful teenager coming up to me in different places – the grocery store, a club. She’d start talking to me, and I’d not understand why, and then I’d realize she was my daughter – our daughter.”
“Oh, Brian,” was all Elizabeth could manage.
“I know,” Brian said. “I used to wake up and think, ‘Brian, that’s just pathetic.’ ”
Elizabeth turned to face Brian. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said. “Nobody can control what they dream about. God knows I’ve tried.”
Brian leaned against the desk. “I think about that time we were worried you were pregnant and I wonder, what was I so scared of? That I’d end up working for my dad until I was 40? I did that anyway, and it wasn’t so bad. If we’d been married and had a kid, I would have told Kevin no. Everybody would have been better off.”
It was tempting to fantasize about the life she might have had with Brian, but Elizabeth resisted. She always resisted.
“I don’t know, Brian. Would I have gone to school if I’d had a baby at 18? I would have been a totally different person.”
Brian’s eyes slid toward the floor. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Who knows?” Obviously deflated, he started for the door. “I’ll just get the sheets. They’re in the hall closet.”
Elizabeth regretted hurting his feelings, but she believed it was important to be honest. There was no point indulging in what might have been.
She did another circuit of the room while he was gone, exhausted but jittery. “How many guitars do you have, anyway? I count five cases,” she called out to the hall.
“Only four are really mine,” Brian answered. “The other one, a customer was shipping out with his Guard unit for Iraq, and he asked me to take care of it.”
“That’s nice of you, to keep it until he comes back,” Elizabeth said.
Brian returned to the room. “He died over there,” he said. “I asked his ex-wife if she wanted the guitar, but she doesn’t. I keep thinking some kid will come into the shop with a really crappy guitar one day, and I’ll just give it to him.”
“You have such a good heart. That was always one of the things…”
Elizabeth checked herself. She’d been about to say “I loved about you.”
It was true – she’d always loved Brian’s generosity. But it seemed wrong to say that out loud.
“It was always one of my favorite things about you,” she said, instead.
Brian dumped the sheets onto the futon and began to fiddle with the mechanism to fold it out flat. “I think the pillow’s in the closet there – would you look?”
Elizabeth opened the closet and found the pillow. As she reached for it, something else on the shelf caught her eye – two black binders marked WEBB INVESTIGATION.
She backed out of the closet. “Brian?”
“Is the shelf too high for you?” Brian grinned. “I’ll get it.”
“The shelf isn’t too high. What are these notebooks that say ‘Webb investigation?’ ”
The grin disappeared. “I hired a private detective a few years ago.” Brian reached past her and pulled down the pillow.
A private detective? Investigating her? Elizabeth found the idea disquieting. She waited for a further explanation, but none came. Brian seemed embarrassed.
“Why?”
“Why?” Brian busied himself putting a pillowcase on the pillow. “Because I wanted to find out what happened to you. I thought she could tell me something the police couldn’t or wouldn’t.”
“It’s weird to think of myself as being investigated,” she said. “What did she find?”
“You can read the report if you want,” Brian said. “There were all kinds of theories and suspects, but never anything definite. About four years after you left, they thought they’d found your body in New Mexico and they asked me to ID the shirt they found, but it turned out to be some other girl.”
“My God, Brian. I had no idea.”
He tossed the pillow on the futon and returned to the closet, pulling down the two binders.
“Nobody could figure out how you left without your car. Even after my dad put up a reward, there was nothing,” Brian said. He held the binders out. “Here,” he said. “You can look. Maybe it will seem funny or something now.”
“Your dad put up a reward?” Elizabeth gaped at Brian. “I would think your parents were happy to see me gone. Hell, your mom would have paid to make me disappear.”
Seeing that she wasn’t taking the binders, Brian put them on the floor. “My mom is just a really unhappy person. A lot of what she does, it isn’t personal.”
“And your dad? He didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms, ei
ther.”
“My dad let her have her way because that was easier than fighting. When I got arrested, that’s when the whole house of cards came down. He’s different now. He’s my best friend. He feels a lot of guilt about you. If he knew you were alive, he’d…”
Brian’s cell phone rang, and he walked over to the desk to check the display.
“How weird. It’s my dad.” His brow furrowed. “He doesn’t usually call this late. I’d better take it.”
“You can’t tell him about me!”
“It’s OK. I won’t,” Brian said, signaling for her to sit down or stay calm – she couldn’t tell which. “I’ll put it on speaker. You can listen.”
“You can’t…”
“I won’t.” Brian pushed a button on his phone. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, son.” Mitch Lowry’s voice boomed across the room. “Wasn’t sure I’d catch you,” Mitch said. “Thought you might be out hearing some music tonight.”
“I decided to stay in,” Brian said. He crossed the room and sat, balancing the phone on his knee. Elizabeth sat next to him.
“You painting that hallway? Lynn said she picked the color for you.”
“No, just… not doing much of anything,” Brian said. “What’s up with you?”
“I’m waiting at the pharmacy,” Mitch said. “Coco’s got another of her ear infections, so the doc called in something.”
Elizabeth felt Brian tense next to her. “Is her fever bad?”
“She’s fine, Brian, don’t worry. She’s hardly even fussing, especially after Frannie gave her a Popsicle.”
“You’ll call me if you have to take her to the ER again, right?”
“We will, but I don’t think you need to worry,” Mitch said. “You OK, son? You having a bad night?”
Brian’s shoulders slumped, and he hung his head. “OK, I guess. Just tired.”
“Well, the main reason I called is Francine’s going to keep Coco home from church Sunday,” Mitch said. “I know you were planning to come see the preschoolers do their program. Francine says you should still come for Sunday dinner. We’ll get Coco to sing her little song for you – that’ll make her just as happy as doing it in church. She’s been practicing all week, and oh my gosh, is she precious.”
