Redemption Lake

by Susan Clayton-Goldner

  Loren stood, opened the door into the west wing of his house, and paced the hallway that led to the children’s bedrooms. Sedona’s door was closed, but the light still burned. He considered talking to her about Matt, but as he stepped closer to her room, Loren changed his mind. His daughter hadn’t spoken an unnecessary word to him since she and her mother moved out.

  He opened the door to Matt’s bedroom and flipped on the light. The walls were crammed full of masks, some of them so grotesque they frightened Loren.

  After Karina and Sedona moved out, he came home one night to discover Matt had painted all the walls of his bedroom black. He’d sold his baseball cards, including some classics from Loren’s own childhood collection, like Babe Ruth and Willie Stargell. Matt took his sports posters down and hung masks from Nigeria and Ghana, faces of animals like the Great Monkey Spirit and King Gorilla, later adding Balinese Theatrical, Buddha and Brazilian carnival masks.

  Loren stared at the latest addition, a yin yang mask Sedona had brought back from the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. One she believed her brother would like because of the way the faces entwined like the living and the dead. He grimaced. A mask like that was the last thing Matt needed.

  Less than a month ago, Matt’s English teacher assigned a paper on the place each student most wanted to visit. Matt wrote about a quaint mountainside village in the German Alps where the dead gathered, awaiting the people they loved to join them. He’d written it well, filled his village with specific sensory details, employed active verbs and used both poignant and appropriate metaphors. He’d received an A for his efforts. But in the wake of the Cleveland School Massacre, the principal couldn’t be too careful and called Loren in for a consult—wanting to be certain Matt wasn’t assembling bombs or keeping loaded guns in his closet.

  The grandfather clock in the entryway chimed 12:45am.

  The first time he’d held Matt, his whole newborn head had fit into the palm of Loren’s hand, and he vowed he’d never disappoint this boy—nothing bad would ever happen to his son. But Loren had failed miserably. He was a philosopher, the author of textbooks on ethics and morality who possessed neither virtue.

  When he’d finally told Matt at least part of the truth—it was the affair Loren had that ruined his marriage, Matt had acted like it was no big deal. But he’d always been obedient and polite, had always strived to please his father. His teachers commented on his good manners, even after Justin’s accident, after Matt had given up baseball and birthday parties—had lost twenty pounds and bitten his fingernails into bloody half moons. Even after the circles under his eyes had grown as dark as bruises, Matt had completed all his assignments and brought home stellar report cards.

  * * *

  It was nearly 1am. when Matt tiptoed into the house, hoping to avoid his father, but Loren Garrison, already dressed for bed, sat reading in the family room. His long, pajama-clad legs crossed at the knees and a short burgundy robe tied around his waist.

  Under the reading light, his hair looked whiter than the steel gray Matt had always associated with his father. Matt swallowed back a little lump of sadness at this reminder his father was getting old.

  His dad set his journal on the mahogany lamp stand beside his chair. “Are you all right, son? You look terrible.”

  Everything seemed to collapse a little; the room, the air, and Matt’s insides. His throat tightened and he turned away so his dad couldn’t see his face. “Tired,” Matt said, feeling the slow coiling pressure of panic building inside him. He knew it wouldn’t be long until he got the dreaded call from Travis. On the ride home from Catalina, Matt had tried to convince himself Crystal committed suicide, but it wasn’t happening. Sure, she was upset and worried Travis would find out what had happened with Matt, but Travis Reynolds was destined to be a star. Crystal wasn’t the kind of mother who’d miss something like that.

  He gave voice to his thoughts. “Dad? Do you think Crystal Reynolds is the type who’d hurt herself on purpose?”

  His father’s steel gray eyes were the kind people told the truth to. At the same time, they looked both concerned and skeptical. “No, I don’t,” he said. “But where did that come from?”

  Matt sucked in a breath. Shit. Now he’d blown it for sure. “I might write a paper on suicide. And I was wondering what kind of people…you know, actually do it.”

  His father’s brow furrowed. “You’re not having those dark thoughts again, are you, son?”

  Matt shook his head. “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Dr. Thompson said we could call him anytime.”

  “I’m okay, Dad. I don’t need a shrink anymore.”

  His father stared at him for a moment, as if trying to make his own assessment of Matt’s mental state.

  “It was the worst night of my life,” Matt said, his gaze on the floor. He dried his palms on his wrinkled trousers and hoped his dad wouldn’t say anything more about the wedding.

  His dad stood, dropped a hand on Matt’s shoulder. His eyes appeared darker behind his reading glasses. “Watching your mother marrying someone else must have been difficult.”

  Yeah, difficult, Matt thought.

  With his hand firmly planted on Matt’s shoulder, his father babbled on. “But what molds us is often what wounds us as well. It seems like a high price to pay, I agree, but what we learn from disappointment and pain can be priceless.”

  Matt cringed a little, fought the urge to jerk away or tell him to save his philosophical platitudes for his students.

  “Nate said you left the wedding early. Where have you been?”

  Matt’s head throbbed and his stomach still felt queasy. “I drove around, parked and thought for a while, then met Travis after his dance. He’s coming over to spend the night,” Matt said, trying to sound cheerful, to sound like there was a chance it could be true.

  His father glanced at the mantel clock. “Aren’t you working at UMC tomorrow?”

  For the past two years, Matt had volunteered at University Medical Center on Saturday and Sunday mornings, transporting oncology kids—something his dad claimed would look good on college applications. And Matt had been surprised to discover he liked working with the kids and sometimes entertained them by wearing a clown nose and acting goofy.

  After an awkward moment, his dad removed his hand from Matt’s shoulder and said, “I’m glad you’re home, son. I think I’ll hit the sack.” He took off his glasses and rubbed the space between his eyes. “It’s not been my best day either.”

  For the first time all evening, Matt understood this hadn’t been easy for his dad. He’d screwed up, had an affair with someone he worked with, but he’d never stopped loving Karina. Matt had slept with Crystal, something that could devastate his best friend. If he hadn’t been so upset, he would have told his dad he understood how a man could betray someone he loved—something he hadn’t known before tonight. Sometimes the pieces of who you thought you were don’t add up to who you really are.

  When he heard the click of his father’s door closing, Matt hurried into the hallway.

  His sister waited outside her bedroom. She wore a long, pink robe, her feet sticking out beneath the hem, toenails painted bright blue. Her hair, sprayed into perfection for the wedding, was matted and flattened on one side. Mascara was smudged beneath her eyes. She looked like a little kid who’d been experimenting with her mother’s makeup. “You look wasted,” she said. “And you smell like you’ve been swimming in a keg.”

  “Thanks. But what do you know about kegs?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Probably more than my studious brother. You do realize, mister most-likely-to-succeed, you blew your cover and behaved like a clueless dweeb at the wedding.”

  “Why are you acting like this?” he said.

  “Like what?”

  “Look, I know I screwed up. Really bad. And I don’t need my little sister to tell me.”

  She took a step back, her eyes widened, and for a moment she looked almost frightened. “
I’m sorry,” she said, looking at the floor. “I…I just wanted everything to be perfect for Mom.”

  “Grow up. Nothing is ever perfect.” Unable to face her tears, Matt hurried into his bedroom and slammed the door, hating how obscene and messed up his world and everything he touched had become. He shouldn’t have been such a coward. He should have called 911 and waited for the paramedics to arrive. He could have told them he stopped by to see Travis and found Crystal dead. A better friend would have been there when Travis got home.

  He looked at the black walls with their rows of masks—all screaming the word “asshole” at the same time. Head spinning, he closed his eyes. The anger all around him wrenched his chest, wrung it hard. Crystal was dead. A deep longing for revenge was brewing inside him. He could hear the awful noises it made as he fought to find a breath. He opened the closet door, pulled aside his jeans and shirts, then punched the back wall so hard his fist broke through the drywall and into the linen closet. The pain brought tears to his eyes.

  Seconds later, when he heard Sedona’s footsteps in the hallway, he flipped the lock on his door. He leaned against the frame and slid to the floor. Why was he treating his little sister like this? He was the one who needed to grow up. He was five years older and should be setting an example for her—making her understand his mother deserved to be happy again. But Sedona was the one who’d accepted their new stepfather. Nate had taught her to horseback ride in the desert wash behind their mother’s new house. Matt loved horses and longed to ride, too. Why did he think it was a betrayal of their father if he joined them? Nate was a good man and wanted nothing more than a little respect. Matt’s dad was the one who’d ruined everything. Why did his happiness mean so much?

  Sedona tapped her fingernails across the wood in the secret code he’d taught her years ago. A knock like the introduction to a Sousa march rolled on snare drums. When he didn’t respond, she tried the knob. “You dick.” She kicked the door, then slipped an envelope under it. “Mom asked me to give you this. Personally, I can’t imagine why she tries so hard to make you love her.”

  When he heard his sister walk away, he picked up the envelope. His hand throbbed and his knuckles were scraped and red.

  Outside his window, in the fenced yard where he’d once spent hours playing with his little sister, a miniature wind chime rattled; a whimsical, irregular sound, like children laughing.

  The phone rang twice, then stopped.

  Travis. It had to be Travis. Matt braced himself, hoping Sedona had answered it and not his father.

  She knocked on his door. “It’s some police lady.”

  He groped the bookcase that topped his waterbed for the phone and yanked the receiver to his ear. “Hello.”

  “Is this Matthew Garrison?”

  “Yes,” he said, scared to the center of his bones. He’d expected a call from Travis, but not from the police.

  “My name is Lottie and I’m a dispatcher with the Pima County Sheriff’s Office. I’m calling on behalf of Travis Reynolds. There’s been an accident. He wants you to come to his house in Catalina. Are you able to do that?”

  “Is he…I mean, is Travis okay?”

  “Yes,” she said. “He’s unhurt.”

  “Tell him I’m on my way.”

  He hurried into the hall.

  Sedona stood in her bedroom doorway.

  He told her what the policewoman had said. “His mother…” He stopped, realizing his mistake. “The woman said there’d been an accident. Travis needs my help.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Sedona said.

  “No way.”

  “I care about Travis, too, dickhead.”

  “I know you do, but I think something terrible has happened.”

  “Is he hurt?”

  “You’re just a kid, Sedona. Mom wouldn’t want you there.”

  “I’m thirteen, but I might as well be five.” She stepped back into her bedroom and closed the door.

  He drove sixty miles an hour and got to Catalina in fifteen minutes. A black Bronco and a police car were parked in front of Travis’s house, blue and red dome lights swirling. Backed up to the front walkway, a long, black van waited—the words Pima Country Medical Examiner painted on the side panel.

  Travis sat on the front steps with his head in his hands. When he spotted Matt, he looked up, tears clinging to his eyelashes. “My mother’s dead.”

  Chapter Eight

  Wanting nothing more than to get the questioning over with and go home, Matt stood with Travis on the front yard as two men from the Medical Examiner’s office maneuvered the gurney with Crystal’s body. Her right arm slipped from under the black plastic sheet, and through the clear bags that covered her hands, Matt saw the bright red polish on her fingernails. He remembered the warm weight of her hand on his neck as they’d danced. The way her nipples had hardened at his touch. He stopped. He couldn’t let himself remember.

  One of the men tucked her arm back under the sheet and turned to Travis. “Let us know when you’ve made arrangements and we’ll call the mortuary. They’ll handle her transport.”

  Travis didn’t respond—his gaze was glued on the van waiting for Crystal. Someone had flung its back doors open. The men slid the gurney inside.

  After the Medical Examiner’s van drove away, Detective Radhauser stepped outside. The detective’s skin was tanned and weathered—like Matt imagined a real cowboy who herded cattle in the desert sun would look. Not at all like the rumpled, rain-coated men in mystery novels who always came to mind when Matt pictured a detective. Radhauser shook Matt’s hand.

  He swallowed a grimace at the pain in his knuckles and tried to look straight into the detective’s dark blue eyes, but he stood at least four inches taller than Matt’s five-feet ten. Welcome to Tucson, Matt thought, where even the police dress like cowboys.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Radhauser said. “And then maybe we can call your parents to come get you both.”

  Matt thumbed Travis’s T-shirt into his tuxedo pants. “I have my car. I can drive us.”

  Ignoring Matt, Radhauser asked Travis to wait outside. “If you’re cold, you can go back to my car.”

  Matt followed Radhauser into the kitchen. It smelled like fresh-brewed coffee.

  The detective offered Matt a cup.

  He drank the scalding liquid, burning his mouth as he swallowed—a red knot of pain in his throat and chest. He absorbed it, knowing no matter how bad it felt it would never be punishment enough.

  Radhauser pulled out the chair across the table from Matt. “What happened to your hand?”

  After setting the cup on the table, Matt studied his knuckles. “I punched a hole in my closet wall.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  He told him he was pissed off at himself and took it out on his wall.

  “What were you so angry about?”

  He shrugged. “My mom got remarried tonight. I went a little mental at the ceremony. What do you think happened here?”

  “We don’t know yet.” Radhauser stared at him for a moment and then asked him for his full name, age, where he went to school, the nature of his relationship with Travis, and what he was doing that night.

  “Crystal wouldn’t kill herself.” Matt told Radhauser about Travis’s scholarship—how proud she was of him and how she’d never missed a single game. “Does the evidence really point to suicide?”

  Radhauser raised his eyebrow. “What evidence?”

  “I don’t know,” Matt said. “You’re the detective. I figured you’d be looking for evidence. Like did she leave a note? Don’t people usually leave a note?”

  “Some do. We’ll know more after the medical examiner gives his report.”

  Matt looked at his shoes, but felt the heat of Radhauser’s gaze on the crown of his head. The walls seemed to be closing in, and the weight of air was heavy against the skin on Matt’s arms.

  Radhauser made notes. He asked for Matt’s mother and stepfather�
�s names, the time and location of the wedding. The detective sniffed the air, then cocked his head. “Have you been drinking?”

  “I know it’s against the law, but I had a beer,” Matt said, cupping his hands on the tops of his knees.

  Radhauser lifted one thick black eyebrow. “Where’d you get it?”

  Matt had to think fast. “At the wedding reception,” he lied. “I nabbed one when no one was looking.”

  “Tell me if I got this right. You were at your mother’s wedding at Hacienda del Sol. Travis was twenty miles away at the Marana spring dance.”

  “I left the wedding early. I was upset because I wanted my parents to get back together. After that I drove around for a while.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized saying them was a mistake, given he’d just admitted to the beer. “Then I went out to Marana to meet Travis. I needed to talk to someone.”

  “Kind of late for a social visit, wasn’t it?”

  “Not for Travis and me. We’re nocturnal.”

  Radhauser smiled. “Teenagers,” he said, and then the smile disappeared and his handsome face seemed to tighten into something brittle and easily broken. “And then what happened?”

  He told Radhauser the truth—he’d followed Travis to The Spur to leave the Escort for Crystal but she wasn’t there. Travis had told Matt to go ahead, he’d drive home and check on his mother then come over to Matt’s house. “A little while later, I got the call from the policewoman.”

  “Do you have any idea who may have phoned 911?” Detective Radhauser’s gaze bored straight into Matt’s eyes. He could almost see the knotted thoughts in Radhauser’s mind, as if he suspected Matt knew more than he told. “I don’t have a clue. I mean…maybe one of the neighbors or whoever drove her home from work.” He looked at his hands resting in his lap and wondered if the detective could see what was going on inside him, like some internal lie detector.

  “The caller was a female. Do you know if she has a friend who may have been with her?”

  Matt’s breath caught in his throat. He inched back against the chair. It was just a look, he thought. It didn’t mean anything. “I don’t know any of her friends.”