“Do you have enough for me?”
“Are you kidding? I could feed the entire senior class.”
He asked about his sister.
“She’s in her room, throwing her math book against the wall.”
Matt headed down the hallway towards his sister’s room. He drummed his fingers in the Sousa tap on her door.
“It’s open,” she said. “Unless it’s the dweeb who screwed up Mom’s wedding.” There was a smile in her voice.
“The dweeb has repented and been granted a pardon.” He opened the door a few inches. “If you ask me, math sucks. Who needs it?” He used the high-pitched whiney voice they’d invented as children for their stuffed animals.
Sedona sat at her desk, bent over her math homework. She wore a pair of black sweatpants and a vintage T-shirt with the Rolling Stones on the front. Her hair was loose and falling into her face. Through the Walkman speaker he’d bought her for her birthday, Richard Marx sang Hold On To The Nights.
She looked up at him and grinned. “What’s happening, dude?”
Matt stepped inside and turned down the volume. “I have a question.”
“I’ll confess to anything, even let you turn down my tunes, if it means you’ll lend me your math brain.”
“It’s about Dad.”
“Let me guess. He finally told you about his love life.”
When he nodded, her eyes widened. Something crossed over her face that told him she knew. “It was Crystal, wasn’t it?”
Again, he nodded.
“Holy crap. I knew it. You get why I’m so pissed at Dad now?”
“Totally. But how did you know?”
She grinned. “Women’s intuition.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Oh my God,” she said. “I just thought of something.” Sedona’s eyes grew even wider as she stared at him. “If the police find out about Dad’s affair with Crystal, they might blame him for her death.”
The palms of Matt’s hands were dry and icy cold. “The police already know about the affair,” he said, thinking about the fight in the driveway, the thousand dollars their dad gave Crystal—most likely for an abortion—and the terrible sadness in her eyes when Matt had arrived that night. “I’ve done a little investigating on my own,” he continued, wishing what he was about to say was true. “It’s possible Crystal did kill herself.”
“How would you know?” Sedona asked. “You weren’t there. She didn’t leave a note.”
Matt took a deep breath. “Not everyone leaves a note.”
He told his sister about their father’s loan of a thousand dollars, but decided not to tell her about Crystal’s pregnancy—the child that might have been their half brother or sister. Sedona already hated their father enough. A thought entered his mind that he’d just lied, tried to protect his mother and sister in the same way his dad had tried to protect him from the affair.
Matt had tried to protect Travis by hiding all evidence of what he and Crystal had done. He couldn’t imagine how hard it was to be a parent. The lengths they’d go to save their kids from pain.
“Holy shit,” Sedona said. “A thousand dollars. Do you think they already suspect him?”
Matt sat on her daybed. “I think you watch too much Matlock.”
“In books, lots of characters try to make a murder look like suicide. It’s practically a cliché.”
He stared at the floor, felt his sister’s dark gaze brush across his face. “I really want to know why you were so certain Dad had an affair with Crystal.”
“My astute powers of deduction. Mom and Crystal stopped hanging out. And Dad looked guilty every time her name was mentioned.” She paused and grinned. “Besides, Arielle’s parents saw Dad with her. I tried to tell you, dorko. But you wouldn’t believe me.”
Sedona was right, she had tried to tell him, but he was too hardheaded to listen. Worst of all, he’d lost two years with his mom and little sister. What an idiot he’d been.
He punched his fist into Sedona’s pillow, then picked it up and hit her over the head with it.
Sedona grinned, grabbed another pillow and charged toward him. “The repentant dweeb is in big trouble now.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The memorial service took place on Thursday evening in the Chapel of the Narrow Way, a building that seemed too small to hold Travis’s grief. Crystal’s coffin rested on an oak podium, no more than five feet away. It was only a prop—she’d been cremated. But each time Matt glanced at the coffin, a chill dashed up his spine and he had to look away.
A crude wooden cross hung on the wall behind the pulpit—powerful in its simplicity. The casket a blue so dazzling it looked as if someone had chipped it from the Tucson sky. Matt’s eyes were drawn back to it again and again. The closed top held a spray of tiny pink rosebuds. A ribbon with the word Mother in gold letters draped over the casket’s side.
Matt thought about all the roles Crystal had played in his life, how years from now his wife or girlfriend might ask about prior women he’d made love with. Before he could stop himself, he imagined a ribbon with the words, Dance Coach, Team Mother, Friend, and Lover in a silver script.
“I wish my dad had lived long enough for me to have a memory of him,” Travis said. “Like maybe when he tossed a ball with me in the yard.”
Karina patted his leg.
“Maybe he wasn’t even a good guy,” Travis said. “Maybe he would have come home from Vietnam all screwed up and evil.” When he leaned forward, Karina rubbed his back.
Above their heads, in the high cedar ceiling, fans stirred the air and the delicate scents of roses, chrysanthemums and giant peonies mingled. Mourners filed down the aisle and Travis pointed out Barcode and some of the other waitresses from The Silver Spur. Millie and Gracie wore their short denim skirts, red cowboy boots, and the low-cut blouses, as if in tribute to Crystal.
Jennifer’s parents kept their heads down.
Matt stole a look at Danni.
She smiled at him.
The muscles in his body seemed to loosen up.
A parade of young and old people stepped over to Travis and clutched his hand, whispering condolences before taking their seats in available pews. “Brothers and sisters from the church,” Travis whispered.
And though Matt was happy Travis had other people who cared about him, he had the usual pang of jealousy at Travis referring to someone else as his brother.
Players from their school soccer and baseball teams wore their uniforms and carried banners Crystal and Karina had made.
The chapel filled to capacity. Despite the obituary in last night’s paper, Travis had worried no one would come. The piece had included a photo of Crystal in a white blouse with a round collar, smiling like a member of the church choir. Matt was surprised by the way there was no mention of a police investigation, suicide or murder. The obit did a strange dance around the facts: the woman had died suddenly at her Catalina home. He closed his eyes and another version printed itself. Crystal Reynolds may have killed herself because of the guilt she felt for having sex with her son’s best friend.
When the organ music dwindled away and everyone was seated, Matt scanned the chapel, hoping his father had changed his mind.
Loren Garrison wasn’t there.
But Detective Radhauser, wearing a navy blue suit that looked as if it had just been picked up at the drycleaners, leaned against the back wall, holding his gray Stetson in his hands. When he spotted Matt, Radhauser gave a quick nod.
Matt took a sharp breath that felt as if something had wedged between his ribs.
Bryan Williamson, wearing a white clerical robe, slipped through the side door and approached the pulpit, confidence in his attitude and his walk. He looked comfortable in his own skin—blameless and pure.
“Love never fails.” With the commanding sound of those three words, Williamson lifted his robed arms like the snowy wings of some glorious bird, reborn into this man of God. There was something so charismatic and
hypnotizing about his presence, Matt could understand why Travis was impressed with him.
“Have you ever stopped to think about the enormity of God’s love for you? A love so great He sent His only son to die on the cross for your sins.” He paused and turned his head toward the cross on the wall. “I want you to close your eyes and think about that for just a moment. Those of you with children, ask yourself is that a sacrifice you could make?” Williamson slowly shook his head. “I know I couldn’t.”
He waited a moment, then began again. “In this world, nothing lasts forever. Our loved ones leave us, they die. More and more families dissolve every day. It’s a world filled with sin and confusion, and only God can clear the way for salvation. Only God’s love is everlasting. In His family, there is no divorce, no separation, and no death.”
Williamson paused and looked toward the casket. “Crystal Reynolds has come before the Lord for His judgment. None of us can presume to know what was in her heart. But God does.”
And I do, Matt thought. She was thinking about her son and how to protect him from what she and Matt had done.
Williamson paused again and his gaze traveled over the first row of mourners until it lighted on Travis. “We ask you to comfort her son and all the ones who loved her. Ease their pain, Lord, and let your solace and mercy spread like a healing ointment on their sad and weary hearts.”
From deep in the congregation, church members whispered “Amen” in unison. Barcode cried loudly into a white handkerchief, then blew his nose.
“Grief is a powerful force that can transform sinners.” Williamson paused and smiled. “When the heart is hurting, it often cracks open and lets God enter.” He let that sink in for a moment, then invited the sinners in the congregation to step forward and be saved.
Williamson’s hypnotic voice rose into the high ceiling of the chapel. “If there is anyone who hurts, who has sinned and regretted it, or who is disillusioned with earthly families and wants to become a member of God’s family, I invite him or her to come forward and begin the journey back to forgiveness and everlasting life.”
Usually indifferent to prayers, Matt perched on the edge of the pew, listened so intently he almost believed he could grab hold of the preacher’s words and float with them straight to the place where he could undo the wrongs he’d done to Crystal and Justin, and find forgiveness. Matt started to rise. His mother cupped her hand over his knee and pressed down, as if she knew his thoughts. A tremendous pressure seemed to release and dissipate. His shoulders relaxed.
Travis cried.
Matt’s mother lifted her other hand from Travis’s knee, riffled through her purse to find a Kleenex.
Travis stood. It was as if an invisible hand guided him up the aisle and to the altar, where he knelt at Bryan Williamson’s feet.
Matt wanted to grab Travis and pull him back into the pew, but it was too late. Matt lowered his head. This would change everything between them.
Williamson took Travis’s hands. “Welcome, son. We’ve been expecting you. Welcome home.”
After the ceremony, Matt cornered Baxter. His eyes and nose were red from crying and he clutched his handkerchief in his right hand. “Okay if we talk for a minute?”
“Sure,” Baxter said. “Any friend of Travis is a friend of mine.”
Matt cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the night Crystal died.”
“Nothing for me to tell, kid. She didn’t show up for work. End of story.”
“But Travis dropped her off in the parking lot.”
“I think you already know someone picked her up,” Baxter said.
“I know you used to date Crystal.”
“Off and on for a few years now, kid. But Crystal always had her sights set higher.”
“Were you in love with her, Mr. Baxter?” Matt asked, thinking about his father.
Baxter stared at Matt for a moment. His dark eyes went soft. “Don’t worry. It’s not so weird for a boy your age to have a crush on an older woman.”
* * *
Matt slipped off his shoes and was halfway across the entryway when his dad flipped on a dim lamp in the living room where he’d been sitting in the dark, his pipe still smoking in the ashtray. He held an empty bottle of Johnny Walker Black in his hand, ripping a path through the label with his thumbnail. He wore a worn denim shirt, a pair of paint-splattered khakis, and sported a two-day beard. Even his hair, usually parted so carefully, was tousled on top. “Are you sick?” Matt whispered.
“I guess that depends on whom you ask.” His father stood, walked a little unsteadily toward Matt, draped his arm around Matt’s shoulder and squeezed. “Did you get that acceptance letter off to Penn yet?”
Matt pulled away. “I’m not going to Penn.”
His father jerked back. “What do you mean? I thought it was already decided.”
“If I go anywhere, it’ll be Iowa.” The statement surprised Matt even as it tumbled out of his mouth. There was no if. College had always been a given for him and his sister—the next step after high school. And there was nothing Matt wanted more now than to get the hell away from Tucson and the ghosts that haunted him here.
His dad moved closer. “Is this another way to show your anger at me?”
Matt said nothing.
“This behavior isn’t like you, son. It doesn’t matter where you go. But you’re too smart not to go to college. Without it, you won’t have much of a future.” His voice sounded uneven.
“I once wanted to go to Penn,” Matt said. “Once, I actually wanted to be you.” It stabbed him to realize a relationship that had once seemed unbreakable could slip apart so easily. “Now, I don’t even know who you are or how you could hurt Mom the way you did.”
“The people we love are rarely worth it,” his father said. “And maybe none of us deserve the burden of that love either.” His breath smelled like scotch. “I’m sorry I lied, son. But I haven’t lied to you about anything else. I’m ashamed of what Crystal and I did. Maybe someday you’ll…”
Matt was silent for a moment, realizing this was his opportunity to talk, and trying to gauge what would happen if he actually told his dad the truth. “Believe me, I understand shame.”
His father’s gaze stayed fastened on Matt. “Then you understand how difficult it was for me to talk about her—especially with you.”
Matt shifted from one foot to the other. He couldn’t hold his father’s gaze. There’d never been a time when he’d felt such strong and conflicted emotions. He loved his father and he hated him. He trusted him and he didn’t.
“What do you want to know?” his dad asked. “Come on. Ask your question.”
Matt turned his back to his father and closed his eyes. Another burst of shame at the meanness of his own deceit rose. For a moment, he could neither move nor answer.
“Come on, Matt, step into the ring. Don’t lose your nerve now.” He put his hand on Matt’s shoulder and jerked him around so they were face-to-face, moving him into position like a boxer. “Come on, spit it out, Mister Too-Smart-for-College.”
There were patches of sweat under his dad’s arms, and clusters of pine needles on his shirtsleeves.
Matt felt a moment of guilt for not helping him remove the overgrown Aleppo Pine from the back yard. “Was Crystal pregnant by you?” Matt twisted one of the buttons on the front of his shirt so hard it snapped off and flew across the room.
His dad smiled bitterly. “I’m not sure I like the direction this conversation is taking.” The light in his steel gray eyes flashed. He stared straight back into Matt’s eyes and held them, and Matt, motionless.
Finally, Matt looked away. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Truth rarely exists as an absolute. This is not true. In fact, I had a vasectomy. But if you need someone to blame for Crystal’s death…” He stopped, shook his head. “You better get some sleep, you have a final exam tomorrow.”
Without another word, his dad turned away, s
trode into his bedroom and closed the door.
Matt hurried down the hallway and into his own room. His closet door was open. The gaping hole he’d punched into the wall stared back at him, jagged and angry. He wanted to punch out another one. His father had set this whole tragedy in motion. If he hadn’t become involved with Crystal, Matt’s parents would still be together. There would have been no wedding to Nate Sherman. Matt would never have done something else that shamed him, something that could hurt Travis so much. And Crystal might still be alive.
Once again, the black walls of his bedroom seemed to close in on him, the rows of masks he’d so carefully arranged looked grotesque—all of them empty-eyed. This time they screamed the word liar in unison.
But it wasn’t the lies that haunted him now. It was the secrets. No one had asked him if he’d had sex with Crystal. No one had asked if he’d pushed Justin off that ledge. Secrets were far worse than lies. And the secrets that shamed Matt, the ones he couldn’t seem to set straight, were his own, not his father’s.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Unable to sleep, Loren paced the length of the master bedroom again and again. Outside the sliding glass door that led to the pool, insects flew in frantic circles around the porch light. He turned it off. He could still feel the heat of his son’s eyes on him as he’d left the living room.
He could never explain his relationship with Crystal to Matt. The boy he used to lift into the air and spin in a dizzying whirl. The son he’d taught to swim, throw a curveball, and ride a two-wheel bike. All the hours that had elongated into their lifetime together had collapsed like a row of dominoes.
Oh, come on, he told himself. Don’t get melodramatic. Matt was an adolescent. Boys were competitive at that age and wanted to take on their fathers, wanted to figure out who they were without their dads. Loren was guilty of bad judgment, but that didn’t make him evil. Only people with a conscience anguished over what others thought of them.
As soon as Karina had discovered his affair with Crystal, Loren tried to break it off. But, even during the weeks he’d stopped seeing Crystal, she was there, sitting at the dinner table between them. She hovered over his pillow whenever he tried to make love with his wife—her presence so real he couldn’t look Karina in the eyes without seeing Crystal.
Redemption Lake Page 19
