A Deep and Dark December

by Beth Yarnall

  He hunched his shoulders and gave his attention to forking another bite of cake. She’d hurt him, pushed him back yet again.

  “Are you seeing someone else?” she blurted out.

  His head came up. “What? No. What kind of question is that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He straightened in his chair and looked at her closely. “Are you?”

  “No.”

  He studied her so long she wondered what he could be thinking. “In this town, you’d know if I was seeing someone else.” He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “Right?”

  “Right.”

  “We haven’t talked about it. I mean I just assumed we were exclusive. There’s no one else I want to see.”

  He looked at her expectantly, his earlier offer to go away together and what it would mean hanging in the air between them.

  She thought of Graham and how she’d confided more in him than she’d ever confided in Keith. She shouldn’t compare them. Even if she found herself wishing it was Graham she’d agreed to go away with.

  “Me either.”

  He grinned and she couldn’t help but return it with a real smile this time. They finished off the cake and talked some more about little things, insignificant things. Not the deepest, darkest secret she carried. Not the horror she’d witnessed earlier. Nothing upsetting or out of the ordinary. It was all so normal, she could scream.

  At the door Keith drew her into his arms and kissed her long and deep. He’d been holding out on her. When he lifted his head, she rocked forward on her toes into his chest, catching herself with handfuls of his shirt.

  “Sure you don’t want me to spend the night?” he asked hopefully.

  She didn’t have it in her to pretend anymore today. “Another night?”

  He kissed her again, a lingering goodbye that had her sighing and leaning against the doorway as she watched him walk to his car. He really was cute and if he kept kissing her like that, she might forget she wasn’t attracted to him physically. He waved to her as he pulled away from the curb. She closed the door, grinning like a smitten teenager. Maybe the trip would be just what they needed.

  Remembering her earlier vision, she dropped the smile. Had it been a premonition or a scene from the recent past? She moved to a chair and sat down. Closing her eyes, she drew up the scene in the sunny-yellow kitchen again. Keith had mentioned her name in the beginning… something about it mattering to her. But what? It was clear Keith had gotten someone pregnant or thought he had. Someone who had been sleeping with another man. Erin had only been dating Keith for a few months, so if this was the recent past, then he had some explaining to do.

  If this was the future…

  She didn’t want to think about that, because in the future she’d seen, Keith was going to get someone pregnant, someone who was cheating on him. Either Erin was going to be cheated on or she was going to cheat. If she was going to cheat, whom was she going to cheat with? And if she was the cheater, then she was the one who was going to end up pregnant. Again her thoughts drifted toward Graham.

  The whole thing made her forehead hurt. She suddenly wished for her aunt’s ability. She’d just skim Keith’s thoughts and then she’d know. Right now the only thing she knew for sure was that she was going to Goldman’s Drugs tomorrow to double up on her birth control.

  And hope she wasn’t somehow messing with the future.

  6

  Graham dragged his tired ass up the steps of his parents’ house. It was after midnight, but he knew his dad would be waiting in his study. At least the rain had finally stopped. He let himself in with his key and closed the door quietly behind him. He didn’t want to wake his mother sleeping upstairs. Creeping down the dark hall, relying on decades of memory, Graham remembered other times he’d tried to sneak into the house, only to find his father waiting for him. Nothing happened in this house or this town that Ham Doran didn’t know about.

  A thin bar of light showed under the bottom of the study door. He’d told his pop he’d talk things over later, but now that it was later—he checked his phone—much later, all Graham wanted was a drink, a shower, and to fall face down in bed. But he’d made a promise. He’d gotten out of the habit of keeping his promises in L.A. If he went back to L.A. he wouldn’t go back to being the man he was when he’d left. He let out an exhausted sigh and knocked, then let himself into his dad’s study.

  Ham looked up from the papers he’d been reading at his desk. “Hello, son.” He opened a drawer and tucked the papers inside, closing it afterward. “Late night.”

  Graham dropped into the chair across the desk from his father. “Helluva a day, followed by a bitch of a night.”

  Ham opened another drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. “Watch your mouth,” he admonished, rummaging around in the drawer until he came up with two paper cups. He poured an inch of whiskey in each, then handed one to Graham. “You’re under my roof, my rules.”

  “Yes, sir.” Some things never changed. Graham took a sip that burned so good he took another. “Pax and I were on standby when Sacramento P.D. informed Greg’s uncle of his nephew’s death, then we drove out to San Luis Obispo to notify Deidre Lasiter’s parents.”

  Ham sat back in his chair, propping his cup on his stomach. “I had to do that once. Notify next of kin. Remember when Fred Sparks had a heart attack under Judy Lindberg’s Corolla right there in his repair shop?” Ham shook his head. “When they rolled him out from under, the wrench he was using was still in his hand. Went out to notify Freda of Fred’s death myself. She took it well. Married Sam Streetah the next week. Sold the repair shop and moved to Antigua. Now her name’s Freda Streetah from Antigua.” He pointed a finger at Graham’s snicker. “That’s all true as far as you know.”

  Graham’s chuckle died slowly. “I wish Deidre’s parents had taken it as well.” He took another drink of whiskey. “According to the Days, Deidre was pregnant with their first grandchild when she died.” He finished the last sip and stared at the bottom of the empty cup. “They’d bought some baby things already.”

  Ham unscrewed the cap on the whiskey and splashed some into his cup. He offered Graham more with a tilt of the bottle. Graham shook his head. He didn’t need his thoughts anymore addled.

  “That’s rough,” Ham said.

  “Yeah. I’m having the baby, fetus, whatever, tested against Greg’s DNA for paternity.”

  “What makes you think it’s not Greg’s?”

  “It’s standard.” Graham lied and counted this as the second time in his whole life he’d ever lied to his father. He suddenly wished he’d accepted that second drink.

  “Standard,” Ham mumbled.

  Graham shifted in his seat. “I was hoping you could give me some background on the Lasiters. Things that might have come to your attention from a law enforcement

  standpoint. Any domestic violence, DUI, disturbing the peace or anything like that I should know about?”

  “We don’t get much of any of that around here. San Rey’s been a peaceful town until today. You know that.”

  “I just thought of it as boring growing up,” Graham said.

  “As long as a Doran’s been sheriff, this town’s been a safe place to live.”

  “That’s an old superstition.”

  Ham moved his hand in a think-what-you-want motion.

  “You don’t seriously believe that, do you?” Graham asked.

  “I don’t have to. It got me reelected every term and you elected in my place. And someday if you ever shave your beard, get a wife, and act like you give a darn, it’ll get your son elected sheriff, too. That’s the way of it.”

  “Pop, you know I’m only filling in until Adam gets home. I’ve got a job, a home, a life in Los Angeles that I want to get back to.” Or more like a life he wanted to rebuild in L.A.

  “Your brother’s a second son. Only first sons become sheriff, you know that. Besides, Adam signed up for another tour of duty. He’s not coming home any time soon
.”

  “Son of a— ”

  “I told you to watch your mouth in my house,” Ham growled. Ham could still be intimidating, Graham realized with surprise.

  Graham slid to the front of his chair and slammed his empty cup on the desk, crumpling it. “When did this happen?”

  “About three months ago.”

  “You let me think…all the time you were in the hospital and through that farce of an election, you let me think this whole thing was temporary.”

  He’d gone along with it to placate his father. He didn’t think Ham’s health could take a lot of pushback at the time. Stepping in temporarily also gave Graham time to figure his own shit out and if he should go back to L.A. or someplace else where his past didn’t trail out behind him. He’d thought he had an out. But now…

  Graham pushed to his feet and leaned across the desk. “You tricked me.”

  “I didn’t do anything of the sort. You sit down and listen.” Ham glared at his son until Graham dropped back into his seat with a huff. “You have a responsibility to me, this family, and this town.” Ham pointed at Graham. “You’re a Doran. It’s high time you lived up to your heritage.”

  Graham rubbed a finger across his bearded chin, looking everywhere but at his father. Trapped. He was well and truly trapped. His father had boxed him in, knowing it was always Graham’s plan to leave this godforsaken town. Ham knew that Graham wasn’t going to stay. Son of a mother-fucking bitch!

  “When you come to accept what is, you’ll see I’m right,” Ham said.

  “Pax should have been elected sheriff. He’s put in the time and he already lives here. He’s a good man.”

  “Pax isn’t a Doran. Now, that’s the end of it.”

  And the sad thing was, his father was right. This was the end of it. The end of his career in the LAPD narcotics squad. The end of his life being his. He’d thought almost losing his father had been bad. This was ten times worse. Almost losing something was nothing like actually losing it.

  “What did your witness say in her statement?” Ham asked.

  Graham dropped heavily back into his chair. Old resentments rose up, threatening to choke him. He’d thought by leaving, things would change, his father would change. But nothing changed in a town that stayed the same year after year, decade after decade, generation after generation. By returning he’d been sucked back into the expectations and responsibilities he’d run from. He doubted he’d be able to escape a second time. Maybe this was his punishment for what had happened in L.A. with Patricia. Maybe this was his comeuppance. God knew he deserved this and more. He couldn’t have chosen a more ironic penance than this.

  “Pretty much what I already told you.” Graham couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his tone. “She’s not giving her formal statement until tomorrow. Do you mind if I go? It’s late.”

  “Sure, son.”

  Graham stood. “Well, good-night.” He started for the door, his tread heavy.

  “Graham?” He looked back at his father. “It’s good to have you home.”

  He nodded and left the study, wishing he could escape responsibility as easily. He’d counted on his father to be sheriff until Adam came home. Had hoped his move to Los Angeles would have been enough, but here he was, right back where he didn’t want to be.

  The sea wind hit him full force, a briny slap in the face. He jogged to his car and climbed in, needing to get the hell out of there. He was trapped. Trapped by tradition and familial expectations. Trapped in a town that ate at his soul. He hated the confines of small town life, the small minds and big mouths. He could almost feel it closing in on him, suffocating him. He didn’t belong here and he couldn’t quite see his way back to L.A. and the memories that waited for him there.

  He sped down the deserted streets, passing memories along the way. The corner where he’d crashed his first bike. The diner where he’d had his first date. The baseball field where he’d played Little League. He knew the name of the family that lived in almost every house he passed. He knew which businesses were new and which had been around for generations, transitioning from one family member to the next.

  He’d never thought of his family’s legacy as anything other than a burden, a duty to escape from, like mowing the lawn or hauling out the trash. His father spoke of it as though it was an honor. He wished he felt the same. He would always fail his father in that way. His father’s disappointment in him had become a near tangible thing he brushed and bumped up against almost constantly. He didn’t know how to be the son his father wanted him to be.

  He stopped his car and suddenly realized he’d come to the bluffs, the highest point in San Rey. The muffled roar of the sea dashing on the rocks below drew him out of the car. He’d often come here as a teenager to think or try to get in some girl’s pants. Forgoing the bench, he stood at the railing and looked out over the night-blackened ocean. There was something about the rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide that soothed him. It was constant, dependable. He pulled in a deep breath and tilted his face into the misty breeze, closing his eyes. If only he could be like the waves, coming and going as he pleased.

  After several steadying moments, he opened his eyes and glanced down at the rocks below. Maybe he was more like the rocks than the water. A static thing that life pounded and crashed against, trying to wear down. It was colder here with nothing to block the wind. Graham didn’t mind the cold. It matched his mood. He stayed at the railing, his body tense against the chill, until his eyeballs hurt and his hands went numb. He jammed them in his pockets and turned to go back to his car. The outline of a figure sitting on the bench startled him. He reached for his weapon by habit, his heart banging hard against his ribcage, then halted the motion when recognition hit.

  Her. What was she doing here?

  “Sorry. I was trying not to disturb you,” Erin said, her voice as thin and wispy as the ocean breeze.

  He made his way over, forgetting the cold and the reasons he had for leaving. He stopped in front of her. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Probably the same thing as you.”

  “I doubt that.”

  She scooted over, making a motion for him to sit beside her. He did.

  “I came to clear my head,” she said, looking out over the black ocean. “Too many clouds to see the moon tonight, but it’s there.”

  “Do you come here often?”

  She laughed and it did something funny to his insides. “That sounds like a bad pick up line.”

  “I don’t really have any good ones. Wanna see my gun is about as good as it gets.”

  She looked at him, leaning back a little. “That is awful.”

  “Told you.”

  “I suppose you don’t need pick up lines with those eyes, do you?”

  She liked his eyes? That thought made him cheerier than he’d been all day. Hell, all week. Maybe all month.

  She returned her gaze to the dark sky. “Can’t see any stars either. That’s my favorite thing about coming out here at night. There are so many stars.”

  He stole that moment to look at her profile, shadowed and uninhibited. She’d tucked her hair into a knit cap and wrapped a scarf around her neck, framing her face as though it was a picture. There was something so very honest and forthright about her.

  “How do you stand it?” The words fell out before he knew he was going to say them.

  She tilted her head and looked at him. “What?”

  “This town.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The smallness.”

  “That’s one of the things I like most about it. It’s quaint.”

  “Haven’t you ever wanted to be anonymous? To be able to tell somebody something about yourself without them already knowing everything about you and your family?”

  “Ah,” she said with a small, sad smile. “Our families are famous in this town for very different reasons.”

  “Just my point. Wouldn’t it be nice to walk into a room and not carry g
enerations of your family’s baggage?”

  “At least your baggage matches. Mine is mismatched and Duct-taped together.” Her smile flattened and her expression turned brooding. “You fit in. I never have.”

  “Fitting in isn’t belonging.”

  “For me it is.”

  Her words hit him hard, making him feel like the world’s biggest dumb ass. Here he was complaining about the respect his family’s legacy afforded him, while hers set her apart.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Hitching a shoulder, she jerked her gaze away. “Nothing for you to be sorry about.”

  He racked his brain for words to fill the long, awkward silence that followed. None came. He could only stare at her profile and wonder what it would be like if their roles were reversed. If he were the outcast free to leave any time he wanted and she was the one anchored to the community by generations of service.

  “I can see how your family’s legacy might feel strangling,” she said, breaking into the quiet. “It’s like a rich people problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Having money doesn’t make your problems go away. It brings a whole new set of problems, but it also brings more choices.”

  “My problem leaves me no choice,” he said.

  “Not true. You could choose to not see it as a problem.”

  “Accept it, you mean? Just give in?”

  “No. Give over to it.”

  Give over to it. She was talking about something he didn’t know anything about, a different kind of acceptance. But wasn’t that just a fancy word for giving in?

  He shook his head. “I don’t have your optimism.”

  “It’s not optimism. Happiness can be as simple as making a decision.”

  “If it’s that simple, why haven’t you put it into practice?”

  “Who says I’m not happy?”

  “You did.”

  She looked at her lap where she’d twisted the fringe of her scarf around her finger. “I’m happy.”

  Her tone told a different story. He dropped the subject rather than upset her more.