Authors: Kathryn R. Biel
"My dad died this morning."
"Oh." He looks stunned. "And now I feel like a gigantic asshat. No wonder you ... didn't ..." He can't find the words.
"Fitzy, that's something else entirely. It's not that I don't, because I do, but I'm not sure I should. Anyway, it's beside the point. It's not why I came over here. I needed to tell you about Dad, and it's time for me to tell you what I know about Jenna."
His posture changes immediately and he shifts into business mode. He's sitting up taller, and his facial expressions are shut down.
"I told you, you can record it if you want."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
I shrug. "Yeah, it's fine. I didn't do anything wrong. I mean, I did, but not in the way you all seem to think."
"Not all of us, Sadie."
"Well, maybe not you, but that's because you want to get into my pants."
"I can neither confirm nor deny that statement." A tense smile spreads across his face.
He gets up and rummages around upstairs for a few minutes. I wonder if he's looking for a recorder or something. While he's gone, I close my eyes, thinking about what just happened. Nearly happened. It was seriously some of the hottest—I don't even know what you call it—that I've ever done. And with Fitzy, no less.
But he can't be the one I've been waiting for, can he? Don't I want Max? Wait, yes I do. I think. Maybe. I'm so confused. I've been waiting my whole life for Fitzy. My whole life, I've been waiting. I will never feel good enough for him. He's that perfect, that unattainable dream. He's been on such a pedestal in my world that I don't know if we could ever have a fair and equal partnership. I look around at his place. Our styles are so different. Our lives are so different. Thank goodness I stopped it when I did.
He's back, dressed in work clothes. This time, it's a gray shirt with charcoal pants. Everything of his is very color coordinated. "We need to go into the station." I start to object but he continues. "I know you don't want to, but this way it will be official. Plus, there's something I need to show you."
Even though I know he's right, I'm not happy about it. I follow him to the station. We head back into the interrogation room. Fitzy doesn't ask but brings me a cup of coffee. Then he sits down opposite me and waits.
I tell him the events of the "night in question." I admit that Jenna inflicted harm on herself and that rather than helping her, I threw her out.
After a bit, he stops me. "Why? You're trained in this, being a high school teacher. Why didn't you take her threat seriously?"
"Because I was mad."
"About?"
"About my bathroom. And my brand new towels. Jeez, it sounds ridiculous, I know. But it's just a symbol of yet another thing my sister ruined for me. Anytime I have something good and beautiful in my life, she swoops in and takes it away. It doesn't matter how hard I work for it, or what it means to me, she makes it her mission to take it away from me. I sort of snapped."
"Why do you think that?"
"Years of evidence. The role in the school play. First chair clarinet. My job at the library—and she doesn't even like books! Rob. Then my house. Do you know how many hours of blood, sweat, and tears I put into the bathroom?"
He just sits there, looking at me. His hands are folded in front of his mouth, and he's resting his elbows on the table. I'm glad he's covering those delectable lips so I'm not distracted.
"So, with her being missing, all signs indicate that she went through with the suicide, and it is my fault. I didn't stop her when I had the chance." The tears really start now. My sister is dead, and I did nothing to stop it.
"But that's not the same as killing her."
"I never said I killed her. I said she was dead, and it was my fault."
"That's why you think she's in the lake?"
"Yeah. Where else would she be?"
"That's a good question."
"You know, this ..." I can't go on.
Fitzy is patient for a minute and then nudges gently. "This what?"
Exhaling, I start. "You know about the visions or whatever they are. The premonitions. The dreams." The dream with my dad runs fresh in my head. "Sometimes I say something, and then it happens. I have no control over it. Something pops into my head, and then it's real."
"Yeah, we've talked about this before."
"I don't know if there's like a clairvoyant boot camp or something where I can learn, but I have no control over these things. But as it happens more and more, I'm starting to worry that me saying these things is causing them to happen. I know it's irrational, but maybe there are things out there that we don't understand. Maybe in some sense, it is totally rational."
He just raises his eyebrow. Yep, he thinks I'm certifiable.
"What if, this time, because I was feeling so negatively toward Jenna, what if I
caused
her death?"
"Like ..." he's speechless.
"Like a curse or something."
Finally, he's found what he wants to say. Leaning back in his chair, he puts his elbows behind his head. His body language is relaxed. That's got to be a good sign, right? I mean, you wouldn't be relaxed around someone you thought could kill you with her mind.
"Sadie, there's something we need to show you." He gives some sort of signal to the window. A few moments later, Detective Abbott enters. She's carrying a red, leather-bound journal of some sort. She tosses it on the table in front of me and then perches on the edge of the table, right next to Fitzy.
"Am I supposed to know what this is?" I look at the journal.
"Go ahead, check it out." Fitzy seems pleased. Detective Abbott does not seem amused. Not that she ever does.
It's Rob's journal. The spindly handwriting brings me back. Not because he sent me many cards, but because I often read his class notes and grades on papers. We spent much of our couple time, side-by-side, grading. There are a few pages marked by tabs, which draw my attention first. The first marked entry is from last October. He describes the pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage. He was relieved. I always thought he was, but here it is, in his hand. I'm not going to lie. It hurts to read it. But I was surprised at the following entries. Regrets. He had regrets. He felt guilty that he hadn't been supportive. He felt that I was pulling away. I skim through a few pages. What I don't see is any mention of my sister. He talks about asking me to marry him. About picking out the ring.
He was going to propose at the bed and breakfast.
Holy crap.
I look up, stunned. "I ... I don't understand."
Detective Abbott chimes in. "Notice anything missing?"
It takes me a minute or two but then it clicks. "Yeah, for someone who wrote down a lot, there's no mention of his mistress."
Fitzy chimes in. "Not only doesn't he mention her, it seems unlikely that he would have proposed to her, when he clearly indicates that he bought the ring for you."
"Unless he bought two rings or something." I cannot wrap my head around this. He was distant after the miscarriage because I was pulling away?
Had I been? He bought the ring for me? Things are so confusing right now.
"But I don't understand. I mean, he was with Jenna when he died, and there was, er, ah, evidence of activity."
"We're still investigating that." Detective Abbott looks smug. Like she's enjoying this. Enjoying seeing me twist in the wind. After a few moments she continues. "We would be very interested to talk with your sister."
"Unless you call Dionne Warwick's Psychic Friends' Network, I think you're going to have trouble with that."
Fitzy starts laughing. "Psychic Friends' Network? What do you think this is, 1989? Try Long Island Medium."
"So sue me that I'm not in the correct decade."
"Or century."
"Or millennium." Holy cow, does Detective Abbott have a sense of humor? Her mouth is twisting involuntarily. It appears to be a smile. I didn't think she was capable.
"What about the knife and towels in my dumpster?"
Detective Abbott cuts Fitzy off. "We'll be the ones asking questions here. We don't disclose the information from ongoing investigations."
Fitzy gives her a look and then gives me a small smile. "While they were an interesting find, we also found blood evidence in Jenna's apartment. We also found that first aid had been applied, and it appeared that Jenna left her apartment after treating her wounds. There's also other firm evidence backing up your story. But, let's keep that in this room." Then he gives me a wink.
"So you don't think I'm a murderer?"
"Ms. Perkins, we're done with questioning. You can leave." Apparently Detective Abbott is done with me.
"Do I have to surrender my passport or anything?" I look from her to Fitzy and back again.
"No, you're not a suspect. While some crimes may have been committed, we don't think you perpetrated any of them. You are free to go."
She doesn't have to tell me twice.
Therese has managed to sneak away from her little terrors to help me shop for something to wear to my dad's services. I probably have something in my closet, but a lot of stuff is still packed up, so finding it might be difficult. It seems like too much effort, not that shopping isn't.
"You seem in good shape. I mean, considering how close you and your dad were." Therese's rear end is all I can see, since her head and torso are buried in a rack of clothes. I'm not sure what she's looking for. I don't think she knows either.
"I'm sure I'll lose it at one point or another. In some ways, this is easier because he's been gone for over four years. Really. Part of me, a big part, is glad that he's no longer trapped in that bed. He was alive, but he hasn't lived since the stroke."
"You have a point. What about this?" Therese holds up a sensible pants suit. In theory it's fine. I hate it. There is no excuse ever for a pants suit.
In the end, I find a black boat neck dress that hits just at my knees and has some pleating at the straight waist. It's very Coco Chanel, not that I expect anyone to ask. I find a pair of Clarks that are surprisingly stylish as well as comfortable—black patent leather peep toe pumps. I know it will be a long few days of standing. I wonder if I can get Max to rub my feet.
That is, if he still wants me.
"What if he doesn't?"
"Huh? What are you talking about?" Therese is digging through another rack, looking at blouses. She hands me a white sleeveless blouse with small black polka dots and a black pencil skirt. "This will be good for the wake. What were you talking about?"
"Much better than that pants suit. I was thinking about Max and if he'd be willing to rub my feet, and then I started to worry that he might not still want me."
"Do you want him?"
"Yes. Maybe. I think I do," I say breezily.
"And what about Fitzy?" She doesn't know about the Hitler-mustache, escapade on the bathroom sink. My brain still cannot process what that man was able to do with his teeth.
Once she's filled in, Therese sinks onto a display at the feet of the mannequins, and fans herself.
"Do you need a moment?"
"I might. Knowing Andy, if he ever tried that, he'd get his lip stuck in my zipper, and we'd have to try and explain that at the E.R." She pauses, fanning herself some more. "Tell me why you stopped Fitzy again? Why are you still thinking about Max? Haven't you been waiting for this ever since you hit puberty?"
"I dunno. I guess I've had Max on the brain so much that I don't know how to downshift to Fitzy. Or if I want to. God, Fitzy has me so confused. You know, that's part of why I stopped. I've put him up on such a pedestal that I don't think he can ever live up to it. Max is safer. Much safer. Plus, there was the dream." I fill her in on that. "And, you know, I think it means he's not the right one."
"Fitzy's Team Jacob." Therese has managed to pull herself together, and we're standing in line to check out. I like the clothes at this store, but it always seems like a challenge to find someone to take my money. The cashiers are never at the counters, and when they are, they make themselves busy doing anything but ringing up my stuff. Sometimes I just want to yell, WILL YOU PLEASE TAKE MY MONEY?
"What?" She's lost me.
"He's Jacob. You're Bella and Max is Edward. I mean, minus the vampire-werewolf thing."
I mull over the ways my life parallels
Twilight
while the lady finally rings up my stuff. "You're right. And, ironically, I was always and will always be Team Jacob. I didn't want her to end up with Edward. But I think I now understand. She just couldn't love Jacob. Not like that."
"Wow, deep."
I swat at her with my purse. "But now, what if Max doesn't want me? I've given him the brush off so many times. What if there's no heat between us? What if I can't forget Fitzy?"
"If 'ifs' and 'ands' were pots and pans, a herd of elephants couldn't piss them full."
"If 'ifs' and 'buts' were candy and nuts, it'd be Christmas every day."
"You'll never know until you talk to him."
This is why Therese is my friend.
We head out into the mall and down the escalator to the coffee shop. I need some time to sit and rest before heading back to my mom's. "So, Fitzy and the rest of the police know about the miscarriage."
"Wait, what? How?"
Therese is as shocked as I was to find out about Rob's journal. Neither one of us can make sense of why he never mentioned Jenna.
"But she had the journal—they found it in her car, so that says something too."
Therese is quiet for a minute, which is a lot for her. "Are you going to tell Max about the miscarriage?"
"I already did, a while back. It didn't seem to freak him out or anything. On the other hand, he had just witnessed the Jenna show so, by comparison, I wasn't bad."
"I think Max is good people."
"You know, I think so too. I don't know why he hasn't settled down with anyone. Maybe that's his flaw. He doesn't want to settle down." But even as I say it, it doesn't ring true. He seems too into the relationship be a commitment phobe. There's got to be a story there. Funny, we've never talked about it.
"So, have you talked to him yet?"
"Yeah, I called him ... I guess it was this morning. Gee, so much has happened today. What time is it?" My eyes are gritty with fatigue.
"It's 7:45. We need to sit here for fifteen more minutes. I can't go home until after I know the kids will be in bed."
"Will Andy put them down?"
"He'll try. I hope. He'd better. So, what did Max say?"
"Just the usual, 'Oh my God, Sadie, are you okay?' It seems like I'm mid-crisis every time I talk to him. He told me to let him know if I need anything. I wonder if he'll come with me to the services?"
"You're asking him out to a funeral? Are you hoping to get condolence sex?"
I stop dead in my tracks. "Condolence sex? What the hell is that?"
"You know, when you have sex with someone who's grieving. Like, to offer condolences."
"I mean, I usually just send a card, but your way sounds ... slutty."
"And fun. You need to start having some fun. You've been a stick in the mud too long. You need to get wild and crazy and freaky, and then tell me everything."
"Um, Therese, my dad just died. My sister is missing and may or may not be dead, and I've only just been cleared of suspicion of foul play. Getting freaky has not been high on my to-do list."
"You need to change it to a do-me list."
"Therese!" I whack her with my shopping bag. She starts giggling, then I do too. "And," I gasp, "What am I supposed to say? Hey Max, even though there was another explorer heading south of the equator, you're the only one I want exploring my South Pole?"
She stops dead. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
I blush. "You ... know."
"Wow. You are so bad at this. Please don't ever try to talk dirty to another human being. Please."
I'm laughing again. This is just what I need. Stuff's going to get serious and heavy, and I need a little laugh. Or a lot of laugh. "So I can't call him up and ask if he wants to be my Amundsen?"
"I don't even know what that sentence means."
"Roald Amundsen is the Norwegian who first discovered the South Pole."
"I thought it was that Scott guy?"
"Nope, Amundsen made it there first."
"You are a nerd."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I'm a history teacher. My greatest joy in life is restoring an old home. I am a nerd, and I'm proud of it. So, thank you."
"Now if only you could add the right man to that mix."
"If only."