John Hart - Down River

“If she said anything, we need to know what it is.”

I took in the faces around me. What Grace had said was for me, and I felt no need to share it. But Robin put her hand on my arm. “I have vouched for you, Adam. Do you understand what that means?”

I pushed lightly past her and looked in on Grace. She had curled into a ball, her back to the world outside. I still felt the hot slide of her tears as she’d pressed against me. I spoke to Grantham, but put my eyes on my father. I told them exactly what she said.

“She said that she was sorry.”

My father slumped.

“Sorry for what?” Grantham asked.

I’d told them the truth, exactly what she’d said; but interpreting that apology was not my problem. So, I offered an explanation that I knew he would accept, even though it was a lie.

“When we were at the river, she said that she hated me. I imagine that she was apologizing for that.”

He looked thoughtful. “That’s it?” he asked. “That’s all she said?”

“That’s it.”

Robin and Grantham looked at each other and there was a moment of unspoken communication between them. Then Robin spoke. “There are a few other things we’d like to discuss with you. Outside, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” I said, and turned for the exit. I took only two steps before I heard my father say my name. His hands were palms up, his face drawn down by the realization that Grace would be unlikely to embrace the man who’d so abused her. There was no forgiveness in my face as I met his eyes. He took half a step and said my name again, a question, a plea, and for a moment I thought about it; he was in pain, full of sudden regret and of the years that had marched so implacably between us.

“I don’t think so,” I said, and walked out.

I looked for Jamie as we hit the night air, and I saw him at the edge of the lot. He sat behind the wheel of a darkened truck. He took a swallow from a bottle and did not get out. An ambulance pulled in, lights off.

“I need a cigarette,” Grantham said, and walked off to find one.

We watched his back, and stood in the kind of awkward silence that troubled people know so well. I heard a horn, a light burst from Jamie’s truck. He pointed to his right, at the entrance to the emergency lot. I turned to see a long, black car slide through the narrow, concrete barrier and pull to a stop. The engine died. Two doors opened and they stepped out: Miriam, my sister, and a thickset man in black boots and a police uniform. They both saw me at the same time and stopped. Miriam looked startled and stayed by the car. The man with her grinned and came over.

“Adam,” he said, and took me by the hand, pumping it fiercely.

“George.”

George Tallman had been a hanger-on for as long as I could remember. He was a few years my junior, and had been much better friends with Danny than with me. I retrieved my hand and studied him. He was six feet two, maybe two ten, with thick, sandy hair and round, brown eyes. He was solid, not fat, and had a handshake he was proud of.

“The last time I saw you with a gun, George, you were drunk and trying to shoot beer cans off a stump with an air rifle.”

He glanced at Robin and his eyes narrowed. The smile fell off. “That was a long time ago, Adam.”

“He’s not really a cop,” Robin said.

For an instant George looked angry, but it passed. “I do school outreach,” he said. “Give presentations to the kids, talk about drugs.” He looked at Robin. “And I am a cop.” His voice remained even. “Bullets and everything.”

I heard tentative footsteps and turned to see Miriam. She looked pale in loose slacks and a long-sleeved shirt. She gave me a nervous smile, but her eyes were not without hope. She had matured, but did not look like her portrait. “Hello, Miriam,” I said.

“Hi, Adam.”

I gave her a hug, felt the bones of her. She squeezed back, but I could tell that doubt still troubled her. She and Gray Wilson had been good friends. My trial for his murder had cut her deeply. I gave her an extra squeeze, then let her go. The moment I stepped away, George filled the void. His arm settled across her shoulders and he pulled her against his side. This surprised me. He used to follow Miriam around like a barely tolerated puppy.

“We’re engaged,” he said.

I looked down, saw the ring on her hand: a small diamond in yellow gold. Five years, I reminded myself. Things change. “Congratulations,” I said.

Miriam looked uncomfortable. “This is not really the time and place to talk about that,” she said.

He squeezed her tighter, blew out through his nose, and looked up from the ground. “You’re right,” he said.

I glanced back to the car, a shining, black Lincoln. “Where’s Janice?” I asked.

Miriam began. “She wanted to come-”

“We took her home,” George interrupted.

“Why?” I asked, knowing the answer.

George hesitated. “The hour,” he said. “The circumstances.”

“Meaning me?” I said.

Miriam shrank under the words, as George finished the thought. “She says this damns you like the trial failed to do.”

Miriam spoke. “I told her that was unfair.”

I let it go. I let it all go. I studied my sister: the bent neck, the thin shoulders. She risked a glance, then dropped her eyes again. “I told her, Adam. She just wouldn’t listen.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “How about you? Are you okay?”

Hair moved on her head as she nodded. “Bad memories,” she said, and I understood. My unexpected return was baring old wounds.

“I’ll get over it,” she said, then turned to her fiancé. “I need to speak to my father. I’m glad to see you, Adam.”

They left, and I watched them. At the door, Miriam looked back at me; her chin settled on her shoulder and her eyes were large and black and troubled.

I looked at Robin. “You don’t care for George, I take it.”

“Lack of commitment,” she said. “Come on. We still have things to discuss.”

I followed her to Grantham’s car, which was parked on the side street. The cigarette was half-smoked and stained his face orange each time he took a drag. He dropped the butt in the gutter and his face fell into shadow.

“Tell me about the trail by the river,” he said.

“It goes south, along the river, to Grace’s house.”

“And beyond that?”

“It’s old, a Sapona Indian trail, and it goes for miles. It runs beyond Grace’s house to the edge of the farm, then through a neighboring farm and several small properties with fishing cabins on them. After that, I don’t know.”

“How about to the north?”

“It’s about the same.”

“Do people come through there? Hikers? Fishermen?”

“Occasionally.”

He nodded. “Grace was attacked about a half mile from the dock, where the trail bends hard to the north. What can you tell me about that area?”

“The trees are thick there, but not deep. It’s really just a band of forest along the river. Above the trees, it’s pasture.”

“So, whoever did this most likely came along the trail.”

“Or off the river,” I said

“But you’d have seen that.”

I was already shaking my head. “I was only on the dock for a few minutes. But there was a woman.”

“What woman?”

I described what I’d seen: the white hair, the canoe. “But she went upstream, not down.”

“Do you know her?”

I pictured the face, a middle-aged woman that looked young. Something familiar. “No,” I said.

Grantham made a note. “We’ll check on it. She may have seen something. Someone in another boat, a man. He could have seen Grace, and put a boat ashore downriver. She’s beautiful, half-dressed on a lonely stretch of river…”