John Hart - Down River

“So what now?” I asked.

“Now, I take you home.”

“Not to my father’s house.”

She leaned closer and a glimmer of the old warmth appeared in her eyes. A smile flirted on the lines of her mouth. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” she said.

We moved around her car, and I spoke over the roof. “I’m not here to stay.”

“No,” she said heavily. “Of course not.”

“Robin…”

“Get in the car, Adam.”

I opened the door and sank into the car. It was a big sedan, a cop car. I looked at the radios and the laptop, the shotgun locked to the dash. I was wiped. Painkillers. Exhaustion. The seat seemed to swallow me up, and I watched the dark streets as Robin drove.

“Not much of a homecoming,” she said.

“Could have been worse.”

She nodded, and I felt her eyes on me, brief glances when the road straightened out. “It’s good to see you, Adam. It’s hard but good.” She nodded again, as if still trying to convince herself. “I wasn’t sure that it would ever happen again.”

“Me neither.”

“That leaves the big question.”

“Which is?” I knew the question, I just didn’t like it.

“Why, Adam? The question is why. It’s been five years. Nobody’s heard a word from you.”

“Do I need a reason for coming home?”

“Nothing happens in a vacuum. You should know that better than most.”

“That’s just cop talk. Sometimes there is no reason.”

“I don’t believe that.” Resentment hung on her features. She waited, but I did not know what to say. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said.

A silence fell between us as wind bent around the car. The tires hammered against a sudden spot of rough pavement.

“Were you planning to call me?” she asked.

“Robin-”

“Never mind. Forget it.”

More wordless time, an awkwardness that daunted both of us.

“Why were you at that motel?”

I thought about how much to tell her, and decided that I had to square things with my father first. If I couldn’t make it right with him, I couldn’t make it right with her. “Do you have any idea where Danny Faith might be?” I asked.

I was changing the subject and she knew it. She let it go. “You know about his girlfriend?” she asked. I nodded and she shrugged. “He wouldn’t be the first bottom-of-the-heap reprobate to hide from an arrest warrant. He’ll turn up. People like him usually do.”

I looked at her face, the hard lines. “You never liked Danny.” It was an accusation.

“He’s a loser,” she said. “A gambler and a hard drinker with a violent streak a mile wide. How could I like him? He dragged you down, fed your dark side. Bar fights. Brawls. He made you forget the good things you had.” She shook her head. “I thought you’d outgrow Danny. You were always too good for him.”

“He’s had my back since the fourth grade, Robin. You don’t walk away from friends like that.”

“Yet you did.” She left the rest unsaid, but I felt it.

Just like you walked away from me.

I looked out the window. There was nothing I could say that would take away the hurt. She knew I’d had no choice.

“What the hell have you been doing, Adam? Five years. A lifetime. People said you were in New York, but other than that, nobody knows anything. Seriously, what the hell have you been doing?”

“Does it matter?” I asked, because to me it did not.

“Of course it matters.”

She could never understand, and I didn’t want her pity. I kept the loneliness bottled up, kept the story simple. “I tended bar for a while, worked in some gyms, worked for the parks. Just odd jobs. Nothing lasted more than a month or two.”

I saw her disbelief, heard the disappointment in her voice. “Why would you waste your time working jobs like that? You’re smart. You have money. You could have gone to school, become anything.”

“It was never about money or getting ahead. I didn’t care about that.”

“What, then?”

I couldn’t look at her. The things I’d lost could never be replaced. I shouldn’t have to spell that out. Not to her. “Temporary jobs take no thought,” I said, and paused. “Do that kind of stuff long enough, and even the years can blur.”

“Jesus, Adam.”

“You don’t have the right to judge me, Robin. We both made choices. I had to live with yours. It’s not fair to condemn me for mine.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

We rode in silence. “What about Zebulon Faith?” I finally asked.

“It’s a county matter.”

“Yet, here you are. A city detective.”

“The sheriff’s office took the call. But I have friends there. They called me when your name came up.”

“They remember me that well?”

“Nobody’s forgotten, Adam. Law enforcement least of all.”

I bit down on angry words. It’s the way people were: quick to judge and long to remember.

“Did they find Faith?” I asked.

“He ran before the deputies arrived, but they found the other two. I’m surprised you didn’t see them at the hospital.”

“Are they under arrest?”

Robin looked sideways at me. “All the deputies found were three men lying in the parking lot. You’ll have to swear out a warrant if you want somebody arrested.”

“Great. That’s great. And the damage done to my car?”

“Same thing.”

“Perfect.”

I watched Robin as she drove. She’d aged, but still looked good. There was no ring on her finger, which saddened me. If she was alone in this world, part of it was my fault. “What the hell was that all about anyway? I knew I’d have a target on my back, but I didn’t expect to get jumped the first day back in town.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. That old bastard has always been mean-spirited, but it’s like he was looking for an excuse.”

“He probably was.”

“I haven’t seen him in years. His son and I are friends.”

She laughed bitterly, and shook her head. “I tend to forget that there’s a world outside of Rowan County. No reason for you to know, I guess. But it’s been the deal around here for months. The power company. Your father. It’s torn the town in two.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The state is growing. The power company plans to build a new nuclear facility to compensate. They’re looking at numerous sites, but Rowan County is the first choice. They need the water, so it has to be on the river. It would take a thousand acres, and everybody else has agreed to sell. But they need a big chunk of Red Water Farm to make it work. Four or five hundred acres, I think. They’ve offered five times what it’s worth, but he won’t sell. Half the town loves him. Half the town hates him. If he holds out, the power company will pull the plug and move on to some other place.”

She shrugged. “People are getting laid off. Plants are closing. It’s a billion-dollar facility. Your father is standing in the way.”

“You sound like you want the plant to come.”

“I work for the city. It’s hard to ignore the possible benefits.”

“And Zebulon Faith?”

“He owns thirty acres on the river. That’s seven figures if the deal goes through. He’s been vocal. Things have gotten ugly. People are angry, and it’s not just the jobs or the tax base. It’s big business. Concrete companies. Grading contractors. Builders. There’s a lot of money to be made and people are getting desperate. Your father is a rich man. Most people think he’s being selfish.”

I pictured my father. “He won’t sell.”

“The money will get bigger. The pressure, too. A lot of folks are leaning on him.”

“You said that it’s gotten ugly. How ugly?”