John Hart - Down River

“Sky.”

“Jesus.”

“She wanted me to take the child, but I had a new family.” He paused. “I’d already lost one wife. I didn’t want to lose another. But she was my daughter…”

“So you bribed Dolf to raise her. You gave him two hundred acres to help hide your secret.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Don’t-”

“The land was for Grace to inherit! She deserved it. None of this was her fault. As for Dolf, he was lonely. He wanted the job.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true. His wife left him years ago. He never sees his own daughter. Grace has done great things for him.”

“Even though it’s all a lie.”

“He was in a dark place, son. We all were after your mother died. That child was like the sun rising.”

“Does Grace know?”

“Not yet.”

“Where’s Janice?” I asked.

“She already knows, son. I told her. There’s no need to drag her into this.”

“I want to see her.”

“You want to hurt me. I understand.”

“This is not about you. We’re done with that. This is something else entirely.”

“What do you mean?”

“Get Janice,” I said. “Then we’ll talk.”

New pain flooded his face. “I killed her daughter last night. She’s sedated, and even if she weren’t, I doubt that she is ready to speak with either one of us. She’s not doing well at all.”

“I need her to be here.”

“Why, for God’s sake? None of this was her fault, either.”

I felt disconnected from his suffering. “Tell her that I’d like to talk about Florida.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Just do it.”

Grantham came an hour later, and I gave my statement. He pushed for details on the shooting and I told him that my father had had no choice. That was no favor to the old man, just simple truth.

Grace or Miriam.

Hard, brutal choice.

He also wanted to talk more about the death of Zebulon Faith. He wanted to know why I had a shotgun in the trunk of my car. But that was another county. Not even his case. I told him to leave me alone, and he had no choice but to comply. I was not Danny’s killer. Nor was I Zebulon Faith’s. He knew that now.

When he left, I thought I might go for the morphine after all, push the button before I did what I had to do. I was in such agony that, at times, it made me shake. I almost folded, but Robin called and the sound of her voice helped. “It’s been over three hours,” she said.

“Patience,” I told her, and tried to will it on myself.

They showed up two hours later.

My father.

My stepmother.

She looked worse, if possible, than he did. Her lids drooped and one hand clutched at air as if she saw something to hold on to where the rest of us did not. Uneven lipstick, hair in disarray. It looked like he’d pulled her straight out of bed. But when she sat and faced me, I saw the fear in her, and knew, then, that I was right.

“Close the door,” I said to my father. He closed it and sat. I faced Janice. I wanted to be angry, and part of me was. The rest, however, was overcome by melancholy.

She was a mother first, and she had her reasons.

“Let’s talk about the night that Gray Wilson was killed.”

Janice started to rise, then stopped. She sank back down. “I don’t understand…”

“Miriam was covered in his blood. She brought it into the house after she killed him. That’s why you said it was me. That’s why you testified against me. To protect Miriam.”

“What?” Her eyes went wide and white. Hands clawed into the fabric of her skirt.

“If you said it was somebody else, and the cops found blood in the house, then the story would collapse. It could not be a stranger. It had to be someone with access to the house. Upstairs, especially. It couldn’t be Jamie or my father. It had to be me. I was the only one you weren’t close to.”

My father finally stirred, but I raised a hand before he could speak. “I always thought you believed it. I thought you saw someone that you honestly mistook for me.” I paused. “But that’s not it. You had to testify against me. Just in case.”

My father spoke. “Are you insane?”

“No. I’m not.”

Janice put her hands on the chair and pushed herself up. “I refuse to listen to this,” she said. “Jacob, I’d like to go home.”

I pulled the postcard from beneath the sheet, held it up so that she could see it. One hand settled at her throat, the other reached for the chair. “Sit down,” I said. And she did.

“What’s that?” my father asked.

“Gray Wilson, unfortunately, is ancient history. Dead and buried. I can’t prove a thing. But this”-I waved the card-“this is a different matter.”

“Jacob…” She reached for his arm, fingers curling around his wrist. My father repeated the question. “What is that?”

“This is choice,” I said to him. “Your choice.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Whatever demons pursued Miriam, they’d been after her for a long time, and Janice knew all about them. Why she hid them, I can’t pretend to understand. But Miriam was sick. She killed Gray Wilson because she thought she loved him and because he didn’t want anything to do with her. Same thing with Danny Faith.” I paused. “The knob is hard to get to. You’d need a truck for the body, and Danny was a large man.”

“What are you talking about?” my father asked.

“Miriam couldn’t get Danny into that hole all by herself.”

“No,” he said. But he knew. I saw it in his face.

“I don’t think Miriam mailed this card, either.” I flipped the card so he could read the back. Having a blast, it said. “It was mailed after Danny died.”

“This is ridiculous,” Janice said.

“Janice took Miriam to Colorado within a day or two of Danny’s death. You can route through Florida on your way to Denver. I made some phone calls this morning. An hour and forty minutes to change planes. Plenty of time to drop a postcard in the mail. The police can verify the travel itinerary. The dates will match.” I held my father’s eyes. “I doubt that this card has Miriam’s prints on it.”

My father was silent for a long time. “It’s not true,” Janice said. “Jacob…”

He did not look at her. “What does any of this have to do with choice?”

“Whoever mailed this card was trying to conceal the fact that Danny was dead. The police will want to speak with the person that mailed this card.”

He came to his feet, voice loud, and Janice twitched when he spoke.

“What choice, goddamn it?”

The moment drew out, and I took no pleasure in it. But it had to be done. Too many wrongs littered the road behind us: betrayal and lies; murder and complicity. A mountain of grief.

I placed the card on the edge of the bed.

“I’m giving it to you,” I said. “Burn it. Hand it over to the police. Give it to her.” I pointed to Janice and she shrank away. “Your choice.”

They both stared at the card. Nobody touched it.

“You made other phone calls?” he asked. “What other calls?”

“Janice and Miriam flew back from Colorado the night before Grace was attacked. They stayed the night in a hotel in downtown Charlotte. George drove in the next morning and spent the day with Janice-”

“He took me shopping,” Janice interrupted.

“And Miriam stayed behind.”

“At the hotel,” Janice said.

I shook my head. “She rented a car two hours before Grace was attacked. A green Taurus. License plate ZXF-839. The police know about that, too.”

“What are you saying?” my father asked.

“I’m saying that she was still angry about Danny. She’d had eighteen days to think about Grace and Danny together, about how Danny dumped her for Grace. I’m saying she was still angry about that.”