John Hart - Down River

“I don’t…” He was lost, so I drove the point home.

“Two hours after Miriam rented that car, someone stepped from behind a tree and beat Grace with a club.”

He looked at the card, looked at me. Janice squeezed his arm so hard I thought she might draw blood. “But what about Danny’s ring? The note…?”

“She probably kept the ring when she killed Danny. She may have left it with Grace as some kind of strange message. Or maybe, like the note, she was covering her tracks, hiding the true nature of Grace’s assault. The ring implied that Danny was involved in the attack, even that he was still alive. If people didn’t buy that, or if Danny’s body was found, then the note would steer them to people with a stake on the river. I think it was simple misdirection. Something she learned from watching her mother.”

My father looked at his wife.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He picked up the card and our eyes met. He tried to speak, but gave up when nothing came. Janice pulled herself up by my father’s sleeve. He looked at her one last time, then turned like a very old man, and left. Janice bent her head and trailed in his wake.

I waited until their footsteps died away, then reached for the morphine trigger. I pushed the button and warmth gushed into me. I kept my thumb on the trigger, even after the morphine ceased to flow.

My eyes glazed.

The button clicked in the empty room.

Robin returned as the sun fell through the earth. She kissed me and asked how it went. I told her everything and she was silent for a long time. She opened her phone and made some calls. “He hasn’t called,” she said. “Not Salisbury P.D. Not the sheriff’s office.”

“He may not.”

“You okay with that?”

“I don’t know anymore. I hate what Janice did to me, but Miriam was her daughter. She did what she felt she had to do.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’ve never had a child, so I can only imagine, but I’d lie for Grace. I’d lie for you. I’d do worse, if necessary.”

“Sweet talker.” She stretched out on the bed with me, put her head on the pillow next to mine.

“About New York,” I said.

“Don’t ask me about that yet.”

“I thought you’d made your choice.”

“I did. But that doesn’t mean that you get to make every decision for the rest of our lives.” She was trying to keep it light.

“I really can’t stay here,” I said.

Her head turned on the pillow. “Ask me about Dolf.”

“Tell me.”

“The D.A. is close to dropping the charges. Most people think he has no choice. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Soon?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

I thought of Dolf, pictured the way he’d turn his face to the sun when he walked out.

“Have you seen Grace yet?” she asked.

“She’s still in ICU and they’re limiting visitation. But that’s okay. I’m not ready.”

“You’ll confront your father and Janice, but you’re hesitant to talk to Grace? I don’t understand.”

“She’ll need time to get her head around this. Besides, it’s hard.”

“Why?”

“I have something to lose with Grace. I had nothing left to lose with my father.” She stiffened beside me. “What?” I asked.

“Not very long ago, I’d have said the same thing about you.”

“That’s different.”

She rolled onto her side. “Life is short, Adam. We don’t get many people that truly matter. We should do whatever it takes to hang onto the ones we have.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that we all make mistakes.”

We lay in the darkened room and at one point I drifted. Her voice startled me. “Why did Miriam agree to marry George Tallman?”

“I talked to him this morning. He was pretty messed up. I asked him how it happened. He’d been in love with her for years. They went out, but she would never say yes. She called him on the day before she left for Colorado. She told him to ask her again, and she said yes, just like that. He already had the ring.

“It was Janice’s idea, I think. If the body did turn up, few would suspect a cop’s fiancée. She didn’t plan to go through with it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The first thing she did when she got back was send him shopping with her mother so she could sneak back here and beat the hell out of Grace. He was cover. That’s all he would ever be.”

“It’s sad,” Robin said.

“I know.”

Robin closed her eyes, pushed closer. She slipped her hand under my shirt. Her palm lay cool on my chest. “Tell me about New York,” she said.

I got out of the hospital on the same day that Dolf got out of jail. He picked me up and drove us to the edge of the quarry outside of town. The granite was gray in the shade, pink where the light touched it. Crutches dug into my arms as I stood and looked down on clear water in the bottom of the quarry. Dolf closed his eyes and held his face to the sun. “This is what I thought about while I was inside,” he said. “Not the farm or the river. This place, and I’ve not been here for decades.”

“No memories here,” I said. “No ghosts.”

“And it’s pretty.”

“I don’t want to talk about my father,” I said, and looked at him. “That’s the real reason you brought me here. Isn’t it? So you could do his dirty work for him.”

Dolf leaned against the truck. “I would do anything for your father. Would you like to know why?”

I turned and started limping down the hill. “I’m not going to listen to this.”

“It’s a long way back to town.”

“I’ll make it.”

“Damn it, Adam.” Dolf caught my arm. “He’s human. He messed up. It was a long time ago.” I pulled my arm away, but he kept talking. “Sarah Yates was young and beautiful and willing. He made a mistake.”

“Some mistakes you have to pay for,” I said.

“I asked if you’d like to know why. Well, I’m going to tell you. It’s because he’s the best man I’ve ever known. Being his friend has been a privilege, a goddamn honor. You’re blind if you don’t see that.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion.”

“Do you know what he sees when he looks at Grace? He sees a grown woman and a lifetime of memories, an amazing human being that would not be here without the mistake you’re so ready to damn him for. He sees the hand of God.”

“And I see the death of the finest woman I ever knew.”

“Things happen for a reason, Adam. The hand of God is everywhere. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

I turned, started walking, and knew that he was right about one thing. It was a long way back to town.

I spent the next four days at Robin’s place. We ordered in. We drank wine. We did not talk about death or forgiveness or the future. I told her all that I could about New York City.

We read the papers together.

The shooting was big news, and articles ran across the state. Red Water Farm was described as a North Carolina landmark. Three bodies in five years. Six towers. Billions at stake. It did not take long for the wire services to pick it up. One enterprising reporter wrapped the story into a larger piece about nuclear power, rural desecration, and the price of unstoppable growth. Others spoke of obstructionism. Editorials ran hot in all of the major papers. People clamored for my father to sell. Environmentalists protested. The situation escalated.

On the fourth day, the power company announced that it had settled on a secondary site in South Carolina. Better water supply, they claimed. Just as convenient. But I had my own suspicions. Too much controversy. Too much heat.

In the wake of the announcement, a stunned silence rippled across the county. I felt the pop of vacuum as imaginary wealth was sucked back into the ether. That was the day I called Parks. The day I decided to put the problems aside and do what I could to help. We met for coffee at a restaurant ten miles down the interstate. After a few cautious words, he asked me to get to the point.