Barbara Sissel - Safe Keeping

She watched Tucker’s feet dance under the table. He looked rough, as if he hadn’t slept or had a decent meal in any one of the twelve days he’d been gone. Mud rimmed the sole of one tennis shoe, the hem of one leg of his jeans. She noticed a cut beneath his right eye, a tiny, upside-down crescent moon inked in blood.

She leaned against the counter. “What were you doing in Austin?”

“Helping out a friend.”

“What friend?”

“You don’t know him. Guy’s got a band—he’s looking for a bass guitarist. I might go on the road with them.”

Lissa kept Tucker’s gaze, and he hung in with her, not letting hers go this time, and she was somehow relieved. Liars couldn’t look you in the eye. She said, “A man with a band, huh? I figured it would be one of your stray-dog friends.”

“Not this time.”

Lissa went to the pantry. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Nah. Thanks. I stopped at Mickey D’s on the way here. I’d take a cup of coffee, though, if it’s no trouble.”

“Since when do you drink coffee?”

“Since it got colder than hell outside.” The grin he shot her was surface, a token meant to placate her. It didn’t.

“You need to call Mom and Dad, Tuck.”

“I’ll call Mom, but I’ve got nothing to say to the old man.”

Lissa could have asked him right then why the police were looking for him, but she didn’t. Instead, she rinsed out the carafe while he told her about his Tahoe, that it had died coming back into town and that he’d gotten lucky when a girl pulled off the road to help him.

“Did you know her?” Lissa asked.

“I do now,” Tucker answered, cocking an eyebrow. “I spent the night at her place.”

“You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you still love me, right?” His smile now was pure Tucker, full of mischief and his affection for her. Full of so many small teasing moments they’d shared just like this one. Full of all that connected them—family secrets, sibling histories, the ties that bind.

Lissa would tell people they were close, and in her next breath she would say they had nothing in common. Either way it was true. She’d taught him to read; she’d taught him to tie his shoes and how to color inside the lines. She’d read aloud to him and sung songs with him. “Itsy Bitsy Spider” was his favorite. He’d loved playing the finger game that went with it. At one time he’d even slept with a big, stuffed spider. It had been purple, and he’d named it Itsy. She wondered what had become of it. They’d played endless rounds of Clue and Monopoly on rainy days and shared a love of Bon Jovi and the first Rocky movie. Sometimes she understood Tucker completely; other times he was an enigma, a puzzle to which she was missing a vital piece.

She turned off the tap. “What happened to your face?”

He touched his cheek. “This? Cut myself shaving.” His feet danced.

She looked out the kitchen window. The coffeemaker sighed. She said, “I hate what’s happening, Tuck.”

“It’s not your fault Pop’s an asshole.”

He thought she was referring to the fight he’d had with their father, the latest blowout, and she was, but that was only part of it. The cup and saucer she handed him rattled in his big, work-roughened hands. He had strong, narrow wrists and long, tapered fingers that could measure an octave on the piano. Their mother had taught him to play, and he’d been a willing student until he picked up a friend’s guitar one day in high school. He’d played in a couple of bands, and Lissa thought he was good, but she wasn’t an expert. She only knew what she liked, and anyway, she kind of agreed with her dad. It wouldn’t be reliable, earning a living that way.

Dad had wanted Tucker to play baseball, as if that would be a more stable occupation.

“The old man told me not to come back.” Tucker blew over the top of his coffee cup. “So now, in addition to being jobless, I’m homeless.”

“He didn’t mean it. You know how he is. He’s cooled off now. Trust me.”

“I think I’m going to move in with Morgan, anyway.”

“Who’s Morgan?” Lissa sat across from him and stirred the sugar substitute from two blue packets into her cup.

“The girl I met last night. Her dad owns a car dealership. She thinks he’ll hire me.”

“What about the band? I thought going on the road with them was the plan.”

“Whichever works out, I guess.”

Where were you really? Lissa couldn’t bring herself to ask. She was filled with foreboding, heavy with it. She cleared her throat.

“What?” Tucker gulped his coffee.

Too fast, she thought, because he grimaced as if he’d burned his mouth. When he asked for a Coke, she brought it to him, along with the Houston Chronicle. She unfolded it.

He popped the top on his soft drink. “What’s this?”

“Do you know her?” Lissa sat down.

“This girl?” Tucker studied the picture. Nothing altered in his expression or in his voice. Lissa started to breathe, and then he said, “It’s Jessica Sweet. Holy shit!” He brought his glance to Lissa’s. “She’s dead?”

“You knew her.” Lissa’s heart throbbed in her ears.

“Yeah. Miranda introduced us. They were friends.”

“Oh, Tucker. She was a dancer, too? Did they work at the same club?”

“Yeah. So what? After Miranda was killed, we hung out together, but really, I hardly knew her. Jessica was Senator Sweet’s daughter. You remember him, U.S. senator, back in the day? She was kind of wild, got into trouble with drugs and stuff. I heard she cost her old man his last campaign—”

“Tucker! She’s dead!”

“Yeah, that’s what it says here. I can’t believe it.”

“She and Miranda were friends. They worked at the same club. You knew her. The police are looking for you. It’s happening all over again....”

“No, Liss. There’s no history between us, no big soap-opera drama. In case you didn’t notice, I didn’t find her body.”

Lissa didn’t answer.

“Come on, you know I had nothing to do with this, right? I mean you’re not stressing because you think I’m, like, guilty, are you? I didn’t even know the chick was missing until this morning when I saw the news.”

“A second ago, you said you couldn’t believe it, as if you hadn’t heard—”

“I should have known!” He tossed up his hands. “I should have guessed what you’d think. I bet Pop’s all over it, too. I’m a killer, right? The family lunatic, the psycho. That’s why Pop doesn’t want me home.” He stood up fast enough to rock the chair, grabbing his jacket, shoving his arms into the sleeves.

“Come on, Tucker. You have to admit it’s weird. Twice? In two years? Jessica was found in almost the exact location where Miranda was. You knew both of them. You must see how it looks.”

“Yeah. I see how it looks. I just never expected you would believe in how it looks. I thought you would believe in me.”

“I do, of course I do!” Lissa picked up a towel, wound her hands in it. “It’s just—”

“I’m only going to say this one time, okay? I didn’t kill Jessica. I didn’t kill Miranda. I’ve never killed anybody.” His gaze was hard on hers.

She tented her hands over her mouth, said his name, fighting tears, fighting for breath.

“I’ve got to go.” He shoved the chair under the table. “Thanks for the Coke.”

“No, wait. Where will you go? The police—”

“Fuck ’em,” he said, and then he was gone, slamming the back door behind him.

4

WHEN LISSA CALLED late that morning to say Tucker was with her and seemed all right, Roy didn’t share Emily’s relief; he acted as if it didn’t matter to him at all. He went out the back door and down the steps, and Emily watched him cross the backyard and disappear into his workshop. She got out the ingredients to bake a chocolate cake, Tucker’s favorite. She wanted to have something special on hand to feed him when he got home, but she was irked at Roy. Suppose he wouldn’t even try and sort things out this time? She creamed the sugar with the butter in the bowl, but all at once, the mood to bake left her, and untying her apron, she walked out of her kitchen and around the corner to Anna Brinker’s house.