“I’m not so sure,” I say. “I fear this will end up haunting him for the rest of his life.”
“You’re exaggerating,” my mom says, almost laughing at me. We never did agree much on children or how to raise them, so this was no surprise to me.
“He is, after all, just a child.”
Damian grabs the popsicle from his grandfather’s hands, then runs to his toys on the floor that he left out from the day before.
“See?” she says and points at him while he is playing, forcing the cars to crash into one another with a loud noise. “He has already forgotten. Besides, he didn’t mention anything about his dad all day today. I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”
Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who needs to comfort him tonight when he cries because he misses his daddy, and you simply aren’t enough.
My dad approaches us and stops to look closer at my face. I can tell he is wondering about my bruises. We haven’t talked about it, but of course, they have noticed. I look away, but it’s too late.
“So, when are you going to tell us how you got those bruises?” he asks.
“Maybe we shouldn’t…” my mom says, but my dad isn’t giving up now.
“Was it Ryan?” my dad asks.
I don’t answer; instead, I pull away. I know they resent him already for all he has put us through, not to mention shooting Isabella, even if it was an accident. But for some reason, I don’t want them to hate him. Maybe I just don’t want them to worry. My dad has high blood pressure, and I don’t want it to go through the roof because of me. My dad is clenching his fists, and his eyes grow darker, angrier.
“Dad. It’s fine,” I say. “I’ve got a restraining order out on him. If he comes near us, he’ll be arrested.”
“But surely you told the police what he did to you?” my mom asks. “He should be arrested for that, for bruising you like this, shouldn’t he?”
I look away. I know this won’t go over well.
“I didn’t report it.”
My mom’s eyes grow wide and big. She looks appalled like when I told her I only wash my hair twice a week because it’s better for the hair and the environment.
She puffs herself up and snorts as she speaks, “Why on Earth didn’t you report it?”
I sigh. I don’t want to have to explain myself. “Because I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t see his face when it happened. I can’t prove it was him.”
“But surely, you could…they must take your word for it; I mean, look at that face. Is your nose broken? Did you even see a doctor about it?”
I want to direct the conversation onto something else. I don’t want them to ask more questions about how it happened. I don’t want to have to lie to them. I need a distraction, fast.
As if she had read my thoughts, my editor, Selena calls. I grab the phone and walk out on the balcony.
“We’ll run it,” she says.
“Really?” I ask, surprised. I was prepared to have to fight for this. I had an entire speech ready to convince her to publish it. Not many newspapers want to run negative stories on the military.
“Don’t be so surprised,” she says. “It’s a well-written piece. It’s an even better story. I think it might shake up some people around here, and you know I love that. I’m sending you the few corrections I have, and then we’ll put it in Monday’s paper.”
She hangs up, and I stand back, looking out over the ocean, feeling slightly overwhelmed, knowing I have crossed a line now.
After this, there is no way back.
Frank comes over when he’s done at work, and we drink a glass of white wine on the balcony. Damian is getting ready for bed, and I have promised he’ll be allowed to play with his cars for a few more minutes after he has put on his PJs, while Isabella is busy in her room, doing her schoolwork. I feel terrible for her, having to do all this extra work with what she’s been through, but this is what she wants. And I have to admit I am proud of her for fighting and not just giving up.
Frank puts his arm around me as we sit on the patio swing together. The sun is about to set, and the shadows are growing long on the beach. I like to feel his arm around me and to feel him close. But I don’t know why. Am I in love with him, or am I just glad to have him here because I’m scared to be alone?
“I think you did great today,” he says with a soft smile. “I’m really proud of you for writing the article. I know my parents are going to be very pleased too.”
“It’s not gonna get Ryan, though,” I say and sip my cool wine. “He’s still out there, roaming, planning God knows what. And to be honest, I’m kind of scared of what he might do once he sees this article. He’s not gonna be happy about it.”
Frank pulls me closer. My head is touching his cheek now, and it makes me feel safer. “He still doesn’t know where you live, does he?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Yet, I fear he’ll find out somehow. That’s why I lie awake at night, listening to every darn sound this place makes, worrying it’s him trying to get in somehow. I even bought a new gun, so I can protect us all in case he does show up.”
Frank nods. “I can’t blame you. That’s why I don’t understand why you didn’t mention Ryan’s name in the article.”
I look up at him. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t incriminate someone without him even being a suspect in the eyes of the police. You can’t make a man a criminal in the eyes of the public based on circumstantial evidence. That’s not ethical.”
He shrugs. “But it’s the truth, right?”
I don’t answer. I stare out at the ocean as it grows darker still. The fact is, I don’t know for sure if it really was him that night in Duke’s house. I curse myself for never seeing his face properly.
He was there. You saw him in the app. It looked like his truck in the driveway. Stop making excuses for him.
“I’m sure he’ll be put to justice if it is him,” I say. “I still have faith in our justice system.”
Frank scoffs. “So did I. So did my parents until we lost Clarice, and no one would be honest about what happened to her.”
I nod and think about Sandra’s relatives, and especially her son Joe, Jr. How are they coping with all this? Do they believe the Air Force when they say it was suicide? And Ted’s family? He had a girlfriend living up north who he was about to marry later in the year. She was going to move down here and begin a new life on the base. I met her twice when she visited, and I really liked her. How’s she coping with all this? And Duke’s wife? She was out of town with all three of their kids when he was attacked in his house. She came home to a man in ICU. How’s she taking it? I had looked into the eyes of Frank’s parents and seen the despair, the grief. They knew they were being lied to. How do you move on from that? How do you ever trust again?
Chapter 37
I hear my daughter scream in her room. I run in there and see the roach sitting on the wall next to her bed. It’s the length of my finger and is moving fast. It’s crawling toward her, its antennas moving. Isabella shrieks and moves away, while I think about what to do. It has always been Ryan who took care of spiders and roaches. I hate those nasty bugs more than anything, especially how fast they shoot across the floor once they realize there is danger. One could survive a nuclear war, they say. I never understood what that meant until I tried to kill one myself.