Secluded Cabin Sleeps Six(84)

Henry took this in as the waitress brought their food on colorful plastic plates. A group at the bar was watching a game; they issued a collective moan at a missed play. The singer was onto “The Man Who Sold the World,” sounding more like Kurt Cobain than Bowie, gravelly and sad.

“Gemma will be all over that,” said Henry. “She’s never given up on justice for Alice. But the evidence points to Tom Watson, right. And he’s dead.”

He didn’t mean it to sound flat, uncaring. Piper was concerned about the distance he seemed to have from Alice, what happened to her, suspected that he hadn’t dealt with it and had pushed for therapy prior to Luke’s birth. These days she could only think about the baby, so Henry was off the hook for the moment.

“Closure is always healing,” said West. “To have answers or something close.”

Henry had spent a lot of time thinking about Alice, discussing her case with Piper. Occam’s razor theory stated that in explaining a thing, no more assumptions should be made than are necessary. In other words, the simplest answer was probably the most likely. Alice stole money from her deceased employer. Tom came after it. He killed Alice, took the money, dumped her body. That was the story Henry told himself. It was a dark one; but at least it was an answer that made some kind of sense. Alice had always worried that someone was coming after them. That was probably why. She was guilty of theft, maybe worse.

“If the DNA sample we have stored from the crime scene brings up relatives of Tom Watson’s, we’ll be more certain of our theory,” West went on.

“You never gave up on her,” said Henry. “Thank you for that.”

“It’s one of those things, you know,” he said. “Sometimes you can’t let go. Something keeps you coming back.”

Henry could relate.

They ate a while in silence, the burger juicy and good, the fries hot and crispy. Henry shared pictures of Luke. West had a million shots of his many grandkids.

“This is what matters,” said West. “What we give to these little people. They’re the present and the future.”

“More poetry,” said Henry with a smile.

“Just the truth, son,” he said. “Just the truth.”





35


Cricket





June 2018


The woman who Joshua let inside pulled back her hood to reveal long dark hair, and a face which was—not beautiful, but striking. Water dripped off her, making puddles on the wood floor as she moved inside. She brought a scent with her, something outdoorsy, the faint smell of smoke, or was it gasoline?

“I thought you left,” the stranger said to Joshua. “You made a run for it.”

“A tree is down,” he said. “The road is blocked.”

“So you didn’t come back to save your girlfriend?” she said. “You’re just trapped here like the rest of them.”

“This was never how it was supposed to go.”

“Oh my god,” yelled Cricket. “Who is this? What are you talking about?”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” said Joshua, addressing himself to Cricket. “That’s what I want you to remember.”

The nice Joshua was back, looking at her with big, sympathetic eyes.

She hated it when guys said that. What a shitty thing to say—like somehow it made them better people for breaking your heart when it wasn’t their intention in the first place.

“What does that even mean?” she managed as she felt her heart shatter, its pieces fluttering into her belly.

The other woman stood staring at Cricket, her expression unreadable—like Cricket was a puzzle she couldn’t solve. Cricket knew her—from where? Her confused brain grappled for it. Somewhere...

“Who are you?” Cricket asked. “What is this? What is happening?”

“Shut up,” the woman said coolly. “Sit down and shut up.”

Okay. Not okay. Cricket felt her brokenhearted, little-girl self, take a back seat to her woman-up, don’t-fuck-with-me self.

“Seriously?” she said, stepping closer to the stranger. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

The other woman moved so fast and struck her so hard that Cricket stumbled and tripped over the coffee table, falling and hitting her head against the side of the couch.

The world tilted, and stars swam before her eyes. She lay on the floor, stunned, pain radiating from her jaw down her neck. She’d never, in her life, been hit—by anyone. Her parents had never even spanked her. Her whole system reeled from the shock, from the pain. She felt herself curl up into a ball, the wood floor gritty and dusty.

The woman came at her again, yanking the coffee table out of the way with the squeal of wood on wood. Joshua moved to get between them.

“Heyheyhey! What the fuck?” He blocked the other woman’s path. “You said she wouldn’t get hurt.”

“No,” said the woman, standing and jutting her chin out at Joshua. He was a full head taller but it was clear that he was afraid of her. He lifted his palms and backed up as she advanced. “You said she wouldn’t get hurt and I didn’t correct you.”

He bowed his head. “Just—stop. Let me help her up. You don’t need to do this.”