Rapid Falls(64)

After three years in prison, Anna came out broken by the weight of her guilt over what she had done to us. I walked away from the accident almost unscathed as far as anyone could tell. It had felt like enough back then—a punishment for each of them to fit their crimes. Death for one, destruction for the other. I thought that they had destroyed me. But they didn’t. I thought it was over. But it’s not. My survival proves that I did the right thing and that I would know how to do it again. As I stand in the Field, sunlight breaks through the overcast sky and shines directly on me. It feels like confirmation. I am calm. I’m ready to go home now.

I take the back way home, even though the metal of my car screams in protest at the sharp rocks scraping its undercarriage. As I cross the bridge over the river, I close my eyes and will it to keep its secrets. Everything, including Jesse, stayed at the bottom of the river. If Jesse’s body had been found, things might have been different. It’s a strange kind of luck to never have to answer the questions that should have been asked. I don’t want it to change now. I drive up to my childhood home. When I walk in the door, it’s like walking into a distorted version of my past. My dad has made some changes; the cupboards are a different color and the linoleum has been replaced with laminate. Surfaces are piled high with old mail and empty cans and bottles. The kitchen table is buried under boxes of fishing gear, books, and magazines.

“Hello,” my dad says. He closes the fridge and passes me a beer. My hands feel clammy at the thought of drinking again, but I take it anyway.

“Anna is in the attic,” he says.

“Okay.” I open the can and drink. My pulsing headache lessens.

“She said she wanted to go and look through some of those old boxes. Needed a little time to sort things out, she said.” He rocks back on his heels.

“What is she looking for?” I distract myself from my panic by looking at the tangle of golf clubs wedged in the corner of the kitchen behind an old rolled carpet and a couple of pairs of boots. I need to know, but I can’t appear too eager.

My dad looks at me and opens his mouth to say something. Then he closes it. We stand in silence for a moment.

“It’s good to see her,” my dad says. He offers no similar sentiment for me.

“Yeah. It’s good of you to have her,” I say, forcing down the urge to gulp my beer at his indestructible favoritism, even after all these years, even after everything she’s done. “She doesn’t have anywhere else to go,” I say.

My dad nods again, though he doesn’t seem to be listening anymore. I take a deep drink as I realize that I don’t have anywhere to go either. Anna and I have both burned bridges. The only place she has left to go now is Rapid Falls. Just like me.

“You hungry?” my dad asks. I shake my head. Judging from the contents of the shelves, my dad lives on hot dogs and canned beans. My stomach twinges at the thought. I take another swig of beer to calm it down. The can is almost empty.

“How is Rick? Good?” My dad is awkward, as if he’s stuck in an elevator with a person he doesn’t like.

“Yep. He’s doing great,” I lie. Or maybe it’s the truth. I don’t even really know. Maybe he’s glad to get rid of me.

“Maggie?”

“Good.” I struggle to think of an anecdote before I remember that my dad doesn’t care about my daughter.

He shrugs. “Want to sit down?”

“Sure,” I say. We walk to the living room, where heaps of old newspapers and more empty cans litter the coffee table. Silence. We have run out of things to say. My dad clears his throat.

“It’s really nice of you to let her stay here,” I say again.

“She’s always welcome,” he says. I finish my beer. It helps me not to think too deeply about what my dad is really trying to tell me.

My dad looks uncomfortable as he pushes an issue of the Rapid Falls Times toward me. “They did an article in the paper last week about the twenty-year reunion for your class. Looking for volunteers to get it organized, I guess.”

I nod, willing my face not to show revulsion at the idea of attending the event. “Huh.”

“Must be hard to come back here, have it all stirred up again.”

“It feels like a lifetime ago to me.” I sigh, trying to indicate boredom.

My dad looks at me. “I guess it would. I guess there’s a lot you’d like to forget.”

“It was a long time ago,” I repeat.

He pauses. “Ran into Wade the other day. You keep in touch with him?”

“Uh, sort of.” If you count liking each other’s posts on social media.

“He’s doing good. Married one of the Smith girls. They’ve got a couple of kids now. Asked about you.” My dad finishes his beer. “Another?”

“Sure.”

He opens a camping cooler beside his armchair and pulls out two more. The beer is lukewarm, but I don’t care. I’m just happy to have another drink in my hand.

My dad fiddles with the pull tab on the can. “Been thinking a lot about those days,” he says without looking at me. Me too, I think.

“Pretty tough time,” my dad continues. I nod, sip my beer, and lean in. This is the most my dad has said about any of it in years.

“You know, when Anna started asking about all that stuff, I looked through a few boxes. Found these.”