The Familiar Dark(25)

“I think maybe it was because of the guy,” I said as Cal dropped his line back into the water. “The one Izzy was involved with. Maybe that’s why they were killed.”

Cal gave a noncommittal grunt. “How’d you know about Izzy’s guy anyway? If Junie never told you?”

I kept my gaze on the water, watching it flow over rock. Thought about Junie’s diary, tucked now into my top dresser drawer. I wasn’t going to give it up, let strangers pore over Junie’s secret thoughts and feelings. It was one remaining link to my daughter that I didn’t have to share. “I didn’t really. Just heard a few rumors floating around recently and figured if they were true, Hallie would be the one to know.”

I could feel Cal’s eyes on me, probably trying to decide if I was telling him the truth. “Let me clean you a fish or two,” he said finally. “You’ve lost weight. You can take this home and fry it up for dinner.”

“I have food.”

“But you’re not eating it.” He reached over and laid a hand on my back. “Not eating isn’t going to bring her back.”

Anger sizzled up my spine, hot and fierce enough that I wondered how it didn’t burn his hand right through my skin. “And eating is?”

“No,” Cal agreed. “But you still have to do it anyway.” He reeled in his line, set his pole down carefully. Growing up, he was the only kid I knew who’d never accidentally hooked someone. He was never careless with other people, only with himself.

“Do you have any idea who the guy is?” I asked. “The one Izzy was messing around with?”

Cal kept his eyes on the fish he was scaling, knife glinting in the sun. “You know I couldn’t tell you, even if we did.”

“Does that mean yes?” I pressed.

Cal gave me a quick half smile. “It doesn’t mean no.”

I took a deep breath, one part of my mind screaming at me to shut up, already knowing how dumb and destructive I was being. “When Hallie told me to talk to you, I thought, for a split second that maybe it was you.”

“Maybe what was me?” Cal asked, forehead furrowed. He was genuinely confused by my comment, I realized, and I felt like one of those men who confess a long-dead affair in an attempt to ease their own guilty conscience. They might feel better afterward, but the wife never does.

“Never mind,” I mumbled, picking up Cal’s extra knife and reaching for a fish. “It was stupid.”

“Wait.” Cal’s hand stopped moving, silver scales stuck to his fingers. “You thought I was the guy fooling around with Izzy? A twelve-year-old?”

“Not really,” I said. “I just . . . You never date anyone, and Hallie said to talk to you . . .” I trailed off, watching shock and anger and a baffled, bruised disappointment skate across Cal’s face. It jolted me, that look. Because while I’d seen it on Cal’s face a handful of times before, I’d never seen it directed at me.

“I never date anyone because I’m always working!” Cal said. “And who the fuck is there worth dating around here, anyway?” He shook his head, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, tinged with weariness. “I can’t believe you would think that. Even for a second. What have I ever, ever done that would make you think something like that about me?”

I opened my mouth to protest, defend myself, but nothing came out. Because the fact was, I had thought it, even if only for a split second. My life with Cal unfurled inside me: nights huddled together in one bed, staying warm with gangly limbs tangled around each other; lessons on how to hook a fish or gut a deer; Cal taking the blame for me, whenever and however he could, always trying to spare me pain; his face lighting up the first time Junie said his name. All the times he’d given me the benefit of the doubt, looked the other way, turned the other cheek. I’d thought my love for Cal transcended my mama’s horrible lessons. Turned out I simply hadn’t been tested. Because Junie’s death had brought it all bubbling to the surface. That fundamental instinct to always watch your own back, never trust anyone, never let your guard down. Our family stuck together against outsiders, but that didn’t mean we wouldn’t turn on each other, quick and deadly as vipers. I’d thought Junie’s death had left no room for any other grief, but sadness welled up inside me, pushing against my throat and the backs of my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I managed, finally. It wasn’t even close to enough, but what else was there to say?

“Forget it.” Cal flapped a hand at me and then split open the fish’s belly, slippery guts falling into the water.

I knew we’d never mention it again because that wasn’t Cal’s way. He wasn’t the type to nurse grievances and fling them back at you on some later date. But I knew that this moment would always be there between us like a sharp rock in your shoe, making some steps perfectly normal and others destined to bring a stab of tender pain so that you always have to walk carefully, just in case. The knowledge broke my heart, but I’d had to ask the question. This was bigger than me and Cal. This was about Junie. And I’d hurt myself, and anyone else, a thousand different ways if it meant I could give her some kind of justice.





ELEVEN


No one ever tells you about the time you lose. The well-meaning bring food or send flowers. The worried check you for signs you might hurt yourself and squirrel away the pills and guns. The professionals press slick pamphlets into your hands. Lists of support groups and 800 numbers. Signs that prove your grieving is normal. Lack of appetite. Sleeping too much or not at all. Anger. Depression. Hopelessness. But there’s nothing about the way time slips away from you, minutes lost staring at the back of a blond child ahead of you on the sidewalk, seconds ticking past while you stand holding a fresh-from-the-dryer T-shirt that your daughter once wore. Brain blank and empty as a dark room, just her name—Junie Junie Junie—running in an endless loop of longing.