This Close to Okay(75)

Christine’s family pushed forward as if they truly believed Rye could be cruel, heartless, and evil enough to kill his family, then attempt to fake Christine’s suicide and Brenna’s accidental death. How could they? They’d seen how much he’d loved and taken care of Christine and Brenna. They knew little of him, because they hadn’t tried, but how could they believe he would do something like that?

Her family was completely devastated with no one to blame but him. They’d softened a bit after Brenna was born, because they found her impossible not to love—this beautiful Bloom baby. But they still hated Rye and Christine together. They hated both sides of Rye’s family. They’d gotten their own psychiatrist to claim that Christine’s diagnoses had been the result of temporary youthful problems and that she’d soon grow out of them. They’d told the jury she’d been getting better, using two old entries from her seldom-kept journal to prove her flickers of hope.

The sun is shining and I feel a lift somewhere deep inside. I am in love and I am loved. I need to remember this.

Today was good! Only a few dark thoughts! I am trying. Excited about auditions and the small, precious things of the world. I saw a butterfly and two bright yellow birds hanging out in the backyard. They matched the Honeybee House. Yellow makes me so happy and SUNSHINE Baby Briar and Rye do too. I wish everything was yellow.

Her mother, her father, her brothers—red-faced and crying—took the stand against Rye during his trial, glaring at him. He couldn’t look directly at them; every time he attempted to look up, to hold his head there, the room spun. His neighbors testified that although he was quiet and they didn’t know him well, Rye seemed like a decent guy. They testified that they saw him immediately after he found Christine’s and Brenna’s bodies. A neighbor remembered hearing a hush of leaves shortly before, like someone was walking back home through the yard. Another neighbor said she’d been out walking her dogs and had heard a woman scream the day Christine and Brenna died, but it hadn’t worried her until she’d found out what’d happened. Then she remembered that years earlier, night after night, she’d also heard loud arguments coming from their home. Rye knew what those had been: he and Christine, pretending. Running lines from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.

*



Rye fought hard to take the stand and did, against his attorney’s wishes. But his attorney assured him that even though the Bloom family had pull in the town named after them, it was still highly unlikely Rye would get convicted on such a lack of evidence.

He looked out at his family. Hunter and Savannah, by then Hunter’s wife, were there, too; both of them knew Christine well and believed in him. He could see everyone’s stony, sad faces as he answered the questions truthfully, like he’d sworn to God he’d do.

Did he and Christine argue that afternoon? Yes.

Did he and Christine argue often? Yes.

Was he upset by the problems in their marriage? Yes.

Had he ever considered separating? No.

Had he and Christine argued the evening in question? Yes.

Had he turned his phone off that evening, left it at home? Yes.

Had he used their shared computer to research carbon monoxide poisoning? No.

Had he researched fatal drug interactions? No.

Had he drugged Christine, put her in the car, and started the engine before leaving the house? No.

Had he intended to kill his daughter, too, then stage it to look like an accident? No.

Had he killed his wife and daughter out of frustration and because of financial issues? No.

Had he killed his wife and daughter because he’d accidentally gotten her pregnant and felt trapped and rushed into marriage? No.

Did he have life insurance policies on his wife and daughter? Yes.

When had he gotten those? Years ago, when they were first married.

Did he kill his wife and daughter for the life insurance money? No.

Had he killed his wife? No.

Had he killed his daughter? No.

Christine’s mom wailed in the courtroom. Christine’s dad rubbed her back. His own father was there with his arm around his mother’s shoulders as she cried and wiped her eyes. Rye tried not to shake as he cried on the stand.

No. I did not kill my family. I loved my family. I still love my family. I didn’t do this. I would never do this, he said after willing himself to take deep breaths and open his eyes.

No more questions, Your Honor.

The extent of his criminal record prior to the trial:

—When he was sixteen, he was busted for underage drinking, loitering, and toilet-papering houses.

—When he was twenty-one, he was arrested during a bar fight, although the charges were later dropped.

In a little town like Bloom, being a quarter black meant being not-white meant being one hundred percent black meant being an Other. A threat to white supremacy. A blight, a usurper. It was what they’d all feared. And Christine wasn’t just any white woman; she was a Bloom. That was all the evidence that particular jury needed.

Rye was found guilty of two counts of first-degree murder. On the day of sentencing he stood in that small-town courthouse, in front of the seven white women and five white men who had convicted him, maintaining his innocence.

I loved my family deeply. More deeply than anything else I’ve ever felt. More deeply than the emptiness of the grief I feel now. And I would never harm them. I grieve for Christine’s family, for my family. I am so sorry I wasn’t there for my family in their final moments. That will haunt me forever. All this will haunt me forever.