“I’ll show them to your room, daddy,” said his daughter quietly.
They hadn’t even noticed that there were three bottles of water sitting in front of them. The children were so quiet, so solemn, seated behind their father. He nodded at her.
“Come with me,” she said. Griff stood to go with the girl, the other two staying with her father.
“Would you mind if I take a look inside the tool shed?” asked Luke.
“Not at all. It’s another place I can’t make myself go inside,” he said.
“I’ll show you where it’s at,” said the young man. Luke stood and shook the boys hand.
“I’m Luke.”
“Mark. It’s out back.” Milo stayed with Pucci, conversing casually, dabbling a few questions in here and there.
In the backyard stood a rusted shed. The boy unlocked the door and opened it wide. The smell of alcohol and cleaning fluids overwhelmed them both.
“The police sent out someone to clean mom’s, to clean the mess,” he said quietly.
“I’m so sorry, Mark.”
“Dad was right. Mom wasn’t sad. She was always happy, always thinking of fun things for us to do to keep me and Claire active. She was the best mom ever. I don’t understand why she did this.”
“It’s hard to understand suicide, Mark. For those of us who aren’t sad or depressed, we can’t fathom being so distraught that we would leave our families. Promise me something. If you or sister ever feel sad or see your father’s moods changing, you’ll call for help. Either the local authorities or call me,” said Luke.
“I promise,” said Mark. “I would never want to hurt Dad or Claire like this. Never.”
“Good man.”
“You go ahead,” he said waving him to the open doors. “I can’t go in. I guess that makes me a scaredy cat.”
“No. It makes you a man who is sad,” said Luke gripping his shoulders. Stepping into the dark space, he waited for his eyes to adjust, then opened his phone with the flashlight shining around the room.
From the photos they’d seen, there were two-by-fours supporting the walls and Clementine had turned the hatchet outward and used a u-shaped clamp to secure it to the board.
Luke stared at the space wondering how on earth she would have been able to have enough momentum to push herself back against the hatchet.
“It doesn’t make sense,” said Mark standing at the doorway. “I know what you’re thinking and I thought the same thing. I play football and baseball at school. I’ve been hit plenty of times. I’ve run into the outfield wall catching balls plenty of times. But never was I going fast enough that I hit either hard enough to kill me.”
“Was the hatchet new?” asked Luke. Mark stared at him, tilting his head inquisitively. “I mean, was this an old hatchet of your father’s?”
“No. No, Dad doesn’t, didn’t have a hatchet. The police said she bought it on her own.”
“So, it was brand new, which meant it was probably sharp, really sharp,” said Luke nodding. “Still, the pain the moment she touched it would have been horrible.”
“The police said she took pain medications. Mom never used drugs. Never. She didn’t even take aspirin for a headache. The police think she took them from our neighbor who had back surgery a few weeks ago.”
“I’m so sorry, Mark. For you and Claire and your father. I cannot imagine how this must feel for you.”
“Sad,” said the boy. “It just feels sad. We loved her so much and now we’re all sitting here wondering if she didn’t love us.”
“I feel certain that’s not it,” said Luke. “I think she loved you so much that whatever it was causing her this pain, she didn’t want you to know about it.”
“Can we just sit out here for a few minutes. We’ve been stuck inside since it happened, worried about dad.”
“Sure. I’ll sit here as long as you need.”
Inside the house, Claire was showing Griff her parent’s bedroom. The room was neat, tidy, just like the woman left it. Clothes were neatly hung in the closet and the dresser was the same. Everything had been dusted, straightened and perfectly positioned.
