Sheriff Monroe stands when I walk in. This is no easy feat. He's older, and there's a lot of him to haul upright.
He shakes my offered hand. "What can I do for you, Mr. Bennett?"
I don't know exactly how he knows my name, but it must have something to do with this being a small town. "How long have you been the sheriff?"
He makes a noise with his mouth, like thinking back that far isn't possible. "Longer than you've been alive, probably."
"That's what I was hoping you'd say." I lean forward. "I'm not sure how much you know about my family, but my mother died here when I was ten."
He nods gravely. "I remember. Such a tragedy. Hit a tree."
"That's correct. Out on the HCC."
"Not quite. It was on the road that runs parallel to the ranch." He scratches at his chest. "Ten feet to the left and it would've been on the HCC."
"You really do remember it."
"I responded to the call."
I swallow hard. “You saw my mother?"
He eyes me sorrowfully. "I did."
"Did she die instantly? From the impact?" I've always wondered if she was allowed that small kindness. Alive, alive, alive, dead. A blip in time.
"Yes. She did not suffer."
"Was there an autopsy?"
His eyes squint. "Is there a reason you aren't asking your father these questions? Assuming he's of sound mind and body, he should be in possession of this information."
"My dad doesn't like to talk about her. It still hurts too much." That's another lie I've been believing my entire life. He didn't want to talk about her because he didn't want me knowing about her affair. Not talking about her was easier than lying.
"There wasn't need for an autopsy. The postmortem examination confirmed what we already knew. Blunt force trauma due to her collision with the tree."
My lips twist. There is more I want to say. I want to ask him if he questioned Beau, or if he saw a reason to. I don't know how to ask that without drawing too much unwanted attention to my questions. "Can I see a copy of the police report?"
"You bet," Sheriff Monroe answers. "We weren't using our electronic system back then, so it's buried down in archives. Talk to Bradley at the front desk and fill out a request form."
I thank him for his time and stand. Before I leave, he says, "I know it's hard to take, but listen to me. I've been in this job for a long time, and the one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that accidents happen. They are as awful as they are unstoppable. Searching for a rhyme or reason won't do you any good."
My head bobs, accepting his words. "I appreciate that, Sheriff."
I stop at the front desk on the way out. Bradley hands me a form and takes it after I've filled it out. "When can I expect the report?" I ask.
"We have a four-to-six-week turnaround."
"Four to…?" If I did business that way, I'd be out of a job. "You look like you have room in your schedule right now." He doesn't appear to be doing much more than playing a game on his phone.
He shakes his head. "Rules are rules."
I don't say another word. I stride out of the station, glancing back one last time on my way out, and catch a glimpse of the sheriff at his desk. He’s gazing out the window, his bottom lip pinched between two fingers. He looks a million miles away. Or two decades.
I need to get back to Jessie's cabin to accept delivery of my bed. I don't know that I'll be needing it anymore, but when I called the furniture company on my way into town, they'd told me it was too late to cancel. The bed was already on the truck.
My relationship with Jessie is seven shades of fucked up, and the bed may end up being a large, unused memento of our time together. The thought takes my fragile heart and gives it a malicious squeeze.
I either move forward and lie to her every day for the rest of our lives, or I tell her the truth and watch it break her heart.
