Once Sandy’s body was found buried behind his home on his sprawling country property, Rocco pleaded guilty to three counts of murder: Sandy, my mother, and Thomas Freese. The whole story came to me in bits and pieces after that, based on Rocco’s confession and the blanks the police filled in.
Sandra found an old picture of my mother that Rocco had kept. He told her it was an old girlfriend who had died. The police think Sandy saw my post on the town forum and then told Rocco she’d seen someone who looked just like his old flame. From there she began following me and then Aiden. I guess Rocco’s reaction was suspicious enough to her that she ended up tricking him into admitting the truth—using copious amounts of alcohol, he says. Once she knew the whole story, she decided to tell me. He killed her the night we were supposed to meet, when he found out what she was planning—a blow to the front of the head only moments before Aiden and I crashed into the woods. He hid from us and then carried her body away once we’d gone; I don’t know how he made it to his car without anyone seeing him, but he did. The photos he sent Tonya von Meller were, of course, photoshopped—something Garrity’s contact in Boise was able to prove.
On the whole, an incredibly sad, incredibly scary story. Sandy was smart and beautiful with a healthy disdain for what she perceived as the absurdly wealthylifestyle she and her family led; I imagine this is part of why she and Rocco bonded. He truly hated the wealth he was raised with.
I wish he could have just done something good with it. Ten minutes with Aiden would have convinced him to donate to the food bank, for starters. He’s always going on about how they run out of toilet paper every month. Of course, he’s also been nagging Lionel—who staunchly refuses to let me call himUncle Lionel,despite his reluctant agreement to have dinner with me once a month—about more funding, so we’ll see where that gets him.
I, as it turns out, have been on Lionel’s radar for far longer than I thought. He kept an eye on me and my mother over the years. When he found out I was going into the system, he pulled a few strings to make sure his old friend, Cam, was assigned to my case. He was looking out for my mother even then, in his own, weird way. I met up with Cameron for lunch a few weeks back, and it went well; maybe we’ll meet up again in the future, when the past doesn’t feel so raw.
The car is silent as we drive, and I let my eyes flutter closed beneath the bandana Aiden has around my eyes. It’s been a long evening; first the banquet, followed by the dance. It must be nearing midnight by now, and the corsage on my wrist is wilted.
But I guess Aiden still has something he wants to show me. So I wait, my hand tucked in his as his thumb absently strokes my knuckles.
I sit up straighter a few minutes later when I feel the change in our path—crunchy gravel beneath the tires instead of smooth pavement.
“Aiden,” I say, reaching for the bandana. “Are we?—”
“Wait,” he says. His hand comes up to still mine, pulling it away from the bandana. “Hear me out, okay?”
I clear my throat. “Okay.”
“We are at the cemetery.”
My heart sinks; I knew it.
“If you aren’t ready to be here,” he says in an unusually sincere voice, “we can leave right now. But you’ve been telling me for months that you want to come see Sandy and your mother, and you’ve been putting it off. If you still truly aren’t ready, that’s okay; I’ll turn this car right around.” He hesitates, and his voice is stronger as he says, “But if you’ve reached the point where you’re running away rather than still healing, you might consider getting out of this car with me and going to see them.”
The silence that falls between us is loud, but my heartbeat is louder.
“Take your time deciding,” he says. “Take off the bandana if you want, or leave it on. You decide. Let me know when you’ve made up your mind.” He sighs and shuffles around in his seat. “I’m going to close my eyes and rest for now.”
I reach up and untie the bandana immediately, letting it fall away just in time to miss the sharp sting of tears that comes to my eyes. Then I look over at the man in the seat next to mine.
He’s leaned his chair back, one hand resting comfortably over his stomach. The distant lights of the cemetery illuminate the night just enough for me to see that his eyes are closed, but the hand that’s still holding mine is tight.
He’s awake. He’s just giving me privacy.
And he’s right; I have been putting this off. It’s not a matter of being ready anymore; I’m just scared.
I’m scared to look at the tombstone of Sandra von Meller, who died because she saw me pulling into town.
I’m scared to look at the tombstone of my mother, whose story I now know completely.
I’m scared of what I might feel. It was easier when I felt like Nora Bean had wronged me. Whatif I still feel angry?
You’re allowed to feel angry,my therapist has told me time and time again.You’re allowed to feel compassion for your mother while also taking issue with how she treated you. You’re allowed to love someone while also being glad they’re no longer part of your life. You can understand why someone treats you badly while also refusing to allow them to treat you that way. Those things are okay.
I believe her. I really do. But understanding something with my brain and understanding it with my heart are two different things, and I still have a ways to go on that front.
I take a deep breath, my eyes searching everything I can see of the cemetery from the car. Then I turn to Aiden.
“Let’s go.”
His eyes pop open immediately, and he nods, putting his chair into the upright position. When his hand lets go of mine and reaches to turn the keys in the ignition, though, I smile.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I mean let’s goin.”
“Oh,” he says. In the darkness I can see his gaze darting over my face. “Are you sure?”
