“And you told the operator he was a man. You didn’t sayfather.”
I nod. Upon reflection, that could be a miscalculation. I wanted to build distance between me and him. And I didn’t want a public record that linked us together other than the birth certificate filed in California.
“Like I said, I panicked. And I was ashamed. That’s my fucking dad. I’d rather nobody know that. You know what I mean?”
I hold the detective’s gaze for a beat, and while the first time I walked him through this part, he scrutinized every detail, this time he seems to take my word. Good. Because this part is the truth.
I finish out my version of events, about the trooper finding me while I was changing the tire, and him bringing me to the substation where Lindsey and Holly had been taken. He turns the camera off this time, and I exhale as I push my chair away from the table.
I still don’t know the details of what happened when I left my father in the field. I know what I picked up from local news, that police seized a great deal of drug money after a lethal shootout with a man named Jared Callahan. He was forty-six years old, and his wife died of a drug overdose while he was in prison. He appeared to have been acting alone, trying to bury the cash to come back for later.
Anyone looking for that money will see this story when they search online. The stranger likely knows already. That cash is being transferred to the feds, and my father will be cremated at the expense of the state once the medical examiner makes her final report. I am nothing but a footnote, a local ballplayer making league minimum, and the unfortunate son of a really bad man.
The sky is gray when I leave the substation for what I hope is the final time. It smells like rain is on the horizon. Maybe a tornado will rip through this land and erase the bad things that happened here. Too bad a storm can’t erase the images in my mind.
I shake my lawyer’s hand, and he reassures me that he doesn’t see any reason they’ll need me for further questioning. The lede died in that field with my father. I’m sure his past connections will take them somewhere else. What’s important is wherever the story goes from here, it will be far away from me and my daughter.
Lindsey is waiting for me in the rental car, a modest sedan with heated seats and tinted windows. She doesn’t know this, but I’m going to buy her a new van before I leave. And maybe I’ll get a car like this when my insurance comes through. I don’t need much. Just a safe ride for Holly.
Lindsey steps out of the driver’s side when I approach, and slides her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. I want to squeeze her and never let go, but that will only make it harderwhen I have to. I’ve been holding back, and I know she can feel it. We’ve both blamed the trauma. And truthfully, that’s all there is to blame. Trauma, and Jared and Rachel Callahan. If I were anyone else’s son, maybe I’d be free to have love in my life.
Once she’s in the passenger seat and buckled, I pull us out of the substation lot. Holly is in her new car seat, still reversed but growing fast. Her feet nearly reach the back seat as it is.
Lindsey moves her hand to the center console, her fingers curled up and waiting for mine to fill in the gaps. I do, because I won’t be able to tomorrow.
Lindsey called Brandon and asked him to pick the boys up from pre-school when shit went down. He hasn’t used it against her yet, but it’s only a matter of time. We both know that. Nothing needs to be said.
I knew we couldn’t hide everything from him, but I really hoped to limit the damage done. Instead, inevitable decisions have been moved up in my timeline, and hers. And it seems she’s made the first one already.
The moving truck is waiting in the driveway when we pull in. It isn’t mine.
I squeeze her hand and roll my head to meet her eyes. She isn’t crying, but I know she will. The tears are waiting in the queue.
“Are you going to your parents’ place?”
She nods.
“They’ve already made room. My dad can get upstairs now, so his office will be where the boys stay. If I’m even allowed?—”
“Shh, don’t think that way. You’re not the one putting them in danger.”
Her first tear falls. I touch the side of her face and catch it with my thumb.
“You don’t put us in danger either,” she says, and we both laugh out pathetic, breathy sounds.
“Really, Brooks. None of this is your fault. I have never felt safer than when I’m with you.” She swallows hard, and her lips form a trembling smile.
“You must have walked through life terrified all the time,” I joke.
She shakes her head, not even bothering to laugh.
“I felt stifled, and diminished. And betrayed. You make me feel beautiful.”
“Because you are.”
She leans her cheek into my palm and closes her eyes for a moment.
“Maybe I can come back when the season starts. I need to get through the court date, and then perhaps . . .”
