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“You didn’t talk about it much,” I say, picking at my sandwich. I need to eat but I’ve lost my appetite.
He takes a sip of iced tea. “It was a hard thing to talk about. How do you talk to your kids about the murder of a fifteen-year-old girl? Eve was your best friend and she was brutally beaten and then strangled.” He points at the Knox house. He’s getting worked up, agitated.
“Dad, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up...” I begin but he’s not done yet.
“I tried to protect you from the ugliness of it. It was an awful thing that happened. So no, we didn’t talk about it at the dinner table.”
“Dad,” I say reaching for his hand but he shakes it off and disappears into the house.
I hear the rumble of a vehicle and look up to find Colin pulling into the driveway. He gives me a big grin. I’m nauseous with guilt and anger at my brother for letting Nola Knox into my dad’s home.
“Hi,” Colin says trotting up the porch steps. “Did Nola leave?”
“What were you thinking?” I ask, rounding on him. “I came over and found Dad standing in a corner ready to throw a lamp at Nola’s head. How could you have left him with her?”
“What happened?” Colin asks in alarm. “Is Dad okay?” He moves to go inside and I grab his arm.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea to leave him with strangers,” I chastise. “Especially crazy ones like Nola. Next time you have to go somewhere, take him with you.”
Colin’s face reddens. “Don’t you think I tried that? Dad refused to come with me. He wanted to stay home. He wanted to stay with Nola. If I knew it would have upset him so much I would never have left.”
I sigh. Who am I to judge Colin? He’s the one who’s here all the time, the one who upended his entire life so Dad can stay in his home, and he’s done so without complaint. But Nola Knox? “Next time just call me, I’ll come over,” I tell him gently.
Colin sits down on the swing and reaches for one of the remaining peanut butter crackers. He takes a small bite and tosses it back onto the plate.
“So you delivered the sculptures?” I ask, trying to smooth things over. “That’s got to feel pretty good.”
“It feels great,” Colin says through the crumbs. “Man, there’s nothing like it.”
“We should celebrate,” I say. “Go out for dinner or something.”
“I already got it covered,” Colin says, downing the rest of Dad’s iced tea. “Dinner, tomorrow night. Right here. I want you to come and Shaun and the baby of course.” He pats my belly. “And I’ve invited Nola too.”
“Nola?” I ask in alarm. “Why?” This day keeps getting worse and worse.
“I don’t know?” Colin shrugs. “Her mom’s in the hospital and Nola’s all alone over there and it was a nice thing to do.”
“That’s too bad, Colin, but it still isn’t a good idea to have Nola over for dinner,” I say. “I’m working on Eve’s case. It doesn’t look right for me to socialize with her.”
“It’s just a barbecue.” Colin laughs. “Relax.”
“It’s not a good idea, Colin,” I repeat, getting to my feet. “Nola Knox is not someone you want to get involved with. Don’t you remember what she was like as a kid?”
“Maggie,” Colin says, “it’s just dinner.”
“I’ve got to get going,” I tell him, my irritation back in full bloom.
I go inside and say goodbye to my dad. He’s sitting in front of the television with his feet propped up on the coffee table. “Bye, Dad,” I say, leaning down for a hug. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine,” he replies, barely glancing away from the TV.
“So?” Colin asks, stepping into the house. “Will you come?”
“Yeah, we’ll be here,” I say grudgingly. It’s better if I’m here, keeping an eye on Nola. God knows what she’s up to. “What do you want me to bring?”
“Just your beautiful selves,” Colin says.
I move outside and take a quick glance at the Knox house and a long hard look at the Harper house, a beautiful home with a lot of ugliness inside. I spent countless hours inside that house babysitting the twins and so much more. Over the years I’ve tried to keep tabs on the goings-on there but recently I’ve been so busy at work and with the baby coming I haven’t been so diligent. I think of the way Cam was touching the young girl at the softball field and in my gut I knew he was doing it again. Most likely had never stopped. Men like him never change.
I walk up to the cherrywood front door and press the bell. The sound of Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” echoes through the house and my stomach clenches. How many times over the years have I rung this bell? A hundred? Maybe more. I hear a dog bark from somewhere inside. No one comes to the door. I stand on tiptoe trying to see through the leaded glass window with the hand-painted pineapple medallion in the center and see Winnie.
I cross around to the back of the house where I know there’s a large brick patio surrounded by a tall privacy fence. “Hello,” I call out. “Anyone home?” Again, no answer. I thread my hand through a slat in the fence and lift the latch and let myself into the backyard. If someone comes upon me I have no good excuse for being here. I look around for security cameras but see none. I’m guessing Cam Harper doesn’t want any trace of the comings and goings in and around his house.
I peek through the slats in the fence, and looking into the Harpers’ backyard is like stepping into a different world. Spires of hollyhocks and star-shaped columbine and purple-and-yellow Johnny-jump-ups fill the flowerbeds and masses of clematis climb and tumble over the wooden fence in snow-white curls. The emerald green lawn a stark contrast to my dad’s sad, anemic yard. The firepit with five Adirondack chairs situated around it is still there. I remember how Cam Harper would sit in one of those chairs with his tanned legs crossed, one hand holding a cigarette and the other a crystal tumbler filled with an amber-colored liquid. I thought he was beautiful. He told me I was beautiful. He was thirty-five. I was fifteen.
I shouldn’t be here. My unborn child shouldn’t have to breathe the same air that Cam Harper does. I lean against the fence and try to steady my shaky legs and slow my breath. On the ground, out of place among the deep-blue ladybells are a scattering of old cigarette butts. It looks like Cam still had that nasty habit. I rub a hand across my face.
The statute of limitations has long run out for any legal recourse for what Cam did to me, but I still have to find a way to make sure Cam Harper pays for what he has done. For what he’s doing. He ruined my life. Why shouldn’t I ruin his?
