Coming to a stop, I shake my head as unexpected emotions bubble within me.
“You son of a bitch.” I take a deep breath, more ragged than I planned. “I never wanted to speak to you again, and now I would do anything for one last conversation. If we could, would you tell me? Was your death really an accident? What does that mean—accident?” I look around, confirming no one is listening. “Or was it something more devious? Did someone finally retaliate? Huh, Craig...Mr. Gilbert?” Tears fill my eyes, but I push them away. “Now that it’s too late, would you do things differently?”
I wait for answers, but the only response comes in the form of rustling branches blowing high above in the trees.
I go on, “I left this town because of you. I haven’t returned because of you. And now you’re the reason I’m back.”
Chapter
Two
Shaking off the avalanche of emotions I neither want nor appreciate, I trudge back through the squishy ground to the lane. Scrape by scrape, I work to rid my shoes of the mud, as if doing so would erase the past.
The colors of the sunset are gone, obscured by billowing clouds rising high above the horizon. With the sky growing darker, dusk gives way to nightfall.
While I’m unsure of many things, I know that I’m not ready to face my parents, not yet.
What options do I have?
My hometown has many things. A hotel isn’t one. Hell, I’d take a motel—you know, the kind fromCriminal Minds?
The sentiment makes me scoff as I settle back into the car, the one that is now parked in the cemetery after dark.
Pulling my cell phone from my purse, my finger hovers over arecent contact.
Becky isn’t only a recent call. She’s my childhood best friend and my only non-family connection to Blue Gil over the last six years.
It isn’t that I left this village on bad terms. I just left, closing most doors behind me, looking forward to new horizons, bright beginnings, and all that shit. The last remaining connections have been family and Becky.
Before I make the call, I notice the time on the screen. In this time zone, it’s after seven in the evening. That means there’s a good chance Becky isn’t alone. Her husband is home. Hank Sanders and I have never seen eye to eye. He doesn’t like me, which works out well because the feeling is mutual. Our animosity started our senior year when he and Becky began dating. Much like a slow-growing malignancy, our discord eats away at me, things I should have said and shouldn’t have done. The details aren’t my story to tell, yet the sentiment is the silent antagonist to Becky’s and my ongoing friendship.
One of the hardest things I ever did was decline Becky’s invitation to return for her wedding. The way I saw it was that her wedding was her special day. My presence wouldn’t add to the festivities.
Thankfully, our friendship survived.
Instead of calling Becky, I send a text message.
“BECK,CAN YOU TALK FOR A MINUTE?”
I stare expectantlyat my phone as thoughts of the recently deceased swirl through my mind. CraigGilbert, Blue Gil high school teacher, football coach, husband, and father. Those are the adjectives used in the obituary I read online. The local funeral home has a section on their website for people to leave condolences. The comments I read contained the usual sentiments, taken too soon, struck down in his prime, an unbelievable loss, and the ever-present—will be dearly missed.
The circumstances of his death are fuzzy at best. Craig Gilbert was reported missing nearly two weeks ago after he uncharacteristically failed to report to work.
The local sheriff’s department did the usual questioning, talking to his wife, as well as friends and colleagues at the high school. The school’s security has no record of him entering the high school building the day he disappeared. Each teacher has a keycard that records their activity in an overall system. There are also cameras at each entrance and in areas of congregation. He left the night before at 5:48 p.m., nearly two hours after the final bell.
Craig’s wife claimed her husband was awake and already gone when she woke up the morning of his disappearance. She also claimed that his early departure wasn’t an unusual occurrence, as he often met with students before school for coordinated workouts. However, their home is southeast of town, and miles from the school, yet his car was in the garage. Also, his workout bag was in the back hatch.
What time did he leave his home? Are there home security records? Did Mrs. Gilbert hear him stir?
Serena Gilbert told the authorities she thought shehad heard him up and moving. She couldn’t recall checking the clock.
As with any community, the people of the village made their assumptions.
He vanished of his own accord.
Marital problems.
Perhaps a secret affair.
