The conversation with Theo comes back:everyone is trying to prove something...
“Who was older?” I ask.
“Who are you talking about?”
“You or Craig.”
“Well, I’m still alive.”
I exhale. “Who was born first?”
“Who do you think?”
“You. And not just because military, police academy, and making detective take time. I haven’t seen your brother in a long time, yet you seem to have a calmer sense of confidence. It’s like you’re not trying to prove yourself. Craig was constantly aiming for the next rung.”
Keith laughs. “There aren’t very many fucking rungs in Blue Gil.”
“He was probably about as high as the ladder goes.”
“At least he thought so.”
“How is his wife doing?” I ask, surprised by my own interest.
“After finding Marty Thompson, Serena is taking Joey and going away for a while. I’m not sure she wants to or can stay here.”
“I’m not sure I blame her. Fresh start.”
“It’s not only Craig’s death and the unspoken mystery around it.”
I don’t reply.
“She’s tired of dealing with all the rumors,” he says.
My stomach twists in on itself. “You’d think they’d eventually die out.”
“Die out?”
I shrug. “You know, like a fire that burns up all the fuel.”
Keith turns to me. “Have you honestly been in Blue Gil for the last five days and not witnessed the abundance of fuel?”
“But he and Serena were happy. They have a kid.”
For a moment Keith stares my way. “I don’t know what common knowledge is, and that variable puts me in a tough spot. I’m a bit on the line about what I can say and what I can’t.”
I understand more than most how difficult it is to confide in people. Instead of continuing that train of thought, I finish my coffee and stand. “I’m getting more. Would you like any?”
“Nah.” His brown eyes have darkened. “Tell me what you think of my sister-in-law, now that you’re a bit more lucid.”
“Did I have an opinion of her last night? Because to be honest, I don’t know her at all. When I lived here, she was the wife of the new teacher-slash-coach. I was a high school student.” I try to think back, yet she isn’t in my memories. “She must be heartbroken.”
“That’s close to what you said last night.”
I shake my head. “I’m sincerely sorry for last night, Keith. I have done well with alcohol for the last three years. There was a time when I used it as an escape—toomuch. My counselor said it stemmed from issues of self-esteem. I’ve worked to improve that, to concentrate on my career. I’m good at what I do. I am, or thought I was, capable of a glass of wine or a few fingers of whisky. The last time I blacked out was with a friend.” I lean my shoulders against the doorjamb with my empty mug in my grasp. The lake is before me, and a breeze blows loose strands of hair around my face as I think back. However, the vision in my head is that of the Pacific Ocean. “We were in Southern California. We’d gone to the beach to celebrate our college graduation and future careers. We were better friends than lovers. I guess you could say friends with benefits.” I sigh. “When I woke the next morning, I wasn’t at my place or his. It was a fancy cliffside house—remarkably high rent. There were so many windows, a view from every angle” —I look up at him— “like the ones in movies but better because it wasn’t a set.” I take a breath and let it out. “Anyway, I was in a giant bed beside a man I didn’t know.”
“Shit, Jillian, were you raped?”
“I can’t answer that.” I take a deep breath. “I wasn’t hurt. I had sex, but I wasn’t sure if it was with the guy lying next to me or my friend, or hell, both.”
