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I nod confirmation. He has just heard her correctly.
Ashley gasps and then covers her mouth with her hand.
Mrs. Vera sobs. When Davis moves to leave the room, she lunges at him. Roy catches her by the forearm as though he saw her next move before she did. He stays behind with the family as the three of us make a speedy exit. We congregate in the kitchen, and after we’ve caught our collective breaths, I ask what the hell just happened, even though it’s pretty clear.
“I don’t know,” Davis answers solemnly. He takes a seat at the table, the same one he sat in as a little boy. He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. He looks from me to Ashley as though he wants to say something, but isn’t sure what. Finally, he places his face in his hands and he looks like he did as a child, only larger. Ashley stands over him with a worried look on her face. She rubs circles on his back as she stares off into space. “This isn’t your fault, Davey.”
“His mother’s just upset,” I say. “Understandably so. People always look for someone to blame in times of tragedy. It’s just the way it goes.”
I pour four cups of coffee that none of us touch. None of us except Ashley.
Standing on my tiptoes, I look out the window toward Daddy’s old workshop, which Johnny has claimed and transformed into his living quarters. The light is on.
Sometimes I pull up Magnolia House on Google Maps Street View. The image was taken in 2012. There’s a light on in the workshop. It is still Daddy’s favorite place to be. He is still alive. I am still visiting every few months, making the trip home from college. Mama’s car is still in the drive, but Davis will pick me up at the bus station, and when we arrive, she will be standing in the doorway, waving, looking older and thinner than the last time I saw her. We will watch old movies, and sit in the garden, and there will have been no scary diagnosis, no utterance of the c-word, and Daddy’s heart would still be ticking just fine. And I won’t know how perfect it is, or that I will learn that sometimes it’s best not to know. I keep several screenshots in various places of that image of the workshop with the light on because it won’t last forever. One day the Google car will drive back down this street and his workshop will not be his workshop anymore, and though there may be a light on, it won’t be him.
“What do you think, Johnny?” He’s scrolling on his phone and although he hears me, he doesn’t immediately respond. “Huh?” He doesn’t even look up. “I don’t know. Give me a sec.”
Davis shakes his head. “This is not good,” he says, with a heavy sigh. He
looks panicked, like he wants to get up and run. “I—”
“We don’t know how Danny Vera died. People die every day. It could have been anything.”
“It doesn’t seem like they think it was natural causes,” Ashley says. “Based on what I overheard.”
My head snaps from the window to her. “And what was that?”
“You know—” She nods toward Davis with wide eyes and a concerned expression on her face. She places her index finger to her lips, like a warning. “Just gossip.”
Outside, the caterers have begun to arrive. I don’t know whether to send them away or not. I don’t know what the family wants me to do. Surely, no one will feel like eating. But eventually, they’ll have to.
“Someone has to know something,” Davis remarks.
“It’ll take at least six weeks for toxicology to come back,” I say, and the conversation continues, even though we only talk in circles. The three of us speak in unison, talking over each other, our voices growing louder and louder in the fight to be heard. Then Johnny holds his hand up, and we all suddenly fall silent. “Ruth, you need to call Mike.”
Ashley looks at me. “Who’s Mike?”
“Our family attorney,” Davis replies flatly.
I know he is right, but I want to see where his head is at. “He didn’t die on our property.”
“He was a guest.” Johnny glances toward Davis. “And his mother keeps bringing up what happened last night. The situation between him and Davis.”
I nod at his phone. “Did you get called to the scene?”
“Yes. Initially.”
What he means is he got the initial call but when he got there, it was clear there was nothing he could do. Still, I can tell Johnny knows more than he’s saying. He’s processing. And Johnny always goes quiet when he’s in process mode. Not that I blame him. I know he sees a lot. That and anything to do with law enforcement, and, well, they all talk. “What are they saying?”
“No obvious signs of trauma.”
I close my eyes and I exhale. “At least there’s that.”
Chapter Nineteen
Ruth
The Vera family packed up and quickly vacated the premises. This was both good news and bad. Good, because it’s awful dealing with a bereaved family. Bad, because it shows they’re, at least to some degree, placing blame on my family for their son’s death.
