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I caught a whiff of stale cigarettes, and my mouth turned down at the sight of his stained jeans and tattered shirt. The man had always made me uncomfortable. Since the last time I’d seen him, I was older and wiser, and I questioned the wisdom of being alone with him. He was scrawny, however, and I decided I could probably take him.
When we reached the apartment, he jammed a key in the lock, wrestling with it a bit to get it to turn. Once he had the door open, it was like a blast from the past. The one-room studio hadn’t changed at all over the years. It was still a rundown shithole, but I felt this ridiculous sense of attachment.
“I could do seventeen grand if you wanted to pay up front for a whole year again,” he said casually, as if he were doing me the biggest favor in the world.
I ignored him, walking to the center of the room where that damn sofa was still sitting. “Hmm. You said yourself you owe me,” I said, running my eyes along the torn arm, padding peeking through. What the hell was I doing? This dump wasn’t worth a hundred bucks a month. I sure as hell wouldn’t pay for a year up front. I didn’t plan on being away from my real home—with Daniel—for very long.
“That was a while ago. And, well, this is now.” His greedy eyes raked me up and down as he envisioned other methods of payment.
“Thisisnow, and you’ve really let the place go.” I looked around, disgusted.
I moved the few feet across the room to the tiny bathroom. There was still a rust ring around the tub, and the toilet had stains too. Any sane person would have high-tailed it out of there, but I wanted to come back. I needed to remember where it had all started. Maybe then I could get it back.
“Whaddya think?” he asked from behind me. I moved so he was forced into the bigger area and out of my personal space.
“A grand. One month.”
“No way.”
I folded my arms and gave him a withering look.
“Well, maybe for an old tenant, I could do this one favor.”
“Go get the lease.”
“Be right back.” He jetted from the room, and I turned in a circle, looking around, knowing I hadn’t lost my mind. This was what I was supposed to do. It was where I needed to be right now.
* * *
I liked country music.I was from Texas, by God. Didn’t that make it some sort of requirement? Truthfully, I knew plenty of Texans who couldn’t stand country music of any kind. Some of them even wore Stetson hats, cowboy boots, and belt buckles that rivaled the size of the state. But that music always evoked the best memories of my father, when he’d been “Daddy” to me. I’d sit beside him in his pickup truck, and we’d sing along to my tape of “Baby’s Got Her Blue Jeans On” at the top of our lungs with the windows rolled down. That was when it seemed like there was a chance I might work my way into his heart and stay there.
I threw a sweater in my suitcase and surveyed the foyer. Seven days. They’d passed too quickly. It was hard to believe this could be the last time I’d ever be in the apartment I’d shared with Daniel. I wasn’t ready to face that, didn’t want to think about it.
Sorting through the mass of stuff I’d acquired over my time with Daniel, I found a copy of that tape and got distracted trying to find a tape player. Buried on a shelf near the bottom of the closet in the study, I found one. I yanked, the cord stuck underneath something, and I sprawled backward, landing on my rear with anoomph. The tape player came loose and bounced off my shin before clattering to the floor beside me.
“Son of a gun.”
I rubbed my leg, glared at the dusty machine, and shifted to my knees. Eye level with the shelf, I noticed a box labeled ‘Cassettes’ beside the now empty space. Curiosity getting the better of me, I pulled it down—carefully—to see if I found anything interesting. A stalling technique, if I were being honest. I wasn’t ready to leave yet, and my time was almost up.
I threw off the lid to the banker’s box. I smiled wryly, noticing the cassettes were alphabetized by artist. The man liked his order, that was for sure. Tucked down the side of the organized rows of tapes was a faded yellow file folder.
Figuring it was a list of all the tapes in the box, I slid the folder from its place and opened the cover. The pages inside were in pristine shape, like someone had stuffed them into this folder, never to be looked at. My attention caught on the heading ‘Autopsy Report’. I hesitated.Put it back, Vivian.My fingers clutched the folder; I couldn’t make myself return it to the box. The fact that this was stashed errantly when Daniel was meticulous with his files was reason enough for me to give in to temptation.
I sucked in a breath when I read the name on the report. Keith Hardy Elliott. Daniel’s father. I knew Daniel wouldn’t want me to see this. He harbored so much hatred toward the man, even after all this time, and he’d kept me away from anything to do with him. Given what Daniel’s own flesh and blood had done to him, I couldn’t blame him.
Even knowing he wouldn’t want me to read the report, I couldn’t help myself. The word ‘suicide’ jumped out at me. That was listed as the cause of death, which aligned with what Daniel had told me. But as I read further, the report started to contradict itself. How could someone hang himself from a shower rod when he had two broken legs? According to the coroner, there were signs of a struggle, even markings around the neck under the rope burn that looked like fingers. I gripped the papers to the point where they crinkled on the edges. It read as if someone had strung up Keith Elliott and then used him as a piñata. The police chalked it up to the seedy motel where he’d been found. I didn’t buy it.
I immediately went back to the top, devouring the document. By the time I made it through a second time, my hands trembled.
I wondered if Daniel knew about this. By all appearances, he’d never touched these papers. He’d told me his father had committed suicide. And he didn’t lie to me. Though his actions this week were those of a stranger. Maybe he wasn’t the man I thought I knew. This was murder. No doubt in my mind.
I stuffed the papers back into the folder and had a moment of hesitation about what to do with them. Sometimes it was better to let sleeping dogs lie, so I abandoned the folder on the floor in the closet.
The triumph over discovering a tape player felt tainted now that I’d seen that report. My gut told me dredging it up would hurt Daniel. That was motivation enough to forget about it. I went back to the foyer, where I’d been sorting through my things. I put on my song, playing it over and over, the memory helping to ease the pain of separating from a life I wasn’t ready to part with.
Everything I had the day I agreed to be Daniel’s was there, down to the suitcase I’d had when I first came to New York. When I found something pre-Daniel, I packed it in that bag. There wasn’t much—mostly clothes, which fortunately still fit. I slipped on a pair of jeans I’d had since high school, ones that hadn’t seen the light of day in forever. There was a hole in the left knee and a tear on the right thigh. People paid hundreds of dollars for this look, and I’d accomplished it by loving those damn things so much. I unclasped the La Perla bra I had on and tossed it on top of the pile of things that were no longer mine, choosing a soft pink cotton one with faded roses on it from the stuff that was. I pulled my favorite black sweatshirt over my head. It had a wide neck, revealing a peek of shoulder. As I took in my reflection in the full-length mirror that hung near the front door, I looked like the twenty-two year old I’d once been. In truth, I hadn’t changed all that much on the inside either. What had changed was because of Daniel, and it was for the better.
My options for footwear included a pair of black pumps with a worn down heel, Keds, the blue tags on the backs long gone, or black ballet slippers.Where have these beauties been hiding?I caressed the worn leather, tracing the cracks formed from so much use. I’d had my ballet slippers re-soled and the hole in the toe repaired shortly after Daniel and I moved in together. I’d missed these old things, and discovering them healed a small part of my broken heart. I bet if Daniel saw me in them, he’d remember what they meant too. I put those puppies on and felt like I did every time I wore them…like I could flit around on air.
