Tonight?
Panic spiraled through Ethan’s nerves as he absorbed what Audrey said.
We can’t leave tonight. I still have more questions. More people to interview. I can’t leave with only half a story.
Ethan glanced back and forth between Audrey’s determined frown and Myrna’s hesitant posture, but still no one said anything.
Until Adelaide pushed through. “No!” Adelaide blocked the doorway so Audrey couldn’t escape, and pointed her finger into Adam’s face when he rolled his eyes. “You two have been doing this for years, and I’m sick of it! You’re both going to stay right here and duke it out, because you’re family.”
Ethan stood shocked at the beauty queen, who proved she didn’t only rule on pageant stages, but also rivaled the commanding voice of legendary tyrants.
“I have
two
siblings,” she continued. “Despite what anyone else in this town says, and I’m proud of both of you. Who gives a shit what anyone else thinks?”
“Addy!” her mother gasped.
“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself,” Adelaide continued without acknowledging her mother. “But the one thing I can’t stand is constantly being told to ‘hush up’ whenever I ask what happened. The whole town knows more about it than me! In what universe is that fair?”
The only movement in the room was Audrey, who pinched the bridge of her nose and clenched her eyes shut.
“You’re supposed to be adults, so start acting like it!”
“Addy, that’s enough,” Myrna choked. “Go clean your room before you meet with your friends. And if you want any clean clothes for school next week, you best start your own laundry. You’ve got a pile of dirty wash that will take all weekend.”
That’s not all that’s dirty in her room.
Ethan couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sorrow for the clueless mother. He always thought parents pretended ignorance with their teens’ sex lives. But she really had no idea how ‘adult’ her youngest acted.
“Ethan, dear,” she continued in a much softer tone. “Please forgive this whole mess, including Adam’s brief mental lapse.” Her eyes threw daggers at her son. “As soon as he and Audrey are done with their chat, I’m sure he’ll be right down to apologize himself. Won’t you, son?”
Adam’s grumble was as welcoming as jaguar’s growl over a piece of meat.
“In the meantime, there’s plenty of food downstairs for lunch if you’re hungry.”
“That sounds great,” Ethan pounced on her excuse faster than the sound wave. Whatever took place in this room next was bound to be much more painful. He grabbed his bag and followed Myrna out of the room. As he maneuvered down the hallway, he switched off the recorder in his pocket.
This story grew juicier by the minute, but the sweetness had faded to a bitter crunch. The more he learned of Audrey’s tragedy, the more respect he started to feel. The worst part was that he broke his promise to Bose, and himself: he’d started to grow a conscience. And it hurt like a straight razor to the neck.
Chapter Twenty
The stench in the room must have been too great to bear, because Adam wouldn’t budge from the window, the cold air seeping into the room. He’d pulled the piece of cardboard away and shook his head at the broken remnants.
Anytime Audrey moved from her spot, he seemed intent on moving away from her, to be in the farthest spot from her as possible.
“You can’t keep dancing around me like I’ve got Ebola.”
“Watch me.”
“Why couldn’t you have said any of that to me? Instead you spill your guts to an investigative journalist?”
Adam stared hard out the window, pretending not to have heard. He was just like their father. A brick wall that sometimes needed a sledgehammer to the head.
“You never knew I could hear every time you crawled out this window.” Adam’s voice lowered, full of anger.
Heat filled her face, suddenly embarrassed like she was fifteen all over again.
No, I didn’t know that.
“All of a sudden, Jack didn’t want to go hunting anymore,” he continued. “Fishing wasn’t good enough for him. All he wanted to do was play football and hang out with you.”
Audrey kept her tongue in check. She knew exactly where this was going. Jack had talked to her a hundred times about his change of plans. To go straight into public service instead of West Point with Adam. He didn’t want to tell Adam and ruin their friendship. She couldn’t tell her brother then because it would have broken his heart. And then blamed her. It didn’t really matter, because both her fears came true anyway. Along with an entire library of other fears.
“He never even asked me if I was okay that you were dating. But I kept my mouth shut. I tried to give you two space.” Adam finally turned to look at her, but without any ounce of compassion or sympathy. “But you made it so damn hard every time you mouthed off to people. I spent so much time taking heat for my sister’s behavior, that my senior year became an inferno of judgment. For things I never did.”
“Now you have a glimpse into what I felt.” He really had no idea. He barely scratched the surface into the pain she felt. But this was the most he’d said to her in a decade. She had things to say, too.
“Don’t give me that crap. You didn’t care that everything you did came back on me tenfold.” Adam scraped his short fingernails through his hair. “I took the heat for your fertilizer stunt on the football field. Everyone knew you were the one who wrote ‘Dumb Jocks’ in manure across the fifty-yard line, but the guys blamed me for desecrating their field. Criticized me for not keeping my sister in check.”
Audrey forced the slight smile to remain hidden as she bit back a laugh. It was one of her more brilliant pranks when she younger, creative, and naïve. Despite pulling the stunt in late winter, it was almost two months later when the town was able to view the message written in the fertilized, bright green grass against the more dull, brown turf.
“But worse than that,” Adam continued, anger rising with every syllable as he glared into Audrey’s face. “All the players blamed you for every bad play, weak throw, or half-assed run that Jack gave. You were a distraction for the quarterback. The quarterback that they all depended on to get them to state, and eventually college. You fucked it all up for them. And guess who my teammates took it out on?”
“That’s nonsense,” Audrey seethed.
“All those bruises and cut lips I came home with weren’t from practice.”
The years of pent up anger and humiliation shadowed in his eyes, suddenly creating dark circles and fatigued wrinkles on his face. Sympathy overshadowed her defensive nature, but not for too long. As much pain and suffering her brother had gone through, it was next to nothing compared to her own.
“As a cop, you know everyone is responsible for their own actions.” Audrey spoke low and slowly, trying to keep her anger in check. To keep her brother from escalating to an already-dangerous level. But she never blinked. “I didn’t know you were treated that way, but I had nothing to do with their violence. Regardless, I took responsibility for my mistakes ten years ago. I’ve been able to let go of my anger and go on with life. Something I’m sorry to see that you haven’t done.”
Adam’s posture sank with her last few words. As if all hope dissolved on a deep sigh, and whatever remaining light shone in his eyes was gone. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
Audrey stared at him, waiting.
“You moved on with your life as if nothing happened. As if you weren’t responsible for Jack’s death, for our family’s humiliation, or the pain you caused the people of this town. You just…left. Now you’ve thrown yourself in front of TV cameras, reporters, and have your photo plastered all over the state. Seeking power that no one here believes you deserve, and you expect us to eat out of your hands like ignorant cattle.”
The silence in the room stifled the air, and Audrey couldn’t stop the building resentment as she clenched her jaw and shook her head. “You don’t get it.”
Her footsteps banged on the wood floor as she crossed the room to sit on her bed. But when she reached the mattress, she stopped and turned to him, letting go of her reserve and carefully-practiced patience and unleashed the rage she’d buried for years. “I’m doing this for the young women who need the help I never got!”
Shock and mild disdain flooded Adam’s face, but she didn’t give in. For the first time, he may actually be listening to her, albeit reluctantly, but dammit, she’d let him have it.
“I opened my eyes in that hospital room after the most tragic moment in my life, hanging on by a thread, to see that everyone had vilified me. Not only did the one I love die right next to me, and whatever little friends I had turn against me, but even my family turned their backs.” Drops of wet tears tinged the edges of her eyes and her voice quivered as she continued, but she never paused. “I lost
everything
that was important to me. And instead of relying on the support of my family, I was told to leave.
Ordered
to leave. Depression crippled me for years, and when I finally find a cause that’s worth the effort, to help save other lives, you condemn me.”
Adam’s disdain was gone. Shock and dismay replaced it, along with continued silence.
A single tear trailed down her cheek as her voice quivered more. “You were my best friend, the one I was closest to our entire childhood. When I needed you the most, you turned away. I still remember the disgust on your face when I came home from the hospital that day.”
Her heart sank when Adam looked away, staring out the window again, covered in shame. Shame of his sister, his anger, their relationship, Audrey couldn’t tell which. She swallowed her tears and forced air into her lungs with a deep breath. Forcing the politician back into her mind.
“I didn’t come here for your vote. I knew that would have been as pointless as asking for your forgiveness. I came, foolishly, hoping for your love.” She swallowed again, the lump in her throat expanding with every breath. She stomped to her bedroom door and yanked it open, even though Adam clearly knew the way out. “Something I won’t ever dare ask of you again.”
A cold wind fluttered into the room, rustling the drapes against Adam’s arm. As cold as the expression on his face. He paused, staring hard into Audrey’s face and finally, slowly, tromped out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Audrey’s father stewed over his beer glass, judging eyes tossed at Ethan every few minutes. Ethan traced a finger on the rim of his coffee, wishing it were a beer. The bar was crowded for the Friday night after Thanksgiving. Granted, it was the only bar in town, and most of the men in the dark and smoke-filled atmosphere either had no family, or had had enough of theirs for one day.
Ethan gathered that Paul fit into the latter category. The man clearly had a lot to say, but maybe didn’t know how to phrase it. Paul would lean forward as if about to lay into Ethan like a father to a teenage son who’d trashed the family truck, but then think his way out of it, sip his beer, and lean back in his chair once again, and instead watch the football game on the TV behind Ethan’s head.
Ethan knew what was coming. As he’d strolled out of Audrey’s room to let the two siblings argue over a long grudge, Paul had walked in and caught Ethan with the pile of articles in his hand. One glance at his wife and youngest daughter, and Paul realized which kind of manure had stunk up his house.
Without a second thought, he’d tossed his lunch pail in the kitchen and opened the front door, waiting for Ethan to lead him out with a glare. His one order was as foreboding as his tone: “Let’s get a beer.”
They sat in the creaky chairs pretending to watch the football game, and pretending they’d already had the serious discussion that had to yet to happen. Ethan had to keep his professional hat on. This was his job, and no matter how painful the oncoming talk was going to be, this was the story of his career.
He’d lost count of how many targets had begged him not to publish the dirt he found, and each plea had been more pathetic than the last. The angry ones were always the most interesting. It was kind of a thrill, wondering if he’d need a restraining order after a particular article graced the headlines. He’d been skilled enough not to need one to this point, or maybe just lucky. But the death threats, either in person or by email, were standard for his business.
Not that he expected anything like that from Audrey’s father, although he wouldn’t blame him if he did. For some reason, this story felt different. Maybe this was guilt. Or shame. Sorrow of some kind. He didn’t like the feeling.
“You a Baptist?”
Ethan stared at Paul, the simple question too soft and unrelated to what Ethan expected. Where was he going with this?
“No,” he replied curiously.
“Mormon?”
Ethan’s eyebrows drew together.
“It’s the second time you’ve refused a drink from me,” Paul commented. “Gotta be religious.”
Ethan smirked. “Let’s just say I’m too big a fan of alcohol. I’ve learned my lesson…the hard way.”
“Fair enough.” Paul nodded, as if he understood more than the simple words conveyed.
Ethan had also lost count of how many times the other patrons glanced at them. Specifically at Paul. Not acknowledging them seemed the best decision at this point, merely following Paul’s example, but Ethan had rubbed his nose or ran his hand through his hair a few times. The more it happened, the more uncomfortable Ethan became in his seat. There was no way Audrey’s father missed it, but he just continued to ignore them.
Finally, after one particular lanky and grungy man with a backwards baseball cap and bloodshot eyes across the bar had stared viciously at them for at least fifteen minutes, Ethan couldn’t ignore it anymore.
“What’s Thin-Man’s problem over there?”
Paul’s eyes shifted to the man across the bar mid-sip, and returned to Ethan just as casually. He waited before he responded, savoring the beer in his mouth.
“That’s Ashe. He’s my motor man on the rig. Along with several others in here.”
“He’s a ray of sunshine, isn’t he?”
Paul shrugged and sipped his beer again. “I don’t care if he spouts sonnets or dances on the roof, so long as he does his job right and minds his own drink. And other…issues.”