Tailspin (Better Than You) (18 page)

Then her words hit me, and I realize what she’s asking. To be brought
home
. Not my home. Her home. With Lena. And Dave. And all of the things that brought her here, to this very place. To her home, where I can’t keep her safe.
She’s not yours to save, Nate.
Logan was never mine, much less mine to save. I see that now.

The ride to her house is so absolutely silent that it’s almost as if Logan and I aren’t existing in the same space. It amazes me how she can act as if I am nothing to her when it feels as if my insides are being wrung by barbed wire. When the car finally stops, she wastes no time in gathering herself, preparing to leave.

In a last attempt to get her to leave with me, I say, “Logan, you don’t have to stay here. You can come back-”

“No thank you, Officer,” she says with a smile, so sweet I’d think it’s been there this whole time. And she meets my eyes, holds them steady along with that smile. As she turns, I see her shoulders droop, watch her hand tremble as she opens the door.

Mine shoots out, one last touch, one last try. “I’m so sorry, Lo. So sorry. Please don’t stay here.” But she doesn’t turn around, keeps moving forward, out of my car, through the lawn and into the dead house that will end up swallowing her whole, too.

When I close my eyes to clear away the glassiness I will deny was ever there, I see Lena rotting away on top of the couch that was practically dead, too, but instead of Lena’s face, it’s Logan’s, so similar it’s not hard to make the switch.

The sound of my ringtone breaks into this miserable moment. Without looking, I slide the screen. “Hawkins,” I answer.

“Where are you? We got him, Nate. We got Danny.”

Just like that, the car is in drive and Logan’s home is nothing but a spec in my rearview mirror. I wish I could say the same about the hole she’s created in my chest.

21

May 2, 2009

              The day after
the
party, I told Chief I was done; that I didn’t want to do any of it anymore. Somehow he convinced me to put the undercover part behind me and keep my badge. “Just a regular cop,” he’d said, a hand on my shoulder and a smile on his face. I agreed, somewhat reluctantly, but then quickly realized that this way I could keep tabs on Danny, who is currently on bail, and Logan, who is currently living with Sam and Brody.

              But I can’t think about Logan right now. Not when I have to keep myself and my family safe. Not when this damn security system isn’t working right. I’ve been on hold with the company for over an hour and I’m tempted to hang up and rip the whole thing out. Start over. If only it was that easy.

              The sound of the front door opening stops my thoughts; it’s only noon and Emily and Joshua are both in school. I should be the only one here. Sliding out of the barstool in the kitchen, I place the phone face down on the counter, walk over to the fridge and pull the shotgun down. The weight settles into my hands and instantly calms me. Before I take another step, I inhale a deep breath. Everything’s moving in slow motion again, like it did on the field when the ball was in the air, but instead of standing still, I move forward silently, through the kitchen and towards the hallway, each heartbeat matching my every footstep.

              It doesn’t occur to me that there are no other sounds coming from anywhere in the house; that the door opened and closed and there were no footsteps to follow. All I can think about is that Danny is out there somewhere, maybe in my house, and I won’t be caught off guard again. Just as I’m rounding the corner, I hear a cough, and the strangest thing is that it’s a familiar sound, feminine and small. And then I see Emily, standing by the front door, cell phone in her hands and purse lying open on the front table.

              It all happens so quickly; Emily looks up from her phone, sees me standing in the hallway with a shotgun in my hand, drops her phone and screams as it shatters into what sounds like a million pieces.

              “Jesus Christ Em!” I yell as I lower the shotgun, place it against the wall and run the last few feet to her.

              She’s got her hands over her heart, clutching her chest as if to keep it inside. “What the
hell,
Nathan?” she screams.

              When I reach her, she places her hands against my chest and shoves- hard- but I barely go anywhere. Grabbing her hands, I stop her from pushing me again. “Em, stop. I’m sorry. I didn’t- What are you doing home? It’s the middle of the day!”

              She pulls her hands out of mine. “My class got cancelled. Jesus, Nathan! Why the hell do you have a
shot
gun?”

              Taking a deep breath, I step back, run my hands through my hair.
Think
. “I didn’t know who it was. I thought…”

              “You thought
what
, Nathan? Who did you think it was?” Emily steps forward and in a softer voice, asks, “What’s going on?”

              I sigh. Where do I even start? “A lot. Let’s grab Joshua out of school and talk about it on the way to the gun range.”

              Much to her credit, Emily doesn’t ask any questions. She picks up her phone, gives me a dirty look, throws it in her purse and follows me out the door. Joshua, on the other hand, is a completely different story. As soon as he’s in the car, he’s firing off questions without taking a breath.

              “What’s going on? What happened? Is everything okay? Why did you take me out early?”

              This is probably the most I’ve heard him speak at once in a long time, and I’m tempted to let it continue. He’s animated, sitting forward between the front seats and swinging his head from side to side while asking his questions; a normal, pesky thirteen year old boy.

              “Go ahead, Nathan. Tell him where we’re going.” Emily smiles at Joshua, who whips his head around to face me. Even though my eyes are firmly on the road, I know that both of them are staring at me, Emily with a smug smile and Joshua with wide eyes.

              “First of all, J, sit back and buckle up.”
God
, I sound like my dad. “We’re going to the shooting range.”

              “WHAT!” Joshua leans forward again, practically screaming in my ear. “THE SHOOTING RANGE! ARE YOU SERIOUS!”

              All of his questions are said in a way that doesn’t sound like questions. “J, again- sit back.” I glance in the rearview mirror as he flops back into the seat. Before he can open his mouth to ask yet another question, I cut him off. “I’m going to teach you guys how to shoot. For protection. But, and this is the only time I am ever going to say it, that doesn’t mean you can ever,
ever
, touch the guns in the house.”

              “But what if we need them?” Joshua asks smartly. Emily snorts.

              Glancing over at her, I say, “This isn’t funny. If you ever need them, you better be ready to kill someone.”

              Emily snaps her head towards me. “Nathan, you can’t say that in front of Joshua.”

              “This is serious, Em. I pray to God that you will never need to touch a gun outside of the range but if it ever comes down to it, I want you to be prepared.”

              There’s silence, and then Joshua’s small voice. “You’ll be there to protect us, right Nathan?”

              My hands clench the steering wheel. I want to tell him that I won’t always be there, that something could happen to me and he’ll need to know how to protect himself, but I don’t want him to understand that truth just yet. Who knows; maybe he already does, but I can’t solidify it right now. “Yes, Joshua. I will
always
be there. Always.”

~~

              “That was
awesome
,” Joshua says, jumping up and down beside me as I dig in my pocket for the car keys. “I wasn’t even scared. I could
totally
shoot someone.”

              “You’re such a liar. I saw your arms shaking. And anyway, shooting at a paper person is way different than shooting at a real person. A real person can shoot back.”

              I step into the driver seat and into the conversation. “That’s enough, guys. Joshua, don’t talk about shooting people. Got it?”

              “Yep,” Joshua responds, already back to his silent ways.

              “Now what?” Emily asks once the car is on the road.

              I glance at the clock on the dashboard. It’s barely three. It should be enough time to do what I know I shouldn’t do. “I have to get you guys back. I have some errands to run.”

              Emily sighs loud, crosses her arms over her chest. “Of course you do.”

              “Don’t do that, Em. Don’t make it seem like I’m never around.”

              “I’m not making it
seem
like anything. You’re never around. There’s nothing imaginary about that.”

              The truth is; she’s right. If I’m not at the bar than I’m on duty or at the station. Some nights I’m home for dinner, but mostly I’m not. I get Joshua to school in the mornings and then I don’t get home until after the sun has gone down. “I’m trying, Em. I really am.”

              “I know, Nathan,” is all she says, looking out the window with her arms still crossed over her chest. She doesn’t say bye when I drop them off at home. Neither does Joshua, but I’ve come to expect that from him.

              Instead of backing out of the driveway as soon as their safe inside the house, I sit there and wage an internal battle.

             
I shouldn’t go.

              But I have to go.

              No I don’t.

              But I want to.

             
The
no
part of me never wins. I reverse out of the driveway faster than I should and am heading to Brody’s house for what feels like the thirtieth time this week. First, I drive straight by without stopping, only barely slowing down to check for Logan’s car. The second time around, I stop a few houses down, where I have a perfect visual of the house. Surprisingly, the door swings open and Sam and Logan step out in…
are those dresses?
I’ve never seen Logan in a dress, but as she comes closer, I realize two things. It’s a cover up, sheer and see-through enough to make out the pattern of her bathing suit, and that she’s smiling.

              Sam says something that gets Logan laughing, and the way she tilts her head back, the early afternoon sun splashing through her hair and lighting up her face, has my gut wrenching. Not for the first time, I wish it was me making her smile, making that laugh come out of her mouth and float into the air. Logan says something back to Sam, who pushes her lightly, and then they’re both running to the car. Before I know it, they’re inside and then gone. Just like that. But the few seconds I got to see her, even from a distance and without her knowing, is enough. Knowing that she’s alive and happy, from the looks of it, is enough.

              After I leave Brody’s, I head to the bar. It’s pretty dead, the season having ended recently, but I jump behind the counter and start bartending anyways. Kait yells at me, says I’m stealing their tips, but I just need something to keep me busy. I could go home, eat dinner with Emily and Joshua, maybe play a game of Monopoly, but it’s easier here. No one asks me questions. No one expects anything from me but a well-made drink; sometimes not even that much. Here, the load isn’t so heavy.

22

November 3, 2009

              It’s been six months since the last time I saw her.

              Whenever I close my eyes, that’s the way I see her; with the sun in her hair and a smile on her face. After I saw that she was happy, I felt this hole inside of me because I realized that she didn’t need me to be happy or safe. I might have just been making everything worse the entire time. From that day on, I promised myself I would stay away. And I have.

              “Nathan, you paying attention, man?”

              I turn my focus on Crowley, my partner, and shake my head. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

              He sighs, rubs his hand over his shaved head. “I was saying-” Radio static interrupts him. “Damn it.”

              “
Calling all units. 10-24 at 3465 103
^rd
Street. Medical units already dispatched.”

             
Crowley glances at me; grabs the radio. “Copy,” he replies.

              “That’s Logan’s mom’s house,” I say casually.

              “I know.”

              Nothing else is said about it. Crowley turns on his lights and we drive the rest of the way with the sirens filling in the gaps of our silence.

              When we get to Lena’s house, there’s an ambulance and a coroners van out front. Before the car has even stopped, I’m out and running towards an EMT who’s jogging towards the house with a medical bag in his hand.

              “What’s going on?”

              He glances at me, looks down at the porch to sidestep some rotting wood, and then says, “Young Caucasian female, non-responsive. I’m gunna check her out before we load her up.”

             
Young Caucasian female?
I trail back as he sprints ahead, into the house where the stench of something dying hits me in the face like a tidal wave. Crowley steps up behind me. “Holy shit. What is that smell?” He cups a hand over his nose.

              “That, officers, is the smell of a decaying body.” We both turn to find the coroner behind us, decked out in a white space looking suit. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says, gesturing to our bodies blocking the door. We step aside and he shimmies through the space between us, careful to jump over the holes and cracks in the wood.

              Crowley gestures with his hand for me to follow. “Ladies first,” he says, his words muffled from covering his nose.