When I'm Gone: A Novel (28 page)

“It wasn’t really that hard to figure out. I find Annie at your house; she’s gone and told you all kinds of stories, and you believed her.” Brian put his arms through the bars this time and clasped them on the other side. “Then, a week later, I fly to DC, only to find out my orientation has been canceled and they gave the job to someone else. I might not be an engineer, but I can put those pieces together—you screwed my wife, and then you screwed me.”

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me. I tried to help you. I gave you a recommendation, but . . .” Luke grabbed handfuls of hair in his fists, unable to look at Brian. “You’d been hitting her.”

“No, no, no, that’s ridiculous.” He kicked at the gate. “She’s not stable; you’ve got to know that by now.”

“Not stable?
You
are the least stable person I know.”

“That’s not what my twenty years of service shows,” Brain explained, still infuriatingly calm. “No one here would believe your story. Why do you think Annie told you instead of someone who could actually help her, like the police?”

“I know you did this.” Luke squinted at Brian through the darkness. There was a smug confidence about the way he leaned against the bars, how much he seemed to enjoy Luke’s outburst instead of being incensed by it. “You broke my taillight, put drugs in my car, called in an anonymous tip, and got me arrested.”

Luke grabbed the tray next to him, rushed to the horizontal opening in the cell door, and crammed it through, almost hitting Brian in the gut. “I’m not hungry.” Brian stepped aside, and the metal tray clattered to the ground. Silent, he watched the apple roll until it came to a stop short of hitting the cement wall.

The briefest of smiles rippled across his lips before he stood and sniffed loudly. “That’s an unfounded and bold-faced lie. You sound desperate.”

“How could you?” Luke shook with half-restrained anger. “I could lose . . . everything.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that earlier,” Brian scolded, sounding like a “scared straight” officer from a TV show. Bending one knee, he collected the tray and other items off the floor. Standing, he unwrapped a corner of the plastic around the mangled sandwich and took a bite. “Mmmm,” he mumbled, mouth full, “not bad.”

“You son of a bitch,” Luke growled, lunging at Brian, arms straining through the bars until the metal cut into his armpits. Brian sucked his teeth and shook his head.

“Now, now. If you wanted some, why didn’t you say so?” He rewrapped the sandwich and tossed it into the cell like he was playing catch with a dog. “You do seem to like my messy leftovers.” Dusting a few crumbs off the otherwise immaculate uniform, he wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb and index finger, still holding the tray in his other hand. “Hope you enjoy your stay.”

“No!” Luke shouted. “Come back! You can’t do this. You can’t!” The sound of Brian’s quiet chuckle and slam of the holding cell’s outer door reverberated through his bones. He collapsed on his knees and fell backward. This was it. Tomorrow he was going to die, or at least what was left of his life would end and he’d lose everything he still cared about. With Natalie, he could blame cancer, but this . . . this death was his own fault.

Luke slapped the cold cement floor. Once, then again, then over and over until pain sliced through his palm, fingers, wrist. There was no way out of this trap. Even though he’d spent his whole life trying to not turn out like his father, Luke still ended up in the same place—jail. He slapped the floor again, expecting another dose of pain, but instead . . . nothing. No more pain, just numb.

Good,
Luke thought. If he was going to get through tomorrow and whatever domino effect his arrest caused, he had to be numb. Laying his numb hand across his chest, Luke let the chill from the floor soak through the skin on his other hand. Lying there in the silent blackness, he let the feelings of hopelessness and fury build up inside him again. Images of his mom, his sister, Natalie flashed in vivid detail. When the turmoil rolled inside him, growing uncontrollable, painful even, he slapped at the floor. Once, then again and again, waiting for the pain to turn to nothingness.

CHAPTER 31

Sleep didn’t come easily that night, but when it finally overcame him, it was deep and consuming. When the morning sun was high enough to peek through the elevated windows and its warm, end-of-summer rays landed on Luke’s face, he stirred. Blinking against the beams of light, it took him a moment to remember where he was and why. Then, the pain from his hands. They were swollen and stiff. He turned on his side to avoid the invading sunlight, his joints groaning.

Going back to sleep seemed like the best plan to avoid reality, but his mind was awake, on fire with possible scenarios. Hopefully Terry would have a lawyer for him soon, and then . . . okay, he didn’t know what would happen then. Whatever happened at the arraignment, it had to be better than sitting in this tomblike cell, waiting, suspended in time.

The main door to the holding area clanked loudly, like the lock was being turned. Luke, in a zombielike state, jumped at the sound. Some flight instinct triggered inside him and he scrambled backward, wanting to be far away from the gate in case Brian was back to taunt him more. He couldn’t lose his temper again. It wouldn’t take much to turn this already horrible situation into a disaster, and certainly attacking an officer would do it.

Luke stared at his hands, tracing the crimson handcuff lines still visible around his wrists. He forced a look of submissiveness and remorse, trying to get some points for good behavior until he could tell his lawyer about the conversation he’d had with Brian last night.

Keys clanked, and the hinges of the seemingly ancient door creaked as it opened. Luke peered up over his clasped hands. Not Brian this time, thank God. Instead, a short older officer with a thickening waistline crossed the cell toward him. He was wearing white, and there were parallel gold bars pinned to his collar. A younger officer with a shaved head and ill-fitting uniform followed him closely. Luke sat back slowly, sure any sudden movements would be a bad idea.

“Mr. Richardson, you are free to go.” The older officer, a police chief maybe, held an opaque bag out toward him that looked a lot like the bags they offered Natalie at the end of her hospital stays. “All charges have been dropped.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Luke coughed, not sure if he should believe the officer or if this was another one of Brian’s dirty tricks.

“We’re going to process you out. Charges have been dropped,” he said matter-of-factly, as though that statement didn’t create twenty questions in its wake. “Follow Officer Miller here, and he’ll take care of you.” He shook the bag at Luke, without taking his eyes off his well-polished shoes. Even with his lack of legal experience, Luke knew something strange was going on. But he was being offered a chance at freedom, and he’d be ridiculous not to take it. Still in cautious mode, Luke grabbed the offered bag and slipped it over his shoulder.

“Miller, take Mr. Richardson to processing.” The chief turned on one foot, the heel of his shoe screeching against the wax on the floor.

“Yes, sir,” Officer Miller responded succinctly. Luke eyed the young officer, the way he watched every step the chief took as he walked out of the cell and through the main door, and how he silently tugged on the cuff of his sleeve like he was trying to make it longer. “Come on now, Mr. Richardson. Time for you to go home.”

Home. Last night he’d forced himself to believe that he might never be allowed to return home. Now they were opening the gate and setting him free. Luke moved toward the exit, each step echoing through the empty cell. He had to force himself to keep his steps slow and measured, still half-convinced this was some sort of a trap.

But it wasn’t a trap. Luke followed Officer Miller through Booking, where they’d taken his mug shot, searched his clothes, and yelled orders. When Miller offered him a doughnut and some orange juice, Luke started to believe everyone was going to jump out and admit to being part of some elaborate reality TV show.

“Thank you.” Luke took a cruller with chocolate frosting from the mauve box, far too hungry to resist. The police station was busy, despite the holding cell now standing empty. Uniformed officers milled about the hallways; another two in police-issued sweats crossed the hall holding half-full water bottles. One of the interview rooms had its door closed, occupied light on above it. To all these people it was another Friday morning at work.

“Why don’t you go talk to Janice?” Officer Miller pointed toward a window in the wall down by the waiting room. “I’ll grab you some coffee. How do you like it?”

Luke swallowed the mouthful of cruller, disappointed he couldn’t savor it longer. “Uh, black is fine. Thanks.”

Luke followed the hallway to Janice’s window. He’d been expecting an older woman with cropped hair and a surly attitude. Instead, he was greeted by a smiling woman in her midtwenties, hair pulled back in a French braid that even May would envy.

“Mr. Richardson?” Janice asked as though she was calling out his name at a Starbucks because his latte was ready.

“Yes.” Luke sighed, ready to be out of the police station and back at home with his family. “Do I need to sign something?”

“Yup. I need you to sign here saying you received all your belongings. So, could you take a look real fast?”

Luke wiggled his fingers into the top of the drawstring bag and forced it open. Inside were his phone, his wallet, an old Natalie letter, and a few random pens. He should probably check his credit cards and cash, but he didn’t want to waste any more time in case they suddenly decided to change their minds and put him back in a cell.

“Looks good,” he answered, picking up a pen. She pointed to a line at the bottom of a page. Luke scanned through the document to make sure he wasn’t admitting to anything. Satisfied, he scribbled out his signature.

Janice took the clipboard and checked it over. “Looks like everything’s in order. Now, it might take a day or two to get your car from impound, but Officer Miller has arranged a ride home for you. I’ll give you a call when it’s ready.”

Luke felt like he’d fallen through the looking glass and into some kind of upside-down world. Miller was getting him coffee and arranging rides; Janice was helping him get his car out of police custody. Last night he’d walked into the station frightened. Every person he met, intimidating. Something must’ve changed in the past twelve hours, but what?

“Uh, thank you,” Luke replied, giving Janice a half wave.

“Here’s your coffee.” Miller showed up beside him with a steaming disposable cup. Luke grabbed it, still holding on to the half-eaten pastry. “If you’ll follow me.”

The glass double doors leading to the front of the police station were only a few feet away now. His feet itched to sprint through them to freedom, but there was something he still needed to know.

He cleared his throat, which was clogged with cruller crumbs. “So, all charges have been dropped? Nothing will be on my record? I don’t need a lawyer or anything like that?”

“That’s right. It was a bit of a . . .” Miller stretched his neck to one side, then the other. “We are calling it a ‘misunderstanding.’” He straightened his shoulders, and his voice turned very official. “I’m afraid I can’t comment on an open investigation.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” Luke took a sip of his coffee. It was very hot and very strong. He held back a cough. Maybe he’d hire that lawyer after all, try to get some answers.

Miller didn’t wait for any further questions. “Follow me,” he ordered, turning his body to hide the code he typed into the pad beside the doors. After a beep, the doors unlocked, and Officer Miller held one open. “Your ride is waiting outside.”

“Uh, thank you,” Luke answered. Without making eye contact, he hurried past the officer, trying not to notice the rows of worn black chairs lining the walls or the receptionist in the corner who seemed to be waving at him—or maybe she was waving at Officer Miller; he didn’t care to find out which. As he burst through the front doors, the summer heat hit him immediately. He forgot to check the time inside, but it must be close to noon.

Taking the last two bites of his cruller, Luke heaved the empty napkin and full cup of coffee into the tall blue garbage can outside the station door. Still chewing, he glanced around the parking lot, expecting to see a squad car or maybe even Terry with the minivan. There were two police cruisers—one a beater that looked like it couldn’t start even if someone showed up with keys, and the other a blue Accord. A slender woman stood beside the Accord wearing a flowing blue blouse and fitted jeans, head down looking at her phone. Luke let out a disappointed sigh. No one was here for him. His phone was probably dead, which meant going back inside to make a phone call. Great.

He heard his name. The blonde woman by the car glanced up from her phone and waved. Luke’s stomach did a little flip. It was Annie.

“Luke! Over here,” she shouted across the parking lot. He wanted to run to her, pick her up in his arms and tell her how much he’d missed her, but they were at the police station where her husband worked, her husband who’d tried to frame him. He wouldn’t run or pick her up, but he couldn’t stop himself from responding.

“Annie?” he called out. “What are you doing here?” He glanced around one more time. “Are you my ride?”

She didn’t wait for him to reach the car. Using all her speed and agility, she ran across the blacktop and wrapped her arms around his waist. It happened so fast it took a moment for Luke’s arms to catch up with his mind. He lightly placed his arms around her shoulders, keeping his eyes open in case Brian came out from some hiding place. But once he could feel her warmth and liveliness against his aching body and feel her hair brush his cheek, he forgot to hold back, to be on guard. His muscles tensed, and he pulled her in hard, engulfing Annie in his arms.

“I’ve missed you,” she said. He was relieved she said it first.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he said, barely resisting the urge to kiss her on the top of the head. Brian’s jail-cell accusations came back to him in a rush, and Luke forced his arms to drop. “Um, so, Brian?” He took a step back and folded his arms across his chest.

“I’m sorry I got you pulled into my drama. I didn’t think he’d do . . . this.” She gestured at the police station and cars.

“Wait, you knew he set me up?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out. He’s been furious with you since he picked me up from your house. And then when he didn’t get the job . . .” She trailed off. Luke was afraid to know how she was going to finish that sentence. “Let’s just say it was bad.” She rubbed a spot on her wrist. Luke noticed the brace on it for the first time.

“Damn it,” Luke cursed to himself. “He hurt you, didn’t he?” Forgetting to keep his distance, he took her braced hand carefully. “I thought I was helping. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, you didn’t break it; he did.”

“No, I knew it was a risk.” Luke ran his thumb over the palm of her hand. “I was being selfish. I didn’t want you to leave.”

“Well, it worked.” She pulled her hand away and gestured to the car. “I told Terry I’d take you over to the hospital. She’s there with May. They filled me in on what happened.”

“Yes, please. I was on my way over there when all this happened. But wait.” He touched Annie’s elbow, stopping her from turning away. “Brian won’t mind?” he asked, trying to keep his bitterness toward Brian from leaking into his feelings for Annie. Though it
was
strange getting picked up from a night in jail by the wife of the man who put him there.

Annie stopped, keys in hand. “Luke, Brian is under arrest.”

“What?”

“He’s going to jail for a very long time,” she said with a confidence she rarely displayed. “Get in the car; I’ll explain on the way.” She kept walking, unlocking the car with a beep. The wind caught in her shirt, blowing the sleeves back, away from her body. For a second she looked like she was flying.