Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
VIVIAN
Seeing Everett again should not turn my legs to jelly, but the minute they’re gone, I slump into my chair and put my head in my hands. It’s not fair. I bought that vibrator to help me satisfy whatever stupid urge Everett somehow sparked so I could put it and thoughts of his hands on my body to rest. Permanently. But it’s not working. Why does he have to look so damn good in that uniform? Why does he have to be such a compassionate, caring dad?
When I walked into Glory Holes and saw him sitting there, those steady, gorgeous eyes on me, I got flustered. How could I not when the object of my nightly explorations since I put that vibrator to use was sitting right there? It’s his fault I didn’t see that car. Then he suggests that I make a report. Like hell. Yes, officer, I know exactly what happened. I was daydreaming about your mouth on my body and must have missed that asshole driving like a maniac.
I need to stop running into Everett, but since Ava and Hutch’s wedding, it’s like I can’t escape him.
Thankfully, I can throw myself into work for the rest of the day thanks to the never-ending administrative duties and the steady stream of sick kids needing to go home. Not surprising given we are still in the first month of school.
Just before the final bell rings, I slip into the supply room to grab a new box of latex gloves and tissues when I overhear Shawna talking to one of our counselors, Taffy McGuire.
“Do you think his son knows what happened?” Shawna says in a half-whisper.
I try to block her out. Office gossip isn’t my thing, but after a pause, Taffy says, “I mean, Everett dropped everything, so it must have been bad.”
Wait, this is about Everett?
“That he became a cop isn’t a surprise,” Shawna says. “I wish he’d talk about it with me, though.”
The phone from inside the counselor’s office rings and Shawna hurries out the opposite door.
After finishing up in the supply room, I grab my raincoat and lunchbox and leave the office building from the side door. Shawna’s words rattle around in my mind. Does his son know what happened? What is she talking about? I also didn’t miss her overfamiliar I wish he’d talk about it with me. Why would he? Are they close?
I shake my head to stop this train of thought because I don’t care who Everett hangs out with.
The morning’s steady drizzle and last night’s wind has turned my shortcut past the soccer field into a spongy mess slick with fallen leaves. When I descend the hill to the elementary school’s parking lot, the curb is packed with parents waiting in pickup trucks and station wagons. The school’s broad entryway is also clustered with the parents who walk their children home.
When I join them, Jesse breaks from a small group of dads standing by the flagpole and walks over. I haven’t seen him since the wedding, but his daughter Skye and Mateo are in the same class and have become close.
“How was the middle school today?” Jesse asks.
“Busy.” Mostly the middle school nurse position is answering emails and administering medications. Logan Rumsey’s fight today was my first. I hope Everett doesn’t come down too hard on him. The school suspension is firm enough. Logan was just defending that poor girl. I don’t condone violence, but a part of me wants to give the kid a medal.
Jesse nods, then his bright blue eyes light up. “Hey, I got a couple of really great shots of you and Matty at the wedding. Do you want me to make you a few prints?”
The final bell chimes from inside the school just as two of the administrators exit the main entrance to run the car line and the crosswalk.
“Gosh, that would be great,” I say to Jesse as the classroom doors burst open and kids file onto the concrete walkway.
“Cool.” Jesse tucks one of his wild curls behind his ear, his gaze so steady and kind that I’m tempted to step back. Jesse asked me out once, but I turned him down. That he’s offering this gift makes me wonder if I wasn’t firm enough. Or maybe his offer is genuine? It’s confusing. It’s not that I don’t long for friendship, I just never imagined the people of Finn River to be so welcoming, especially to an outsider like me. I moved here to live a quiet life and raise Matty far from the life we fled. Far from the person we escaped.
Mateo and Skye come racing over, both holding some sort of art project.
“Mom!” Mateo says, his smile so bright it could melt the last of the clouds away. “We did Sunflower Jackpot today and I won!”
“How exciting!” I say with a laugh while Skye rattles off something to Jesse, her uneven pigtails bobbing, and a sign that Jesse plays both parenting roles with his daughter, just like I do with Mateo. It makes me think of Everett, too, shepherding a troubled Logan from the nurse’s office earlier. From Sepp, I know that Everett’s on his own, too. We should form a club.
I shake my head. No . What is wrong with me? First I get hot and bothered at the wedding when Everett grabbed me around the waist, then my ovaries practically combust the moment I saw him inside Glory Holes, and now I’m captain of the Finn River Single Parents Club?
“Bye Matty!” Skye says over her shoulder as Jesse leads her toward the road.
“Bye!” Mateo replies as he slides his hand into mine. We walk in the opposite direction, back to where I parked at the middle school.
“…and we got to do math for an extra ten minutes,” Matty rattles off. His missing front tooth adds the tiniest lisp to his speech. I should record him talking, so I can keep it forever. “And I got a daffodil bulb to plant, can we?”
“Sure.” There’s a little creek that runs alongside the edge of the trailer park. We could find a spot there maybe?
“Mr. Tanner taught us a song about apple picking,” Matty says. “Want me to teach you?”
“You know I do,” I reply, swinging Matty’s hand as we walk.
By the time we get to the car, I’ve managed to get the chorus down. Matty smiles up at me. “You’re almost as good as Skye, Mom!”
I ruffle his hair. “Thanks, bug.”
At the car, I give him an apple for a snack then queue up his favorite Kid’s Bop playlist. While I drive, my mind drifts to the part time job I applied for yesterday with a geology professor at Bitterroot Community College. He’s got a year of lab results to organize and the pay is almost too good to be true.
When I turn into The Meadows, I’m so deep inside a daydream of Matty and I stepping off a plane in Germany that it takes me a moment to realize something’s not right.
Why is a Finn River Sheriff’s Department SUV parked in front of my unit?
As I cruise to a stop next to my trailer, Everett steps out and walks toward me.
My heart does a fluttery leap into my throat.
Earlier today, he was a big tough cop who treated his son with kindness. A hot single dad with handcuffs.
Here in my driveway, his serious eyes and calm strength are giving me a totally different vibe.
A caring one.
Why is he here? Has something bad happened?
My mind floods with questions but I focus on helping Mateo gather his things. He jumps down just as Everett joins us, his hands on his hips.
Mateo freezes.
“Mateo, this is Deputy Rumsey,” I say, shutting the car door behind him. “Do you remember him from that time we were driving in the snowstorm?”
“I made yellow snow!” Mateo cackles.
Everett squats down, so he’s level with Matty, and smiles. “Hey, Mateo.” He nods at the toy tape measure he must have grabbed from the seat pocket on his way out of the car. “What do you got there?”
Mateo’s mouth crimps into a look of concentration. “My tape measure.”
Everett reaches to his chest and turns down the knob of his radio, the motion highlighting the lean muscles in his arms. “Cool. Do you like to measure things?”
“The biggest diamond is ten point one centimeters wide.” He sets his art project on the ground and pulls the tape from the housing to show Everett the markings filled with facts.
Everett gives him an encouraging nod. “Wow. I didn’t know that.”
Matty glances up at me, his eyes curious. Mateo doesn’t have the same reaction to cops as I do. He still thinks his dad is a hero, and by extension, that all cops are good guys.
“Your mom needs to go inside your place for a few minutes,” Everett says to Matty. “Think you can hang with me out here? We could put that tape measure to use.”
“Okay!” he says.
I glance past Everett to my front door. It’s not ajar, but the seam isn’t flush, and there’s something off about the doorplate.
Oh shit .
This is why he’s here. Someone broke into my trailer.
“Your neighbor noticed the doorjamb tampered with and called it in,” Everett says in a low tone.
I glance at Mrs. Ovenell’s unit across from me, but she’s not at her window. At the next unit down, Mr. Graham is outside walking his Bichon Frise but he keeps glancing our way. Was he the one who called the police?
“Can you go have a look around, catalogue what’s missing?” Everett says, standing. “The crime scene tech is on his way. Try to leave things as they are if you can.”
I shoot him a look. Leave things as they are? Is he being vague so Matty doesn’t get worried, or is this way of preparing me for what I’m about to see?
This is all happening too fast. Not just the news that I am the victim of some kind of crime, but that he’s occupying Mateo while I deal with it.
Telling him I don’t need his help is on the tip of my tongue, but it’s too late for that. And though he’s not given me any reason to distrust him with Mateo, that I don’t have a choice in the matter is testing my capacity.
“Did you know a flea can jump eighteen centimeters?” Mateo asks. He’s leading Everett to the little creek behind our unit.
“I did not,” Everett replies.
“It’s why Mom won’t let us get a dog.”
“Oh yeah?" Everett replies. “What kind of dog would you want?”
Tuning them out, I climb the two steps to the tiny porch.
Try to leave things as they are .
With a hard sigh, I use the toe of my shoe to push open the door.
It creaks open, and I step inside. I try to take it all in, but it’s too much awful at once to process.
Down the short hall, where the parquet flooring meets the blue shag carpet, there’s a giant tear where someone peeled it back. Beyond, my couch is askew, and the contents of my knitting basket are strewn everywhere.
I’m tempted to put everything back in order. Now I know why Everett said to leave it undisturbed. The crime scene tech is on his way.
Because my house now a crime scene.
I step behind the door, and peek into the bathroom. The contents of my cosmetics case has been emptied all over the floor. My toothpaste tube has been squeezed flat, the white stripe of its contents coiled in my sink. The cupboard beneath the sink is open, the bottles of cleaner knocked over. Even my boxes of tampons and pads have been dumped out. In the bathtub, the shampoo and conditioner bottles have been emptied, too.
I lean my back against the wall and inhale a shaky breath.
What has happened here?
Through the window in my bedroom, Everett and Mateo’s chatter reminds me that I’m on a timeline. I don’t want Mateo to have to see this, but Everett can only keep him occupied for so long.
I move into Matty’s bedroom next. The drawers in his nightstand hang open, and the lamp shade is crooked. His covers are flung to the side, and the sheets are untucked. His dresser drawers have been emptied, littering the floor with the shirts and pants I folded and put away not two days ago. One of the dresser drawers is cracked and rests in the corner, like it was flung there.
Everett said to catalogue what’s missing, but how am I supposed to do that? I press my fingertips to the corners of my eyes to keep the tears from leaking out.
I’m capable. I’m strong. I’m resilient.
I take one last look at Matty’s room, then move to the main room. Bracing myself, I round the corner.
I cover my mouth to hold in my cry.
Every container from the pantry closet has been dumped out. Flour and sugar is all over the counter, the floor, the range. Penne pasta litters the floor like dried-up worms. Cereal and lentils and granola bars and chocolate chips are sprinkled across every surface .
The fridge is open, and every container from inside it has been emptied too. Milk has congealed on the parquet flooring. Juice has created a sticky sheen on the shelves. A jar of applesauce is gooped in a brown pile at the base. The empty jars and bottles have been discarded like flotsam after a storm—though, strangely, none are broken. I pick my way through the detritus and open the freezer. Packages of frozen vegetables have been sliced open. The frozen pizza and bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets I keep for emergency dinners has been ripped open, the contents dumped. Even the ice trays have been emptied.
I don’t have the heart to check the cupboards for what might be missing. Does it matter? My home has been turned upside down.
My couch cushions have been eviscerated. The back of the couch is sliced open too, revealing the cheap framework and upholstery staples.
I know I need to check my bedroom. But I don’t want to.
Maybe it’s time to call for help.
My purse is outside, with my phone. If I go out there, I won’t have the strength to come back in.
Matty’s carefree laughter through my bedroom window snaps me back to my purpose. Forcing my feet to move, I cover the short distance to my room.
What little floor space I have is covered with the contents of my dresser drawers, the sheets and comforter, and what’s left of the stuffing from my pillows. My mattress is propped sideways against the wall, the shiny fabric sliced at the seams and peeled open. The bedside table’s single drawer is tugged out, my tube of hand lotion squirted all over the floor. I spot my little vibrator discarded in a pile of clothes, the battery compartment cracked open.
Not only did they tear up my home, they had to humiliate me too?
I kick the toy under the box spring then grip my waist and draw a shaky breath .
My lampshade has been crushed on the floor, like it’s been stepped on, and the bulb is missing.
I glare at it. All this for a fucking light bulb?
Rationally, I know that’s not true. I’m grasping at straws. Trying to make sense of so much… violence. Destruction.
Why?
It’s not like I keep bars of gold in my mattress. I barely have any jewelry.
Oh god. I race to the top of my dresser, where I keep my mother’s jewelry box.
It’s not there.
Frantic, I search the drawers, then the floor, moving clothes and bits of stuffing with my feet, hoping to turn up the one thing I can’t replace. “No!”
My clothes have been pulled off the hangers in my tiny closet and the shoes I stack neatly on the little shelf below are strewn in every direction, but even as I dive to my knees to dig through the layers, I already know the jewelry box is gone.
Why else would someone break in?
When I’ve searched every corner of the closet floor, I cover my face with my hands. My shaky breaths turn sharp in my throat. I curl tighter, folding into a ball.
It’s gone.
The hand-painted box and the simple pieces my mother owned in her short life aren’t worth much, but they mean something to me.
Outside, the approaching hum of an engine alerts me to another vehicle. A car door slams, followed by the crackle of radio chatter. More cops.
I force another full breath and rise to my feet. Letting strangers into my home feels wrong, yet I certainly can’t turn down their help in finding whoever did this. Even though I know my mom’s jewelry box is gone, likely forever.
But turning over my trailer brings up the very real problem of where Mateo and I are supposed to go in the interim.
I need help.