Thirty-Eight Grace
Murphy drops me off at my parents’ house a few hours later.
Geny texted to invite me over for dinner, so I need to shower and get ready.
My mom used to say there’s nothing a hot shower can’t fix.
It’s something I’ve repeated often over the years and believe with all my heart.
The way my muscles relax under the hot stream of water.
The way the steam wraps around me like a blanket.
She said to let all the bad stuff go right down the drain.
And if you get out and still feel crummy, try it again tomorrow.
I feel a little better afterward, but nothing is fixed.
“I’ll try again tomorrow,” I whisper.
I decide I’ve gotten my steps in for the day and drive to Geny’s instead of walk.
The temperature is starting to drop. Winter in Raven is especially brutal.
Over the years, it made me laugh to hear people complain about the cold in other places.
Anyone who hasn’t experienced the lake effect doesn’t know anything about rough winters.
Wyatt is playing catch with Jack and Carter in the yard when I get to the house. They’re in coats but Carter still hops foot to foot like he’s trying to keep warm. The sun has almost set, so I’m surprised they can even see the ball.
“All right, boys. Let’s get inside and get cleaned up,” Wyatt says, as I get out of my car.
Carter books it inside and Jack follows with a wave to me.
I wave back, but I’m distracted by my heart being in my throat.
Wyatt stands near the steps, waiting for me.
I wish he’d go inside. I wish he’d keep avoiding me so I can keep a safe distance and not have to make eye contact.
Nothing good will ever come of us being near each other again.
And my idiot self went and got his best friend involved.
“Sorry about Brooke,” he says.
I fight back the tears that come at every mention of her name. I don’t feel right taking apologies from her death. We weren’t that close. We had only really known each other for a week and now I’m acting like she was my best friend, as if I have any right to accept condolences.
“It’s sad,” I say. “Her family must be devastated. To lose both their daughters like that.”
“You know, for a second I thought it was you.”
“Dead or a killer?” I ask, unsure what he means.
“Dead,” he says.
“Were you relieved?” I mean it as a joke. I even smile. But it falls just as fast at his sad expression. “Sorry. It would just make things less complicated for everyone.”
“Don’t talk like that. Your life is more important than a few complications.”
I press my lips together, a “thanks” because I don’t have the words.
“Hey,” Geny says from the doorway. We both look up at her. She’s smiling but her face looks strained. “Dinner is almost done. Come inside, it’s freezing.”
I climb the stairs, trying to ignore the feeling like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. I haven’t. But she has a way of making me feel that way.
In the kitchen I’m greeted with the smell of roasted garlic and a hint of rosemary.
I know right away what it is. Our mom’s stuffed chicken recipe.
I heard somewhere that scent is the sense closest tied to memory, and I believe it because a flood of them overwhelm me all at once.
Memories of being younger at home. And even more recent ones when I’ve made the dish on special occasions.
“I brought wine,” I say. I’d stopped to pick up a bottle on the way over. “It’s in my car. I’ll grab it.”
I run outside and lean over the driver’s seat to grab the bottle.
I should have grabbed more than one, I think.
This crowd is one that needs a fair amount of alcohol to blur the sharp edges.
I walk back inside but freeze when I hear harsh whispers around the corner.
It’s clearly Wyatt and Geny, but I can’t make out the words.
Only the tone. Another argument. Have they always fought like this?
The couple’s therapy and his empty side of the bed say probably.
And yet I still feel at fault. And part of me, a very small and selfish part, feels vindicated.
They aren’t a good match. There was a time I once knew these two people better than anyone else.
They are vinegar and oil. I thought for a second that maybe I didn’t know them as well as I thought.
Or maybe it’s just that I don’t know them anymore.
Maybe that’s still true. But it’s true, too, that they don’t mix. They’re forcing it.
Even so, I can’t be the reason they fall apart. I don’t think Geny and I could work through that, and there’s nothing worth irreparable damage to my relationship with my sister now that I have her back. Even Wyatt.
“Got the wine,” I call from the doorway to give them a second to play it cool.
When I turn the corner into the kitchen, Geny is bent over, pulling the chicken from the oven and Wyatt is setting the table. They’re good at pretending.
I pop the wine into the fridge and consider going to the table, but I don’t want Geny to think I want to be near Wyatt. I stand by her instead.
“Can I help make up the plates?”
“Sure,” she says. She points to the stack of plates. “You can go ahead. I’m going to get freshened up and make sure the boys are on their way.”
I nod and get started. I make a plate and walk it over to the kitchen table because there isn’t enough counter space to set them anywhere else.
Wyatt is sitting at the table and I set the first plate in front of him. Our eyes meet and I falter. The plate hits the table too hard. “Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. You’re starting to sound like Geny.”
I pull my lips between my teeth. “Are you guys okay?”
I shouldn’t ask. It’s none of my business and it’s the last place I should be sticking my nose. But if I ask Geny, she would just lie. And I want to know. Need to know.
He shrugs. “Only slightly more strained than usual. I wouldn’t worry about it though. Neither of us has ever had the balls to leave. We’ll just keep fighting. And keep living.”
My gaze falls to the floor. His words make me incredibly sad. For him and for my sister, who both deserve a happy life. I walk back to the stove and continue plating the food and setting them on the table without another word to Wyatt.
Geny is back in a hurry, so much so that she’s out of breath.
“Thanks, Grace. I’ll get some glasses for the wine. The boys will be down any second.”
On cue, Carter strolls into the kitchen. “What are we eating?”
“Grandma’s chicken,” Geny says. “I don’t want to hear a word.” She spins and points at him just as his shoulders fall in a full-body pout.
“But I don’t like that chicken,” he whines.
“What did I say?” she snaps.
Carter’s face crumples.
“Hey, bud. Come here,” Wyatt says, and Carter runs over to him.
Geny sighs and pinches her temples between her thumb and middle finger. I reach out and touch her arm, but she yanks away from me.
She sighs again. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I just need a minute.”
Geny leaves the room. I hesitate before joining everyone else at the table. Carter is sitting on Wyatt’s knee. Wyatt tries to comfort him and brush off Geny snapping at him.
“Hey, Carter,” Jack says.
Carter looks up at his big brother, his face stuck in a frown.
Jack opens his mouth to expose his half-chewed food. Wyatt looks like he’s about to tell him to stop, but Carter cracks up.
“Gross!” he says, but he sounds absolutely delighted. We all laugh, and the tension melts.
Jack grins and closes his mouth to finish chewing. “Dad, did you know if I get into University of Michigan, it’s less than a five-hour drive home? I can come home on the weekends.”
“You’re not going to want to, son.” Wyatt laughs.
“Nonsense,” Jack says, looking at his little brother. “I’ll be home for Carter’s games too. He’s going to be in the instructional league next year. I can’t miss that.”
Jack and Wyatt break into a conversation about sports seasons. I watch Jack with awe. But there’s a pity too. He’s good at shifting the mood. And kids don’t get good at that without having to do it often. He’s the peacekeeper, and I hate that he’s had to become one.
I take a bite of my food and try to take a mental step back. I’ve been here for a week. I don’t know the depths of their family dynamics. But I can see what’s right in front of me. Only . . . it’s none of my business.
“They’re doing career week next week too,” Jack says. “I was going to ask Grandpa to come with me since I want to work for the police.”
Wyatt nods. “I’m sure Grandpa would love to go back to his old stomping grounds.”
I look up from my plate at Wyatt. His words stick to my brain like a zebra mussel to a boat hull.
That’s right. Not only did Frank attend Raven High School like nearly everyone else in this town, he was the school officer stationed there when we were in high school.
The resource officer. It was just before he got the sheriff position.
Just before our affair officially started.
I’m not entirely sure what it means or why remembering feels important, but I’ve long since learned to trust my gut.
Geny comes back downstairs, her face fixed in a small smile. “How’s everything tasting?”
“Good,” Jack says.
“Just like Mom’s,” I say. Her forced smile seems to melt into a genuine one, but only for a moment.
I try not to stare at her while we finish eating.
I’m worried about her. She seems so tightly wound, and it’s only getting worse.
She’s been through so much this last week.
Wyatt said he was keeping an eye on her, but she doesn’t seem to be doing well.
At what point does he step in? And what does stepping in even mean? Having her committed?
Clearing Dad’s name might help her. I know it would help me.
It would stop the whispers and the sideways glances from nosey neighbors and gossips.
I need to get home, or back to my parents’ house, to sort through my thoughts.
A few hours ago, I thought it’d be better to give this all up.
To disappear again. Then, at least anyone else’s death wouldn’t be my fault.
But it would be. If I leave Frank to keep operating without being stopped, the next person he hurts will be my fault. And if I leave again, Geny wouldn’t be able to handle it. And that would be my fault too.