Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Walking quietly out of the bedroom, I spy Becky still asleep on the living room sofa.
While I’m not sure why she didn’t take the second bedroom, it was my idea for her to stay.
We didn’t stop at a few glasses of wine last night.
By the collection of bottles on the counter, we didn’t stop at one bottle—a piece.
Neither one of us was in any condition to drive.
Our late-night, alcohol-enhanced talk was both enlightening and cathartic.
We caught up in a way that isn’t possible over the phone.
At some time after midnight, Becky sent Hank a text message, telling him she was spending the night with me.
I’m not going to lie; I half expected him to show up as soon as she hit send.
He didn’t then.
He’s here now.
I’m not aware of his presence because Hank knocked on the door or called my phone. I doubt he has my number. Instead, he woke me with a rap on the bedroom window. When I moved the blind to investigate the noise, he motioned toward the back of the cottage.
Taking a deep breath, I open the back door. I’m greeted by the morning chill. Fog hovers near the ground as the beams of sunlight penetrate the tall trees. Taking a step onto the stoop, I meet Hank Sanders’s green gaze.
With his hands buried deep in the pockets of his blue jeans, his generally looming stance is more subdued. His normally wide shoulders are bowed forward, and his chin is down as if he is mesmerized by the dust on his pointed-toe boots.
Wearing pajama pants and a camisole, I tug a sweatshirt down and quietly close the door behind me.
Finally, he looks up. “Thanks for keeping her last night.”
Above us the branches sway, creating a scattering of sunlight to strobe upon the mist-covered ground. “Do you want to come in?” I ask, my body quickly chilled by the morning temperature.
Hank shakes his head. “I don’t want to wake her. I just needed to know she was safe.” His eyes widen. “Becky’s still here, right?”
“Yeah, she’s asleep on the sofa.” I lower the sweatshirt sleeves over my fingers. “How did you know which room I’d be in?”
“I’ve helped Beck’s parents with all these cottages. Who would pick a room that looks out at the parking lot if they could have a window to the lake?”
That was my reasoning.
My cheeks rise. “Hank...” I’m not sure what to say, so after a sigh, I offer, “I can make some coffee, and we can sit out front until she wakes.”
“You don’t want me here.”
I shrug. “Maybe I’ve been wrong.”
He pushes his hands deeper into his pockets as he looks up at the trees. “You weren’t, Jillian. I...” His gaze meets mine. “I was young and stupid. I made mistakes.”
My arms cross over my breasts. “It’s not my business other than that I love Becky and want her happy.” And safe. I don’t say the last part.
“She is...I hope,” he adds. “I know you two talk often. I’ve always known.”
I take a small step back toward the door. “Becky and I have been friends for a long time. Don’t take it out on her because I don’t agree with her choice.”
He steps forward, his large hand reaching for my forearm, stopping my thoughts of retreating.
I glare down at where we are touching. “Hank.”
Just as quickly, he releases me. “I fucked up. It was a long time ago.”
“I hope that was the only time.”
“It was. I knew I screwed up, and I couldn’t bear to lose her.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “Before Becky and I were married, I went to counseling.”
This is news to me. “You did?”
“I know it’s none of your business, but did you not know that? Becky never told you?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t and she didn’t.”
He kicks the dirt with the toe of his boot. “So, I really am the reason you didn’t come to the wedding?”
If Hank doesn’t know the other extenuating circumstance, I’m not going to tell him now. I lift my chin. “I couldn’t support the wedding, Hank. Not after I had to pick up the pieces when you left my best friend black and—”
“I fucked up,” he interrupts. “Like I said, it happened once. I was wasted, which is no excuse. I fucking regretted it. I still do. I promised her it wouldn’t happen again.”
“She told me that part. I didn’t believe you.”
He runs his hand through his messy hair. “I’m glad she believed me. I swear, Jillian, I love Becky fucking more than life. And now she’s upset.”
“Now she’s asleep,” I correct.
“Did she tell you about Marty?”
I shift my sock-covered feet on the concrete stoop, hoping to return the circulation to my cold toes. “She told me that Marty had a job at Sanders Feed.”
“So, she told you that the little cunt came on to me?”
“Mentioned it.”
“I would never cheat on Beck. Hell, I was ignoring Marty when Beck came to the store. Dad and I heard Becky cuss Marty out. I wanted to talk to Beck about it, but she never mentioned it, and I’m a guy.”
“Which means?”
His expression turns sheepish. “It means that if avoiding a touchy subject is possible, I’ll take it. Path of least resistance and all that shit.”
It appears that Hank Sanders has had more than a moment of self-reflection.
He continues, “We just never talked about it. And then yesterday, when they found Marty, Becky took it hard.” He lets out a breath. “Real hard. I could tell she was upset. I wish she would talk to me, but I’m glad you’re here.”
He is?
I lower my arms to my side. “You’re not upset that she stayed?”
Hank shakes his head. “I would’ve been pissed if she drove home after drinking. She knows how I feel about it. I don’t care if she has a beer or wine. I don’t.”
“You don’t care?”
“I don’t care if she has a drink, but I don’t.
..drink alcohol. Not since back then.” Since the night Becky ended up at my house.
The night I tried to get her to go to the police or the hospital.
She refused. I still don’t think she was right to forgive him, but now, seeing him and learning all he’s done to redeem himself, I wonder if it’s time for me to drop my grudge.
There are more important things happening in Blue Gil.
I tilt my head toward the cottage. “Sure you don’t want some coffee?”
The door behind me opens. “Hank?”
I turn in time to see Becky, but she isn’t looking at me.
I step back as Hank comes forward. Becky’s arms encircle his neck, and his large hands splay over her waist. Their murmurs of adoration make me both self-conscious and confirm that it’s time for me to accept them for who they are.
I’m hardly without faults. “Shit, you two.”
When Becky turns to me, her eyes are moist with tears. “Sorry, Jillian.”
“No, don’t be. I’m sorry. If you two ever decide to renew your vows, I’ll be there.”
Becky smiles as she rests her cheek against Hank’s chest and reaches out until our hands are clenched.
“If you want me,” I add.
For the first time since he arrived, Hank smiles. “We’ll have to evaluate the guest list.”
Becky playfully swats at his chest.
Hank looks down, speaking to Becky, “The sheriff is making some announcements to anyone who can attend. It’s today at the high school at ten. I thought you might want to go home, eat, and clean up.”
“Shit,” I say, “what time is it?”
“Almost eight,” Hank replies.
He looks at me. “I’ll pass on the coffee.”
Becky’s gaze comes to mine, amazement and surprise both contending for her top expression. “You invited him to coffee? My husband?”
“Yeah, Mrs. Sanders, I did.”
Letting go of Hank, she hugs me. “Like a sister.”
I step back. “Oh shit, I need to check on Julie.”
“Let me know what you learn.” She turns to Hank. “My car is here.”
We all look out toward the parking area, seeing four vehicles.
“I’ll drive you home,” he offers, “and after the sheriff’s talk, I’ll bring you back here and you get your car.”
Becky nods and turns back to me. “Thanks for being here, Jillian.”
“Maybe I should do it more often.” Oddly, for the first time since coming back, I mean it.
While Becky goes inside to gather her things, I turn to Hank. “Who found Marty?”
His expression becomes animated, a combination of tasting something sour and shock. “Mrs. Coach and her parents. Joey was in the car.” He spits on the ground. “Seriously fucked up.”
I recall seeing her in Lawton. Country Road 62 is a back road to that destination. “Why would...? How did she...?”
“There’s a memorial set up out there. You know the kind, a cross and flowers.
From what I heard, she and her folks went out there to take some of the things people left at the high school.
Mr. Needham called her to let her know they were going to clean it all up before classes resumed today.
So, they took a carload of flowers, teddy bears, and other shit—”
I wonder how I missed the memorial when I went to Lawton the other day. My mind goes to the high school principal. Needham has had that position as long as I can remember. The man must be in his eighties. Probably not, but he has always seemed old.
My empty stomach twists as I interrupt, “And found Marty’s body. Oh, how awful.”
“Yeah, especially with how they found her.”
“What do you mean, the asphyxiation?”
Becky is back with her purse. “It’s more. I didn’t tell you because it’s gross.”
“What?” I look back and forth between the two.
“Remember how I said the coach’s body was messed up because he sat outside so long?” Becky asks.
I nod.
“The sick bastard who killed Marty suffocated her,” Hank says. “Plastic bag secured around her neck.”
“I heard that,” I reply. When they both look at me, I add, “Sheriff Manes spoke to our family last night, because of Julie. He said asphyxiation with a plastic bag.”
The two of them look at each other and back to me. It’s Becky who speaks. “Anyway, we assumed it was birds or some shit...the reason Coach’s eyes were gone.”
My nose scrunches and my stomach drops. “Yeah, what does that have to do with Marty?”
“No eyes,” Hank says.
“Oh my God. Who told you this?” The sheriff didn’t mention that.
“I heard it from Parker Owens,” Hank replies. “Considering his connection, he’s reliable.”
I tilt my head. “Name is familiar.”
“Younger than us,” Becky says. “He and Hank are friends, play on a softball team together. Anyway, Parker’s been dating Annabelle Ford for a few years.”
The deputy.
Echo asked about a connection. There it is, both Craig’s and Marty’s eyes were removed.
“You said a bag was over her head to suffocate her?”
“Yeah,” Hank says.
“And her eyes were gone?” Before they comment, I ask, “Was the bag still present?”
“Well, I didn’t see her,” Hank answers.
Pictures conjured in my imagination cause the bile in my empty stomach to move upward. “If the bag killed her and her eyes are gone, her eyes were removed before she died.”
Both of their expressions reflect my disgust. “Oh God,” Becky says. “I didn’t give that any thought.”
“Did they find them?” Or is the killer keeping them as a souvenir. Retaining mementos is common with serial killers.
Goose bumps materialize beneath my sweatshirt.
“Find what?” Becky asks.
“The eyes.”
“Not that I’ve heard,” Hank answers before they both walk away.
For a moment, I stand on the back stoop lost in thought as more questions come to mind.
What the hell is happening in Blue Gil?
Has our town always had this sick resident or is this an outsider?