Chapter 8
Eight
I woke up freezing, despite my pajamas, several layers of blankets, and Phillip’s warm arms around me. The knowledge came soaring back before I even opened my eyes.
Tess. My first love. My husband. Gone.
He had hurt me immeasurably over the past couple years, especially in the past few weeks, given his involvement with Guthrie and Elvin, to say nothing of the cheating, his drug use, and all the other little betrayals. But he had been my husband. We’d known each other since we were kids, had been through all sorts of things together. Before things had gone belly up, he had been there for me through a lot of dark times, had known my secrets, my hopes and dreams, and had even shared some of them with me.
It had been Tess who talked me into applying for a job at the library. He’d heard me complain about not wanting to be a cashier at Kroger for the rest of my life. He was one of the few people who had known my secret aspirations to be a writer, and it had been a stroke of genius on his part when he’d come home one day, cracked open a beer, and told me he’d seen a HELP WANTED ad at the library.
“But I’m not qualified,” I’d protested. I’d been frying up onion rings to go with our veggie burgers for dinner. That was another thing about Tess—he was a carnivore through and through, but he’d happily eat vegan whenever I was around, which was most of the time. He’d never been the type to tease me or make me feel bad for my dietary restrictions or anything else. “Don’t you need a degree to be a librarian?”
“I dunno, darlin’,” he’d said, tipping back his beer and coming over to give me a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “All I know is that the sign’s been up for over a week now, and I know you’re smart as hell. You read a lot, more than anybody I know. And I reckon you’d be as qualified as anybody else, degree or not. I think ou’d be good at the job. What’s the harm in puttin’ in your application?”
And so I had. And just as Tess had predicted, I’d gotten the job. Jean, my boss, and I had gotten along like a house on fire in the interview, and she’d hired me on the spot as her assistant/receptionist. I’d been working there for two years now, and she’d already given me a promotion to assistant manager, though it was more a title than anything.
My job…I’d barely been in over the last few weeks, and who knew if I even had one at this point. I’d had a brief conversation with Jean a few days ago. I’d told her that a family emergency had come up and I needed to take a leave of absence. While she’d told me to take all the time I needed, something in her tone told me she’d had her fill of my shenanigans lately, and that once we were back face to face, there would be consequences. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that she was interviewing candidates in my absence, and I honestly couldn’t blame her if she was.
I couldn’t muster up the energy to care. It seemed no matter how I tried, no matter how much I fought against it, tried to chase down all the loose ends that seemed to be unraveling before me, the worse things got. No sooner than I’d discovered my father was alive, Tess was gone. When would it just stop?
Apparently, the answer was never.
Why the fuck had Tess been in my father’s house? And who had started the fire? Who had killed him, and why?
The thoughts swirling in my head combined with the deep, deep pain I felt in my heart made me dizzy, even though I was lying in bed. Reluctantly, I pried my eyes open, unsurprised to see Phillip staring at me with concern from the other side of the pillow. He reached across me to the nightstand and produced a tissue, handing it to me. He watched me quietly as I dabbed at my eyes, removing the crusted vestiges of sleep and all the tears I’d cried the night before.
Phillip cupped the side of my face. “I’m so sorry, honey,” he said softly, his eyes boring into mine. They held all the same pain that he no doubt saw within mine; he mirrored me. I was touched. The one time he’d met Tess, my ex had made a pretty bad impression. But Phillip had been married and divorced himself; he knew how I must feel, no matter what type of person Tess had been in life.
“Will you help me sit up?” My voice came out a croak. Phillip hooked his arm under my left and gently pulled me up to a sitting position. Out in the parking lot—perhaps from a car radio or someone’s Bluetooth speakers near the pool—I could hear the faint hum of Dio’s “Holy Diver .” I had the sudden, totally inappropriate urge to laugh.
Tess had loved that song. So many times, we’d be working on some house project—painting the kitchen cabinets or repairing the damned broken board in the living room—and we’d fight over the radio. I always wanted to play my records—Bloomer Demons, of course, or Alice in Chains or Bauhaus—while he was more fond of the classic metal and hair metal of the late eighties and early nineties. Dio, Judas Priest, Motley Crue, Lemmy. Tess had unabashedly loved “Holy Diver,” and I’d loudly (and half-jokingly) complained every time he’d play that song. Hearing it now, I put my head in my hands.
“I’m going to get you some coffee,” Phillip murmured, and got up from the bed. I pulled the sheets tighter around me, as if I could absorb the warmth Phillip had just left behind. I felt so cold.
“Thanks.”
He busied himself with the one-cup hotel coffee pot, pouring in the water, tearing open the little envelope of coffee, extracting a filter. My stomach rumbled painfully; I hadn’t eaten dinner the night before. After leaving the police station, I’d been so upset that all I wanted to do was go back to the motel and bury my head under all the pillows, which was exactly what I had done. Phillip had gone over to The Naughty Clam for a bit, not playing a show but placating some of the fans by signing a few autographs and taking a few selfies, leaving me to cry it out and process it on my own. Had I not been so insane with grief, I would have had quite a lot to say about that and been wildly curious to see what the internet had to say about his impromptu appearance, but right now, I just couldn’t care. After he’d gotten back from the bar, he’d come to bed and wrapped his arms around me, making sure I knew he was there, but we hadn’t really spoken. I found I didn’t have any words.
The moment I’d walked in the door at the police department, Phillip on one side escorting me and Mama on the other with Roberta trailing close behind, I’d known it was going to be a bad scene. For some inexplicable reason, the cop at the reception desk had congratulated Mama and me on my father being found. He probably meant well, but the whole thing was weird; he was oddly proud of it, as though he’d discovered him in some secret hiding place, when my father had just driven home from his friend’s house of his own accord. “I bet you’re glad to have your daddy back,” the cop had said to me with a smile brighter than I’d thought necessary under the circumstances.
I hadn’t said much in reply; what was there to say? When the cop had finished signing me in, he’d been noticeably colder. “You can’t bring all of them in with you,” he’d said, pushing a VISITOR sticker over to me.
Dutifully, I’d pulled off the backing and stuck it on my shirt. “Let’s go get this over with.”
An officer led me down a little corridor with a sticky linoleum floor that smelled strongly of Pine-Sol, the old-fashioned kind that reeked of cedar and lemons, and through an unmarked door. A blast of cold air hit me, whipping my hair back. I’d instinctively wrapped my arms around myself, and a woman had said, “Sorry, we have to keep it cold in here.”
I nodded. I knew why. The male cop had passed me over to the female cop then; names were exchanged, but I didn’t remember them. The female cop had been nicer, but she was clipped and professional, too; this was just a job for her. We’d talked for a minute, she’d explained some things, but it was all a blur. All I really remembered was the moment she’d removed the sheet and I saw Tess’ body.
He hadn’t been as badly burned as I’d expected. The cop pulled the sheet down to his torso, and I took him in, feeling oddly calm and quiet as I did so. His dark hair had grown out long, longer than I’d ever seen it, and his boyish face was unmarked except for one small patch of mottled skin on his left cheek. I stared at him, taking in one last look of the lips I’d kissed so many times, the silly little goatee he’d always refused to shave, the pierced right ear with the skull stud in it, the small snake tattoo over his heart. It had once been an “S” for Stormy Spooner. After our divorce, he’d gone and had it touched up to make it into a snake, something he made sure to show me afterward. I’d been so upset by that, but now it all seemed so ridiculous. I had loved him once, loved him fiercely, and he had loved me. That was all that mattered now that he was gone.
I’d nodded to the cop, and she’d put the sheet back over Tess’ face as left the room without another word, walking straight to the car in silence.
Now, I watched as Phillip poured coffee in a paper cup and stirred in two sugars. “Sorry, no creamer, at least not any that’s vegan,” he said apologetically as he handed the hot cup to me. He sat down beside me on the bed and put an arm around me as I took a long, scalding sip. “I know it’s probably the last thing you feel like right now, but you need food. What can I get you to eat?”
“Anything but burgers and onion rings,” I said, and promptly burst into tears.
“This is delicious, Dee, thanks,” I said as my stepmother piled another mountain of mashed potatoes on my plate. We were at her parents’ house, where Daddy, Dee, and Shay would be staying indefinitely. Dee’s parents spent half the time in Michigan, where they were originally from, and half the time in Florida. Right now, they were up north, so it was just us.
“And 100 percent plant-based,” she said with a proud grin, taking her seat and pouring out a glass of wine. “I looked up some recipes on the Food Network website. Plant-based is all the rage now.”
“So I’ve noticed,” I said with a smile, spearing off a piece of my Beyond burger and taking a bite. To Dee’s credit, she’d managed to whip up a pretty decent vegan version of Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, and squash casserole that could have fooled even the most culinary-inclined granny.
“Phillip said you needed comfort food.” She looked over at Daddy and gave him a wistful look. “I thought we all could, honestly.”
“Good call,” Daddy said, digging into his potatoes. “So what do you use in these here taters if you don’t use milk and butter?”
“Well, you use plant-based butter?—"
“Aka margarine,” Phillip muttered, grinning at me, and I kicked him under the table.
“—and whatever plant-milk you like. The recipe I saw called for oat milk, but that stuff just tastes like oatmeal to me. So I used almond milk. It’s good, right, Stormy?”
“It really is.” I crammed a mouthful of potatoes in my mouth and closed my eyes. It actually was delicious, however much Phillip might tease, and I was grateful for a warm, home-cooked meal. I was finally starting to feel somewhat sane again. Barely.
“Okay, we’ve got our hands all washed!” Roberta appeared holding Shably, who held out her hands over her head excitedly, as if to say see? I smiled at my little sister, surprised at just how much she’d grown since the last time I’d seen her. That Christmas, she’d still been very much a baby. Now, she was practically ready for pre-K. Her little tufts of dishwater hair had grown into long, shiny strands, held back with a pretty lavender headband, and her long legs were encased in Princess Elsa leggings. She was going to be tall, from the looks of it; probably taller than me.
“I sit by Sis,” she declared in her little voice, and Roberta grinned, bouncing her in her arms.
“You want to sit by Sis? Okay, you can have my seat. We’ll switch.” She moved Shay’s booster chair to the seat on the other side of me and deposited my baby sister into it. “You’ll have to ask big sister Stormy if she’ll help you cut your steak.”
“You mean her ‘fake,’” Phillip said and snorted.
“I apologize, everyone,” I said, placing my hands on the table and giving them a look of contrition. “For my boyfriend’s endless and unfunny dad jokes.”
“I thought it was funny,” Daddy said, and popped open the tab on his Pbr. I frowned slightly, and he caught my look. “Don’t worry, mon petit baybee”—his faux-French accent was butchered and ridiculous—“ I have two a week. Dee rations them. You can ask her.”
Phillip raised an eyebrow at his term of endearment. Dad chuckled and explained.
“She was obsessed with that skunk from Looney Tunes when she was a little gal,” he said with a grin. “Pepe Le Pew-Pew or whatever he was.”
“Pepe Le Pew.” I grimaced, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Phillip’s mouth was already turning up at the corners; he loved it. “I was little and didn’t know any better. I just thought he was cute with that little hop.”
“Little skunk always chasing the girl cat,” my father said, laughing. “Stormy couldn’t get enough of it. She had all them stuffed animals, socks, posters…and her little friend always liked that other character, that?—”
“So only two a week, huh?” I cut in with a wink, my cheeks still burning.
“It’s true,” Dee said brightly, spearing a piece of broccoli with her fork. “Some weeks, he doesn’t even drink them both.”
“You want one, hoss?” Daddy asked Phillip, and I almost laughed out loud as Phillip nodded and sat up a little straighter in his chair. Hoss, really? I caught Roberta’s eye, and she placed her hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. It appeared that even the coolest of rock stars felt nervous around their girlfriend’s fathers. Phillip looked downright proud to be opening the shitty beer my father handed him.
“Too bad Laureen couldn’t make it,” Daddy said, reaching for the rolls. “This is a nice meal, with nice company. She ought to be here.”
“She said she was tired,” I explained, leaning over to help Shay cut her Beyond burger into small cubes, laughing as she used her hands to pop them in her mouth, ignoring her fork. “Here, use this, little sis. You just washed your hands, remember?”
“She’s probably avoiding me,” Dee said, taking a sip of wine. “We…well, we didn’t exactly have words, but things were a little tense,” she rushed to explain. “We were both so stressed, Chad, and worried about you. I imagine all this has taken a toll on her.”
“And seeing you sitting here drinking probably wouldn’t help,” I said before I could stop myself. I shook my head; I didn’t want to be a jerk tonight. It wouldn’t help anyone. “I mean, just because she hasn’t been sober that long.”
“Drinkin’ was always your mama’s game more than mine,” Daddy said, and passed the basket of rolls to me. I waved them away, and he pushed them further toward me. “You better eat, young lady. Keep up your strength. You might be grown, but I’m still your daddy. Now take you a roll.”
I dutifully complied, then ripped the roll in half and put it on Shay’s plate, giving her a conspiratorial wink. She immediately crammed the entire roll piece in her mouth with her grubby fingers and kicked at the chair legs happily, her shoes thunking against the wood.
I resumed eating, keenly aware that everyone around the table was dodging the subject of Tess. I knew they all probably wanted to know how it had gone—if they’d told me anything, if they’d asked me any questions, how his body had looked, if there was any information. I could hardly blame them for wanting to know. After all, Daddy’s house was gone, and Tess had been found inside. The thing that nobody would say out loud was that plenty of signs pointed to Tess having started the fire in the first place.
But I had nothing to tell them. The police hadn’t given me any information, had asked no questions, and had given me no indication that they were even working on the case, though I knew they had to be. I was as in the dark as everyone else. And even if I had had some information, I wasn’t sure I could talk about what I’d seen under that sheet. It was too hard. Too painful.
Feeling everyone’s eyes on me, I managed to say, “They didn’t tell me anything. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure we’ll hear from them tomorrow,” Dee said, tearing a roll with her teeth, momentarily feral. “And if they don’t, well, I’ll just call another press conference of my own.”
Phillip opened his mouth to no doubt voice his feelings about that, but I beat him to the punch, not wanting another fight between family. I used the one weapon I had in my arsenal, guaranteed to distract and co-opt any tense moment. And it’d be revenge on my dad for spilling about Pepe Le Pew. “Shay, I noticed your leggings have Princess Elsa on them,” I said brightly, taking a too-large sip of my wine. “I bet you love the movie Frozen , huh.”
I tensed up the moment my father found me on the back patio scrolling through my phone. I’d been avoiding being alone with him all evening and had begun to think I might get away from the house without having to talk to him when he’d offered to put Shably to bed. But then Phillip, ever the gentleman, had insisted on helping Dee with the dishes, and I hadn’t been able to make my getaway.
“You and me need to have a pow wow,” Daddy said, sitting down beside me on the porch swing.
“You shouldn’t say pow wow,” I said, my voice coming out more cross than I intended. “It’s disrespectful to Native culture.”
“Oh. Well, I didn’t realize,” Daddy said, looking at me thoughtfully. In his right hand, he held another beer. “I won’t say it no more.”
“What did you want to talk about?” As if I didn’t know.
“This has all been hard on you,” Daddy said, reaching his arm around and giving me a stiff hug. I wanted to move closer, to lean into him, but I couldn’t do it. I was too anxious. I just sat there instead, letting him hug me but giving nothing back in return. “The house fire, Tess…”
“This is just the latest,” I said bitterly, pushing against the floor with my feet, making the swing go faster. “My life has been a series of heartbreaks for a long time now. Which you’d know if you’d been around.”
“I’m sorry, sweet pea.” Daddy sighed. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I know that. I have a lot to make up for, and I’d like to start by talking things out, getting everything off our chests.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
Daddy looked at me and said nothing, only stared at me, his bushy eyebrows raised on his tan face.
I continued. “It’s been a lot. I just don’t think I have it in me right now, Daddy. Honestly, I just want to go home.”
“But there’s things I need to tell you, things about the fire, about Tess, that?—"
“I can’t.” I shot up from the swing, sending it flying back into the screen. “Not now, okay? Just not now. I can’t.” Before Daddy could protest or say another word, I opened the sliding glass door and ran into the kitchen where Phillip was washing dishes, Dee drying beside him, the two of them laughing at some shared joke.
“Phillip. Let’s go. Now.”
“Sure thing. I’ve got just a couple more plates?—"
“ Now,” I said forcefully. “I want to go home now.”
I didn’t have to tell him a third time.
“I promise I’ll be right back,” I assured Phillip, ignoring the look of almost-hurt on his face as I gently shut the hotel door behind me, patting my pocket to make sure I had the plastic key. Hopefully, he’d be asleep by the time I got back, not because I didn’t want to spend time with him but because I knew how tired he was. He’d spent all day holding me up, being my rock, and he might not let on, but I knew it had taken a toll on him. I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t sleeping, and we had to spend a lot of time on the road tomorrow. Spending all day absorbing my emotions and trying to keep me strong while dealing with both my parents, my stepmom, and energetic, demanding Shably—not to mention Roberta, who was hovering around like a mother hen—was a lot. Then there was that awful scene with my father after dinner that kept playing through my head. He’d tried to talk to me, to explain, to apologize, and I’d shot him down and literally fled the house before he could. Why did I have to go and act like that?
I was glad Benny and Lee had already headed back to Georgia, and I was even gladder I was leaving tomorrow morning. When Phillip had offered to stay on longer so I could spend some more time with my dad, I’d practically fallen over myself to convince him not to book another night. He meant well —his relationship with his own family before his death had been much better, so he just didn’t understand—but I was more than ready to go back. I was desperate to get back to my life. Just the idea of doing something small and mundane like changing Blinken’s litter or frying some okra made me want to cry with yearning.
The moment my feet hit the beach and I felt the cool, gritty sand beneath my feet, I could feel my body letting go of some of its tension, and I sighed with grateful relief. It was almost completely dark, but there was still a hint of light left, just enough to make out the empty lifeguard stand a few yards away and what looked to be a family hanging out at the very end of the long, huge wharf. I could barely make out a bright red jacket and matching ballcap on one of the figures. It looked like they might be pushing a baby carriage or perhaps one of those carts for carrying luggage. Likely they were looking for grazing sharks or hammerheads, both of which were frequently seen in Panama City Beach.
Living near the ocean my whole life, I’d seen my share of annoying tourists, drunken, destructive spring breakers, and curmudgeonly retirees, but I’d always loved seeing the families. They were always so heartwarming. Mom and dad, usually holding hands all lovey-dovey, full of the excitement and exhilaration of finally getting some time away from the grind. Their kids’ excitement, who were usually happy with just a pool float and an overly air-conditioned hotel room. Something about going on vacation as a kid with your family was an experience that couldn’t be topped. Every time I saw a happy family at the beach—mom, dad and the 2.5 kids—it made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
I blew a silent, invisible kiss to the unknown family, thankful for what they’d unknowingly given me, and made my way down to the water, dutifully rolling up my pant legs to my ankles and letting the warm spray wash over my feet. It left a sheen of salt on my skin as it receded, one that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It felt cleansing and reminded me of the salt bath Phillip and I had taken together the day after we’d met. We’d been cramped in my little bathtub, his breath warm and sensual on the back of my neck as we’d lain there in the salty water that lapped over our skin. Time had seemed to stop, and we’d been half panting with lust by the time we’d gotten out. That had been the beginning of a courtship that had turned into the love affair we had now.
I felt a momentary pang of regret that I hadn’t let him come with me. Swimming together in the ocean at dusk was pretty romantic and, well, hot. The memories of that salt bath were starting to take over, and I felt a warm, electric sensation in my belly. I was wasting a very good opportunity.
I decided I’d go fetch Phillip in just a few minutes and make it all up to him after I’d had a moment to myself. Right now, I just needed—not wanted, but needed—to be alone.
I waded further into the water, letting it caress my knees. It wet my pantlegs, but I paid it no heed. It didn’t matter now… so many things didn’t matter.
I returned to the room fifteen minutes later, ready to grab Phillip by the arm and drag him into the warm spray with me to frolic by the moonlight, feeling rejuvenated and whole again, ready to share that feeling with him.
But he lay huddled under the covers, his soft black hair over one eye, fast asleep.