That Night (25 page)

I was tired and looking forward to a shower, so I wasn’t paying attention when I parked the truck. I was about to get out when I saw something move behind the Dumpster. I stared at the spot. What the hell? Then I caught a glimpse of a baseball cap. It was Ryan again.

I let Captain out. He ran over to the Dumpster, body tense, hackles up, and a low growl leaking from his throat. I knew he wouldn’t do anything, not unless someone was attacking me, but I called out, “Captain. It’s okay.”

Ryan crouched down and turned his body to the side, not making eye contact as he let Captain sniff him, then he slowly tossed out a couple of dog cookies, which Captain gobbled up. Ryan glanced up at me and said, “He’s a beauty,” then started scratching Captain, who was leaning against him with one of his big pittie smiles, tongue lolling, trying to get more cookies.

I looked around the parking lot, the marina. It was after midnight, no one in sight, but I still wasn’t comfortable talking to Ryan in the open.

“What are you doing here, Ryan?” I was angry, but mostly at my body’s reaction to seeing him. I’d been happy for a moment, excited even, before I remembered that speaking to him could cost me my freedom. He looked good, though, in a faded black denim shirt open over a fitted gray T-shirt, a silver chain at his neck. His baseball cap low, almost hiding his eyes.

“I met with Cathy,” he said. “She’s definitely covering up something. The whole time we were talking she was looking over her shoulder.”

“She was probably afraid you were going to slit her throat and steal all her drugs or something.”

“Funny.” He smiled at my gallows humor. We did always have that in common, the ability to make fun of our fucked-up families and fucked-up lives, but then everything got too fucked up. I hated him for reminding me, hated how much I wanted to smile back, wanted to make him laugh deep from his gut, like when we were kids and he’d throw his head back, one hand over his heart, his whole body getting into it. That was one of the things I’d loved about him, how physical he was, how loose and relaxed and easy he was with his body.

He took a step forward now, leaned against the side of the Dumpster, rubbed at his unshaven chin. His shirt rode up a bit, showing a black belt through his jeans, his waist still slim. I remembered wrapping my arms around him, the feel of my hands tucked into his back jeans pockets, him lifting his shirt up so our bare stomachs could touch. My face flushed and I stared down at Captain.

“It was more than that,” he said. “Every time I mentioned Shauna, that’s when she got nervous.”

I didn’t want to get pulled into this, didn’t want to know anything more about their lives now. Three of them still lived in town. That’s all I needed to know. But, despite myself, I said, “Are they still friends?”

“Not sure what you’d call it. Sounds like Shauna goes over sometimes and cleans up Cathy’s house—tries to get her to clean up too. Brings food, toys to the mother’s house for the kids, stuff like that.”

“What is Shauna doing these days? Cathy said she was married.… Is it the same guy?” I hated how much I wanted to hear that she was fat and on her third marriage, preferably miserable.

“Yeah, that older dude. He owns a big trucking company and they have a fancy house, cars, but apparently he’s not around much. Cathy was kind of rambling.”

“About what?”

“She was hinting that she knew some other things about Shauna—basically saying Shauna isn’t all that shit-hot. I get the feeling she might kind of resent how Shauna’s been taking care of her.”

“She likes it but she resents needing it.”

He looked up at me from underneath the brim of his baseball cap.

“Yeah, exactly. I knew you’d get it.”

I fought the sensation of our old connection rebuilding, the similar way our minds worked. “So what does that have to do with anything?”

“I told her I had some information about that night, just messing with her. I said there was another witness, someone who saw Shauna’s car tearing away. Told her if she knew something, she better spill it before the others did. She got real scared—and twitchy, like she was jonesing. I knew I couldn’t get much more out of her then, but she agreed to meet with me tomorrow night.”

I felt disappointed, but what had I expected? A confession and years of bullshit suddenly wiped clean? We’d need a lot more than that, details, hard facts.

“Doesn’t sound like she’s going to make it easy,” I said.

“That’s why I want you to come with me when I talk to her.”

“No, no way.” I took a step back, about to turn away.

“Just listen.” He held out a hand in a plea, his eyes asking me to wait, the same look he’d get when we were kids and he was trying to get me to stay with him a moment longer. I felt another tug inside, tried to ignore the old memories piling up, tried to remind myself how dangerous this all was.

“If she saw you, and you were talking about Nicole,” Ryan said, “it would mess her up a little more. She saw you once and look what happened. She’s not a bad person. She was screwed up when we were kids, she’s still screwed up, but I get the feeling somewhere in there she wants to make things right.”

“All she wants is another hit. Did you give her money?”

He looked embarrassed, his cheeks flushing as he glanced away, watching Captain, who was sniffing around in the grass near the edges of the parking lot.

“You did,” I said, “and now she’s stretching it out. Telling you nothing about nothing.”

He shook his head. “She knows something. You can see it in her eyes. It’s been eating at her.” He sounded angry. “We could’ve been out a long time ago.”

“But it didn’t happen, and the only thing that’s going to happen now, if I go anywhere with you, is both of us getting sent back to prison.”

“Shit, they’re just waiting for their chance. I’ve seen Hicks watching my house.”

That was alarming. Doug Hicks was a sergeant now. I’d never forget the interrogation, the things he said, his voice droning on and on.
We know you did it, Toni. You might as well tell us now, so the courts will go easier on you. You know what will happen to you in prison?
I didn’t know. But I sure found out.

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” I looked around the parking lot again.

“Relax. I’ve got my own watch going on. He’s with his family tonight.”

“Don’t you have a job?”

“I’m doing some labor stuff, trying to get onto one of the tugboats.” He was holding his chin high, the way he used to when he was self-conscious, like he wished he had something better to impress me with. I’d never cared what he did, always loved that he worked with his hands, that he was strong. Loved knowing he could fix anything, even me. But not anymore.

“Focus on that,” I said. “Forget Cathy.”

“Not going to happen, Toni. I’m going to break her, but it’ll happen quicker if you’re there. I’m sure of it.”

“That’s not going to happen either.”

“Why are you giving up so easily?”

“I’m not giving up. It’s just…” I searched for words to explain what I was feeling. I wanted to prove our innocence badly, especially after seeing my parents in the store, but I was terrified of losing the little bit of freedom I’d finally gotten back. The thought of going to prison again made my chest tight, panic racing down my legs.
No, never again.

“I just can’t. I can’t do
this
.” I stopped, thinking of my mother again, how she’d said almost those exact words to me.

“You are giving up, Toni. Just like you gave up on us.” His gaze was holding steady on mine, waiting for an answer.

“I didn’t give
up
on us. We were in prison—our relationship was over.”

“It wasn’t for me.”

He was still holding my gaze. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t break eye contact. I didn’t know what to say, just shook my head, at the words all jumbling in my head, the frustrated thoughts and anger at how our lives had gone, at the things he was making me feel and say and think. I said, “My parents, my mom, she’s not speaking to me. But my dad, we might meet for coffee. I don’t want to mess that up. I don’t want them to see me go back…”

“How’s that really going to be, Toni? You and your dad sitting there, you knowing he’s still not sure if you’re guilty, him thinking about Nicole the whole time.” I sucked in my breath, my eyes stinging. Ryan was right. It would be agonizing, like the prison visits all over again. I’d been stupid, thinking things would be different because I was on parole.

Ryan was still talking. “My dad’s dead. I never got to show him I wasn’t a fuckup, that I didn’t murder your sister, but my mom’s still alive. And you can still prove it to your parents. I know we can do it.”

I was tempted. Then I thought of Suzanne, her warning. It was a long shot that we’d get Cathy to confess to anything, and we’d likely get caught doing it. I’d be back in Rockland, where Helen’s friends were no doubt waiting for me.

I shook my head, tears building behind my eyes. “I can’t do it. Just stay away from me.”

For the second time I left Ryan standing alone in the parking lot.

*   *   *

That weekend Mike hired a new waitress. I was peeling carrots in the kitchen when she came back to introduce herself. She looked about sixteen and was stick-thin and pale. Her long straight hair was dyed jet-black and she had blunt bangs, ending just above her dark-rimmed eyes. Her hands were covered in silver rings, skulls and crosses. She also had a heavy chain around her neck with a cross and was wearing black leggings and a tunic. Great, another Goth teenager thinking she’s badass just because she dressed in black.

“Hi, I’m Ashley.” She stuck out her hand.

I shook it. “Welcome on board.”

I thought that would be the last of it and turned back to my work, but she lingered, looking around the kitchen, fiddling with some spices. What was she doing? Then I caught her sneaking sideways glances at me. She knew who I was.

I set down the grater and put my hands on my hips. “Can I help you?”

“Sorry.” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s just … I saw a TV show about your case. It was for this journalism class I was taking last summer.”

So that was it. I was angry, but part of me also admired her guts. Not many people had the balls to just straight-out say crap like that. Usually they pretended like they didn’t know, but I could always tell what they were thinking

“I don’t like to talk about that.” I could be just as blunt.

“That’s okay. I mean, I can understand why you wouldn’t. You’re trying to move on with your life.” She grabbed a carrot and started grating. “I wanted to work here because I need money—I’m saving for film school. My mom doesn’t know I’ve got a job yet. She doesn’t like me doing anything I really want to do.”

Her bitter tone made it clear that she resented the hell out of her mother. But I couldn’t figure out why she was telling me all this. I stared at her, waiting.

She looked at me from the side. “I also wanted to meet you.”

What was the deal? Was she one of those kids who got off on crime? Thought it was cool or something?

“Why would you want to meet me?”

She stopped grating and faced me, her eyes intense. “I want to film you.”

Didn’t see that one coming. “What the hell for?”

“For a documentary. I want to tell your side of it. What happened back then, what your life is like now, why you came back here, stuff like that.”

“Kid, you’re insane if you think I’m going to let you film me.”

“Really?” She looked disappointed. “I thought you’d want people to understand you more, see your side of things, you know?”

“People are never going to understand me.”

“You’ve always said you’re innocent. The documentary could get you exposure, and some new witnesses or evidence might turn up. I’m really good at investigating stuff. I’ve been part of the Vancouver Film Festival every year.”

We held eyes. Was she making it up? Saying she wanted to help just so she could film me, then screw me over somehow like all the reporters had? She seemed serious, but it could be part of her angle. Either way, I didn’t want anything to do with her, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be her little project.

I turned back to the carrots. “It’s too late to help me now—I already went to prison. Mike probably needs you up front and I’ve gotta get this finished.”

“Just think about it, okay?” She handed me the grater.

“There’s nothing to think about.”

She leaned forward, her face serious. “I’ve read the interviews with you, all the newspaper articles, everything you said, and Ryan, how in love you two were. I got it, you know? You were just angry, at your sister, your parents, but that didn’t mean you killed her.”

I didn’t know if I was messing with her or wanted to hear what she’d say, but I asked her, “So who do you think did it, Ashley?”

She glanced down, fiddled with one of the carrots for a moment. “I don’t know, but the police, they only looked at you two. I watch those cold case shows. I know how it goes when the police focus on someone right away.”

“Some of those cops are still pretty well known in town.”

She hesitated, a flash of fear in her eyes. “When you’re searching for the truth, you have to be willing to look at everything.”

I wanted to slap her down for her naïveté, her youthful ideals, but mentally I said,
Be nice, Toni. She’s just sixteen.

“Thanks for wanting to help, but I’m not going to make a documentary. It’s over and I’m trying to move on.”

“But it can’t ever really be over, can it? What happened to you?”

Okay, now she had it coming. “You know what makes it worse? Thinking about it makes it worse. Talking about it makes it worse. Having teenagers who don’t know shit about the real world asking questions about it,
that
makes it worse.”

“I totally get that.” She nodded, still trying to find a way around me, to speak my language and connect. This kid didn’t give up. “All I’m trying to say is, I don’t think you got a fair chance. And I can help you.”

“Life isn’t fair. You’ll figure that out in a hurry.”

“Maybe just read this when you get a chance.” She reached down into the side of her combat boots and pulled out some papers she had stuffed in there.