The Forgotten Girl (22 page)

When Jason stepped outside the Shaw house, it was getting close to five o’clock, and he needed to head home. But when he saw the car parked behind his, he knew he wouldn’t be able to go right away.

Regan leaned against the driver’s side of her car, and she straightened up when she saw him. They walked toward each other, stopping when they were just a few feet apart.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I’ve been trying to call you all day, and you haven’t answered. And at work they told me you went off with Jesse Dean last night.”

“Who told you that?” She sounded only mildly agitated. “Oh, wait. Never mind. I know who.” She crossed her arms and looked down. “I didn’t go off with him. He . . . wanted to talk to me about something.”

“Why didn’t you call the police? He might know where Hayden is.”

“He says he doesn’t know where Hayden is. That’s about all I could get out of him.”

“Oh, you asked him. And since he’s such an honest guy, he told you the truth. What did he want with you?”

“He wanted to talk about everything that’s going on,” she said. “He’s . . . I don’t want to say he’s scared. That’s not right. He’s agitated that people are hounding him. He mentioned you.”

Jason pointed to his neck. “Who is hounding who? And why did he want to talk to
you
about it? Are you his confidante? Jesus, Regan. The guy’s dangerous.”

“It’s not so simple.”

“You need to tell the police—” Jason stopped. He looked Regan in the eye. “Is there something about him? I mean, were you friends in high school and I didn’t know? Were you and he . . . ?”

“No, Jason. Jesus. We didn’t fuck. Then or now.”

“Then I don’t get it. What’s the connection between the two of you?”

“There’s no connection, Jason.” She looked away, and her hands moved before she spoke. “He knows I’m friends with you. He wanted me to tell you to stay away from him.”

“Is that why you’re here? To deliver Jesse Dean’s threat?”

“I thought you might be at the Shaws’. I tried your house.”

“Did you talk to Nora?”

“No,” she said. “I looked for your car. I tried your office too. Then I thought that on a day like this, with the news about Logan, you might come out here and try to talk to his father. You mentioned visiting him the other day. I wanted to see how you were doing. I know the news is terrible, and it’s going to land on you like a ton of bricks.”

“You too,” Jason said. “You sounded upset this morning.”

“I was. I am.”

“None of it makes any sense to me. All these years I thought
Logan was alive. Was I just a dumbass? A dreamer? Am I so naive that I couldn’t accept the truth?”

“He was your friend. It’s tough to accept.”

“You know what I just found out? I found out that Logan’s dad had those cards, and they’re clearly not written by Logan. And despite that, the old man never accepted that Logan was dead. Am I no different than him? Am I as clueless as that old man in there, thinking Logan couldn’t die?”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. There was no proof he was dead.”

“You don’t seem surprised that the letters weren’t written by Logan?” he asked.

Regan hesitated. “He’s dead. He couldn’t have written the letters.”

“Do you know who did write them?”

“How would I?”

“Have you seen them?”

“No, I haven’t. I don’t know anything about them except that they were sent to Logan’s dad.” She studied Jason. “Did you learn something about them? Is that why you’re here?”

“I just saw them.”

“And?”

“I think it’s Hayden’s handwriting. Hayden sent those cards to Mr. Shaw.”

Regan seemed to be processing the information, but she didn’t look surprised. She raised her hand to her jacket and touched the zipper. “I thought the cards all came from out west.”

“Mostly. Hayden was gone all the time. She ran around a lot. I didn’t always know where she was or what she was doing. Hell, she could have written the cards here and given them to someone
who was going out west. And a couple of them came from Chicago in 1999. Do you know where Hayden was in 1999?”

“Chicago?”

“She got arrested there for public drunkenness. In the summer of 1999.”

“And now you’re wondering why she did it?”

“Yes, I am,” Jason said. “Whatever she knows about the cards must be related to why she came back here.”

“You’re assuming things.”

Jason paced in between the two cars. He brought his hand up and rubbed at his forehead, working on the tension that grew there. He turned back to Regan. “Are you going to call the police on Jesse Dean?”

“He didn’t do anything to me.” Her voice was calm, firm. She stood there, watching Jason pace. She moved her head in time to his movements, like she was following a tennis match.

“Regan?” he said.

“What is it?”

“The police wouldn’t tell me how Logan died,” he said.

“They said it was a homicide.”

“Right. But they wouldn’t say how. Or what caused it.”

“How could they know after twenty-seven years? There must just be bones, I guess. What else could be there?”

Jason stopped moving. He leaned against the back of his car. “The detective said something. He said bones can tell a story. He knows how Logan died, but he didn’t want to tell me.” Jason looked down at his hands. He closed them into fists and then opened them again. “They don’t tell a suspect how a victim died. They keep things from him so they can trip him up later.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m a suspect again,” Jason said. “They’re going to keep
asking me questions about that night. What if I hit him hard enough to break his skull and they can see that?”

“What if he was drunk, and he tripped and fell? That could happen too, you know. Just tell them the truth. That’s all you have to do.”

“I
wanted
to hurt Logan that night. I wanted to punch him in the face. Hard. I wanted to draw blood. I tried to do that. Draw blood. I hit him, though. I really did. What if I did something to him in that fight? What if I hit him so hard that he walked away from me and then eventually just collapsed and died? That happens, you know. People have car accidents and hit their heads, and then hours later they die. What if that is what happened to Logan? I’d be responsible. I’d have killed him.”

“You can’t jump to that conclusion. The police are being cautious.”

“What if Hayden saw Logan? What if Hayden knew how he died, and she was covering for me? Wouldn’t that be a switch? My crazy sister covering my ass for something awful I did?”

“I think you just need to go home,” Regan said. “You’ve had a long day. You’ve had a lot to process. The police are going to come to all of us again eventually.” Something passed across Regan’s body as she said that, something like a shiver, as though she was recalling or anticipating something unpleasant. “Just . . . tell the truth.”

“You saw Logan that night, after we fought. Was he . . . Did he seem hurt?”

“No. He seemed . . . agitated. But not hurt. It was dark, of course, but I don’t think you bloodied him or anything. He was fine. Jason, all of this speculation isn’t productive. I think you need to just head home.”

Regan came over to Jason and placed her hand on his arm.
She applied some pressure, trying to nudge him off the back of the car and toward the driver’s-side door.

Jason took a couple of steps toward his car, then stopped. He looked back at Regan.

“We came close back then, you and I,” he said.

“Close?”

“To trying it as a couple.”

Regan nodded. “Sure.” She smiled. “We were good friends. That doesn’t always work the other way.”

“I probably would have driven you nuts,” Jason said. “And I wouldn’t have met Nora. You know, we’ve had our problems, but I think we’re doing better. We’re getting closer as time moves on.”

“That’s good, Jason. Take it from me, divorce is no fun.”

“I saw your husband at your house. Tim. He seemed like a good guy. He was playing ball with your son.”

“He is a good guy,” Regan said. “And a good father.”

She turned and got into her car.

When Jason came in the front door, he saw Sierra sitting on the couch watching TV. And she wasn’t alone. Another girl about the same age sat next to her, holding a phone in both hands, her thumbs dancing across the tiny keypad with machinelike precision.

“Hello,” Jason said. “Where’s Nora?”

“She’s upstairs,” Sierra said. “This is my friend Tricia. I mentioned her before, remember? We’ve known each other since I was a kid.”

Tricia finished with her phone and laid it aside on the couch. “Hi,” she said, looking up.

She didn’t look to Jason like someone who would be friends with Sierra. She wore thick eyeliner and torn jeans, and a leather, stud-encrusted bracelet circled her left wrist. She was thin and pale and sat with her feet propped up on the coffee table. She looked like the resident of the house, and Sierra comported herself more like a guest.

“Are you watching a movie?” Jason asked. He didn’t know what else to say.

“TV,” Tricia said. “Thanks for letting me hang out here.”

“You’re welcome,” Jason said, even though he played no role
in having the girl in his house. If it were up to him, he felt certain he would have closed the door in Tricia’s face. Sierra had enough to deal with. She didn’t need her wild friend coming around. “I’m going to talk to Nora,” he said.

“Hey,” Tricia said. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Yeah, Uncle Jason, we heard the news. I’m sorry. That’s the guy Mom was talking about, right?”

“Right.”

He turned and went up the steps. Nora lay in bed, reading. She wore her hair pulled back and slipped her glasses off the bridge of her nose when Jason walked into the room. She sat up, sweeping her legs off the bed.

“There you are,” she said.

“What’s going on down there?” Jason asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Who’s that girl? I’m assuming that’s
the
Tricia. Car-stealing, pot-smoking Tricia.”

“Relax,” Nora said. “Sierra is getting cabin fever, I can tell. She doesn’t want to be cooped up with fortysomethings all day. Tricia called, and I told Sierra to invite her over. They’re just hanging out. I said they couldn’t leave the house.”

“That’s never stopped them before apparently. Tricia will probably take Sierra out later and they’ll knock over a convenience store.”

“It’s okay, Jason. Sierra needs friends and distractions.” She patted the bed. “So do you. Come on. Sit here.”

Jason did as she asked. He sat next to her and leaned in as Nora placed her arm around his shoulder. “I heard,” she said. “It’s all over the news here. I’m sorry.”

Jason closed his eyes and leaned in close to Nora. He let his head rest against her body and inhaled the scent of the soap she
used, something mildly sweet like vanilla. He kept his eyes closed, being still like that and trying not to think.

“Do you want to talk?” Nora asked. “Do you want a drink or something to eat? I’m afraid I’m just not sure what to do for you or what you need right now.”

“This is good,” he said.

They stayed in that position for a few more minutes, and then Jason straightened up. He opened his eyes and the light from the lamp on the bedside table seemed brighter than ever.

“I feel like I should be crying for Logan,” he said, “but I can’t. It just doesn’t seem real.”

“Did Detective Olsen say anything else? Do they know what happened to Logan?”

“They’re not saying.”

Jason stood up and went into the bathroom. He turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face. When he looked up, he saw a tired, middle-aged man, someone who seemed to be bearing a burden. He dried off with a towel, and the softness of the material against his face felt good.

Nora came to the doorway. “I know this has always plagued you, Logan leaving like that. And I know you’ve always blamed yourself a little. I wish I could say or do something to make it easier for you.”

“I know. And I appreciate it. I really do.” He hung the towel across the rack while Nora remained behind him in the doorway.

“I guess maybe someday I’d like to understand all of this,” she said.

“That makes two of us.”

Jason moved past her into the bedroom and started taking off his clothes. He stripped down to his boxers and T-shirt.

“We can just go to sleep or read,” Nora said, “if that’s what
you want. I need to get ready for bed and I’d like to finish my book.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason said. “I’m not sure what I’d say if I did feel like talking. You know? Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Anything new here besides the car thief showing up?”

“Not really.”

Jason could tell there was something beneath her words. “What?” he asked.

“We shouldn’t get into it.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said. “Look, I wasn’t going to say anything, but Sheila called today. They still want us to come to New York, and I know that’s not possible now. But she said there might be a job opening for me, a better job with the library.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a bad time, so we can talk about it later. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“I asked,” Jason said.

“Well, okay. Another time, then. And, look, I’ll do whatever you want. Ednaville has its charms. The pace of life here has been good for us in a lot of ways. We’ve grown closer. Things are better. Maybe we shouldn’t mess with it.” Nora remained in the bathroom doorway and she said, “I guess we’ll have a funeral to go to.”

Her statement stumped Jason. He hadn’t even thought of it. If Logan was dead, and they had something to bury—bones or whatever remained—then there would have to be a funeral at some point. Except . . .

“His old man is in denial,” Jason said. “That’s one of the places I went today. He doesn’t believe Logan is dead. He may not be well in the head. He’s definitely sick physically, but he
can’t seem to accept that his son is gone. So I don’t know what that means for a funeral.”

“He can’t let go?” Nora asked.

“Can’t or won’t.”

“That’s always a danger,” Nora said. “Hanging on to things for too long.”

*   *   *

A half an hour later, Sierra came to their bedroom. She knocked lightly on the open door, then stepped in. Jason and Nora were both in bed, books in hand. Jason was struggling against sleep and getting close to losing the battle.

“What’s up?” Nora asked.

Sierra came over and sat on the edge of the bed on Nora’s side. “Tricia asked me to go back to her house and spend the night,” she said.

“Really?” Nora said.

“I know you want me to stay close, but Tricia is pretty persistent. Besides, I kind of feel bad about her.”

“Why?”

“Well, we were really good friends when we were younger. We spent all of our time together for a couple of years. Then we drifted apart as we got older.” She lowered her voice. “You can tell why that happened. We don’t really have that much in common.” She shrugged. “But I guess I realize how nice it is to have friends. Friends of any kind. Tricia is pretty loyal. Anyway, it’s just to her house for the night. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Friends who lost touch. Friends who drifted away. Jason knew all about that. He couldn’t help but think of Regan and Logan. For a brief, intense period of time they were everything in his life, more important than his family in some ways.

“You’re right about that,” Jason said.

“About what?” Sierra asked.

“Friends. And how important they are. Especially at your age. It’s good that you value them.”

“It is,” Nora said. “But you can’t go anywhere tonight.”

“I can’t?”

“No. There’s too much going on, and with your mom missing—”

“She’s not missing. She’s gone,” Sierra said. “Off on a bender with that Jesse Lee Twat guy.”

“Jesse Dean Pratt,” Jason said. “And you shouldn’t say that about your mom.”

“We don’t know where she is,” Nora said. “But we’re responsible for you, and we want you close until we know more.”

Sierra uttered the most theatrical sigh and paired it with a world-class eyeroll. She suddenly looked so much younger, so much more immature than at any time since she’d walked through their door.

“Tricia said you’d act this way. She said she knew you two would be too uptight to go along. You judge her because of the way she looks, don’t you?”

“And her police record,” Jason said.

“You don’t know anything about that,” Sierra said. “I was there too. Am I a criminal?”

Nora sat up and took her reading glasses off. “I know you’re getting a raw deal here, but it’s the only one we can offer right now. If you want to have Tricia back to the house tomorrow, you can.”

“Forget it,” Sierra said, and she left the room.

Nora turned to Jason. “You need to go downstairs and tell Tricia it’s time to go.”

“Why do I have to be the bad cop?”

“You’re a man. She might be more inclined to listen to you.”

“Really?”

“You think that girl has a father in her life?” Nora asked. “She’ll listen to a male authority figure.”

“Doesn’t this make you glad we don’t have kids?”

Nora sent a half-serious glare in his direction.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m going.”

He pulled on a pair of pants and walked downstairs. When he entered the living room, Sierra looked away, but Tricia met his gaze. She stood up and grabbed her purse, a saggy canvas bag with long straps.

“I was just going,” she said.

“Thanks for coming by,” Jason said. “If you want to come back—”

“I get it,” she said. “It’s cool.” She passed Jason on her way to the front door. “I should go back to my trailer park and make friends there.”

“No one said anything like that,” he said.

“You don’t have to.” Tricia pulled the front door open and looked back at Jason. “The truth is, you’re smart to keep her here. Very smart.”

Then she was gone like a puff of smoke. Behind Jason, Sierra stormed up the stairs. Her bedroom door
slammed.