The Suspect List--Chapter Eleven

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

Zane had been upset when he got home from his grandparents ranch that day–Abigail’s story fresh in his mind–and he hadn’t been the kind of boy who hid his feelings well. Sherry had noticed and asked him what was wrong. Not wanting to betray Abigail, even to his mother, he’d insisted he was fine.

Over the next week or so–Zane didn’t remember the exact timeline of how it happened that summer–he’d retreated further into his own mind, hiding out in the barn or in a tree to read novels, and not interacting with others on the ranch any more than necessary.

His mother had tried again to find out what was bothering him. One evening, when he’d been sitting outside with both parents, it being too hot to be indoors he’d almost told them. His mom, realizing it had something to do with a girl, had shot a quick look at his dad–a look that Zane had interpreted as her thinking this had to do with him having some silly little crush, kid stuff, nothing to be taken too seriously. Zane didn’t remember the rest of that conversation, only that he’d clammed up and not told them anything important. He remembers feeling very alone.

I put my hand on his leg, “I know what it’s like being a lonely kid.”

“Yeah?”

He looks genuinely interested. “My mom used to work two jobs just to pay the rent. My older sister was supposed to be home with me in the evenings when Mom was at work, but she’d either have friends over and send me to my room while they partied, or she’d leave and stay out way after dark, getting home right before my mom did.”

“Did you tell your mom that your sister left you home alone?”

“No. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Because we kept each other’s secrets. That’s how it was with my sister and me. “I promised not to tell.”

“Promises are the worst.”

“Yeah, sometimes they really are. Like when you’re a kid home alone and there’s a storm and the lights go out and you’re in the dark with no idea where the damned flashlight is, thunder’s splitting open the whole freaking sky so that it feels like the world is ending, but you can’t call your mom.”

“Now I’m starting to understand your fear of storms.”

There’s more to it, but I want to hear Zane’s story. “So if you didn’t tell your parents Abigail’s secret, who did you tell?”

“Grandma Mary.”

JB’s wife. I never met her, as her death is the reason JB was moved into assisted living, but I’ve heard about her from Sherry. A devout Catholic who loved growing her own food and worked on the ranch at one thing or another from sunup to sundown seven days a week, she’d been dedicated to her family and devoted to caring for her husband, long past the point where it made sense to keep him at home. Her neglect of her own health is likely what led to her death before the age of seventy. I’m already imagining Mary’s reaction to hearing such a tale. Disbelief is my guess. No way would she believe that her sons, and/or grandsons were capable of hurting a teenage girl. “Why was it a mistake to tell Mary? Did she not believe you?”

Zane studies his hands, but his thoughts seem far away. “I’ll never forget the look on her face. My grandma had thin lips, and they got even thinner when she frowned. That day it was like they disappeared altogether. Her blue eyes were usually kind, but they turned real cold. I knew she wasn’t angry at me, but I felt scared, seeing and feeling her anger.”

“What did she say?”

“”I knew that girl was trouble the first time I laid eyes on her.””

“She blamed Abigail?”

“That’s what I thought at first. I tried to defend Abigail, saying it wasn’t her fault men wanted to hurt her. That’s when Grandma Mary said something about the idiot who leaves the hen house door open at night even when they know the fox is out there waiting to come in. I knew more about chickens than I knew about girls, but I still didn’t understand who the idiot was. I tried to ask but she was in no mood to explain. She took me by the shoulders, looked in my eyes and told me that she would take care of this situation and not to worry about the girl, it had nothing to do with me, and it was best that I not mention anything about it to anyone, not even my parents.” He pauses, then turns to me. “I never saw Abigail at the ranch again. Aunt Connie stopped giving her riding lessons with no explanation that I recall. Two weeks later Abigail was gone.”

“I don’t understand. If someone on the ranch was hurting Abigail and Mary made sure that Abigail never came back then why do you believe that telling Mary was a mistake?”

Zane goes quiet on me. After a bit, I give his knee a squeeze.

He hesitates for a few more seconds before continuing. “I was mad at Mary because I knew it was her fault that Abigail wasn’t coming around anymore and I wanted to see her again. I thought we had something special and I missed her. Also, I thought my grandma should have fixed things by catching the person who hurt Abigail and making them pay for what they did. Instead, Abigail was the one who got punished.”

“Well, that’s a familiar f-ing story isn’t it? Punishing the victim?”

He nods. “I see now that Mary was protecting her own, maybe her sons or grandsons and maybe even her husband, though he was already old by then.”

“What difference does age make?”

“None, I guess. It could have been JB, but even if it wasn’t, Mary must have been protecting the whole family from the possibility of scandal. Can you imagine if JB or Ward or any of the others had been arrested for sexually abusing a minor?”

“It would have been bad.”

“It would have changed a lot of lives. Mary’s, but my mom’s, mine, everyone in the family’s.”

“And it still would. I mean if it all comes out now.”

“Yes, but it’s different. Mary’s gone and my cousins aren’t kids anymore.”

“True…”

Zane sighs. “I really hoped it was Abigail’s foster dad who gave her the bruises and not someone in my family.”

“Maybe it was. She said you couldn’t trust Carlaw men, she didn’t say who did what to her.”

“The bicycle and the way it all went down tonight proves that my family was involved.”

I can’t argue with this. “And now the proof is gone.”

Zane picks up his phone, brings up the photos he took in the storage barn. “I still have these.”

“Yeah but…” I’m reluctant to state the obvious.

Zane does it for me. “There’s no way of proving that the photos were taken in the barn.” 

I rest my hand on his.

“What am I supposed to do now? Just give up and pretend none of this happened?”

“What else can you do?”

“I don’t know.” He takes his hand from mine, uses it to scrub at the stubble on his jaw. “I have to do something. Otherwise Ward wins.”

“But what does he win, Zane?”

“If I knew that…”

“You don’t even know what game your uncle is playing.” 

“I know he’s protecting someone. Either himself or someone in the family and I’m not going to let him intimidate me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What I always do. Keep asking questions.”

“Who are you going to start with?”

“The person I should have talked to first, back when it all happened. My mom.”

“You mean you’ve never talked to your mom about Abigail?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You know her, right?”

“Not very well.”

“You’ve seen how she is with JB.”

“Kind. Sherry is kind to everyone at Mesa, even when someone screws up and she has a right to be pissed.”

“My mom is kind, sure, but she also lives in her own world. She blocks out anything she doesn’t want to hear or see. Ask her about anyone in the family and she’ll only say good things and not because she’s dishonest or worried about being seen as a gossip, it’s more like that’s how she truly sees people. She’s sort of delicate, can’t handle the bad stuff in this world so she pretends it doesn’t exist.”

“That’s sad.”

“I guess. I never thought of it as sad, more like frustrating.”

“I can see that it would be for those who love her, but for her it’s sad to not be living in the real world. I mean, you miss out on a lot that way.”

“I guess.” He leans his head on the back of the futon and closes his eyes. “I’ll go see my parents tomorrow.”

“Better make it early. It’s Sunday.”

“Church,” Zane says. “She prefers the eight o’clock service.”

“And then she visits JB afterward.”

“Which means I have to get up early so I can tell her about the fire before someone else does.”

“I have to get up early too, for work.”

He turns to look at me without lifting his head from its resting place. “I should go.”

He should. Absolutely he should. And yet, I don’t want him to leave. “Are you awake enough to drive over the mountain?”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“Okay I’m not fine exactly, but that doesn’t mean I can’t drive.”

“Drowsy driving is almost as dangerous as drunk driving, you know.”

He gives me a sleepy smile. “You know, I’ve heard that somewhere.”

“You could take a nap here, before you go.”

“It’s a good idea but as tired as I am, I don’t think I can actually sleep right now.”

“Yeah, me neither, I’m too wound up.”

“The tea didn’t work.”

“Nope.”

“Got any other ideas?”

I lift one shoulder in a casual shrug, “We could make out until we’re tired enough to sleep.”

Zane gives me a smile that’s more sexy than sleepy. “Good plan.”

Hi there,

July is turning out the to be the busiest month of a crazy busy year, but all good stuff. Well, mostly. Squeezing in time to work on this story is a treat and we all deserve treats, right? I hope you’re enjoying it too, and having a great summer. I’ll have more in two weeks!

Happy Reading!