Page 76 of Made for You
Her picture is sweet. She has a gentle, round face. Long red hair like mine. A snub nose.
The page has become a memorial wall. Her information section doesn’t say much, just the dates of her birth and death and that she’s survived by her loving parents, a brother, and her husband. This is a surprise. Looking at these dates, Laura Pine must have died when she and Josh were still in college. When did she get married? I pop into her pictures, but there are only five, mostly of her as a young teen.
There’s no mention of how she died. A quick Google search doesn’t give me anything quickly—there are too many Laura Pines.
Returning to her Facebook page, I scroll a little bit, registering the first handful of condolences. Rest in peace, beautiful Laura. You’re flying now, sweet girl. I’ll never forget you. And then, with a swipe of my thumb, I close the app. Laura Pine died years and years ago, which means she’s off my list and I should stop wasting my time.
Ten minutes later, gas tank full and vomit swabbed off the seat with paper towels, I pull onto the shoulder of the road well in advance of home, just like I did the other night. It’s just after five o’clock, and the day is already fading. Even though it’s stopped raining, the air tastes humid and heavy, like more rain is coming.
I jog the whole way home through the woods, squelching over the moist layers of leaves. Having a little light, however dim, makes all the difference, and if ghosts walk this forest, I don’t see them tonight.
Entering through the back door, I lock it quickly behind me. Right away, Captain is all over me. The house smells stale, lonely, but Captain is a comfort.
“It’s okay, boy. I’m okay. Good dog.” I scratch his ears as his tail wags furiously. “Do you need to go out? I’ll let you out in a minute.”
First, I get him fresh water and dry food. He sniffs at the food and whines, his eyes full of reproach.
“Sorry, Captain. The good stuff’s gone.”
My eyes instinctively go to the side window. I have the blinds closed, at least, so if Bob is trying to observe my arrival, he’s out of luck.
Before I’ve even made it to the fridge to examine the dinner options for myself, there’s a noise of screeching wheels at the front of the house, like multiple cars arriving quickly.
Instinctively, I turn off the kitchen lights. I walk on quiet feet to the living room and peek out the curtains.
Two cars, with someone emerging from each, a man and a woman, converging briskly at my front door. My heart leaps into my throat. The man is Andy.
“It doesn’t look like she’s home,” says the woman. She’s fully suited, with a briefcase, and I realize that I know her, too. Viola. Determined, apparently, to show up only at the worst moments in my life.
“Then we wait. We’re not leaving here without her,” says Andy. “Let’s walk around and see if we can get in the back.”
Did I lock the back door? I’m about to sprint back to check when the roar of another vehicle grabs my attention. Andy and Viola have stopped to look, too. I crouch, breathing quietly, as the glare of headlights slices through the curtains. Doors slam. I peek back up. I try to make out who the newcomers are, but they’ve left their headlights on, and the blast of light makes everything hard to see.
“I can’t believe it,” says Andy to Viola. “Get Eden on the phone.”
Eden? What the actual fuck?
“Step away from that door!” barks someone. His body makes a dark blot against the brightness, and the tall hat tells me everything I need to know. A sheriff’s deputy—and two more of them right behind.
The scene unfolding seems ridiculous, like a piece of absurd theater, as I watch the two parties who want to lock me away—one to condemn me, the other to save me—come face-to-face. Andy Wekstein and Mitchell’s men don’t seem to belong in the same universe, and yet here they are at the end of County Road HH, in Middle-of-Nowhere, Indiana, fighting over me.
“Back the hell away from us or we will sue your asses,” growls Andy.
“Sir, ma’am, we are officers of the law,” says the deputy. “Please move away from the door.”
“You move away,” says Andy. “Julia Walden belongs to WekTech, and we are here to repossess her.”
“Julia Walden is the prime suspect in a murder investigation, and we are taking her in,” says a drawling voice. Mitchell himself, walking toward Andy like Andy’s a bug he can squash.
“Julia Walden belongs to me,” snarls Andy, beckoning to Viola. She hands him a sheaf of papers, which Andy flings toward the sheriff’s chest. The papers thwack harmlessly. Mitchell doesn’t even flinch.
“This is my jurisdiction. Don’t make me arrest you, too, Wekstein.”
“You are out of line here, Sheriff,” says Andy. “And you have no idea how miserable my lawyers can make your life.” He’s much shorter than Mitchell, but somehow just as large a presence.
Protective. Doing what he thinks is right for me. But it’s no longer about what anyone else thinks is right for me. Especially not a liar who pretended he only vaguely knew Eden when now she’s the first person he wants to call. I’m already padding away from the living room on silent feet.
“Shhh. Stay, boy,” I whisper to Captain as I slip on my shoes, grab my purse, and leave quietly out the back door.