Page 43 of Dark Roads
“Is that what you’re going to do?”
“Teaching is important work, and the church is our family.”
Right, but they weren’t Beth’s. Despite all their differences, she and Amber were the same in that fact. It was like they’d been playing doubles tennis and now Beth didn’t have her partner. If either of them needed help deciding on anything, they consulted each other. Even minor things like a shade of lipstick, clothing, shoes. Before her first interview, Beth had held up her two suits on FaceTime with Amber and wore the one she’d picked. Nothing was done without discussion.
“I’ll take your car and fill it up with gas before you drive into the city tomorrow.” And with that pronouncement from her father, it was done. They were sending her home.
“If there is anything you want from your sister’s room, let me know. The ladies are coming this week to pack her clothes.”
Beth’s hand jerked on her teacup, clinking it against the china plate. Her mother winced.
“You’re cleaning out her room already?”
“The church supports many families in need.”
What about Beth’s need to grieve for her sister? Wasn’t that important too? She wanted to fight for Amber—and herself—but all she felt was a thick blanket of fatigue.
“I think I’m going to go lie down.”
“That’s a good idea.” Her mother stared at Amber’s babyphoto on the wall, absently settling her hand on her stomach as though remembering when she had carried her safe.
“I’ll make biscuits. They’ll go well with that leftover stew.”
Beth searched the bathroom cabinets for Tylenol, took two, then glanced over her shoulder. No footsteps. She opened her mom’s makeup drawer, felt through the few products—skin cream, powder, pink lipstick. The pills weren’t there. She crept across the hall and into her parents’ room. On the night table she found the prescription bottle labeledMadeline Chevalier.
Xanax. Beth took one of the pills out and slid it under her tongue, then went down the hall to Amber’s room. Most of her sister’s belongings were already gone—she’d taken them with her when she moved—but Beth still had flashes of Amber sitting on the floor listening to music, meditating, or twisted into a complicated yoga pose. Beth ran her finger over the stack of spiritual books touting self-awareness, mindfulness, transcendence.
Beth plucked a photo of Amber and her from the corner of the dresser mirror. Other than the one crooked incisor they both had, they didn’t look alike, and not just because Amber’s features were bolder—with her big eyes, full lips, and wild hair.Shewas bigger than life, grand in her gestures, her smile. Singing at the top of her lungs whenever she heard a tune she liked.
In the photo Amber was wearing a halter top and jeans shorts. Beth was stiff and looked overheated in her graduation robe, her blond hair stuck to her forehead. Amber’s hair, naturally caramel brown, was turquoise at the time, triggering a series of parental lectures about how no one would take her seriously, which Amber had said was the entire point.
During high school, they passed each other in the hallway—Amber in a cloud of lavender scent on her way to drama club ordance class, Beth with a tension headache on her way to study group. They stayed in their own lanes. Beth was proud of being the responsible, quiet one. She was proud too that Amber didn’t feel the same obligation, that she felt free to find her own path. But now Amber was dead, and Beth felt the walls of responsibility close around her. She stared at the photograph in her hand. Her parents had been so pleased, took them out for a special dinner, and told everyone how their daughter would be going to university in the fall.
Beth had begun to wonder if Amber was right, that working hard to become a lawyer wouldn’t make her happy. None of that mattered anymore. She was all her parents had now.
In the morning she’d let the law office know she was coming back.
CHAPTER 17
JULY 2019
Beth moved through the crowd toward the white tent and table at the other end of the parking lot, then veered away when she noticed the network news crew. She found a spot in the shade where she could watch the First Nations drum circle. Some people were singing along, dancing. She didn’t know how they could stand the heat. Her sundress was already sticking to her legs.
There were a few groups carrying banners: JUSTICE FOR THE VICTIMS!KEEP THE HIGHWAY SAFE!BRING OUR GIRLS HOME!Others were holding colorful signs with photos of victims, dates when they were last seen written in Sharpie, messages to their loved one. WE MISS YOU!
People wore yellow reflective vests. A car was parked nearby with speakers on the roof, more photos of the missing and murdered stuck all over it. She spotted Amber’s photo among the others and felt a sickening rush of panic. How was she going to do this? She held her cold plastic water bottle to the back of her neck, her forehead.
Everyone near her in the shade was speaking softly. Like it would be inappropriate to laugh or raise their vo ice. Some of the women looked angry. Those she understood more. She locked eyes with an older First Nations woman standing with a child. They were holding a banner with WE NEED ANSWERS!painted in careful red letters over a photo of one of the victims—a beautiful girl with long black hair. Beth knew of her case. She’d died decades ago. Her family still came out for her.Would Beth be coming to memorials with her grandchildren one day?
It had been almost a year and Amber’s case was still unsolved. When Beth read online that the town had an annual memorial walk to raise awareness of the victims, she’d mentioned it to her therapist, who said, “Many people find peace in ritual. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
Beth didn’t think.
She’d avoided the idea completely until she lost her apartment (an unfortunate side effect of losing her job) and found herself homeless. Maybe her therapist was right. She needed to go to the memorial for closure. Then she could get her feet under her again. She’d had a moment of doubt when she’d arrived in town an hour ago and saw the welcoming sign, but then she’d heard Amber’s voice so clearly it was like she was sitting beside her.OMG. It’s pretty as a postcard, Beth. The mountains, the creek, and there’s this huge elk sculpture. I call him Elvis.
Before the memorial, Beth had driven past the house where Amber had rented a basement suite, peered into the garden that she’d loved.I can pick whatever I want.Her parents had arranged last summer for the landlord to ship all her belongings back. Amber’s turtle bracelet that matched Beth’s was missing. Thompson said it was possible the killer had kept it.
Beth glanced at her wrist now, turned the bracelet so the turtle slid to the front, the small green stones picking up the light. She’d read that killers liked to show up at the scene of the crime. Maybe the memorial walk was similar. If he was here, would he recognize the bracelet?
