Page 30 of Broken Bayou
Travis follows me to the kitchen and watches me prop Eddie’s metal doll next to my thermos where the other one sits. I feel like Eddie’s trying to communicate something to me, like his little dolls should tell me something. But what? And who doesn’t want to be alone? His mother? Or is it he doesn’t want his mother to be alone? And what is Doyle trying to tell me? Showing up here with a knife, waiting on me. If I could get one hour with Eddie, I might be able to find out both. But then what would I do with the information? I need to stay focused on my own issues. Now is not the time to analyze someone else’s. I’ll save that for when I get back to Fort Worth.
Travis pops the cork from the wine he brought, and I place the bottle from the Sack and Save in the fridge. It’s obvious he spends most of his downtime in a gym, and something about the way his hands handle the wine and the way his jeans fit tells me I could be in trouble tonight. Stop, I tell myself. I don’t need another mess. And that’s what my love life has been since my marriage ended, a mess. Short flings that required little to no attention. I convinced myself it was a way to keep things simple, keep my focus on my career. And it worked ... for my career. But my heart still aches for something more.
And Travis won’t provide that, the voice in my head reminds me. Besides, I’m pretty sure any feelings I have for Travis are left over from another decade, lingering because he and I never got closure. I don’tneed an NFCS—need for closure scale—to know I’d score high. Down here, closure seems to elude me in so many ways.
I find plates and napkins and paper cups and lead Travis to the parlor. We sit on the sofa. Travis sets the pizza box down and pours the wine. I take a sip. Where the hell do I start?
“Travis.”
“Look,” he says at the same time. He smiles. “You first.”
“First.” I take a sip. “The car.”
I set my wineglass on the table next to Travis’s, rub my face. The light in the front windows has faded to night. I stare at Travis. He stares back at me.
“You showed up at my house that night,” he says. “In that car. Told me you needed help. Begged me not to ask why. And I didn’t ask.” He shuts his eyes a moment, reopens them. “I was so stupid.”
“I’m sorry I got you involved. I was the stupid one. I justified something I knew was wrong. And I included you in it.” My mouth goes dry. I take another sip. “My mother called it a favor. She came up with this ridiculous idea about hiding that convertible for insurance money. She told me Mabry wouldn’t get back in the car that night for some odd reason, so on the walk home, Mama decided to just get rid of it and get some cash. I know it sounds ridiculous, but you have to understand; ridiculous for her was normal. I told her to sell the car, but she said that’d take too long, and we wouldn’t get enough. She told me it was up to me. I was a minor, so if I got caught, no big deal. If she got caught, Mabry would go to foster care.” I inhale, exhale. “She said we could use the money to help Mabry get the therapy she needed. Not that that ever happened. Said she hoped I wouldn’t let my sister down.” I swig the rest of my wine. “She knew right where to aim her barbs.”
“Insurance money?” Travis says. “That’s what this is about?”
I nod even though the pit in my stomach from seeing the car in the impound earlier tells me that may not be all that it’s about. I touch my fingers to the sofa to steady my lightheadedness. Why wouldn’t Mabry get back in the car?
I’d used Travis’s truck to push the convertible into the bayou; then I’d driven it back to his house and left the key inside. I’d walked back to Shadow Bluff with the security tape in one hand and a trash bag full of crap from the convertible in the other. I should have slipped that tape into the convertible and dumped it, too, but I hadn’t. Something told me to keep it, just in case.
“All right,” Travis says, jerking me back. “At least I know what we’re working with.”
“I knew it was wrong,” I say. “I even thought about calling the police, but Krystal Lynn would’ve killed me if I did that. And then what about Mabry? I decided maybe hiding a car wasn’t so bad after all. It’s not like I was hurting anyone. I told myself I was just getting rid of something we didn’t need in the first place. To help Mabry.” I meet Travis’s gaze. “The problem was ... I didn’t know where to put it.”
“So you came and got me,” he says with a sigh.
“So I came and got you.”
I don’t tell him the other parts of the story. About hiding that security tape in a box of Mama’s recorded soaps. About Mabry shaking in her little bed. About Mama’s bruised and swollen face.
“I’m going to talk to the chief,” he says. “Tell him the truth. With all the other stuff happening right now, I doubt this is going to get his dander up. I’ll find out what needs to be done and let you know.”
He’s downplaying it, trying to make it sound less than it is. Or maybe it really is less than it is. Maybe you’re the one trying to downplay it, the voice in my head says.
I reach for the bottle of wine and refill my glass. Travis chews his bite of pizza and swallows it. Insects tap against the front windows.
“So Doyle and Eddie came over here to give you one of Eddie’s figurine things?” he says, breaking the silence. “That seems weird.”
“It was weird. Doyle had a knife.”
Travis sits up. “Did he threaten you?”
“No. It just ... felt threatening.”
“Something’s up with him.”
“Didn’t seem like you two were getting along too well on the levee the other day.”
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t want to go down that path. And I don’t blame him. But it’s like the part of me that digs for answers won’t shut off, and my next statement comes out before I can stop it.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“It’s just brother stuff.” He grabs another slice of pizza and takes a bite. “Actually, Doyle seems to be doing better these days. He’s managed to keep a job for once, which is a miracle. Builds playground equipment. Simple and steady, which is exactly what he needs since he’s the one supporting Eddie and our mother.”
