RECKLESS VOWS

Dot

I drove three streets before pulling over.

The garage vanished in the rearview mirror. Rhett didn’t.

His hand had lifted toward my face. I had seen the motion before I felt myself move away from it.

Eight years, and my body still knew him faster than my mind did.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

Dot’s bungalow sat at the end of a narrow street lined with maple trees. The mailbox leaned sideways. A chipped garden gnome guarded the porch.

I had barely reached the steps when the door opened.

Dot took one look at me and said, “You’re too thin.”

“Hello to you too.”

“You look tired.”

“I drove.”

“You’ve always been dramatic when you’re hungry.”

She pulled me inside before I could answer. Lavender and old paper wrapped around me. Her arms were thinner than I remembered, but her grip remained firm.

For three seconds, I let my forehead rest against her shoulder.

Then she shoved me back.

“Turn around.”

“Why?”

“Your hair is falling out of that bun.”

“Good to see you too, Grandma.”

“Shoes off.”

“I’m not staying.”

“Shoes. Off.”

I kicked them aside.

Dot nodded toward the kitchen. “Tea?”

“Coffee.”

“You hate my coffee.”

“I hate your tea more.”

“That’s my girl.”

The kettle went on. I sat at the chipped kitchen table, the one where Eli had once taken apart a radio and scattered screws across the surface. Dot watched me from the counter.

“You saw him,” she said.

“Who?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence. I’m old, not stupid.”

“Rhett.”

Her mouth softened. “How did he look?”

“Like Rhett.”

“That bad?”

“He owns the garage.”

“He’s owned it for years.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You stopped asking questions about Ashwood Falls.”

“I had other things to do.”

“Such as avoiding anyone who loved you?”

The kettle clicked off.

I looked toward the window.

Dot poured the coffee. “He comes here every year.”

“For what?”

“Flowers.”

“Where?”

“You know where.”

I stared at her.

“The cemetery,” she said. “Before sunrise. He goes to Eli’s grave.”

My fingers closed around the mug.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked.”

“I asked plenty of things.”

“You asked who was responsible. You didn’t ask who was grieving.”

The coffee burned my tongue.

Dot sat opposite me. “You had already chosen your answer, Wren.”

“Because Rhett was there.”

“Because you needed somebody to blame.”

“He was part of the club.”

“Eli was part of his life.”

The words lodged under my ribs.

“Was he?”

Dot’s gaze moved toward the sitting room.

I followed it. A framed photograph stood between two paperbacks on the shelf.

“Was what?”

“Part of Rhett’s life.”

Her fingers tightened around her mug.

“Ask me about Eli,” she said.

I stood and crossed into the other room. She didn’t stop me.

The photograph showed two boys sitting on the tailgate of a truck. Eli was all elbows, cowlick, and crooked grin. Rhett sat beside him, one arm wrapped around Eli’s shoulders.

They looked happy.

I turned the frame over.

A date was written in blue ink.

October 11.

Eli had died on October 14.

“Where did you get this?”

“Rhett brought it.”

“When?”

“The week after the funeral.”

“Why?”

“He said I should have it.”

“Did he tell you anything else?”

Dot rose slowly from the table.

“Grandma.”

“He told me he was sorry.”

“For what?”

“He didn’t say.”

“You let him leave without asking?”

“You let him leave without asking.”

I looked back at the boys in the picture.

Dot came to stand beside me. “Eli was different that last month.”

“How?”

“Quiet.”

“He was seventeen. Quiet wasn’t his specialty.”

“He kept looking out the window whenever a car passed.”

My hand lowered from the frame.

“Was he afraid?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“He asked me for money.”

The room seemed to lose a degree of heat.

“How much?”

“Sixty dollars.”

“When?”

“A week before he died. Maybe two.”

“Why?”

“He wouldn’t say. I thought it was gas money. Or a girl.”

“Did Dad know?”

“Your father was drinking too much by then. He heard what he wanted to hear.”

“Did you tell the sheriff?”

“I told them everything they asked.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Dot flinched.

“Yes,” she said. “I told them about the money.”

The report in my car contained no mention of it.

“What else did they leave out?”

Dot’s expression closed.

“Grandma.”

“You came here for answers.”

“I came here for the truth.”

“Those aren’t always the same thing.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

Doyle: Need an update.

Dot saw the name on the screen.

“Your boss?”

“Yes.”

“He knows you’re here?”

“He sent me.”

“Why?”

I looked at the photograph.

“To investigate Rhett.”

Dot’s face hardened. “Then investigate the man who sent you.”

I looked up.

She had already turned away.

“Your room is still upstairs,” she said.

“I’m staying at the motel.”

“Of course you are.”

“Dot—”

“You should ask Rhett why he keeps going to your brother’s grave.”

“I will.”

“No.” She picked up the kettle. “You should ask him what he saw that night.”

The kettle began to whistle.

Dot didn’t move to turn it off.

I lifted the frame from the shelf.

“Can I take this?”

Dot’s gaze fixed on my hand. “Why?”

“To show Rhett.”

“You think he hasn’t seen it?”

“I think I need to know why he gave it to you.”

“He gave it to me because he loved Eli.”

The simple answer made my chest ache.

“Then why didn’t he tell me?”

“Maybe he tried.”

“He told me nothing.”

“He said you didn’t let him.”

I set the frame down harder than I meant to. “He could have followed me.”

“He could have.”

“He could have called.”

“He could have.”

“Are you taking his side?”

“I’m taking the side of the person standing in front of me.”

The words stopped me.

Dot reached for the photograph and straightened it. “You want to know what happened to Eli? Stop asking who deserves your anger and start asking who benefited from your silence.”

I stared at her.

“Where did you learn to talk like that?”

“I’ve been seventy-one for three years. It gives a person time to improve.”

Despite myself, I laughed. It came out thin and unfamiliar.

Dot touched my cheek. “There you are.”

The tenderness nearly undid me.

I looked at the photograph again. “Did Eli say Rhett’s name before he died?”

“Once.”

My breath stopped.

“When?”

“The night he asked for the money.”

“What did he say?”

Dot looked toward the window. “He asked if Rhett had come by.”

“Did he?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“Eli heard a car outside and left before I could.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Because you were already drowning.”

“And now?”

“Now you’re standing in the deep end pretending you can’t feel the floor disappear.”