Evidence of Life - By Barbara Taylor Sissel Page 0,97
the sofa in the den, Abby thought of her new life, the one that she lived now without her daughter, without so much as the comfort and grace of her memories, because all of those were a total lie. Abby flipped onto her back. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe for the heat that came. She felt suffocated by it. She felt as if she had swallowed fire.
Everyone had said the worst was over, that time would soften her grief, but she didn’t feel grief. She felt hate. It pushed against the walls of her brain, huge and destructive. Flinging the cover to the floor, she got up, found the keys to Nick’s BMW and headed out to the freeway. The speedometer edged eighty, then eight-five. Now ninety. The light-haunted scenery blurred, and then all at once she let go of the steering wheel and let go of sense, too, and it was terrifying and exhilarating. She was shaking when she took control of the car again and steered it cautiously onto the road’s shoulder. She fought for breath and reason. Who was she trying to punish? Them, she thought. Nick and Sondra. But they were beyond her reach. At least Nick was. And if Sondra wasn’t?
Abby stared into the gritty path of headlights, unable to imagine what she would do if Sondra were to somehow be found alive. She wanted to go back in time. Inside her head she felt at war. She felt herself waiting for something else awful to happen.
Finally, when she felt calm enough to drive properly, she started the car, and it was when she reentered the freeway that she noticed the dark-colored sedan parked on the feeder some distance behind her. But it didn’t register; she didn’t take the memory with her, and a few days would pass before she would think about it again.
* * *
Jake came home that weekend ostensibly to do his laundry, but Abby thought he had come to check on her, and it both pleased and annoyed her. He was heaving a tangled mass of jeans mixed with bath towels into the dryer when Abby walked in with the groceries.
“How many times have I told you not to overload the machine?” she asked, kicking the door shut.
He took the sack from her, bringing it into the kitchen. “That machine can take it,” he said. “Trust me.” He popped a couple of grapes into his mouth.
She held the rest of the bunch under running water.
“I’ve been thinking, Mom.” Jake leaned against the counter.
“Uh-oh.” Abby sounded lighthearted, but inside she was dismayed. She knew what he was going to say, that he was dropping out of college. She braced herself for it.
“Ha, ha,” Jake said, “but, seriously, I’ve been thinking how Dad said you could wait too long to figure out what really matters, you know?...and I think he was talking about finding out what you want to do in your life, not what someone else wants you to do. Like, he wanted me to be a lawyer, but that’s not what I want. I can’t live his dream anymore.”
Abby finished rinsing the grapes and started scrubbing the sweet potatoes she’d bought to go with the pork roast they were having for dinner. She knew she couldn’t stop him, not on her own, not without Nick’s support, and it infuriated her to think that Jake’s degree would be lost, too, one more casualty of the calamity that seemed never-ending. She needed to stay calm, but inside she felt like screaming.
Jake said, “I want to transfer to Sam Houston State. I want to study law enforcement.”
Abby glanced sidelong at him. “In Huntsville?” The university was just up the road, maybe a thirty-minute drive. She’d see more of him.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “Dennis told me the criminology program there is one of the best.”
“Dennis?” Abby turned off the water, picked up the kitchen towel and dried her hands, unsettled at how the mention of his name brought a flush of warmth to her face, but she wouldn’t call it pleasure. She couldn’t. “You talked to him about it?”
“Yeah. He’s a good guy, Mom.”
Abby didn’t answer. She couldn’t give that to Jake, her validation.
“Look, he’s really sorry—”
“I’m sure he is,” Abby said, adding, “It’s fine, Jake.” And because she didn’t want to talk further about Dennis, she brought up the coroner’s office. “They called the other day,” she said gently. “They want to know what arrangements we’ve made for the remains.”