We were on the interstate, headed back to Millerton, when a sheriff’s car passed in the other direction, blue lights flashing. We hadn’t spoken since Rudy had left us standing dumbfounded around the body as he calmly walked away with his gorilla in tow. We hadn’t spoken, even as I shuffled C.J. and Wyatt back to the car and drove away from Coogan’s Cove.
Wyatt shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry.”
I was still trying to get the ringing out of my ears. “For what?”
“The drugs.”
“I knew you used drugs.”
“But you didn’t know I delivered them.”
I whispered my reply, “No.”
Wyatt hung his head and stared at his feet. “He told you how he split collections from distribution, right? The collectors were fairly safe because they only handled cash. If the cops stopped them, they weren’t really guilty of anything. But the distributors had drugs on them, so if they were arrested, they would at least get charged with possession. Usually with intent because that’s based on quantity.”
“Okay.”
“The trick was that the distributors had to be dumb about the organization in case the cops swooped in. We didn’t know anything other than where we picked up a package and where we delivered it. Even if you were stupid enough to talk, you didn’t have much to give. And, trust me, you just kept your mouth shut. You weren’t facing much time anyway.”
“The judges just need to give the distributors long sentences.”
“The distributors… were kids.”
“Kids?”
“Yeah. Like me. The younger, the better. If we got caught, we didn’t have a record, so we’d just get probation or something. Even once you had a record, it didn’t matter because you just went to juvie for a few months.”
“And that was okay?”
“You know Rudy the Roach said he resolved business problems?” Wyatt looked out the window and licked his lips. “He didn’t care if the problem was only thirteen or fourteen years old. I knew better than to ever be a problem.”
We rode in silence for a few minutes. I asked, “Jessica knew about this?”
“What was she going to do? She needed her fix. She’d beg me not to work for them, but someone had to bring home the money.”
I wiped the back of my hand across my face. “I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” Wyatt took a deep breath. “I will always regret it. I should’ve found another way. Social workers. Churches. Teachers. I just didn’t take their help.”
“You can’t blame yourself. You didn’t have any choice.”
“I used to believe that lie too.”
The tires hummed on the pavement. “This is on me, Wyatt. I chased your mother away. She hated me, and I don’t blame her.”
Wyatt sat up straight and squeezed the steering wheel. “Mom didn’t hate you. Why would she? You raised her like she was your daughter, unlike Horace Pearson, who never gave her the time of day.”
I glanced in the rearview mirror to see C.J.’s reaction. He knew about the affair—the rumor mill in our little town made sure everyone knew—but we didn’t talk about it a lot. He wasn’t paying attention, though, and was staring blankly out the window. I said quietly, “We tried to keep that quiet. Tried to hide it from her.”
“Some kids teased her about it. They even had some rhyme about Horace and his whore.”
I flinched. Poor Jessica, having to suffer for the sins of her parents. “I don’t like your grandmother being called that. If I had been a better husband, the affair would never have happened.”
Wyatt shrugged. “You were upset because you were shooting blanks. It happens.”
I jumped. “You knew all this?”
“Sure. Mom and I didn’t keep many secrets. I mean, we kind of knew the worst about each other anyway, so what was left?”
I blinked back tears. “I’m so sorry I made you go through everything. If only I had protected her more, loved her more, she wouldn’t have left.”
Wyatt’s hand wrapped over my shoulder, his fingers squeezing. “She didn’t leave because of you. She regretted hurting you with her decision, but she left because of Grandma.”
I focused on the reflectors embedded in the pavement flashing by and tried to make sense of what he was saying. “Because of the affair?”
“Because of the letters.” He let go of me and leaned his head against the passenger window. He sighed so deeply, a cloud of fog formed on the window. “You really don’t know.”
I shook my head.
He hesitated before plunging ahead. “Mom skipped school one day, but it was colder than she expected. She needed a jacket. She snuck home to get it, but the house was nice and warm, so she wasn’t in any hurry to leave. She didn’t really have anywhere to be. She just didn’t want to be at school, listening to those girls talk about her. To kill time, she poked around some, looking in drawers and boxes. Not really looking for anything, but just looking. She found a shoebox full of letters. She sat there for hours and read them until Mom pulled in the drive after work.”
“The ones we wrote while I was in the air force.”
There was silence from beside me until I heard a sniffle. “The ones from Horace.”
The air evaporated from the car. I struggled to catch my breath. When I spoke, only a wheeze came out. “Horace?”
“Yes.”
“They had letters? She kept them?”
“I wish I hadn’t told you.”
I gripped the steering wheel. A tear rolled down my face. “Do you know where they are?”
“Gone. Mom piled them in the fireplace, squirted lighter fluid on them, and burned them. Grandma caught her, and they had a huge fight about it. Mom said she demanded Grandma tell you everything, but she refused. A few days later, Mom left.”