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‘I’m not crazy,’ I said it, and I kept saying it, unprompted.
George wasn’t even replying any longer. I was speaking to myself.
Look, why would I make it up? I have a bad relationship with every single cop I’ve ever met. My imagination, as we know, is practically nonexistent. I have told you enough times how hard Tommy’s death hit me. You think I can make something like that up?
And why the hell would I?
I didn’t. I really didn’t. I promise you, I didn’t.
I am not crazy.
Since I got back from Texas, it’s like my whole life has been destroyed. My mom didn’t leave when I thought she did, she was apparently not the perfect person she’s made out to be, and now Tommy may not even exist. It feels like everything’s suddenly gone wrong. You know what? I blamed Tess.
Oh, sure. Blame the therapist. That doesn’t make me sound insane at all.
Oh, God. I needed to focus. I need to- breathe. Think. Stop talking to myself in disjointed sentences, maybe. That’d help.
I don’t even know why I was coming to Baskin-Robbins. All it’d prove is that an ice cream store existed. Big whoop. I’ve probably driven past this a million times before. It’d be the easiest thing in the world to simply pluck out a familiar building as a meeting spot.
Okay, I wasn’t even defending myself anymore. This was not good.
‘Why’ve we stopped?’ George asked, his first words since my overuse of the word “crazy.”
‘We’re here,’ I sighed, screwing my eyes shut. I know, I’ll count to ten slowly and take some deep breaths. And then, after almost asphyxiating, I’ll be feeling brand new and refreshed.
One-
‘Where?’
‘Where do you think?’ I snapped, turning on him. See, if he’d let me count, I would’ve been calm. I jabbed my finger at places as I said ’em. ‘Where I met Tommy. The theater’s over there, the antiques store is behind us and the Baskin-Robbins is over there-’
Spoiler alert, it wasn’t. There wasn’t a Baskin-Robbins in sight.
Everything else was the same. The theater and the antiques store were right where they should’ve been. The bench that we sat on was still there. The Baskin-Robbins was not.
In its place was a laundromat.
A very new laundromat, though.
George could barely keep up as I darted over there, almost getting hit by a car in the process.
There was nobody in there but a fat, frumpy lady folding clothes. Okay, I’m being ruder than normal, but that’s all I remember of her, alright? I was highly stressed and about to have a breakdown. She barely had time to greet me before I yelled at her.
‘How long has this place been here?’
She clearly thought that it was such an interesting question, she was going to take her sweet ass time thinking about it. My old buddy the migraine kept me company, lucky for me.
‘Ooh, I’d say about a year, maybe? Not so sure on the exact date.’
My heart plummeted as I heard her voice. Just my luck, she was Canadian. Nothing against them, but I needed a local right now.
‘What was it before?’
‘I’m not sure-’
‘Was it a Baskin-Robbins?’
She shrugged apologetically.
‘I only moved here about six months ago. I think there is a bakery on the next block. Maybe they sell ice cream,’ she suggested.
I almost laughed. Like I was some random fatso screaming at people for her next sugar fix.
‘Is there anyone here who’ll know?’
‘Ched might,’ she said. Then didn’t move an inch.
I was gonna tear my hair or her throat out.
‘Can you ask him?’ I screeched.
Giving me a worried look, she backed away into the storeroom. I wouldn’t have really been surprised if she locked it and dialed 911, but she didn’t. She came out a minute later, still looking anxious.
‘He says he’s pretty sure it was a Baskin-Robbins.’
Finally, a confirmation of sorts. I turned to George and smiled at him.
‘See? I’m not making it up!’
He looked at the cowering woman in the corner and took pity on her.
‘We should probably go, Ann.’
Yep, that would probably be best.
‘Thanks!’ I said cheerfully as I waved and took my leave. I’m not sure what happened, but I heard a crash behind me and I’m fairly certain she locked the door as soon as I was out of the building.
I didn’t care. It was my first real proof that I didn’t make Tommy up. I mean, I knew I didn’t, anyway. I just wanted to prove to George that I didn’t.
Naturally, he didn’t share my enthusiasm.
‘You know it doesn’t prove anything, right? All it proves is that you’ve driven down this street.’
Has anyone ever repeated your own arguments back to you? No? Well, let me tell you. There’s only one thing you can do in that situation.
Defend yourself.
‘Why the hell do you think I made him up? I don’t even live around here. There is no reason for me to remember this street so vividly unless it held a special place in my heart.’
Ew, cue the sick bucket.
‘Unless something traumatic happened here,’ he said, full of impending doom.
‘What is with you and trauma? How much trauma do you think I’ve gone through and forgotten?’
‘Maybe it’s to do with your mom.’
‘Oh my God, leave it alone. This is nothing to do with my mom. I met Tommy here every week until he died. End of story.’
I gritted my teeth, hoping he’d shut up about it and I could drive home in peace.
‘But he didn’t die because he didn’t exist,’ he muttered.
‘Really?’ I groaned. ‘Thanks for reminding me, I’d somehow forgotten.’
‘I didn’t mean it in that way,’ he sighed, rolling his eyes. ‘I meant, this guy lied to you, Ann. Do you not want to know who he is?’
You know, until that moment, I’d not actually thought of it in that way. It’s not that Tommy the cop didn’t exist, it’s that he lied to me. Suddenly, I was hurt. He’d come into my life and offered me hope when no one else had, and then he’d walked out and faked his death. Just like that.
That drive home was one of the hardest drives of my life. I’d mourned him. I’d cried because I’d been responsible for his death. I wasn’t even allowed at the funeral, you know? He meant something to me.
Still does.
And apparently, he’s nothing but a lie.
I almost wished I had made him up.
‘Do you know where the funeral was supposed to be?’ George asked.
‘Does it matter?’ I countered. ‘It didn’t happen.’
‘Everything matters. It’s evidence.’
He was right, of course. Only pissed me off more.
‘No, I don’t. Some small church, I think.’
‘But he died in the line of duty. Surely there’d be a procession of some kind? What were the other funerals like?’
‘What other funerals?’
‘You know, the other cops who died that night?’
Oh, he was really testing me now.
‘I don’t know. I didn’t go to them, either.’
‘Do you know their names?’
Julie Moreno and Tariq Sharif. Thanks go to Rathers for those. I’d add them to the other swirl of names that pass me by every moment there’s a crack in my walls.
‘Why?’
‘Because we can find out when their funerals were, and what they were like. Maybe there’ll be photos of that night. Do you definitely remember seeing Tommy there?’
‘I don’t know,’ I answered straight away.
‘So, think about it. Take your time.’
‘I don’t want to. It’s in the past.’
‘So? You think just because it’s in the past it’s over?’
Yeah, pretty much. It’s sad, I cried, boo hoo, done. Let’s move on.
‘Ann!’
‘What?’ I snapped, turning the wheel a little harder than I needed to. Naturally, it only hurt me.
‘You can’t keep running away from anything you don’t like. You have to face up to this sooner or later.’
Or the secret third option, never. That was a good one.
‘I choose later.’
‘Ann!’
‘Look, like you said: it’s in the past. Whoever he was, he’s gone, so it doesn’t matter. Maybe he wasn’t a cop. Maybe he was some guy who wanted to help me and he did,’ I said vaguely.
‘I thought you said his wife sent you a letter,’ George prodded.
Man, he just kept on coming.
‘Maybe it was him, as a goodbye.’
‘You said she was threatening-’
‘George!’
My turn to yell a name. It was fun, I could see why he was doing it.
‘Ann, you need to start facing up to things,’ he warned.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Your mom, Tommy. It’s all coming back.’
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘You can’t keep-’
‘Yes, I can, George! I can keep running away because it’s in the past, and it doesn’t matter anymore and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s done, it’s finished and I can carry on pushing it away-’
‘What happens when the past pushes back?’
I had my eyes on the road but even I couldn’t ignore his prison-yard stare. He got me thinking. The whole ride home, he got me thinking.
And I came to a decision.