Jess sat in the passenger’s side of the Toyota Highlander with her hands in her lap. The sun was sagging in the sky over the horizon. From where Jess sat, she could see the long sweep of the pastures all around her, the horizon a long wavy line of scrub brush and Georgia pine.
Today is the day I buried my son.
The words crept up her throat and grabbed her, pinching into her so she couldn’t swallow. She knew not to close her eyes. Eliminating one sensory outlet only intensified all the others.
One in particular.
She gripped her hands together, feeling the bones of her fingers as fragile as chicken bones.
The only thing she didn’t react to by touch was herself. She’d have to ask Mia if it was the same for her. Keeping her hands to herself meant they weren’t picking up feelings and stories from every single inanimate object in her immediate surroundings. Once again, she forced herself to stare out at the fields of the horse farm.
She didn’t blame Mia for the outbreak at the funeral. She was angry and frustrated. Their beautiful boy was taken from them and his so-called friends and colleagues, the ones he should have counted on to take care of him, had just walked away. She heard them as they left the funeral, without the sense or propriety to quell their laughter and loud voices for long enough to get out of earshot. And what were they doing today, I wonder? With the rest of a beautiful autumn afternoon off with pay?
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mia, still in her funeral dress and kitten heels, lead her horse out of the pasture and through the gates to the tack barn. Leave it to Mia to insist on getting rid of her beloved horse and say goodbye to her brother on the same day. Not to mention fainting not two hours earlier. If Dave’s partner hadn’t caught her, Mia would’ve tumbled right into the open grave.
Sometimes Jess thought Mia was determined to make everything as difficult as possible.
When Mia led the horse through the gate, the doors of an SUV parked by it swung open and two teen girls scrambled out. They were followed more slowly by the driver—a large-bottomed woman in her late forties. Jess watched the girls run to Shiloh and she could hear their high-pitched voices and exclamations from where she sat, over a hundred yards away. The horse never reacted. He shook his head, prompting more squeals of delight from the girls, but otherwise stood calmly, chewing a mouthful of long grass.
Mia shook hands with the driver and handed the lead rope to one of the girls.
Why did she need to do this today of all days?
The doctor and the physical therapist had been as adamant as Jess: no more competitive riding. At twenty-eight, Mia was too old for it, and frankly, now that she was unemployed, she couldn’t afford the board. But more than that, of course, was the fact that horses and Mia’s “gift” had become a lethal combination. They’d been lucky last month and Mia had walked away without too much damage.
Next time she might not be so lucky.
Jess looked away from the negotiations between Mia and the woman. She wasn’t selling her horse, just leasing him out. Someday, who knows? If she got a better handle on her abilities she might be able to ride again. It didn’t look possible from this angle, but you never knew.
After all, if you’d have told me five years ago that my family would be reduced to just me and my youngest child…Jess’s hands tightened around the car’s door handle and she felt a story developing in her mind. A child in the front seat of the car, sticky with juice and candy, unhappy, lost, wanting her mother…Jess snatched her hand from the door handle. She willed her breathing to calm.
Whoever called it a “gift,” she thought, trying to force the images and feelings of the little girl from her mind, had a sick sense of humor.
Burton stood at Kazmaroff’s desk, a cardboard box in front of him. He wasn’t surprised to find few personal effects in the guy’s desk and for that he was grateful. Kazmaroff’s mother and sister had shown little interest in retrieving what personal property Dave kept at the office but it was Burton’s job to deliver it to them nonetheless.
He thought back to how angry Dave’s sister had been at the funeral—before swooning into his arms. He’d scooped her up and carried her to a nearby burial canopy where she quickly revived before her mother dragged her away.
He tossed a blank notebook and a handful of mechanical pencils into the box. Burton found the thought of seeing Mia Kazmaroff again surprisingly confusing. On the one hand, he didn’t hate the idea at all. But he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why not.
“I can’t believe they’re letting you even touch his stuff.”
Burton turned to see Keith Barnes standing at his desk, his hands on his hips. Barnes worked narcotics but his partner had been recently hospitalized for some kind of intestinal ailment and Barnes was doing general duty in the meantime. Burton always wondered why Kazmaroff hadn’t wanted to partner with Barnes. The two had been close.
Figuring anything he said was going to piss the guy off, Burton just continued opening and shutting drawers. The last drawer revealed a leather-bound photo of Dave’s mother and sister. Burton hesitated when he saw Mia. Without the patina of anger and grief, he could see she was beautiful. Dave had been blond and big—probably taking after his Russian ancestors. But Mia looked like she stepped out of Brigadoon, as her name might suggest. Her dark hair was thick and wavy around her shoulders, and her smile was so inviting it made him sad to think how far away she’d been from that yesterday.
“Just get it and get out,” Barnes growled, taking a step closer. Burton glanced up at him and noticed Elliott Johnson was watching the scenario play out.
So much for the goodbye cake, Burton thought, hoisting the box into his arms—most of it full of the contents of his own desk. True to his word, when the verdict came down that there was nothing to suggest foul play in Dave’s death, Burton tendered his resignation.
He’d spent some time thinking about why he’d done that, about why it felt right. It was almost like there was another part of him that knew all along he needed to leave, that knew part of his depression was fed by his job. A part of him had prayed they’d find nothing suspicious about how Dave died so he could just go.
One thing that became clear to him in the days since Kazmaroff’s death was that however the guy died, Burton was more than a little responsible.
How do you figure that?
But the feeling in his gut, as usual, knew better than he did. He supposed he’d find out in due time—he usually did. But for now, it was enough that he knew he’d had a hand in it.
Which was why he was leaving today and why he wasn’t responding to Barnes’ bullying. For a moment the thought came to him he might feel better if he let Barnes nail him a good one across the jaw. But then he’d probably feel like he got off too easy. No sense in sustaining a possible broken jaw for no damn good reason.
Bringing Dave’s crap to his mother and sister—when seeing them again was the last thing he wanted to do—now that was a penance that just might make him feel a little better.
After it made him feel a whole lot worse first.