The body was in pieces. The face was pulp.
She doubled over and vomited.
Jason laid a hand on her back. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
They buried him, taking turns with the shovel.
She stopped eating, stopped training, lost weight.
Leonie wanted her to take an antidepressant. Maggie agreed that it wouldn’t hurt.
Every day Shasta put one pill into the toilet. Soon enough Leonie caught her, and from then on she made Shasta swallow in front of her and stick out her tongue.
One rainy night at dinner, she said, “Is Octavio Prado my father?”
“Why would you think that?” Leonie said.
“Because he loved you,” Shasta said.
Her mother killed her wine. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
By late April, the roads had begun to dry out.
Shasta climbed on her bike and headed for the mountains.
The extended layoff had hurt her conditioning. She started off too fast. She got to the top of the first hill and felt ready to keel over.
You just have to start moving.
She pedaled harder.
Past the cross.
Past the place where she’d first talked to Nick.
Normally she turned around at Blackberry Junction. Leonie didn’t like her going farther.
It’ll make sense.
Shasta pushed on, legs cramping, back cramping, heart threatening to explode.
She rode all the way to Millburg, stopping at the market to refill her water bottle.
His face was on a poster. In one photo he wore the necklace. Tara’s name and contact information were listed.
Shasta started to take a picture.
Then she stopped. What could she possibly say, six months after the fact?
She remembered, too, the stories he’d told her. His crazy, drug-addicted mother.
She put her phone away and rode home.
By June she was nearly back to form. That day she made it to the Junction in an hour twelve — not her best time, but not her worst, either.
On the return trip, it occurred to her that she hadn’t thought about Nick for a few days.
Maybe the pills were doing their job.
The song she was listening to ended.
A car was coming in the opposite direction. She couldn’t see it yet but she could hear it, up around the bend.
Lately she’d been wondering what it would feel like to die.
Jump off a cliff. Walk into the ocean where the riptides were bad.
Take a gun to the forest; kneel down.
She didn’t understand where these thoughts were coming from. Even on her worst nights, right after the accident, when she fantasized about punishment, she never gave herself a death sentence, but a lifetime of remembering.
But she’d stopped remembering, hadn’t she?
The car was getting close, its engine straining.
She wouldn’t have to do anything. Just keep pedaling and let it happen.
Another accident.
She leaned into the curve.
I said, “And there I was.”
“I saw your face,” she said. “You weren’t some monster. Just a guy with a beard. I thought, How stupid is it? Dying like this?”
“You swerved.”
“Too slow.”
“I’m grateful you did.”
“Me too.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through all of this, Shasta.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank you for being honest with me. I know it was hard.”
She nodded.
“When I first brought you home, your mom was furious with me,” I said. “Then she backed off, suddenly. Was that you?”
“I told her I’d go to the cops about Nick if she didn’t drop it.”
“Thanks for that, too.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
“Some of the details you shared about the manuscript, like the second milepost — they aren’t in the scan that I have, or at least I didn’t see them. It would be helpful to take a look at the original. Do you know what happened to it? Is it still at the cottage?”
“I sort of forgot about it, because of everything that was going on. I went to look for it and it was gone. The backpack, too. I guess my mom or Jason took it.”
“Would they have destroyed it?”
“Probably. I can ask.”
“Let’s wait. My priority is speaking to Nick’s mom and making sure he gets a proper burial.”
“Okay.” She paused. “What’s she like?”
“Tara? She’s had it hard, too.”
Shasta said nothing.
“I want to be upfront with you,” I said. “Regina and I are probably going to have to inform the authorities about Nick’s death.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“I can’t answer that. If what you told me is true—”
“It is.” She faced me. “I swear.”
Her eyes did not move from mine.
“What about Maggie?” she said. “Is she in trouble?”
“I don’t know, Shasta.”
She nodded. Accepting punishment out of force of habit.
We reached Whitethorn Court.
Shasta took off the necklace. The pendant swung as she offered it to me. “Give it to Tara?”
I put the necklace in my pocket.
“I’m sorry it’s not the original chain,” she said.
“I think it’s all right.”
She knelt to unlace her boots.
I asked, “You want a lift home?”
“I’m good.”
“Okay. Good luck, Shasta.”
“Can I ask you something?” she said. “Is Regina really your wife?”
I laughed. “No.”
“Thank God.” She kicked off the boot, worked her foot into a cleat. “You guys make a terrible couple.”
Chapter 41
Quarter past three. Beau and Regina would have long finished their hike. Emil would be back from Eureka. They would be sitting around, wondering where I was.
I saw no reason to linger now that we knew the truth about Nick.
The bell jangled as I entered the hotel.
DJ Pelman looked over from his barstool.
“Hey,” I said.
His lips parted.
Jenelle Counts called from the kitchen: “Hello?”
“Just me,” I said.
I took the stairs three at a time, packed up Regina’s stuff and mine, returned to the main floor with bags in hand. Jenelle was behind the bar.
“You’re leaving?”
“ ’Fraid so.”
She tilted her head. “Something wrong?”
“Not at all, we just need to get rolling.” I laid the room key on the counter and tugged out my wallet. “Six hundred?”
She didn’t answer right away. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You’re sure.”
“On the house.”
“Thank you.” I turned to DJ. “My apologies to the chicken.”
He stared blankly. “What?”
“The chicken you killed. For dinner.”
“Oh... Yeah. Yeah, it’s all good.” Weak smile. “Rain check.”
“Say goodbye to your wife for me,” Jenelle said.
I grabbed the bags. “Will do.”
I pulled up to the Bergstroms’.
The Range Rover wasn’t in the driveway.
The front door opened. Emil appeared on the porch.
He took off his hat and began waving it at me.
Q: What do you do if you feel unsafe?
A: I leave.
But I couldn’t. Not without Regina.
I got out of the Jeep and started up the front walk.
Emil stood with his hips thrust forward, fingers hooked through his belt loops. He was sporting a Canadian tuxedo: denim jacket one shade lighter than his jeans. The belt buckle winked.