Safe Keeping. Barbara Sissel Taylor

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      6

      TUCKER SAID LISSA was making too much of it, that it was no big deal. This time he had an alibi—witnesses, receipts, proof that he was nowhere near here when Jessica Sweet was killed and dumped in the woods. Emily wanted to believe him; she did believe him. She gathered herself. “I baked a cake,” she said.

      Tucker grinned his foolish puppy grin. “Chocolate?”

      She nodded, patting his cheeks, happy to have him home, to have her family together. She didn’t miss Lissa’s sigh of exasperation but chose to ignore it. “Why don’t we all go inside?”

      Lissa asked for a rain check. “I’m worn out, and Evan and I have an early day—”

      When she broke off, Emily didn’t have to turn around to know that Roy was standing in the doorway. She froze. She had tried talking to him at dinner, forcing herself to say Joe’s name. She had said, “Please, let me explain,” but Roy answered there wasn’t a need, and his voice had been low with hurt. She had no idea what he thought he knew, or where he could have gotten his information, if he had any, and she was beside herself with the worry of it. But there was no way they could pursue it now, in front of the children. She hugged her arms around herself.

      Tucker lifted his cap, whipped it once, then again, against his leg, saying nothing.

      The silence thickened. Someone in the neighborhood called for their dog and now the night breeze carried the sound of a train whistle from the edge of town.

      “Roy?” Emily lifted her voice. “I was just saying we should all come inside and have some cake.” She paused, and when he didn’t answer, she turned to him, and she was relieved and not a little amazed when he didn’t argue, when instead, he backed out of the doorway, leaving it open. Gesturing at Tucker and Lissa and Evan, she followed Roy down the front hall and into the kitchen. The cake was centered on the table, underneath a glass cake dome. It had turned out beautifully, and Emily was glad she hadn’t abandoned making it.

      “Mmm, looks yummy.” Lissa opened a cabinet and lifted down five dessert plates.

      “I hope it’s not too dry.” Emily gathered forks and napkins, taking a moment to circle Lissa’s waist as a way of thanking her for staying, for being amenable.

      Lissa tipped her head to Emily’s. They were often the peacemakers, the buffer between Roy and Tucker.

      “Is coffee all right? There are soft drinks and milk.” Emily looked around at the men, and she thought it wasn’t only Roy who was humoring her. Every one of them was. Even Lissa was likely wondering if Emily truly believed she could serve them slices of cake like doses of medicine and somehow defuse the tension. She knew better, of course. But she wanted her family to see that regardless of the circumstances they could still come together, just as they had in the past, to share in the sweetness of dessert.

      When everyone was seated, she said they should join hands. It seemed important to offer a blessing. “Roy, would you do the honors?” she asked, and her heart almost broke with love and gratitude when he bowed his head, and taking Tucker’s hand in his left and Lissa’s hand in his right, he thanked God for them and for Evan, and for the cake, and Emily, who baked it.

      After they said their amens, she squeezed Tucker’s opposite hand. “Thank you, God, too, that our son is home safe.” She smiled at him.

      He kept her glance and her hand, and there was something wounded and fraught caging the shadows of his eyes. Some quality or essence had come over him—was it despair? Remorse? She didn’t know, had never seen it before.

      “I’ve been a bastard,” he said.

      Emily frowned.

      “I’m sorry,” Tucker said.

      “It’s all right, honey,” Emily said, but panic knotted her stomach.

      “It isn’t all right,” he insisted. “It hasn’t been right—I haven’t been right, not for a long time.”

      “What do you mean, Tucker?” Lissa asked the question Emily couldn’t find breath for.

      “I didn’t murder Jessica Sweet.” Tucker looked hard at Lissa. “Or Miranda. I tried telling you earlier, Liss. The cops can dog me into hell, and they probably will, but they’ve got it wrong.”

      “If they’re so goddamn wrong,” Roy said, “why do they keep coming after you?”

      Emily tensed, waiting for Tucker to say something ugly; she waited to hear the scrape of his chair, the clatter of his plate when he dumped it into the sink. She waited for him to walk out in a huff, or walk out yelling. But for what seemed an eternal moment there was nothing.

      And then Tucker said, “I want to come back to work.”

      Emily looked at Tucker in astonishment.

      But he had eyes only for his father. “I’ll do whatever it takes, Pop. You can cut my salary, put me on any kind of job. I don’t care. I just want a chance to make it up to you, to get it right.”

      A tremor rocked Tucker’s voice, stalling Emily’s heart.

      “I meant what I said before,” he went on, “about being a bastard. I’m sick of myself. Sick of living this way. Sick of being so fucked up— Sorry, Mom. There’s no reason you should believe me, but I swear this time it’s different. If you could just let me try—if you could just give me one more shot.”

      Roy СКАЧАТЬ