The Bodies Left Behind

out the door.
    That I was afraid. That I was weak.
    And that my delaying would have even more horrific consequences.
    Keith  . . .
    But even now she couldn’t tell him exactly what had happened.
    And here, she understood, was a clue to the crime she’d committed against Graham, against the two of them: her silence, this inability to talk. Yet she felt that whatever the clue led to, even if she managed to figure it out, the solution would come too late. It was like finding conclusive evidence as to a killer’s identity, only to discover that the perp had already died of natural causes.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “But you still . . .” Her voice faded as she watched him pulling his wallet from his slacks, fishing in it. She watched, obsessively touching the bandage on her cheek.
    Jesus. Was it his lover’s picture? she wondered.
    He handed her a small white card.
    Brynn squinted; the cheek wound made reading difficult out of her right, her stronger, eye.
    She stared at the raised type: Sandra Weinstein, M.D., LLC. 2942 Albemarle Avenue, Ste. 302, Humboldt, Wisconsin. Handwritten at the bottom was: Friday 7:30, April 17. Brynn began, “She’s a—”
    “Therapist. Psychiatrist . . . Shrink.”
    “You—”
    “You saw us near the motel, Brynn, but not at the motel. She’s in the professional building next door. I’m usually her last patient at night. Sometimes we leave the office at the same time. That’s probably when you saw us.”
    Brynn flicked the card.
    “Call her. Go see her. I’ll give her permission to tell you all about it. Please, go talk to her. Help me figure out why you love the job more than me. Why you’d rather be in your squad car than at home. Help me figure out how to be a father to a son you won’t let me near. Why you got married to me in the first place. Maybe you two can figure it out. I sure can’t.”
    Brynn offered lamely, “But why didn’t you tell me? Ask me to go with you to counseling? I would have!” She meant this.
    He lowered his head. And she realized she’d touched a painful spot—like her tongue probing the gum where her tooth had once been.
    “I should have. Sandra keeps suggesting it. I almost asked you a dozen times. I couldn’t.”
    “But why?”
    “Afraid of what you’d do. Give up on us, think I was being too demanding, walk out the door. Or take control and I’d get lost in the shuffle . . . Make it seem like there was no problem at all.” He shrugged. “I should have asked you. I couldn’t. But look, Brynn, the time for that has passed. You’re you, I’m me. Apples and oranges. We’re so different. It’s best for both of us.”
    “But it’s not too late. Don’t judge by last night. This was . . . this was a nightmare.”
    Then, astonishing her, he snapped. He shoved the chair back and leapt to his feet. The beer bottle fell, spewing foam over the plates. The easygoing man was now enraged. Brynn froze inside, replaying those nights with Keith. Her hand rose to her jaw. She knew that Graham wouldn’t hurt her. Still, she couldn’t help the defensive gesture. She blinked up at him and saw the wolf hovering nearby in the state park.
    Yet, she realized the rage wasn’t at her. It was, she believed, directed purely at himself. “But I have to judge by last night. That’s what did it, Brynn. Last night . . .”
    What he’d said before. He wasn’t planning on leaving until then. What did he mean? “I don’t understand.”
    He inhaled deeply. “Eric.”
    “Eric Munce?”
    “He’s dead because of me.”
    “You? No, no, we all knew he was reckless. Whatever happened didn’t have anything to do with you.”
    “Yes, it did! It had everything to do with me.”
    “What’re you talking about?”
    “I used him!” His own jaw, square and perfect, was trembling. “I know you all thought he was a cowboy. Last night nobody was going to look for you at the interstate. But I knew you’d go that way. So I told Eric if he wanted to see some action he ought to come with me. That’s where the killers were headed.” Graham shook his head. “I threw that out like it was a hunting dog’s favorite treat. . . . And he’s dead because of me. Because I went someplace I had no business going. And I have to live with that forever.”
    She leaned forward. He recoiled from her hand. She sat back and asked, “Why, Graham? Why did you come, then?”
    He gave a cold laugh. “Oh, Brynn. I plant trees and flowers for a living.