Page 17 of Water's Edge

The room has been soundproofed.

Hot tears run down her face, and her chest seizes up. She lies still for a time, afraid to move, afraid period. She starts to call out again but stops herself.

What if whoever answers is not there to help her?

The young woman has always been independent. She knows that the way to overcome any threat to her survival is to get angry. Angry enough to fight back. She’s a fighter. Her mother taught her that. But that was before. In the life she used to have before she became pregnant. Before she went against her mother’s wishes and gave the baby away. She made the right choice. Her mom didn’t understand. Disowned her. She has been totally on her own since. Moved to another town. Gotten a new job. Made new friends. Dealt with the loss alone.

Her thoughts bring another round of tears and she gives in to it, sucking up the pain. She is crying for her baby. The one she never knew and now doesn’t think she’ll ever know. She has always thought she can fix things with her mother, given enough time. She defied her mother but is still a good daughter and a good woman. Unlike the father of her child. That man was a ghost. She got a new phone number and changed her appearance. It was enough. He wouldn’t look for her too hard. He wanted nothing to do with a child. He made that clear. He looked trapped like an animal when she told him she was pregnant and then said—like he was doing her a great service—that he’d pay for the abortion.

She hears a click from somewhere just out of her field of view. She couldn’t even turn her head to look if she dared. She lies still, closes her eyes.

“There you are,” he says.

Last night comes rushing back to her.

“I won’t tell. Please,” she begs.

“You’re right. You won’t.”

Nine

Sheriff Gray is outside, standing on the side of the building, lighting up a cigarette as I park in the lot at the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office. He takes a drag and, while exhaling, fans the smoke away. His wife disapproves of his smoking. He is overweight, eats too much greasy junk food, doesn’t exercise, and is a poster boy for bad lifestyle choices.

The sheriff spots my car and tosses the cigarette, crushing it under his shoe and kicking the tobacco around to destroy the evidence. As I approach, with Ronnie following like a duckling, his cheeks suddenly redden.

“I can stop anytime I want,” he says.

“Sure.”

“I can,” he insists. “I have.”

“I can see that.”

He diverts my attention by addressing Ronnie.

“Did you learn anything?” he asks.

I answer for her. “She was a big help, Sheriff. She took a statement from the guy who found the body.”

“Detective Carpenter said I could search his car without a warrant,” Ronnie says, looking to the sheriff for clarification. I guess she didn’t trust that I’d told her correctly.

“You don’t need a warrant if he consented,” he says. “Megan should have told you that.”

Ronnie’s face colors and she keeps it directed downward. “Uh, I meant to say she told me I could search if he gave me consent. He did and I searched.”

Liar. Liar. Blue suit on fire.

“Let’s go into my office and you can fill me in,” Sheriff Gray says as we follow him inside.

I want to keep Ronnie where I can see her. Sheriff Gray brings his office chair out into the room so we can sit in a circle. His chair’s seat is mostly duct tape.

I pull my chair out of the circle and into a corner so I can face the door. Never sit with your back to the door.

I fill him in on everything except my observations of the body. It doesn’t matter what I thought I saw, except to me. I finish and the sheriff sits for a long time, hand under his chin in thought. He gets up with a squealing of springs and pushes the duct-taped monster back behind his desk.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks.

“I’m going to type up my reports and wait for the Crime Scene, Marine Patrol, and the coroner’s reports. I’d like to attend the autopsy if possible.” I don’t really want to attend, but I want to get another look at the stretch marks. She didn’t just lose weight. A baby. Maybe. There may be a child out there somewhere that just lost its mother.

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