Page 31 of Tangled Up

Turning to the side, I exhale a moan, desire mixing with anger and frustration.

* * *

“Your father could’ve been anything he wanted to be.” I’m sitting on the front porch with my aunt, a thick loop of yarn wrapped around my hands as she knits. “He was the smartest man in this town.”

Two long, silver needles hang in an X from the tightly woven, deep blue blanket she’s creating, and her fingers fly along the top as she creates the stitches.

I’m hypnotized by her rapid movements, glad to have a break from the storm in my mind. “What did he want to be?”

She never looks up from her work. “Oh, he talked about different things. He wanted to be a scientist, then he wanted to be a lawyer. Ultimately, I guess he found what made him happy.”

“He worked for a contractor building houses.” My brow furrows, and I glance up at her. I do remember my dad being tired and hot and exhausted all the time, and I was young when he died.

Aunt Viv’s dark-gray braid is over her shoulder, and her silver-rimmed glasses have slid down her nose. She looks like the classic librarian. “It’s true. It was backbreaking work in the blistering sun, but he liked being part of a team making things. I remember how proud he was when they’d frame up a house.”

Pressing my lips together, I remember. “He always had a smile on his face.”

“And he had your mother and you and Henry.” She shakes her head. “He was a cockeyed optimist. Lord knows where he got it from.”

Lord knows is right, judging by my aunt. “I wish I’d known him better. Both of them.”

“Your mother was fiery, but when he died, well, I guess the flame went right out of her.” Her knitting needles click, and we’re quiet.

So many times, I’ve wondered how our mother could give up on life when she had Henry and me here needing her. Then I met Beck, and I realized how powerful love could be, how overwhelming. I could envision a heartbreak so big it would be impossible to get out of bed in the morning. It would be impossible to see a life without him in it.

I almost went there, but I found something to lead me out of the darkness. I wish having children had been my mother’s path to the light.

“I don’t remember her at all.” My voice is quiet. “I know I should.”

My aunt’s needles still. She lowers the blanket to her lap and reaches out to squeeze my hand. “You look at me, Caroline Dennison. Your mother was impulsive and passionate, but she always loved you and your brother. She didn’t always make the right decisions. She thought her sadness would never end, that maybe you’d be better off without her. At least that’s what the note said.”

Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head as if she hasn’t quite figured it out herself. Rising onto my knees, I wrap my arms around her shoulders, crushing her work against her chest. “Thank you for taking us in the way you did. I realize it wasn’t easy for you.”

“Pfft. Stop that. You and Henry kept me young.” She pats my arms off her shoulders and resumes her knitting. “Now go, take a walk and breathe the fresh air. No use sitting around inside when you’re young and spirited.”

“I think you’re trying to get rid of me.” I squint an eye at her.

“Go on, and let me finish this blanket.”

Hopping up, I walk to my bedroom to grab my phone. I see a text from Ronnie sent about an hour ago.Stay alert. They always pop up right when you think they’re gone.

Rolling my eyes, I text back.She’s not Michael Myers.

Hesitating, I pause at my desk, opening the manila folder and sliding out the letter.

You took everything I loved.

You hurt me, and I’m going to hurt you.

I’m going to make you feel how it feels to lose everything.

The letter appeared in my office chair the same day Alize disappeared.

My name isn’t on it, and her signature isn’t on it. Still, knowing the facts of her case and the timing of her disappearance, we easily connected the dots.

Alize’s two children, ages four and eighteen months were found alone in her house. The neighbor discovered them after hearing the toddler crying nonstop all day and finding the four-year-old trying to take care of her.

When the police finally found Alize, I was the criminal psychologist who interviewed her. I diagnosed her as manic bipolar, and it was my testimony before the judge that had her children placed in protective custody.

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