Page 191 of Murder

My last memory before the accident is of Jamie and me on the plane to Colorado. We shared a Rudolph fleece as the plane started landing. I remember how the round window was icy-cold. I remember getting in the car that came to pick us up: a black Tahoe with chilled wine in the backseat. I think maybe I remember the Madisons’ sprawling wood chateau, with its wrap-around porch, sharp, high ceilings, and three levels of art, alcoves, faux fur rugs, and plush armchairs. The huge stone fence around the place. But my neurologist tells me that’s from other visits. Previous years. Because of my brain injury, I don’t remember anything beyond a snippet of our laughter and the wine in the SUV.

I think about the wine as Barrett and I take communion. This is our second week coming to church together. He suggested it last week, thinking maybe it would help with my nightmares.

“Are you a churchgoer?” I asked him.

“No. I always liked the chaplain with our unit, though.”

“Perfect,” I teased.

But—it really is. Now on Sunday mornings, I get to see Bear in a suit. He takes communion with me even though he knows I don’t care if he does, and I think he honestly likes the priest. It’s…funny. Funny strange. But nice.

Back in our pew, he leans his arm against my shoulder and plays with one of my pigtails as the priest clears away the chalice and paton and the Eucharistic ministers stack the kneeler cushions at the altar. I think about the wine again. Do I remember what kind it was? Probably Sauvignon Blanc, one of the only wines both Jamie and I like. Her mom would have known that. Would have stashed it in the car for us.

I try to think about the drive. What did the roads look like? I can’t remember.

Soon we’re standing up, singing the recessional hymn , then filing out with everyone else during the organist’s vigorous postlude. Barrett and Father Ryan exchange words as we leave the church. I’m glad they seem to get along.

By the time we get into his Jeep, I’m tired.

“You still want barbeque, Pig?”

I can’t help giggling. “That sounds super weird.”

“Is that a yes?”

I straighten my shoulders. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

When we get into the booth at Ed’s Barbeque Pit, he slides in beside me, wraps an arm around my back, and pulls my head against his arm.

“Gwennie.”

“Mmm.”

His lips find my head. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too.”

I can feel the question that he doesn’t ask. Can feel him want to ask me. What’s wrong? I know I’ve been more distracted lately, but I’m not sure how to explain it to him. I’ve talked about the accident a few times, but there’s no way I’m telling him how scared I feel lately. Scared that whoever hit me has found me and came here to “talk.” I don’t want to make an issue of this, telling Bear all about what happened to me. I want my feelings to go away. Also, I’m not sure my fears are rational.

So I keep my mouth shut, silently thankful for the way he keeps an arm around me on the sidewalk, never leaves my side when we’re in public, even for a moment; for the fact that he hasn’t pushed us to move back into my place. I think Barrett knows my fears without me saying, and I love him for it.

I love everything about this man.

SEVENTEEN

GWENNA

December 19, 2015

I wake up one morning with the knowledge that I have to go. Back into the enclosure. It’s been more than a week. I’ve put off my usual hibernation-season walks through the land inside the fence, telling myself the bears are all doing well, staying in their little nooks, so clearly nothing’s wrong. That’s irresponsible. It’s not okay.

When Barrett leaves to go see Doc, he tells me to keep the doors locked and the new alarm system turned on. I tell him I will. When his Jeep disappears down the sloping driveway, I go up to his room and dress in boots, jeans, and a brown fleece, then take my handgun from the nightstand drawer and strap it to the waist of my jeans.

Back downstairs, I scribble a quick note letting him know where I’m going and what time I left, so if something happens to me, he’ll know where the clue trail starts. Then I check the cameras via my phone one more time. After what happened, I had four more cameras installed, and had the infrared capabilities for all the cameras turned on. It costs me an additional $400 per month, but for right now, it’s worth it. No one’s in the enclosure.

He could jump the fence again.

Who does that?

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