Page 50 of What You Never Knew

“So you knew about those details?”

“Everybody knew about those details eventually,” he replies, the chip that he’s had on his shoulder about them all this time becoming visible. “Even the police can’t keep secrets in this town. No matter what, they were not enough to convict my father of anything. And there are still ways to explain them. Your father’s blood in the boat could have been from a harmless cut at any point. My father’s fingerprints on the steering wheel could have been from some time that he needed to drive it while out there for work.”

“And the watch?”

Ezra narrows his eyes, and I suddenly feel like we’re no longer on the same side of things. “To be honest, June, I think your mother planted that watch in there to make him look guilty. I’m not sure why, maybe so she could get your dad’s money faster, maybe the shame of having her husband leave her so she wanted to make it look like something else. I really don’t know. All that I do know for sure, one hundred percent, is that my father did not do anything to hurt your father.”

“Okay,” I say.

He looks surprised, as though he expected more of a fight from me. “Okay?”

“Ezra, I can’t dispute what you’re accusing my mother of. After everything I’ve learned about her in my return to Avril Island, she may very well have planted that watch in your dad’s boat to make him look guilty. I honestly wouldn’t put it past her at this point. I’m not out to prove your dad’s guilt in anything. I’m just trying to piece together what happened.”

His whole body relaxes, his expression softening. He reaches for my hand again and holds it tightly. He’s about to say something when his phone rings. He looks at the screen as though he might ignore it, but when he sees who’s calling, there’s a flash of panic on his face and he quickly answers it. It sounds like a woman on the other end, and she does most of the talking. He replies with uh-huh a few times, then asks what time and where is she now, then says he’ll be right there and hangs up. I know from his furrowed brow and dark eyes that whatever it is, it isn’t good.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“It’s my mom. Judy found her in the road in her nightgown. She said she’s really upset, not making any sense. She has her back at the house, but she won’t go inside and keeps asking for me.” He sighs and runs a hand through my hair. “And my dad.”

“Your dad?”

“She hasn’t done that for a long time. Or had an episode like this.”

I wonder if my visit brought it on, but I don’t say it. I don’t have to. It sits between us like dead weight. “Can I come and help with anything?”

He’s quick to shake his head. “No. It’s better if it’s just me.”

“I understand,” I say, selfishly feeling relieved. “Will you come out to the cottage later?”

He winces, sucking air through his teeth. “I’m not sure. Depends how she is.” He quickly slides out of the booth. “I’ll text you if I can, but if you don’t hear from me, then just go to bed and I’ll get in touch tomorrow.” He leans down and gives me a quick kiss, then glances over at Martha to see if she saw or not, but she’s no longer at the bar. “Make sure you lock all the doors June. Just to be safe,” he says, before rushing away from the table and out the door. His words send a shudder through me.

Arriving back to an empty cottage with a million questions swimming around in my head, I feel nothing but lonely and agitated. I flip through the records, trying to find something uplifting to listen to, and come across The Sound of Music. May and I used to listen to it on repeat, dancing around the living room, acting out each different part.

I put it on and go into the kitchen to find something I can call dinner. Leaning against the counter, I robotically shovel some leftover spaghetti into my mouth and sip carefully at a glass of wine. The soundtrack is doing the opposite of lifting me up; it’s making me sad and nostalgic.

I want my sister. I want her here listening to this cheesy album with me, laughing, talking, helping me figure out what the hell happened back then. Giving me advice on Ezra, sharing the bottles of wine that I keep drinking on my own. Open your heart and you will feel your sister all around you. I hear Leslie Swann’s words in my head, despite my efforts not to.

I’m not even sure what that means. I pour the rest of my wine down the sink, wondering if I would have heard or noticed anything last night if I’d been sober. Being clearheaded seems like the right plan, no matter how lonely or sad I may be feeling.

Things seem more serious with the knowledge that Leslie could not have been the one to put the dead birds on the verandah. Standing there in the kitchen, I go over everything Ezra has said and what Martha told me today, trying to imagine who else it could be, but there’s almost too much to process and Julie Andrews’s voice certainly isn’t helping.

Going into the living room, I put on a quieter record, Joni Mitchell’s Blue album, which was one of my sister’s favorites, and then get my notebook to write things down, help me keep my thoughts organized. I make a list of people who have reason to hate my family, from the police chief who almost got fired because of my mother to Judy the next-door neighbor who is such good friends with Willa.

Something troubling dawns on me as I’m creating this catalog of revenge seekers—Ezra should be at the top of the list. My mother had an affair with his father; my mother created suspicion that his father had something to do with my father’s disappearance; all of it made his father leave. I don’t write his name down. Instead I turn the page and begin writing down all the things I do know about when my father disappeared. What the newspaper articles said, what Ezra and his mother have revealed, Leslie Swann’s version of things, and last, everything I learned from Martha today.

It all boils down to only a few tangible points. My mother had many secrets and told many lies. Willa knows at least one of those secrets but is afraid to tell. West was involved in whatever actually happened, whether he wanted to be or not. And last, my mother was capable of pretty much anything, maybe even murder.

At ten o’clock I give myself permission to go to bed. I’ve written several pages and feel as though I’ve definitely exorcised some demons. I take the needle off the record, putting an end to Joni Mitchell’s beautiful lamenting, and turn the player off. Then I make sure the front and back doors are locked, turn off the lights, and head upstairs.

Sounds from beyond my sleeping world pull me free of a fitful sleep full of dreams about black birds and my mother. I open my eyes into darkness. It takes me a few seconds to understand what actually woke me—music. The clock reads 1:17 AM. I slowly push back the covers and slide out of bed. Phone in hand, I tiptoe to my bedroom door and open it a crack. It’s coming from downstairs.

At the top of the stairs I’m greeted by a tunnel of darkness below me. Using the light of my phone, I quietly make my way down. As I get closer to the bottom, I recognize that the song playing is “Blackbird” by the Beatles. Not the Joni Mitchell album I was listening to before going to bed. I’ve not given in fully to fear just yet. I mostly expect to find Ezra on the couch rolling a joint. It’s only when I step out of the cover of the stairway and flip on the light switch at the bottom of the stairs that a heavy dread floods me.

Ezra is not sitting on the couch. Nobody is. The room is completely empty. I rush to the record player and bat the needle off, creating a static-filled screech before deafening silence. Fear runs its cold fingers up and down my spine. Who or what turned that record player on?

I go to the front door and check that it’s locked. I’m heading into the kitchen to make sure the back door is still locked when a flash of something out the window catches my eye. Peering into the side yard of the cottage, I see a shape, distinctly human, disappear into the woods along the path that I’ve been using for running. I open my phone, ready to call 911, but the futility of that quickly dawns on me. They’ll never get here in time to catch whoever is out there, but I’m here now and I can.

Fueled by anger and urgency, I grab a poker from the fireplace, slip on my running shoes, and rush out the front door, phone in hand to light my way. I move swiftly but not so swiftly that I’ll actually overtake the person. I only want to get a glimpse of them, maybe snap some photos to show the police.