THIEF: Part 2 Page 4

  “Silas,” a man’s voice laughs, over the machine, “hey, it’s me, Luke. Man, you lucked out—tonight’s meeting got cancelled, something about cockroaches in the rectory. We all had a good laugh about you planning it so you wouldn’t technically be late, as usual.” The man laughs again. “Anyway, just wanted to let you know the next one’s Wednesday, over at Grove Baptist—”

  Silas jumps to his feet and grabs the phone. “Luke…hey.” He glances at me, smiles unconvincingly, and turns away. “Yeah,” he says. “No, yeah…I’ll be there. I know, I’ve just…. I’ve been busy, that’s all. No, man, seriously. Everything’s fine. Yeah…okay, tell them I said hey. See you then.” He hangs up, sighs, and turns to face me. “Sorry about that.”

  “Who was it? Did you miss a meeting at work or something? You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” he says quickly. “It got cancelled. It’s, uh…it’s kind of a hobbyist meeting.”

  “Silas.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “A ‘hobbyist meeting,’ really? That’s the best you could come up with?”

  He laughs nervously, relaxing a little. “Um…yeah, that was pretty lame,” he says, and scratches his head. “I guess I just didn’t want to tell you yet, because it’s not something most guys my age have to deal with.”

  “All right, now you’re making me a little nervous.” I pat the couch, and he sits. “Come on.”

  He crosses his arms, chewing the inside of his cheek. “It’s AA,” he says, finally. He looks at me. When I don’t say anything, he elaborates: “Alcoholics Anonymous.”

  “I know what it means,” I blurt, then soften my voice. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?” I grab his hand, making him uncross his arms. “You know you can tell me anything.”

  “Well, yeah, now,” he says, “but I didn’t know that when we first started going out. Besides, between your mom dying and….” He waves his other hand in the air, and I know he’s referring to Gordon, the car, the house, all of it. “…everything else, it didn’t seem that important.”

  “How long have you been going?” I ask. I’m suddenly aware of how ridiculous this conversation is with a wine glass in my hand, and set it down.

  “Three years,” he says. “Right after the divorce.”

  I think back to all our dates, movie nights, the drunken laughter during late-night renovations on the house. “But I’ve seen you drink.”

  “Nope.” He smirks, a little proud. “You saw me drink fake drinks, sodas in fancy glasses. Or holding alcohol, without actually drinking it. Some tricks my fellow alcoholics taught me.”

  “Oh, my God…I’m sorry, Silas.” I grab our wine glasses and hurry to the kitchen, then proceed to dump them and the rest of the bottle down the drain. “I never would have had alcohol around you if I’d known.”

  He laughs, following me. “Erin, relax. I can be around it and not drink it. We actually discuss that a lot in our meetings. It makes me feel like…like I’ve kind of got power over it, you know, instead of vice-versa.” He laughs again, this time wistfully. “Have you noticed,” he says, “that we’ve both apologized to each other for things we couldn’t possibly have known about? First it was….”

  “You can say his name,” I tell him. “It’s kind of like you being around alcohol but not drinking it. I spent a long time not saying his name, thinking somehow…that’d make me weak.” I lean back against the counter, sighing. “It was just the opposite, though. Saying his name again, facing everything…I feel stronger.”

  Silas nods and stands in front of me, his hands on top of mine on the countertop. “Thank you for understanding,” he says, “but really—I don’t want you to feel like you can’t drink. It’s my problem, not yours.”

  I look at the sink. The drain-sifter is stained deep red.

  “I don’t need it,” I tell him. “Maybe when we go out, now and then. But I don’t need to keep it around here.”

  “Well…double thank-you, then.” He presses his body against mine, pinning me. “For the record, though, I never mind it when you’re drinking.” His hips rock forward, and I watch as he slips his hand into my shirt, quick and imperceptible, like a magic trick. He grins and gets a wild look in his eyes when I shudder from his attention, the quick roll of my nipples between his fingers. “Or when you’re drunk.”

  As always, I’m blissfully baffled by the way Silas makes me feel: intoxicated, without a drop of alcohol. High without a single puff. Flying, but anchored firmly to the earth, all at once.

  “Let me do the talking, all right? I know it sounds sexist, but I’m a guy—they won’t try to rip me off.”

  “You’re right,” I say, shoving Silas on our way into the dealership. “It does sound sexist.”

  “Don’t blame me, it’s just the way the world is. At least in here.” Silas bends down, reading the specs on a four-door showroom model. “Are you sure you want a new car?”

  “I’m sure.” This morning, I called Goodwill to pick up the Ford Tempo and donate it to a family in need. “I’m not driving that thing. It might be mine legally, but it still feels like Gordon’s.” His name puts a sour taste in my mouth, but at least it’s not vomit; Silas convinced me to see a therapist so I could work through things a little more. I was skeptical, but after a month I’ve got to admit—it’s helping.

  “What can I do for you two honeymooners today?” The salesman who approaches us looks friendly, but his overdose of cologne confirms he’s like all the rest I’ve seen: smothered in fake charm.

  “Excuse me,” Silas says, stepping away from me, “this is my sister.”

  The salesman sputters an apology, and Silas winks at me.

  “We’ve got him frazzled,” he whispers, on our way to the lot. “Now we’ve got an edge.”

  “Cut the wheel-and-deal slang,” I hiss back, laughing. “Let’s just find a good car and get him under the sticker price.”

  In the middle of our first test drive, Silas’s phone rings. “Sorry,” he says, “it’s work—gotta take it.” I don’t know if he’s apologizing to me or our salesman, Gary, but both of us nod.

  “Hey, Juliet, what’s up?” Silas looks confused. “What? Uh…yeah, she’s with me, but she’s driving. I—I’m not sure….” He lowers the phone, covers the microphone, and whispers, “Erin—turn around. We’ve got to head to Fox Ridge.”

  The salesman looks like he’s about to burst with a great offer—I’m sure he thinks this is some elaborate haggling ruse. I wave him off as we leave the dealership and jog to Silas’s car on the side of the building.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, breathless. “Is Juliet okay?”

  “She just told us to get to Fox Ridge as soon as possible, didn’t say why.” We climb in. He buckles up, waits for me to do the same, and peals out of the dealership. “She said it’s really important, though.”

  “Must be,” I say, checking my phone. “She called me about eight times in a row, but my ringer’s off.”

  The first thing we see when we pull into the Fox Ridge employee lot is a cop car. Then another. Juliet stands at the entrance, talking to an officer with a notepad. She doesn’t respond to our waves, hands on her hips when we approach.

  “Silas, Erin—we’ve got a problem.”

  “What happened?” I ask. “Is everyone okay?”

  Juliet purses her lips, looking away. The officer steps in front of her.

  “Ma’am,” he says, “we’d like to ask you some questions concerning stolen funds from the special needs ranch.”

  “What?” I crane my neck around him, looking at Juliet. “What the hell is he talking about? Someone stole money from the camp?”

  The cop follows my gaze, stepping in front of Juliet again, and says, “Yes, ma’am—and we have reason to believe that someone is you.”

  Chapter Six

  “Juliet, you can’t be serious—this is a joke, right?”

  “I’m sorry, Erin,” she says, her voice exactly the same as it always is—no nonsense,
no frills, a little deep for a woman. But her face doesn’t have its usual hardness to it. “You’re the only person who….”

  When she doesn’t finish her sentence, I do. “Who what, huh? Who’s got a record? Who’s a convicted thief?” I shake the policeman’s hand off my shoulder. “This is bullshit. I didn’t steal anything from Fox Ridge.”

  “You’ll understand that we can’t take your word for it,” the other cops says, just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  Silas steps forward. “So, what, are you going to arrest her?”

  “Actually,” Juliet says, slowly, “I wanted to give Erin a chance to confess, then we could settle this outside of court.”

  “Confess?” I try to keep my volume reasonable, but I feel like I’m in a play with everyone, and I’m the only one who doesn’t know my lines—none of this makes sense. “I didn’t steal anything, Juliet. And look, I get it: I’m community service, I was about to leave anyway, I was sent here for stealing in the first place. But I’m telling you, whatever money you’re missing, I didn’t take it.”

  Juliet clears her throat. “Erin, I found this in your locker. You forgot it when you left.” She holds up a silver locket. The heart spins at the end of the chain, glinting in the midday sun.

  My face burns, suddenly. “I…. It’s....” I make myself reach for it, but Juliet slips it back into her pocket.

  “It was reported missing from a camper,” she says, right as Silas says, “That’s mine.”

  “What?” Juliet and I say at once. The cops look at each other; the one with a notepad clicks his pen, at the ready.

  “Uh…yeah,” Silas says, clearing his throat. “Well, I mean, I have a reason for having it. I gave it to Erin so she could help me put a photo inside—it’s a surprise for Emma.”

  Juliet stares at Silas, like she doesn’t believe him. I try to make my face and body language casual, to back him up.

  “It is Emma’s, isn’t it?” He reaches for the necklace, and Juliet hesitates, giving it to him. “There’s an inscription with her initials inside. I’ll show you.” He tries to open the locket, but it won’t budge.

  “My, uh…my nails aren’t long enough.” Silas looks around; everyone shrugs. He raises his eyebrows at me.

  I roll my eyes. “I’ll open it.” When I pry it open with my thumbnail, I see the inscription: FOR EMMA, ON HER 4TH BIRTHDAY. LOVE, DADDY. The space for a photo is empty.

  “Erin, is this true?” Juliet asks. She nods at Silas. “You were helping him?”

  Dutifully, I nod.

  “Emma was pretty upset about losing that locket,” Juliet admonishes Silas. “Her mom called to complain and everything.”

  “I know.” Silas nods, sympathetic. “I should have told her mom first before I took it. In fact, I told Emma I was borrowing it. She must have forgotten, that’s all.” He steps closer to Juliet, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Juliet, you can trust me. And you can trust Erin—I know why you think you can’t, but you can. She wouldn’t steal money from the ranch.”

  The cops take a breath together, getting bored. One slaps a mosquito off his arm and holds up his notepad. “So are we pressing charges, opening an investigation…?” He looks at Juliet. “What would you like us to do, ma’am?”

  Juliet looks from Silas to me, studying. “Open an investigation, I suppose,” she sighs, finally. She holds out her hand to me. “I know you probably don’t believe it, but I really am sorry, Erin. I didn’t want to believe it was you, it’s just….”

  “It’s okay.” I shake her hand. “Like I said, I get it. I’ve got a record.”

  The cops head for their cars. “We’ll be interviewing all employees,” one of them says, then looks at me and adds, “or former employees, this week. Your address correct, ma’am?” He checks his computer, then rattles off my mom’s house.

  “Um…actually, it’s changed; I haven’t updated my license yet.” I give him Silas’s address. The cops write it down, unfazed, but Juliet looks suspicious.

  We’re about to leave, the cops poised to follow us out to the highway, when Juliet waves Silas over. “You be careful, all right?” He nods politely, then hugs her.

  I know what she means: be careful getting mixed up with that thief.

  Sorry, my ass.

  We drive in silence, windows rolled down and wind pulsing across us. My mouth is dried out from nerves; I gulp down a boiling-hot soda I find on the floor.

  “So,” he sighs, finally, “you took Emma’s necklace.”

  I lower the bottle slowly. Sugar singes my throat, cooks my words. I can’t answer him.

  “It’s okay, Erin.”

  “I didn’t take it,” I manage. “Not like you’re thinking. I found it on the ground one day, that’s all. I didn’t know it was hers.”

  “Why didn’t you take it to the Lost and Found?”

  I shrug and pick at the bottle’s label. “I don’t know. It…it looked really important, and I wanted to turn it in—I knew whoever lost it would be really upset, you know? Like, I could just tell.” Tears spring to my eyes, and I stare into the wind, hoping to whisk them away. “I’ve never had something like that.”

  “So you wanted to keep it,” he says. It’s weird how calm his voice is—I’m not used to people being so cool about my thefts, let alone understanding.

  “Just for a little while.” The side view mirror shows me my face, flushed from the heat, tears skidding sideways into my hair. Like a kid caught redhanded, swept up in the tornado of her own creation. “I was going to return it before I left, but I guess I forgot.”

  “Guess so,” he says, smirking. He hits my shoulder playfully. “Don’t be upset, Erin.”

  “Fox Ridge is going to take me to court,” I snap. “What else am I supposed to be?”

  “They don’t have any proof,” he reasons. “That locket was the only thing they could have used—maybe. A huge maybe. It still wouldn’t have proved anything, and I covered for you, anyway.”

  “It’s not just that.” My insides feel leaden. “It’s…. I’m ashamed.” The tears hit again, and I huddle closer to my door. “Stealing from a store is bad enough. But taking something from a person…a kid. That’s different.” I think back to my street days, the nights my friends couldn’t loan out their couches, when I’d slip a wallet out of a back pocket or purse without thinking twice. At least then, I’d had an excuse. I needed money.

  But I never touched their credit cards, their photos, never looked at the ID’s in the clear little windows. I couldn’t stand the personal stuff.

  And now, all I can think of is the locket in Silas’s shirt pocket. The inscription inside, swirling cursive, words her father placed there so carefully. So lovingly.

  I’d wanted it for myself. I didn’t know about the inscription when I kept it, but I’m not surprised something like that was inside. It was a heavy locket, so perfect-looking, even in the dirt. I knew it was special. And it was that part I’d wanted to keep.

  “Silas,” I whisper. I look at him as he pulls into the apartment lot. “You don’t have to believe me…in fact, I’ll understand completely if you don’t. But I promise you—I didn’t steal any money from the camp. I…I know I’ve done some pretty shitty, low-down stuff, but I’d never steal from a place that helps kids like that.”

  “I believe you,” he says, without hesitation. “Besides, the money’s in checks and cash in a huge safe in the main office, so only managers like Juliet and Leon can get to it—trust me, they’re not going to find anything that’ll point to you. The fact you have a record won’t be enough for them to get you to court.” He spins the radio knobs idly. “I’m sorry.” He glances at me. “That they just assumed that about you.”

  “Kind of deserve it,” I admit. I nod at his pocket. “Guess you’ll be giving that back to Emma tomorrow, huh?”

  He pats the locket through the fabric. “She loses it a lot, actually. I can usually find it right away.” Chuckling, he adds, “Now I know why I couldn’t,
this time.”

  “I’m sorry.” My palms swipe at my eyes, swollen. “I really am.”

  “Hey, stop that.” He leans across the console, one hand on my face, the other braced against my window, and kisses me. “You won’t need to do this forever.”

  “I’m twenty-one,” I mutter against his lips. “I shouldn’t ‘need’ to do anything like this.”

  “Everyone’s got something, Erin. You’ll work it out.”

  I bring my eyes to his. “How do you know that?”

  “Just trust me,” he breathes, smiling. He kisses me again, the locket’s chain slipping loose from his pocket and swinging against my collar, like a pendulum, or a cold, steady heartbeat.

  Chapter Seven

  “Good to see you again, Lauren.”

  “Erin, actually,” I bite, forcing a smile at Kyle Meegan. I glance at Silas, then dive in: “I need representation.”

  “Oh…all right,” he says, surprised. He opens the black mini-fridge behind his desk and hands each of us a Perrier, the glass catching the sun and shining green prisms across our hands as we accept.

  I take a sip, hesitate, and sigh. “I’m a suspect in a petty larceny case over at Fox Ridge Ranch.”

  Kyle pops an eyebrow. “The country club?”

  “It’s a therapy ranch on the club’s property,” Silas explains. “We work with kids who have special needs—spending time with horses, learning to ride, being outside in fresh air…it helps those kids relax and socialize.”

  “Okay,” Kyle says, nodding. He temples his hands, pointing both index fingers at me. “You work there?”

  “Not anymore. Well….” I clear my throat. “I just finished a hundred hours of community service there.”

  He nods again, more slowly. “What, uh…what did you have community service for, exactly?”

  “Shoplifting,” I answer firmly, but can feel the blush flaring across my cheeks.

  Kyle raises both eyebrows now and exhales a sharp stream of air. “Wow. Well…Erin, I’ll certainly represent you. But I hope you understand, it won’t be easy. Are you the prime suspect right now?”