The Girl and the Black Christmas Page 8

  Third Week of November

  Monday: Final exam. I’m finally done with Murillo’s class. Looking forward to Thursday and not having to see her during class time. For some reason, she seemed almost mad that I came for the exam. As if she wanted me to have to come back for the next two classes and take the exam in December. I would think she would want to be rid of me.

  Tuesday: Visit at 3 (Mom: Volunteering at hospital). Make sure boxes are shipped.

  Wednesday: Confirm train reservation. They had a cancellation that opened up a sleeper car for the trip. I was so excited. Is it sad that I’m at a point where getting an upgrade on a train feels like a victory to me?

  Thursday: Study group. Visit at 3 (Mom: Volunteering at hospital). One week. I still don’t know what to do. I can’t believe I’m even having to make this choice. I know what I want to do. But that’s never going to happen. I think this is just my life now.

  Friday: Friendsgiving with Emma. I was supposed to be at Emma’s at 2:00 to help her cook for the dinner but couldn’t get away. He knew I was supposed to be there, but he kept coming up with new things to stall me and stop me from leaving. I don’t understand why he does this. He can make me feel as if he doesn’t care about me at all. He makes me want to walk away one second, then turns around and somehow convinces me we are perfect, and we start planning our future. I wish he really was the person he was when I met him. I can’t bring myself to wish I hadn’t met him. There’s been too much good. Especially…

  Saturday: I’ve done this before, but it’s harder this year. I don’t know why. Something feels different. It took me hours to finish packing. It kept feeling as if I was forgetting something. I called him to make sure he was taking me to the train station tomorrow, but he didn’t answer. I called and messaged him over and over. Where is he?

  Sunday: Train at noon. He finally called me back in the middle of the night. He acted as if nothing was strange. As if it had only been a few minutes since we talked. It feels as if he told me a thousand times how much he’s going to miss me while I’m at home. He never said he wished he could go with me. That we could all be together. “Next year,” he said.

  “Have you told her yet?”

  He turned toward the sound of a voice so familiar it played like a record through his thoughts. He had heard it so many times before he had probably heard it form every word in her vocabulary. He could use them to create any sentence he wanted. Nothing was new.

  “Not yet. But I will,” he said.

  “When? When are you going to tell her, Timothy?”

  “When I tell her. This isn’t exactly something I can just spring on her. She’s had a difficult time recently.”

  Eleanor looked disgusted. She shook her head, her dark blond hair swaying against the base of her neck from the heavily embellished clip that held it in place.

  He hated that clip. When he’d bought it for her, he’d thought it was perfect. Now he couldn’t stand it when she wore it.

  “I can’t believe you’re trying to defend her. Whose side are you on?” she demanded.

  “I’m not on her side and I’m not defending her,” he said. “I’m just trying to get you to understand that it’s not as simple as it looks. She’s a kid, Eleanor. A confused, messed-up kid.”

  “That’s the thing, she isn’t a kid. She’s an adult. She’s come up with all these excuses so she can get away with things. She wants the pity of her professors, so she doesn’t have to apply herself and won’t get in trouble when she parties rather than doing her work. I should know. I’m one of the ones who’s been fed that line of bullshit. And now she’s gotten you wrapped up in it, too.”

  “Look,” he said, stepping up to her and taking her hands in his, “I know how much this is bothering you. And I’m sorry. But I want you to understand, it’s not what you think. I’ve talked to people who knew her before she came here. That girl has been through a lot, and it has really gotten into her head. Did you know she went to another school before here?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “No.”

  Timothy nodded. “The first two semesters she was in college, she went to a school closer to where her parents live. It was where she had always intended to go, but she left very suddenly before the second semester was even finished.”

  “Why?” Eleanor asked.

  “Nobody’s completely sure. But there were rumors. She had a really traumatic experience at a party when she was in high school. The guys were never charged. Then in college she seemed to latch onto a teaching assistant who looked suspiciously like one of them. All of this is coming from some guys I know who know people at that school, but it makes sense. According to them, she got completely wrapped up in what she thought was a major relationship with him. She followed him around. She tried to sign up for all the classes he was in or assisting. She would show up where he was eating and join him or just come talk to the other people at the table like they were together. But he barely knew her. He was about to file a complaint when she left.”

  Eleanor’s face softened slightly. Her hands closed around his and she looked down at the floor for a second before glancing back up at him through her eyelashes.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “I’m telling you, everything is in her head. She makes things up. Or maybe she actually thinks they’re happening because of whatever’s happening in her mind. But it’s nothing for you to worry about. I just don’t want to mess her up even more than she already is. Does that make sense?”

  “Of course,” she said. “You’re really sweet to be so caring. I don’t know of a lot of people who would be as understanding as you are.”

  Timothy laughed. “Well, at least she hasn’t gotten to the point where she’s popping up in the dining hall and sitting down for lunch with me.”

  Eleanor gave him an odd look. “Do you often eat lunch in the dining hall? I thought that was the domain of the freshmen.”

  “Every now and then I get a craving for Tony’s stir fry. I think that made up the majority of my diet my first year here, and sometimes I get a little nostalgic,” he said. He ducked his head to look more directly into her face. “I’m going to talk to her. When I figure out how to do it as carefully and diplomatically as possible, I’ll tell her everything. But are you sure you’re ready for that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Once I talk to her, people are going to know about us. You’re the one who’s tried to hide it from everybody. I want to make sure you’re ready for people to know,” he said.

  Eleanor drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “You know why I feel that way. Nobody’s going to react well.”

  “It’s not illegal,” Timothy said.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean people aren’t going to judge. The other women in the department are going to have a field day with it,” she sighed.

  “Let them,” he said. “Let them say whatever they want. It’s not up to them. We’re both adults, right?”

  She looked into his eyes and gave a short laugh. “Yes. You can say that.”

  “Then they can’t say anything about it. But maybe we won’t have to get to that point,” he said. “Maybe she’ll take it well, and we’ll be able to keep going exactly the way we are and figure this out on our own time. She graduates at the end of next semester. Maybe she’ll be willing to just accept it and not cause any trouble.”

  “You are endlessly optimistic,” she said.

  “It hasn’t failed me so far,” he said.

  “Speaking of which,” Eleanor said, “you didn’t come to that study session I set up. You’re the one who asked me to open up a study group. I expected you to be a part of it.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I got bogged down with end of semester papers, and by the time I came up for air, it was already too late. I won’t miss the next one.”

  “Make sure you don’t,” she said.

  They dropped each other’s hands and jumped at the sound of the door opening at the top o
f the lecture hall. Timothy looked up, something close to nervousness coming over him. He hoped it wasn’t Julia coming back into the classroom. He was relieved when a shock of bright blue hair came down the steps.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said.

  Eleanor shook her head and gave a bright smile. “Not interrupting at all. Just discussing end-of-term stuff. What can I do to help you, Tracie?”

  “I just had a question about the final. I think I did well on it, but now I started second-guessing myself on an entire section and I’m worried,” the girl said.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ve earned exemplary grades the entire semester. You know this stuff. You were tutoring some of your classmates,” Eleanor said.

  Timothy gathered a stack of papers from the podium and tucked them down into his messenger bag.

  “I’m going to go ahead and go,” he said. “I need to get to my next class.”

  “Absolutely,” Eleanor said. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

  He nodded and started up the steps. Behind him, he could hear the student continuing to plead for validation and reassurance.

  “Alright,” Eleanor finally said. “I can tell this is really going to bother you, so let’s talk about it. Tell me what section is getting to you, and we’ll go over it together.”

  Tracie let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Professor Murillo.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Now

  “Nope, nothing that indicates any of these people died within the last century, much less the last few years,” I say.

  I hold the phone between my ear and shoulder as I gather up the papers strewn across my desk and try to collate them into something sensible enough to fit into a manila envelope.

  “Seriously?” Eric asks. “They’re all that old?”

  “Yep,” I say. “So, I looked into his claims a bit more. The property he owns in North Carolina has changed hands a bunch of times, and there is no indication there has ever been a burial there that would fit in with this timeline. Unless, of course, there are a bunch of unmarked graves, and then that’s a whole other situation. But I looked a little further. He was hired to clear some trees off a property a few months ago and was told not to disturb any old buildings or cemeteries.”

  “Why would somebody put that in an agreement with a tree service?” Eric asks.

  “Well, the property was actually a combination of several pieces of land. Some of them were developed farmland and others were just stretches of woods. Apparently, there are some remnants of very old houses on some of the far corners of the land. The owner hadn’t been out there in a long time but remembered as a child being told that there were some graves from people who had a farm out there a couple hundred years ago. She wanted to make sure they wouldn’t be damaged when the land was cleared,” I say.

  “Unfortunately for her, she didn’t take into account the percentage of the lumber sales the man caught for actually chopping the trees down. He didn’t want to take time to avoid the graves and miss out on the trees around them, so he just leveled it down, scooped up the bones he found, and called it a day. Essentially, he’s guilty of desecration and being an asshole, but not of murdering anybody.”

  “Why would he carry the bones around with him? He moved to a different state and still had the bones,” Eric says.

  I slip the file into a drawer beside me and stand. Heading into the front of my house, I look for my keys. It’s a less-than-simple undertaking, considering Sam was the last one who had them.

  “I don’t know. People do strange things when they either feel guilty about something or are trying to save their asses. Remember that woman who suffocated her baby after it was born, wrapped it up, put it in a suitcase, and carried it around with her for the next thirty years? She even added a second one somewhere along the line.”

  My keys aren’t on the side table in the living room. Or on the kitchen table. Or hanging from the little hook at the side of the door that was installed precisely for the purpose of holding them. I let out an exasperated sigh. “Where the hell are they?”

  “Did the woman lose them?” Eric asks. “Was that a dramatic reenactment?”

  “No,” I tell him. “I can’t find my keys. Sam decided my car needed an oil change and the tires rotated after driving around so much, so he took it and now I can’t find my keys.”

  “He likes doing things like that, doesn’t he?” Eric asks.

  I can’t quite interpret the emotion intended behind the question. So, I decide to just answer it.

  “When he thinks they need to be done, yes,” I say. “He likes taking care of me.”

  “How do you feel about that?” he asks.

  I stop and make a face even though he can’t see it. “Did you seriously just ask me how I feel about something? You know of all the questions in the world, that is my least favorite.”

  “I thought your least favorite was when the girl behind the counter asks if you want nonfat milk in your coffee,” he says.

  “That’s just bad manners. But rudeness and judgy attitudes aside, as I said, he wants to take care of me. I had to take care of myself from the time I was eighteen. It’s nice having him want to do things for me. He wants me to be safe and have everything work properly for me. He knows I can do it myself, but he likes to show me how much he loves me by doing it,” I say.

  “Wow. I didn’t think I would ever hear you say something like that. Emma Griffin, willing to let someone do something for her without complaining about it. And it only took you… what… two and a half whole decades to get engaged.”

  “Well, we couldn’t exactly get engaged right when we met. I did want some time to really learn about myself and my coloring skills. Get a few years of middle school under my belt without being tied down,” I say.

  Eric laughs, but I let out another aggravated sound. “Still can’t find your keys?”

  “No. I can’t figure out where he would have put them. He’s the one who suggested I put the hooks next to the door in the first place.”

  “Where are you going?” he asks. “Are you in a hurry?”

  “No. I’m just going to the grocery store to do Thanksgiving shopping,” I sigh.

  “Already? It’s not until next week,” Eric says.

  “I know, but I’m trying to avoid the crowds. I don’t want to come to blows over the last can of cranberry sauce,” I say.

  “Again,” he says.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. If I get it done now, I’m not going to have to worry about the turkey taking too long to thaw out and I can do some of the cooking ahead of time. There are going to be more of us this year, so I want to make sure it’s really special. Especially for Xavier. This is the first time he’ll be celebrating Thanksgiving in almost a decade. At least, the first time he’ll be celebrating it without dinner involving armed guards,” I say.

  “At least he could think of it as a historic recreation of the last moments of the turkey’s life,” Eric says.

  I sigh as I make my way to the kitchen. “Gross, Eric. And please don’t say anything like that next week.”

  “Oh, Bellamy would get over a joke,” he says.

  I hear the beep of my phone telling me another call is coming in, but I ignore it. If it’s Sam and it’s something important, he’ll call me back instantly.

  “I’m not talking about Bellamy. I’m talking about Xavier. I don’t want him trying to find a historically accurate gun to show you an actual recreation,” I tell him. “Oh, thank goodness. Found my damn keys.”

  “Where were they?” he asks.

  “At the very back of the kitchen counter,” I say.

  “Maybe he was trying to be courteous putting them there because he thought you’d probably make a list first,” he says.

  “Actually, he doesn’t know I’m going. First time I’ve been to the grocery store in over a month. When I was going back and forth to Harlan so much, I didn’t have time to go to the store. Then Sam was
stocking the kitchen for me. Then there was that unfortunate stay in the hospital, followed by Creagan immediately piling cases on me as if investigating The Order was me slacking off. I’ve been ordering food and sending Sam back and forth. I thought it would be a nice surprise for him to come home and find everything I’ll need for Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s nice,” he says. “Just don’t go after little old women who get in front of you at the sweet potato display.”

  “I make no promises. I’m going to go. But I’ll see you next week? You’re coming in on Tuesday, right?”

  “Absolutely. Bellamy and I took half days on Monday so we can get packed and ready to go, then we’re hopping in the car first thing in the morning. We should be there before noon, depending on the traffic.”

  “Perfect. Dean and Xavier are coming in right around then, too. Probably a little later than you, though. But that’ll give us time to get everybody all settled in. And then we can get on with the holiday festivities,” I say.

  “Are we still planning to go to the Christmas tree farm?” he asks.

  “Of course. I found one that is actually open for the week of Thanksgiving. That way we can go and get the tree and give it a chance to settle in as well before we decorate it.”

  “Are you going to decorate me after I settle in?” he asks.

  “No, I’ll leave that to Bellamy.”

  “I have no idea what that is supposed to mean,” he says.

  “Neither do I,” I say, locking my front door behind me and heading to my car. “But tell her I said hi and I’m really looking forward to seeing both of you.”

  “Us, too. Bye,” he says.

  “Bye,” I say.

  I end the call and press the missed-call icon to check who beeped in. The caller didn’t ring back, so I’d figured it wasn’t important. I’m still expecting to see it was Sam calling me, but it’s not his number. There’s no name attached, and I don’t recognize the number, but the area code is familiar. He or she didn’t leave a voicemail, so I figure it’s just a misdial and toss my phone in the seat beside me to finish driving to the store.