When I Found You by Brenda Novak

Twenty-Two

Natasha rolled down her window, hoping the rush of air would keep her awake as she drove north. Interstate 5 served as a conduit between Southern California and Northern California, the two greatest population hubs in the state, but there was nothing on either side of her, except for long stretches of agriculture and giant dairy farms. The area between Bakersfield and Stockton certainly wasn’t what a nonresident would picture when they thought of California. There were no beaches nearby, no large cities, no theme parks—just an occasional cluster of gas stations, fast-food places and a cheap motel or two huddled around an off-ramp.

Definitely lean pickings, Natasha thought as she pulled back onto the freeway after filling up with gas.

Given all the angst and the lost sleep, she was exhausted. She would’ve asked Anya to take a turn at the wheel, except she didn’t trust her mother to be in any better condition—or to be able to battle through her fatigue the way Natasha could. All Anya had done since she arrived was sleep and, when she was awake, fend off Natasha’s questions about J.T. by claiming she didn’t remember.

Natasha slanted a suspicious glance at Anya, who had her head on a pillow wedged between the passenger seat and the door. Was she telling the truth? Did she really not remember? Or was it that she didn’t dare say? She’d never been particularly violent, but she’d never been particularly honest, either. Mack had indicated that the fights between his father and her mother had been growing worse. Maybe Anya had been high when she arrived at the house and was so consumed with jealousy after J.T. asked her to move out that she—

Natasha purposely guided her mind away from what might’ve come next. She refused to imagine her mother shooting anyone, let alone Mack’s father.

It was after six, but the sun didn’t go down until nine this time of year. For now, it was still a fireball bearing down on her side of the car. She rolled up her window to make the air-conditioning more effective and because the dairy farm they were passing stank so badly she couldn’t bear it.

Nothing but straight, flat highway lay in front of her. She risked a glance at her phone, which was on the console, wondering if there’d been any news with regards to J.T. From what she could tell, she had no missed calls or messages. Ace had never even bothered to respond to her inquiry about Lucas, which troubled her.

Figuring she’d deal with trying to get that relationship on a better footing when she got back, she tried to take some pleasure in the fact that he was unwittingly doing her a favor. This whole thing would only be worse if she had to worry about Lucas being involved in it.

An hour later, when she checked again, she noticed that her mother’s eyes were finally open. Anya was staring dispassionately at the scenery, or lack thereof, flying past them.

“Feeling better?” Natasha turned down the radio, which she’d been playing extra loud in an attempt to stay alert.

“No,” Anya said dully.

“Do you need something to drink? Eat? I bought you some chicken tenders when I stopped to get gas.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She had eaten hardly anything since she arrived, but Natasha could understand why. She went through stretches like that when she was using heavily. Sleeping all the time was another sign. “Then can we talk?”

“No,” her mother said, wearily, and closed her eyes again as though she’d go back to sleep.

“Mom, we need to use the time we’ve got.”

“To do what?” she asked.

“To get prepared!”

“I don’t want you to ask me again if I shot J.T. I don’t know how many times I can tell you that I don’t remember.”

Before she’d said she didn’t shoot J.T. It was the other details that were fuzzy. Now she couldn’t remember that, either?

A fresh surge of anxiety caused the headache Natasha had been battling all day to pound even harder. “Why don’t we talk about who might’ve done it, then? Is there anyone J.T. has been having trouble with? Anyone he hasn’t been getting along with, other than you?” she added dryly.

Her mother gave her a dirty look. “He fought with everyone, Tash. Not just me. You know what he’s like.”

“Can you give me a name? Was there anyone in particular?”

She dug a pack of cigarettes from her purse, took one out and rolled down the window.

Natasha was about to stop her. She would not allow smoking in her car, even with the window down. But she didn’t have to say anything. Anya cursed and rolled up the window almost right away. Apparently, she couldn’t tolerate the smell of manure that enveloped them, even for a nicotine fix. “It would be easier to name someone who did like him,” she said, leaving the cigarette dangling in her mouth, unlit.

“What about the other woman he’s been seeing? She must like him.”

Her mother removed the cigarette from her mouth and shifted to stare at her. “You found the letter.”

Natasha scowled at the long, steady stream of traffic ahead of them. “Yes.”

“Where was it?”

“In your car.”

Holding her cigarette in her left hand, she flipped her lighter open and closed with her right. “And where is it now?”

Natasha had it in her purse, but she didn’t know whether to hang on to it or destroy it. If her mother was innocent, she should destroy it so that it couldn’t be used to incriminate Anya. But if Anya was guilty, Natasha would be destroying valuable evidence the Amos brothers might need to get a conviction. Since she couldn’t figure out which was the right thing to do, she was hanging on to it for the time being, even though it frightened her so much she had to overcome the impulse to burn it almost every time she thought of it.

“We have to get rid of it,” her mother said.

Natasha refused to look at her. She didn’t want to see evidence of the fear she heard in her mother’s voice, didn’t want to react to it. Her natural protectiveness might lead her to do something that wasn’t right or that she’d later regret. “We can’t.”

Anya gaped at her. “Why not?”

Natasha opened her mouth to try to explain her position but couldn’t bring herself to reveal her doubt. “I left it back in the car,” she said, lying instead.

“You didn’t destroy it?” she asked in horror.

“I didn’t know what to do with it.”

“You know how it makes me look!”

“Then you should’ve destroyed it yourself.”

“I wasn’t in my right mind yesterday or I would have. I was...frantic, upset. All I could think about was that I needed to get to you. I’d just found the man I love bleeding to death in our house.”

This reaction was at least slightly comforting. “You truly love J.T.?”

“Of course! Why would I still be messing with him after all these years if I didn’t?”

“Do you know the woman he was seeing?”

“Which one?”

“He’s been seeing more than one?” Natasha couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. In her mind, J.T. was no great catch. He did have a muscular build, which he was careful to maintain despite being disorganized in every other aspect of his life, because he liked to pretend he could compete favorably with his remarkable sons. He also had a high opinion of himself. Maybe more women than she would’ve thought were that easily fooled.

Anya finally put away the cigarette. “I don’t think he’s ever been faithful—not to me, anyway.”

“Could it be that someone else got jealous?” Natasha asked.

“Maybe,” Anya muttered, but she didn’t seem particularly invested in the idea. Was that because she already knew it went down a different way? Or she was feeling too fatalistic to reach for this other scenario as a possible answer?

Natasha drove for a few more miles before trying to talk to Anya again. “What types of things did you and J.T. fight about, Mom?”

Anya sank deeper into the seat, as if she wished she could disappear altogether. “Do we have to continue with this?”

Was she worried about J.T.? Afraid he’d die? She hadn’t articulated those concerns, but maybe that was why she wasn’t coping very well. She claimed she loved him. It could be concern and fear and not regret and fear that had her acting like a cornered animal.

“I’m trying to understand, trying to learn enough that I can fight for you when we arrive,” Natasha explained. “You understand that, don’t you?”

“I don’t think we should be going back in the first place,” she spit, suddenly filled with some fight. “You’re leading me right into the lion’s den. You know that, don’t you?”

Natasha swallowed hard. “We have to go back. We don’t have any choice.”

“Of course we do!” her mother argued.

“The man you supposedly love was nearly killed yesterday, Mom. He might die. Don’t you want to go back to see him?”

She worried her lip.

“Mom?”

“Not if it means going to prison. He was breaking up with me for someone else, after all. I can’t be that gullible.”

“I’m hoping it won’t mean prison or anything like that.” But she had to think of Mack, his brothers and J.T., couldn’t only think of her mother. She loved them, too. Especially Mack, of course.

“I’m telling you it’s a mistake,” her mother reiterated.

Natasha feared her mother was right. Was she making the best decision? She didn’t want to feel guilt and regret herself when this was all over. But what other choice did they have? “Staying at my house won’t do any good,” she said. “It’s the first place they’ll come looking for you. So what’re our alternatives? You want to go on the run? Try to hide?”

“That would be better than going to prison! Dylan, Rod, Aaron—” she waved an arm for emphasis “—all of them are going to think it was me.”

“It’s still possible that J.T. will pull through and be able to tell us what happened. And I want to be there if he does. So...can you work with me? Please? Give me something to say until then, some reason for me to stand by your side when all the evidence seems to go against you?”

“I didn’t shoot him!” she said, more emphatically.

“A few minutes ago, you said you don’t remember.”

“Maybe I don’t. But I’m not the type of person who would do something like that, so...it couldn’t have been me.”

Natasha would accept that in a normal situation. But this wasn’t a normal situation. Had that letter caused her mother to snap? “Were you upset about the other woman?” she asked.

“Of course I was upset about his other women, especially the one he was going to leave me for. J.T. was my man. Stephanie had no business messing around with him.”

Natasha could hardly fault her for feeling that way. Wouldn’t any woman? “You know her?”

“Of course. She’s been hanging out with some of our friends the past few months.” She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “Now I know why she’s been showing up so often.”

“What’s her last name?”

“Vogler.”

“Was this Stephanie Vogler the cause of most of the fights between you? Recently, I mean?”

Anya punched her pillow and rested her head on it again. “No. He doesn’t love her, even if she thinks he does. The only woman J.T. has ever really loved is his dead wife. Every time he gets a little liquor in him, he starts up about her. No one could ever make him as happy as she did. Blah, blah, blah. Definitely not what I ever wanted to hear. He compared us all the time, and, of course, I always fell short.” She shot Natasha a sulky look. “He wouldn’t have liked it if I did something like that to him—made him feel as though he wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough. He was damn lucky to have me. Who else would put up with him?”

Natasha’s phone rang but Natasha was trying to pass a slower-moving semi and couldn’t take her eyes from the road.

“It’s Mack,” Anya announced.

Natasha managed to cut back into traffic and held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

“No, don’t answer it,” her mother said, suddenly in a panic. “Stop the car. I have to get out.”

“I can’t stop here,” Natasha said. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going back to Whiskey Creek. It was a mistake to let you talk me into this. You said you would stand by me. You said you would protect me.”

Her phone stopped ringing. “I said I’d do what I could as long as you were innocent,” Natasha clarified.

Her mother reached for the door handle as though she’d leap out, and Natasha nearly crashed trying to stop her. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, shaking from the adrenaline when she finally managed to pull the car safely to one side.

Anya was rattled, too. “I’m scared,” she admitted, her eyes filling with tears.

Natasha didn’t know what to do. Should she keep pushing her mother to return? Or give up and see what happened? She loved Mack. She loved his brothers, too. But this was her mother. All they’d ever really had was each other. Sure, most of Anya’s problems were her own fault. If she lived a different life, she could change her circumstances. Instead, she was her own worst enemy and didn’t seem to know how to change that.

Natasha could both hear and feel the semis whizzing past them on her left. The blast of wind that came off each one rocked her smaller Jetta, keeping her on edge. “We can go to Whiskey Creek and hope that will mitigate some of their anger, get them to listen to us and reserve judgment until J.T. comes around or the police can do an in-depth investigation. Or we can go back to my house.”

“Let’s go back to your house,” she said immediately.

“Okay, but if we do that, it’ll really piss them off. And if they dig in and decide to come after you...well, I wouldn’t bet against them, Mom. You know how capable they are. Not only that, but you wouldn’t be able to stay with me. As I said, they’ll look there first. And I couldn’t go with you, wherever you go. I wouldn’t even be able to talk to you on the phone. Or send you money. Because the police would be able to track all that. I have Lucas to think about. I can’t allow this or anything else to negatively impact his life. I have to keep my house, my job, remain stable as much as possible.”

“You want me to go back to Whiskey Creek.”

“I don’t know what I want at this point. I’m scared of making the wrong decision. But I won’t be responsible for dragging you back in case it is a mistake.” She drew a deep breath. “Only you know whether you shot J.T. What do you want to do?”

“That’s the problem,” Anya said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know whether I shot him. I only know that I never intended to shoot him, that it never even crossed my mind. Surely that means something, doesn’t it?”

Sadly, it wouldn’t mean a lot if J.T. died and they couldn’t come up with another suspect. Instead of answering, Natasha reached over to squeeze her mother’s hand. “I know this isn’t easy, but...what’s it going to be?”

Mack was sitting in the hospital waiting room with his brothers and their wives when Natasha’s text came in. J.T. had developed what the doctor called atelectasis—essentially his lung had collapsed again and there was some fluid buildup between the lung tissues and the chest wall. As a result, he was back in surgery, and they were all waiting to hear how it went.

No one had much to say. They were too morose after being up most of the night and working at the shop all day, and they were upset that J.T. had suffered a relapse. That it still wasn’t clear whether he’d live or die made them even angrier with Anya—and Natasha, too, since they felt she wasn’t being as forthcoming with them as she should be.

“Natasha and Anya are on their way,” he said to the room at large, since he and his family were the only ones there, and breathed a sigh of relief that she’d finally responded to him. Just a few minutes earlier, Grady had been stalking around the room, cursing Anya’s name, and he’d been complaining about Natasha, too, getting everyone riled up.

Mack believed that being able to talk to Anya in person and figure out what had happened might help, even if Anya was to blame for the shooting. His brothers craved justice. Knowing that she was no longer running away, that she would be held responsible for what she’d done, should bring them some relief and get them to calm down.

Mack wanted justice, too. He’d never liked Anya, had been angry with her for not taking better care of her daughter starting way back at the very beginning. But he worried about how hard it would be on Natasha to see the only family she had, besides Lucas, go to prison. She’d already been through so much, especially this year.

Grady had finally sat down, but his head snapped up as soon as Mack made the announcement. “How do you know?” he asked.

Mack couldn’t help feeling some irritation that Grady was the first to pounce on his statement. “I just heard from Natasha.”

“They’re coming here—to the hospital?” he asked eagerly.

“I don’t know. Her message says they’re at a rest stop on Interstate 5 and will arrive in a couple of hours.”

Grady came to his feet again. “Tell her to text me as soon as she gets in. I want to talk to her.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near her,” Mack said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What?”Grady cried.

Lifting his chin, Mack spoke more firmly. “I said I’ll take care of it.”

“I didn’t ask you to take care of it,” Grady retorted, raising his voice despite the fact that they were in a hospital and there were doctors and nurses striding up and down the hallway outside, as well as patients in nearby rooms. “I’ll take care of it. Who appointed you official liaison with our stepsister, anyway?”

Grady was purposely trying to provoke him with that sister comment. “She isn’t our stepsister, and you know it.” His own voice sounded more steel-like than he’d intended, but he wasn’t going to put up with Grady doing anything where Natasha was concerned, and he figured Grady might as well know it.

“Not anymore,” Grady said. “But she was, whether you like it or not. She was our stepsister when we met her, and that’s why we let her and her crappy mother move in and tried to help them. And Dad being shot is the thanks we get.”

“Grady!” Dylan snapped.

“What?” Grady whipped around to face their oldest brother.

“We’re all pretty pissed off—but we’re mad at Anya, not Natasha, okay? And definitely not Mack. Let’s keep some perspective on this.”

Grady jabbed a finger toward Mack as he appealed to Rod, Aaron and the women in the room. “You know how he feels about her. You all know, right? He’s in love with her. He’s admitted as much to me. If we allow him to handle this, he’ll probably let Anya drive right on out of here or try to protect her along with Natasha.”

Mack felt his hands curl into fists as he stood. “What the fuck, Grady!”

Dylan scrambled to get between them, one palm pushed toward Grady and one toward Mack. “That’s enough. We don’t need this bullshit right now.”

Mack glared at Grady and Grady glared back at him.

“Did you hear me?” Dylan said when neither of them spoke.

“You always take his side,” Grady snapped and stalked out of the room.

Mack thought Dylan might go after him, but he didn’t. With a tired shake of his head, their oldest brother sank back into his seat, and Cheyenne took his hand. Maybe, like Mack, Dylan was irritated by the way Grady had suddenly become their father’s greatest champion. Normally, Grady was just as annoyed with J.T. as the rest of them.

The doctor filled the doorway, still wearing scrubs. “I was able to repair your father’s lung,” he said with a reassuring smile. “He’s in recovery, but we’ll be moving him to ICU shortly, where we can continue to keep a close watch on him.”

“Can we see him?” Cheyenne asked.

“I think it would be better if you came back in the morning.”

Mack was slightly grateful for the reprieve. He was hoping to grab a couple of hours of sleep before Natasha arrived. He wasn’t sure where she’d be staying. Anya never had any money; she didn’t get much from disability in the first place, and what she did get she spent on drugs. There was J.T.’s house, of course, but he couldn’t believe they’d go there. No one had even been by to clean up the blood. They’d been dealing with too many other things. There were a couple of bed-and-breakfasts in the area, but Natasha hadn’t even had enough room on her debit card to rent a moving van.

He’d left her five hundred dollars, though. Maybe that was what she was using for gas and would use to get a motel, too.

He hoped she’d feel comfortable doing that. He wanted to offer up his place, but he knew she couldn’t bring her mother to his house, not with the way Grady was behaving.

Be careful on the drive, and let me know as soon as you get here, okay?

He waited while his brothers and their wives gathered their stuff to leave, but he got no response, and when he looked up, Dylan was standing over him. “Don’t let Grady get to you.”

Mack felt like the baby of the family again for the first time in a long while. He laughed in spite of all the tension. “I’m fine, Dyl. Don’t worry about me.”

“I think—” Dylan started, but Aaron, Presley, Rod and his wife, India, interrupted him by calling out a final goodbye, and Dylan stopped to wave at them. Mack waved, too, before Dylan finished by saying, “I think Grady’s still waiting for our father to be a father, if you know what I mean. If Dad dies, it takes that possibility away from him.”

“Dad’s never going to act like a normal dad,” Mack said. “Surely Grady knows that by now.”

“Our brains may tell us one thing. But sometimes our hearts... Well, maybe it’s easier for you to give up on that dream than it is for him.” He squeezed Mack’s shoulder. “Tell Natasha that—” he hesitated as he considered the message he wanted Mack to relay “—that we know none of this is her fault.”

“I will,” Mack said.

Dylan and Cheyenne told him to get some sleep and walked out, leaving Mack in the waiting room alone. He was tempted to call Natasha, but he knew she wouldn’t pick up. He’d tried calling earlier. She probably didn’t want to talk to him in front of her mother. He was about to text her again to ask where she was planning on staying when he realized that he could easily solve that problem for her.

How far away are you now?He sent her that message, and while he was waiting for her response, he switched over to the internet.

He’d just finished what he was doing when he got her reply.

No clue. We’re in the middle of God knows where. Had to pull over. I don’t think my mother feels good.

Physically or mentally?

Both. The trauma and fear of this whole thing combined with withdrawal or a virus or something. She’s slept almost since she arrived. Just waiting for her to come out of the bathroom so we can get back on the road.

Okay. Take it easy. There’s no rush. But when you do get here, I got you a room at Little Mary’s—Eve Harmon’s B&B downtown.

You didn’t have to do that.

But this way he’d know right where to find her. It’s all handled, he wrote back. See you soon.