Watching Trin by Freya Barker

Chapter 10

Trin

BODY DISCOVERED IN CAR RECOVERED FROM ANIMAS RIVER.

The headline catches my eye.

Muted sounds of an action movie playing filter into the kitchen. Tuck and Pops are watching in the living room.

Having the TV on in the daytime is not something I’m used to—in San Antonio I would curb Tuck’s screen time—but Pops likes watching and with Tuck still recuperating, I let it go.

Vic came home and went straight to bed, and I just finished doing the dishes after a later breakfast and am flipping through the newspaper as I drink my coffee.

I scan the article; this has to be the car Bodhi was talking about over dinner. He hadn’t specifically mentioned a body the other day but I suspected there’d been something he wasn’t telling us. A shiver runs down my spine, thinking my son almost was a second victim caught in that wreck.

The information provided on the victim is fairly limited, other than to state the body was handed over to the medical examiner for autopsy. The two pictures accompanying the article show the wreck being pulled from the water by a large crane and covered by a large tarp sitting on a flatbed truck. The car is described as a Honda Civic with an only partially legible license plate. Apparently, police have requested the partial number not be made public at this time. I can only assume they’d want to identify the body before making that information public. The idea some poor family has to find out from a newspaper article their loved one is dead makes me sad.

Still, the lack of factual information in the story is tantalizing. It leaves room for my mind to come up with all kinds of different scenarios that might’ve put that car and its occupant in the rapids. My curiosity is piqued. This might make for an intriguing investigative piece that could garner national interest.

I check for a byline and find the name, Sean Burns. The same name is credited on the photographs. That doesn’t surprise me, this is a relatively small newspaper with a circulation of about fifteen thousand households in La Plata County.

Grabbing the paper, I walk into the study and open up my laptop, finding the newspaper online. I feed Sean Burns’s name into the website’s search engine and a substantial list of articles pops up. Mostly short current event bits used as filler with or without photos. There is also a link to a staff directory that shows his contact email, phone extension, and a headshot.

I dig up a notebook, write down the information for the reporter, and look up the newspaper’s address. Maybe after the weekend, I’ll see if I can get in touch with Sean Burns. Find out if he’s willing to share what the police don’t want him to print. Next, I pull up the number for the medical examiner. I can call the office on Monday, see what I can find out there.

It doesn’t take long for me to have a list of names and numbers I was able pull off the internet of possible contacts. As an afterthought, I add Bodhi’s name. He might be able to fill in some preliminary details based on what he’s seen.

On a fresh page I start scribbling down random questions as they pop in my head. What’s the license plate number? What model year was the car? Who does it belong to? Whose body was inside? How long was it in the water? How did it get there? Accidents? Missing persons? Timeline?

I feel excitement heating my blood. This is what I love, these first moments when an idea for a story presents itself and my mind spins with avenues to pursue.

Upstairs I hear Vic moving around.

“What are you doing?”

There’s an edge to Tuck’s voice that has the hair in my neck stand up and I surge to my feet. I hurry inside to see my father stripping off the shirt I just buttoned for him this morning. His pants are already down to his ankles.

“Mom!”

Tuck is trying to grab hold of my father’s frantic hands, but Pops manages to shove him off, mumbling incoherently. I rush forward but am too late to prevent Tucker from tripping over one of my dad’s discarded sneakers and landing on his ass on the floor.

“Pops. That’s enough,” I bark in my best authoritarian voice. The one that used to work on my son, but it’s as if my father doesn’t even hear me.

“…clothes are on fire…”

“Pops, stop.”

I approach him with my hands up defensively, but he hunches his shoulders and lifts his fists in front of his face like some prizefighter. His eyes are wide, darting around the room.

“Don’t touch me!” he yells when I reach out a calming hand. I pull it back immediately.

“Okay, Pops. I won’t touch you. Aren’t you cold without your clothes?”

For a moment he seems confused and stares down at himself, pulling his feet free from the pants around his ankles before resuming his boxer stance.

“Flames. Burning hot.”

“There are no flames, Pops. See?”

“You’re lying, you can’t keep me here. I have to get out.”

“What the hell is going on?”

Pops dances back—surprisingly agile all of a sudden—when Vic comes down the stairs. She pauses on the bottom step, taking in the scene before her. With surprise on her face, her eyes dart to me, looking for an explanation.

“He thinks he’s on fire, started taking his clothes off. He won’t let me come near,” I relay while Pops continues his disjointed muttering, swaying from one foot to the other.

She turns to him and eases down the last step.

“Hey, Pops? There’s no fire. Why don’t I—”

“Stay back!” he yells when she takes a step closer, backing farther into the kitchen.

“Okay, all right. I won’t come any closer. Where is the fire? I’m a firefighter, remember? I can put it out for you.”

While Vic tries to talk to him, I turn to look at Tucker who has pulled himself up on the couch and is pale-faced, staring at his grandfather.

“Hey, kiddo. Are you okay?” I ask him softly.

He glances at me and nods stiffly before his eyes return to his grandpa, who has his back pressed against the back door. Thank God it’s locked and the keys are in my pocket.

The shrill sound of the doorbell startles us all. Pops visibly panics, turns, and starts pounding with his fists on the glass, yelling to be let out. Vic and I start moving toward him at the same time, just as he whips around, grabs a kitchen chair, and lifts it over his head.

* * *

Bodhi

Just as Tucker opens the door, I hear a crash and glass breaking.

I push past the boy into the house and walk into a chaotic scene.

Trin and Vic are trying to pull their father—who is buck naked—back from broken glass littering the floor, but the man is struggling against them. I’m not sure what happened, but I can guess when I see the glass pane in the back door is broken. One of the kitchen chairs is lying discarded on the floor.

I rush over and step in front of Bruce, who is muttering something about fire and getting out. I notice he has a cut on his arm that is bleeding and a few nicks on his torso and face.

“Bruce? Remember me? I work at Station 3.” I put my hands firmly on his shoulders and wait until his eyes find me. “I’m going to help you, but we need to step away from the glass.”

I don’t wait for an answer but start walking him backward.

“It’s hot, I need to get out of this prison. I’m burning,” he mumbles.

I glance at Trin, who is holding on to one of his arms with tears in her eyes.

“If it’s burning, we need water, right, Bruce? Nice cool water. Let’s find a bathroom and take care of that first.”

We manage to get him to the half bath in the hallway. It’s too small for all of us to fit, so the sisters stay outside when I back their father into the confined space. I immediately turn on the tap and toss the hand towel in the sink to get soaked.

“Bruce, I need you to sit down so I can get some water on you.”

I have to exert a little pressure to get him to sit. Then I grab for the towel and drape it over his shoulders, letting the cold water drip down his body. It seems to calm him down, the muttering stops.

“I’ll go grab some more towels and the first aid kit,” Vic says in a low voice behind me.

I glance over and catch Trin’s eye in the mirror over the small sink.

“You okay?”

She nods but I’m not sure I believe her. She looks shaken.

“Does he need to go to the hospital?”

I shake my head.

“I don’t think so, but let me clean him up and we’ll see.”

“Okay. I’ll go wipe up the glass.”

“See if Tucker can maybe find a board, or something, we can use to temporarily cover the window.”

By the time Vic returns with clean towels and medical supplies, Bruce is shivering. I dry him off where he sits, pulling off his soaked socks, the only thing he was still wearing.

He’s lucky, the cut on his arm is long, but not that deep. After cleaning it thoroughly, I’m able to use the liquid stitch I find in Vic’s kit before covering it with some gauze. Then I quickly clean the other cuts, making sure no glass remains, but leave those to scab over.

Vic is back with some clean clothes for her father and has to help me get him dressed. Bruce has barely moved through it all and seems suddenly exhausted, his limbs heavy.

“Ready for your nap now, Pops?” Vic asks and his red-rimmed eyes turn to her.

“Tired.”

“I bet you are.”

He’s meek as a lamb as we get him upstairs between us. When she covers him with a quilt, his eyes are already closed.

“I’ll clean up the rest,” I offer when we get downstairs.

“We can do that,” Trin responds.

“You guys need to get going.” A glance at the clock shows it’s already ten past one.

“Shit, I’m gonna have to call and cancel.”

I put a hand on her arm when she reaches for the phone on the counter.

“I wouldn’t. I think it’s more important than ever to get this ball rolling.” I can almost see the thoughts swirling behind her eyes. “Tucker and I have this covered, right, kid?”

“Sure.”

She throws me a doubtful look, but her sister takes her arm and steers her to the door.

“Come on. Let’s get this done.”

I follow them to the door where Trin hesitates.

“I’ll be right there,” she says to her sister, who glances at me before stepping outside.

“I’ll get the car started.”

Then Trin turns to me, a flush on her cheeks and eyes full of guilt.

“Bodhi, I’m—”

Before she can apologize, I hook my hand around her neck and pull her close, covering her mouth with mine. The kiss is brief—too brief—but serves to cut off what I’m sure would’ve been another apology.

“You have to go,” I urge after releasing her. “We’ll talk when you get back.”

For a moment I think she might protest but then she nods once, turns on her heel, and follows her sister outside. I watch from the door as she gets into the passenger seat of Vic’s car and they back out of the driveway. Then I close the door and swing around to find her boy watching me with narrowed eyes from the door to the kitchen.

“Let’s get that window boarded up, shall we?”

I pretend I don’t notice the tension coming off the kid when I pass him on my way to the back door. The situation I walked in on earlier was pretty volatile, and this may not be the right time to justify the kiss I’m pretty sure he just witnessed me laying on his mom.

Any glass that fell inside has been cleaned up but most fell outside on the deck. I grab the garbage bin and head out to clear that away first.

“There’s nothing big enough to cover it.”

Tucker’s expression matches his tone; carefully projected disinterest.

“Did you look in the garage?” I indicate the somewhat dilapidated structure on the side of the house. He just shrugs, which I assume to mean he hasn’t. “We’ll have a look after I get rid of this mess.”

Hands in his pockets and feet dragging, he follows me to the weathered side door. I have to yank hard to open it. The inside of the garage looks like it’s been used as a collect-all for discarded furniture, broken appliances, storage boxes, and other odds and ends. I focus on the far wall where I see a few tools hanging on a peg board. Maybe I can find a hammer and a few nails. If I can get to it, that is.

“I’m going to hunt for some tools if you want to check for pieces of plywood.”

I don’t wait for an answer and start digging my way to what I think might be a workbench. When I get to it, I find old mason jars and coffee tins filled with old hardware. I grab one that looks to hold mostly nails along with the rusty hammer I came across.

“Cool!” I hear Tucker behind me.

He’s rummaging in the corner near the door.

“Did you find something?”

“Yeah. Check this out.”

I make my way over to where he is holding up a piece of plywood, revealing an ancient dirt bike underneath.

“Nice,” I comment, going more by the enthusiasm in the kid’s voice than the rusty bike he uncovered. “Looks like a vintage model.”

“Can I bring it out to have a look?”

Fuck. I’m glad to see the kid’s mood lifted, but as much as I want to let him, this isn’t my call to make.

“Why don’t we finish the window first and wait for your mom to get back, so you can ask her. If it’s okay with her I’ll give you a hand pulling it out.”

He nods, grabs the plywood, and follows me back to the house.

“Are you with my mom or something?” he asks when I have him holding the board in place.

The scowl is back but there’s also a hint of curiosity in the way he glares at me. A bit of a dare and I decide the best way to play this is straight.

“I like her,” I admit. “I wouldn’t say I was with her, at least not yet, but I’m hoping that’ll change in the future.”

“Whatever,” he mutters, letting his gaze drift outside.

I line up the first nail and pound it in before grabbing another, while at the same time addressing Tucker.

“Look. You know she’s been dealing with some pretty heavy stuff—you almost drowning, your grandpa getting worse—she has her plate full right now. You don’t have to be happy about me being here, or into your mom, but do me a favor and take it up with me. Don’t make her life any harder than it needs to be.”

He doesn’t respond, but I wasn’t expecting him to, the slight tightening of his mouth at least indicates he heard me. Let him simmer on it.

When the sisters return an hour later, the window is covered and I put a call in to a guy I know who may be able to put in a new glass pane tomorrow. I haven’t heard a peep out of Bruce and at some point, Tuck disappeared upstairs. I’ve been killing time watching a game on TV.

“Where’s Tuck?” Trin asks right away and I point upstairs. “Pops?” is her next question.

“Haven’t heard him yet. How did it go?”

I watch Vic walking in, tossing her bag on the other end of the couch before heading for the fridge in the kitchen. She pulls out a beer, flips the cap, and puts the bottle to her mouth, downing half the contents.

“That good, huh?”

Trin stays standing, her hands leaning on the back of the couch as she keeps an eye on her sister while she talks to me.

“It wasn’t an easy conversation,” Trin starts.

Vic reacts with a loud snort. “Understatement of the century.”

“The coordinator, Amanda, feels we’re already beyond considering in-home care and suggests placement as soon as possible.”

“She has a spot,” Vic fills in. “That cancelled appointment we snagged was apparently for a woman who passed away a few days ago. As a result, the home she was supposed to move into next week has an unexpected vacancy as well. With Pops now having laid hands on all the members of the family, she labeled him as urgent.”

“Place is called Memory Lane,” Trin continues. “We’ll be able to see the place tomorrow morning and decide. If we take it, Pops could move in Wednesday.”

I’d already thought about crashing on their couch just in case, until a solution was found, but Vic’s and my shift starts at seven Monday morning, leaving Trin to deal with this alone.

“It’s a clusterfuck,” Vic grumbles. “I’ve barely been working a month, I don’t have any vacation time accrued, and I don’t know if they’ll let me take unpaid time this early in the game.”

“And I have a follow-up at the hospital for Tuck on Tuesday,” Trin contributes as she rounds the couch and sits down resting her head back, her eyes closed.

“I know this isn’t really my business, but I’ve got more vacation days than I know what to do with. A bunch left over from last year, still. I can take a couple off and stick around.” I see Trin shoot up straight, already shaking her head. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, I have an ulterior motive. Your son discovered an old dirt bike in the garage when we were looking for tools earlier. I wouldn’t mind helping him get the thing back in shape.”

“I can’t believe that old Honda’s still in there.” Vic barks out a laugh. “He told me he got rid of it.”

“It was tucked in a corner, covered with debris. It would’ve been hard to see without moving a bunch of stuff.”

“We can’t ask you to do that,” Trin brings us back on topic with a serious expression on her face.

“You’re not asking,” I point out. “I’m offering and with a healthy dose of self-interest.”

I lock eyes with her and see a light blush rising on her cheeks.

Good to know she gets my implication.