Instructions Make a Difference
It’s dark when I arrive at the cemetery, but I stay in my car that’s parked at the entrance. I gaze out the windshield at the empty parking lot, realizing that it’s severely spooky out here. Someone could easily be lurking in the shadows of the night, ready to attack and bury me six feet under in an unnamed ditch where no one would ever find me…
I jump and scream when Hero taps on my window. He laughs and holds up a bundle of colorful wildflowers. I unlock the doors and roll my eyes, muttering a curse under my breath.
“Let me put these on his headstone. Lock the doors. I’ll be back in sec.” I lock the doors and he runs off into the darkness. My heart is thundering against my ribs the entire time.
What if something happens to him?
He jogs back to my car. I unlock the doors and he slides into the passenger seat, throwing the hood off his head. Hero brings his hands to his mouth and blows on them as he rubs them together. “It’s fucking cold outside.”
I turn the heat dial up to warm him. “Why did you wait so long to meet me?”
He shrugs, staring straight ahead. “I had practice.”
My eyes widen in shock. “You’re back on the team?”
Hero turns to look at me. “I love football, Isabel. Did you bring the laptop?”
“Yeah.” I reach over and grab it from the backseat. “We haven’t been in contact for some time now.”
“Who do you think pushed you off that cliff?”
“If I knew, I would certainly share,” I say mockingly.
“You know, I find it fascinating that you can still be sarcastic at a time like this. Do you not understand that someone tried to kill you?”
I try to stifle the hilarious laughter the bubble out of me in loud spurts. Hunter gives me a concerned look. “Yes, I understand that someone is trying to or tried to kill me. I understand it because it happened to me!” I suddenly burst into tears and Hero engulfs me in a warm, soothing embrace.
“We need to go to your house. Switch seats with me so I can drive.”
“You’re going to leave your car here?”
“I didn’t drive here, I jogged.”
“That’s a forty five minute walk from your house,” I mumble throughout tears.
He strokes my hair. “I needed that walk,” he murmurs in my hair.
The ride to my house is silent. I get a handle on my tears and gaze out the window. The sky has never been so clear and filled with twinkling stars that shine so brightly above like specks of shimmering glitter in the sky. The earth underneath the tires transform from solid road to crunchy gravel, the dark silhouette of a square begins to appear until we reach the front drive of my house. This house is really beautiful in the daylight. I grew up in a two-story southern farmhouse with classic Palladian windows. My mom said she wanted it because it’s painted a soft eggshell yellow—her favorite color—and it has a wraparound porch that’s surrounded by an abundant of lilac bushes that never fail to bloom. I loved this house because of the gigantic willow tree and the stream that curls entirely around the house; I can hear the calm water washing over stones right from my bedroom window.
I instruct Hero to retrieve the house key from under the empty pot. He inserts the key in the lock and opens the door. We step into the dark space. I flip on the light switch panel on the living room wall. My house is spacious and airy with a comfortable, harmonious mix of traditional and modern furniture that include stylishly large overstuffed couches, floral print chairs, lavish royal blue wallpaper, and dark wooden furniture fixtures and floors.
“I always loved coming to your house. It’s so inviting.” Hero says, his voice echoing through the vast space.
This house does have a welcoming vibe but what lies beneath the surface is much more horrifying. I set the laptop on the glass coffee table. “Why did you want to come to my house?”
He glances at our family pictures that’s scattered among the walls and counters. “Do you remember your dad teaching us how to fire a gun?”
“Yeah,” I say warily.
“You and Hunter were the best at targeting those glass jars. Tyler and I sucked. We couldn’t aim for shit.”
My brows snap together, confused. “Okay…”
“Do know where he keeps his gun?”
“Umm…my mom kept it in her closet in an old shoebox on the top shelf.” I vaguely wonder why she never but the thing in a safe.
Did she want to access it quickly in case she needed it?
Hero cocks his head, an inquisitive expression on his face. “Can you show me?”
I gesture to the wooden stairs. He follows me up as each step groans. We turn right and cross the loft area and reach the closed wooden door to my parents’ bedroom. My stomach knots, my heart rate spikes, and my breathing quickens as I reach for the golden knob. I already know what it looks like. The cream lace yellow curtains. The four-poster bed in the center of the room with a million unnecessary pillows and fluffy white comforter. My mother’s beautifully dainty glass knickknacks that are disorderly placed throughout but somehow linked as a map to greatest liked to least. Countless photos of my father. Mom loved to take family pictures, especially pictures of my father.
I remember to breathe when Hero walks inside and turns on a lamp by the door. “Are you okay, Isabel?”
“It’s just surreal to be in here right now. I haven’t been in this room for years.”
He makes his way over to me and rubs his hands repeatedly down the length of my arms as if to warm me. “It’s okay. Your parents loved you. Just think about that when all the sad feelings come back.”
They never left.
“Okay.”
I lead him to the double doors that open to their walk-in closet. My eyes immediately dart to the slim pasty yellow shoebox with a bright red lid labeled by some popular French designer. I gingerly take down the box and hand it over to Hero, who opens it. He peers into the box and smiles.
“Your dad was a badass.”
I nod. “He was.”
Only a badass would teach young kids how to aim and fire.
“Do you know why he killed himself?” Hero asks cautiously.
“No. Why?”
“Green Frog asked me to find out more information about your parents’ suicide. Green Frog said you were too fragile to take on the task.”
My face contorts into bafflement. “My parents’ suicide has something to do with Tyler’s death?”
“I think so. I guess it does in some way. You should rest. I’m going to poke around here a bit until I find something.” Hero closes the box that holds my father’s nine millimeter.
“What are you looking for?”
“That’s the problem: I don’t know. But I figured it’s something from their past.” He sets the shoebox on the bed and I follow him inside the vast closet. He glances at the rows upon rows of stacked boxes. He points at the shelves. “I have a feeling that I should start there.”
Nodding, I sit crossed-legged on the smooth white carpet that’s laid throughout their closet. I snatch my mother’s green sweater off a wire hanger and bring it to my face, inhaling her sweet scent that smells of warmth and sunshine. My eyes sting and fill with tears.
I miss them so much.
“Who do you think Green Frog is?”
“Your guess is just as good as mine,” Hero says, rummaging through my parents’ stuff. “It’s someone we know though.”
We remain silent for a while, and I note that Hunter and Max haven’t called once today. Hunter is most likely pissed at me for leaving and Max is probably upset with me for not calling him when I promised I would. My life is in such chaos. I don’t know which way is up or down anymore. I’ll call Max once Hero and I are through.
“Hey, did you know your parents were friends with my dad and Smith, my dad’s older brother?” Hero asks as he flips through an old dark purple photo album blanketed with a thick layer of dust. I’ve never seen that book in my life.
“No. Let me see.”
He sits next to me on the floor and we look through the album together. There are many pictures of my mom and Dad, Grace, Caleb and Smith. Caleb is Hunter’s and Hero’s and Naya’s father. Smith was Caleb’s older brother, but with the exact athletic built, crystal blue eyes, and blond hair, they could pass as twins. I can tell that they’re at Cherry High by the dark blue lockers and brick building in the background. They look young, too. With glittery scrunchies and pink bubblegum lips, my mother had to be at least sixteen in these pictures. But some of the poses don’t make any sense to me, like why my father’s arms are wrapped protectively around Grace as they gaze lovingly into one another’s eyes. They look like lovers. Smith and Caleb each have an arm thrown over my mother’s shoulder and the three of them appear content together. In other photos, my mother is either sitting on Smith’s lap or Caleb’s lap, but she is never with my father. My father is always with Grace.
Were Grace and my father a couple?
“This is weird,” Hero murmurs, running his fingers over the plastic cover of the pictures. “The way they acted towards one another you wouldn’t know that they were ever close.”
“Why do you think they never told us?”
Hero shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe my dad is ashamed that he shared your mom with his brother.”
I jab him in the ribs with my elbow. “My mom wasn’t a whore.”
He scowls at me, rubbing away the pain. Then he smiles. “I didn’t say that, Isabel. I just mean she seemed like she was with both of them at the same time.”
“And your mama ‘seemed’ like she was with my dad. How could that be so when she hated his guts?”
“Maybe,” he whispers conspiratorially, “maybe everything we thought we knew isn’t what it seems. Maybe it was just an illusion.”
“You’re confusing me.”
“Okay. Look at the evidence. My mom looks head over heels for Ivan and the feelings look mutual. Smith and Caleb were deeply in love with your mother. I can see it in their eyes. My guess is that she loved them both right back, but something happened between them all for them to end up with different people. There is a shared link here, a big secret that they all know and we have to figure it out. Why else would they want to bury the past with one another?”
“We should ask your dad,” I suggest.
Hero vigorously shakes his head. “No. Caleb won’t be any help. He’s a drunk and his memory is shit.”
“Where is he?”
He shrugs, nonchalantly. “In his condo drinking himself silly before he leaves for another business trip.”
Mr. Knight owns and develops properties throughout the states and Grace’s wealth comes from oil. With the two of them combined they are the most powerful couple in North Carolina, or was the most powerful couple.
“Did Caleb ever hurt you guys when you were little?” I ask tentatively.
Hero contemplates this for a moment before he whispers, “I think all parents end up hurting their children, but whether it’s intentional or not makes the difference.”
He leaves the conversation at that. It’s evident that Mr. Knight has some kind of damaging effect on his kids. It’s time that I find out what it is.