Page 11

Erin

I wake up the next morning with Finn asleep beside me, but it’s early. I roll over and hit the center button on my phone, the light nearly blinding me in the darkness of the room. As my eyes adjust I notice it’s a quarter past five.

I told Finn he didn’t have to stay, that I’d be okay, but he insisted. I fell asleep almost immediately, which I don’t think would’ve happened had he not been here. Ever since the most recent phone call things seem off or maybe I’m just obsessing.

Last week there was a black car with dark tinted windows that sat at the end of my street. I watched it for hours; probably a boiler stolen and ditched later with its random Rhode Island license plate, but nothing ever came from it.

But even more than that, when I arrived home from work just a couple of days ago there was a man on my porch. I stopped short of pulling into my driveway, and slowly drove by, and for a split second I swore it was him.

Same build and dark blonde hair, but he stood a little taller, looked a little rougher, but on my second pass by my house he was gone. That’s the part that scared me more than anything.

Was he ever really there? Standing on my porch, looking though my window? Did my father send him or did he come on his own? Was he in my house now?

I went straight to the police station, but under the guise that I was just there to shoot the shit with Finn. I know he saw right through it.

All that paranoia led to me fearing the process server that appeared on my doorstep. It also led to me accepting the fact that Finn sleeping in my bed was a better idea than sleeping alone.

I don’t want to wake him, so I slip from the bed quietly, grabbing my laptop as I leave the room. I put on a pot of coffee because god knows I’m going to need it. I have a few hours before I need to be at work, but there’s one thing I need to do even though everything in me says not to.

I sit down at the kitchen table with the sound of the coffee pot brewing in the background; I open my laptop and type his name into the search bar.

When I left at eighteen I told myself I wouldn’t look back and that included never running something as simple as an Internet search. I couldn’t take the risk of connecting myself to any of this, and by leaving any kind of digital footprint I would.

But, my anonymity is gone now.

I look at the name floating in the search bar, and swallow hard before hitting enter. I know there’s no going back.

The links begin to pop up, each bringing what I thought they would and loaded down with words like racketeering, weapons, extortion, money laundering, and the one I hoped wouldn’t appear is there, glaring and loud: murder.

I’d be lying to myself if I said he wasn’t guilty of it. He’s guilty of all of it. The only saving grace is that I’d never full on witnessed any of it. Somehow I stayed hidden, but still directly in the path.

There were quiet conversations at night, phone calls and late night arrivals and departures, but more than that was the second hand information that I never wanted to be privy to. It’s what made me leave.

It’s what made me leave him.

I scroll through the article links, never clicking on any of them, and when my cursor hovers over the images tab, I hate myself immediately after I click it.

Because it’s his face staring back at me, and he’s the one person I never want to see again.

Just as I’m about to scroll down through the pictures I hear the creak of the bedroom door and Finn’s heavy feet landing on the wooden floor. My heart jumps into my throat and my shaky hand tries to navigate the mouse pad. Clicking quickly, I exit the page and close my laptop just as Finn appears in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Looking at porn?”

he asks, his voice hoarse with sleep.

“Your face is flushed.”

I laugh knowing that only Finn can make a comment like that seem so casual and comical at the same time.

“No, but we can if you want,”

I quip back and he chuckles.

“You lonely?”

“How can I be lonely? I’ve been stuck dealing with your ass for the last decade. I’ve been in a relationship for ten years without any benefits.”

He gives my shoulder a little shove as he walks by and winks at me.

I know he’s joking but it still stings a little. I do feel like a burden on him, even more so now. Things are only going to get more complicated from here.

The envelope from last night is lying on the kitchen table in front of me, and when Finn sits down across from me his eyes float over it quickly. It’s the elephant in the room; the one thing I’d rather pretend doesn’t exist.

“What are you going to do?”

he asks, his head nodding toward the envelope.

I haven’t opened it, almost like if I do I’m admitting I was once a part of it all.

“The only thing I can do,”

I answer back.

“I’m going to go. I can’t keep hiding.”

Reaching for the envelope, I slide it across the table and leave it sitting in front of me. My name is written across the front, a name I no longer recognize, but I know will always be a part of me.

I changed my name shortly after I left home, because I knew if I didn’t he’d find me immediately. But I also knew I couldn’t change my first name. By coming to Rockport I had a support system. I had Kelsey and Finn, but they’d known me as Erin since we were kids and I felt like it would complicate things even more. I stuck with Erin but dumped my middle and last name, and in doing that I created someone new.

I went to college as Erin Connelly, got my first job as her and have lived my life as her ever since. It wasn’t nearly as complicated or difficult as I thought it would be.

It’s funny how much no one cares about the things that came before you turned eighteen. We’re led to believe that those things matter. That you need to graduate from high school in order to get into college, and while Erin Fitzgerald graduated from high school, Erin Connelly got her GED and used that to register for college.

No one noticed that Erin Connelly quietly slipped through the cracks and made a life for herself.

That is until now.

Finn and I sit in silence, the envelope begging to be opened and that’s just what I do. Slipping my finger under one end of the sealed tab, I begin to tear it open, and then I pull a single sheet of paper from it.

The letter is simple, and basically states the location and the date. I feared the unknown, the basic contents of a manila envelope, which seems ridiculous now. Facing him should be my biggest concern, because I know he’ll be there.

“What’s it say?”

Finn asks when I don’t say anything.

“Did they give you a date?”

“About eight weeks from today I have to appear in court. I guess that’s the start of the trial.”

“I guess it’s about time you tell Ryan,”

Finn says, shrugging his shoulders as he gets up from the table.

“I gotta go. Gotta get to the station.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“Thanks, Finn,”

I say as I watch him gather his things and head for the front door.

“Tell Ryan,”

he stresses as he pulls the front door closed behind him.

I sit for a second processing Finn’s words. Tell Ryan. How? How do I explain that I know what five hundred thousand dollars looks like in cash? That it will fit in a carry on suitcase and it takes at least twenty-four hours to withdraw that kind of money from a trust fund. Do I casually mention that I know what it sounds like when a gun is fired with a silencer on? That I heard it as child, but didn’t fully grasp what it was until it happened over and over.

I worry that telling him means my secret-filled head will constantly be at odds with his detective brain. What was once a normal relationship will turn into an interrogation. And in the end I’ll lose him anyway.

It’s then that I realize I haven’t heard from Ryan. I’m assuming he made it back to Boston safely, but it’s not like him not to text me. In the chaos of this mess with my dad and the process server and Finn sleeping over, I completely forgot.

I pick up my phone and hit Ryan’s name. The phone rings once and then goes directly to voicemail. I’m sure he’s just busy with work, so I leave a short message.

“Hey Ry, it’s me. Just checking to make sure you made it back okay. Give me a call or whatever when you get a chance.”

My day goes by quickly, which it normally does when you spend it with twenty, five year olds. It’s a great job to have when you need a distraction. There’s no stopping to think about anything but what is happening right in front of you.

As I’m pulling into my driveway my phone chimes with a text message and I realize I still haven’t heard from Ryan. I take my phone from my purse and find the message is from him, finally.

Ryan: Hey…sorry. Work is a fucking shit show right now. I haven’t slept in 36 hours.

Me: That’s ok. I figured you were busy, but you need to get some sleep!

Ryan: I know, I know. Call you tonight?

Me: Only if you have time. I’d rather you get some rest.

Nothing more comes after my last text message, and by ten p.m. I still haven’t heard from Ryan. I’m trying not to read too much into it, but it’s hard not to let my mind wander. Honestly my mind has been a fucking mess since that process server showed up, and now I’ve got Ryan’s lack of contact to add to my anxiety.

I pop a couple of sleeping pills and make sure my alarm is set before I climb into bed. I know without the drugs I won’t sleep, and I can’t bring myself to call Finn again and ask him to stay.

My phone goes off, chiming just as I begin to close my eyes and I see it’s Ryan, but his text is vaguely similar to the one he sent before.

Ryan: Still busy. Still tired. Talk later.

Me: Ok…I miss you. Xx

No response beyond that and I fall asleep quickly, dead to the world until six a.m. the next morning.

I check my phone as soon as I roll over, the sun just starting to rise as the light filters through the closed blinds.

There’s a text from Ryan that came through around three in the morning telling me that he’s home now and hoping to get a few hours of sleep before he has to head back to the station.

His job is very demanding, but even this seems more than normal. I remember when Beck and Kelsey were trying to figure out whether they’d be able to stay together with Beck living and working in Boston and the biggest issue was the unpredictability of his work schedule. That’s probably all this is, and I’m worrying about nothing.

Yet, as I’m about to get in the shower, I can’t stop thinking about the coldness in his text messages, about not hearing from him when he said he’d call.

I knew going into this that it would be difficult to maintain a relationship with him, and I’m probably just being stupid.

I shake it off and get in the shower. Ryan isn’t like other guys. He won’t fuck me over, and I tell myself that, as I get ready for my day. Maybe if I say it enough I’ll believe it.

I’m packing my lunch when my front door opens, assuming it’s Finn, I yell a quick, “hey”

as I grab my things and make my way toward my car.

But it’s not Finn, it’s Ryan’s voice that echoes back, “hey”

to me and I feel my face light up.

“What are you doing here?”

I ask, my voice high and overly excited as I throw my arms around him.

“Oww,”

he says, as his body stiffens against me and that’s when I notice his shirt sleeve rolled up and the white gauze bandage.

“Ryan, what the hell happened?”

“I got shot. I thought I told you not to keep a key under your doormat?”

I stand there dumbfounded, taking a step back; I put some distance between us. He just told me he got shot and yet he’s worried about the spare key I keep under my mat.

“What do you mean you got shot?”

The tone of my voice changes suddenly along with my posture and Ryan seems to grow defensive. My arms are crossed against my chest and I can feel my face grow hot.

“I’m a cop, Erin,”

he says matter-of-factly, like this somehow explains the situation. He’s shown up at my house out of nowhere acting like getting shot is no big deal.

It’s a big fucking deal.

I don’t even know how to respond, but I feel like his callousness shouldn’t be it. I’m silent too long and Ryan lets out a long exhale and says.

“I figured you’d understand.”

“Understand what? What’s that supposed to mean?”

I practically shout back at him, running a hand through my hair as I feel myself begin to grow anxious.

“Understand that people get shot, Erin!”

And this time he is shouting.

“Why the fuck would I understand that?”

I scream, knowing I’m lying through my teeth. I do know that people get shot, and I know my father has even killed people, but Ryan doesn’t know that. There’s no way he could.

“I don’t know, because I’m a fucking cop and that shit happens,”

he yells back, throwing his hands in the air.

I need to be at work in twenty minutes and it’s clear this conversation isn’t going to end that quickly.

“Listen, Ryan, I have no idea why you’re here or what the hell happened, but I gotta get to work. This conversation isn’t over and you damn well better be here when I get home.”

I storm out the door; grabbing the spare key, I look right at Ryan and toss it back under the mat as I slam the door closed behind me.