Indelible (35 page)

He looked her in the eye when he said this, and Sara understood the threat.

She had to keep him talking. “Is that why you took the blame for shooting Luke?”

Robert stared at her, silent. “It was the same thing all over again.”

“What was?”

“He knew,” he said. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

“Luke?”

“I had him in the back of my car one night. Picked him up on a loitering charge down by the bowling alley.” Robert looked out the window again. “He was cold, so I gave him my jacket. One thing led to another. I don't even really remember how it happened . . . just that it felt so good, and then the next day, it felt so horrible.”

Sara could see the anguish on his face, and despite the situation, she found herself feeling sorry for him.

“I don't know how, but he kept my letterman jacket. Maybe he stole it out of the car when I wasn't looking. Doesn't matter how he got it, but my name's on it big as day. He called me at the station the next morning. Said he was going to wear it around town, tell everybody he was my
girlfriend.
” He snorted in disgust at the word. “He kept following me around,
flirting with me like a damn girl.” His jaw worked, and he stared down at his hands.

“You could have just told him to go away,” Sara pointed out. “No one would have believed him over you.”

“That's not how it works here,” he said, and part of her knew that Robert was right. Gossip was currency in a small town. Even a rumor that seemed improbable had more value than the boring truth of an everyday, normal life.

She asked, “What happened, Robert?”

He took his time answering, the truth more horrible to him than the lie he had been telling for the last few days. “I was weak. I just wanted somebody to comfort me, to feel right with.” He looked back up at Sara, as if he expected her to any moment voice some kind of revulsion. “I called him up, told him to come over. Told him I wanted him to fuck me. You like hearing that? You know what we were doing, don't you? Fucking up the ass like two fairies.”

Sara was unfazed. “Were you in love with him?”

“I hated him,” he said, and she could tell by Robert's tone of voice that he really did. “He was like holding up a mirror, looking at myself. All the ugly things about me.” Under his breath, he added, “Fucking fairy. Faggot.”

“Is that why you killed him?”

A car pulled up outside and they both waited as a door was closed. Seconds later, they heard Nell's next-door neighbor go into his house and slam the door. If he noticed the dogs were missing, he did not seem to care.

Sara prompted, “Robert?”

Again Robert paused before answering. “Jessie came in on us,” he finally said. “She heard us. The noises we were making.” He looked back at Sara as if to gauge her reaction. “She got my gun because she thought somebody had broken into the house. Didn't even bother to call the police.” He jumped to a tangent. “That was what the fight with Faith was about. That's why she was home early.”

Sara waited, not understanding.

“The fight with her mama. They were arguing because Jessie showed up stoned out of her mind. Drunk on something, taking pills, whatever. Her mama always blamed me for that even though Faith's drunk most days, out there swigging out of a flask when she's supposed to be watering the garden. That's how Jessie got through her life with me. That's how she dealt with my failures. She took pills to keep the pain back.”

Sara heard the next-door neighbor slam his front door again. Sara waited, hoping he would come over to ask about his dogs, but the car started and she heard him reverse down the driveway.

“Jessie meant to shoot me,” Robert told Sara, looking out the window, probably watching the neighbor head down the street. “She pulled the trigger because she was so shocked. She didn't exactly think it through, but she meant to shoot me, not him. At least that's what she told me later. Said she was so drunk that first she thought there were two of me and I'd finally managed to go fuck myself.” He ran his tongue along his top teeth. “I didn't even know she was there. I hear Luke saying in my ear, ‘Hey, how about it? You wanna join the party?' I didn't
know what the hell he was talking about. Later, I figured he was talking to her. Provoking her, even though he had to see she had a gun in her hand. That's what he did with people, just pushed and pushed until they were over the edge.”

“She shot him.”

“I was wearing my T-shirt, but . . .” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “I felt this spray on my back, like this kind of mist. I didn't hear the sound until later, like two or three seconds later. It must have been faster than that, but my brain just kind of slowed it down. You know how it does that?”

Sara nodded. She knew from her own experience that trauma slowed things down, as if pain was something to be savored rather than endured.

“There was this kind of pop, like a balloon or something.” He took a deep breath. “Then he slumped against me, and I felt this wet . . .” He shook his head at the memory. “He slid down my back.”

Sara remembered how Robert had kept his back to the wall that night, gripping his shirt tightly in his hand. He must have been covered in blood.

“It was so fast afterward. Slow as it was when it happened, the rest was so fast.”

“What happened?”

“Jessie shot at me.”

“She missed,” Sara said, remembering the bullet hole in the wall.

“I grabbed my backup out of the armoire. The safe wasn't even locked. After we lost the baby . . .” He shook his head, obviously not wanting to talk about that. “I wasn't even really thinking, other than
maybe wishing the bullet hadn't missed when she fired.” Robert paused. “She stopped, like she couldn't shoot me, even though she'd seen what I was. I just stood there for maybe a second, and I could suddenly see it all—everyone finding out what had happened, finding out who I am, and I put the gun to my belly and pulled the trigger.”

“You were lucky it didn't do more damage.”

“It was so fast,” he repeated. “I couldn't even think. It was like . . .” He snapped his fingers.

Sara was quiet, hearing the snap echo like gunfire.

“It didn't hurt much,” he added. “I thought it would hurt, but it wasn't until later that I felt the pain.”

“Was it Jessie's idea to say you'd done it?”

“Hell no,” he said, and she wondered if he was telling the truth. “She went over and grabbed a handful of pills. Spilled most of them on the floor. I just looked around, thinking, ‘Fuck, what can I do?'”

“What did you do?”

“I guess I must've known what I was going to do when I pulled the trigger, but it took a while before my brain kicked in. I picked up the gun and the casings and wiped them off. A couple'a three seconds later, I heard somebody kick open the back door. I tossed everything on the floor, put the gun by his hand. Jeffrey came in, screaming, ‘What the hell happened?' He went out to get you and I told Jessie to open the window and push out the screen. First time in her life she ever did something I told her to do without asking why.”

“What about the bullet?” Sara asked. Robert had given the bullet to Reggie when he had confessed.

“Jessie got it out later. I don't know when, but she gave it to me. She told me exactly where she had found it in his head. Said it was my souvenir.”

Sara knew there was only one time Jessie was alone with the body, and that was when Jeffrey and Sara were on the porch outside, waiting for Hoss. She must have sneaked in while they were arguing.

“Jessie's a lot smarter than folks think,” Robert continued. “When y'all got there, she just played along, acted like she was too high to follow what was going on. Me, I was freaking out. I saw all the words coming out of my mouth, making up the story, not even thinking about the parts that didn't make sense. She let me do it, just stood there, letting me feed out enough rope to hang myself.”

“Why?” Sara asked, still not understanding. “Why did you lie?”

“Because I'd rather be a cold-blooded murderer than a faggot.”

The finality of his words hung heavy in the air, and Sara had never felt more sorry for anyone in her life.

“I'm just not right, Sara.” He paused, as if he needed time to collect himself. “If I could get a knife and cut it out of me, I would. I'd cut out my fucking heart to be normal.”

“You
are
normal,” she insisted. “There's nothing wrong with you.”

“It's too late.”

“You can stop this,” she said. “You can stop this right now. You don't have to leave. You're innocent, Robert. You didn't do any of this. None of it's your fault.”

“All of it's my fault,” he insisted. “I've sinned, Sara. I've sinned against God. I've broken my vows. I've been with another man. I wished him dead so many times. Jessie pulled the trigger, but I put him there. I brought him into our house. There's no going back now.”

“You are who you are,” she told him, even as she saw there was no reasoning with him. “You have no reason to be ashamed.”

“Yes,” he said, picking up the gun. “I do.”

“Oh, God—”

He pointed the gun directly at her head, his hand steady. Sara closed her eyes, thinking of all the things she had never done in her life, wondering how her parents would get through this. Tessa still needed her, and Jeffrey . . . there was so much that Sara had left unsaid. She would give anything right now to be with him, feel his arms around her.

“You're not a murderer,” she told him, her throat straining from the effort.

“I'm so sorry,” Robert said, standing close enough for her to smell the sweat on him. Sara felt the cold metal of the gun press into her forehead, and she cried in earnest now, her eyes shut against everything else in the room. She heard the safety disengage, and another murmured apology.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please don't. Please.” She said the only thing that she thought might get through to him. “I'm pregnant.”

The gun stayed where it was a few long seconds before it dropped, and Robert cursed under his breath.

She opened her eyes to find his back to her. His
shoulders shook, and she thought he was crying until he turned around. Terror struck through her as she realized that he was laughing.

“Pregnant?” he repeated, as if she had just told the punch line to a really good joke.

“Robert—”

“Everything comes so goddamn easy to him.”

Instantly, Sara realized her mistake. “I didn't—”

“Jesus,” he hissed, pointing the gun back at her head. His hand shook this time, and he faltered, cursing again. “Fuck.”

“Jeffrey doesn't know,” she said, desperate to find the right thing to say. “He doesn't know!”

Robert kept the gun steady. “He never will.”

“He will!” she screamed. “At the autopsy!” Robert's jaw set, and she kept talking as fast as she could. “Is that how you want him to find out? Do you want him to find out when I'm dead? He'll find out, Robert. That's how he'll find out.”

“Stop,” he ordered, pressing the gun to her skull. “Just shut up.”

“It's a boy!” she screamed, almost hysterical with fear. “It's a boy, Robert. His son. Jeffrey's son.”

He dropped the gun to his side again, not laughing this time.

“You know what it's like to lose a child,” she told him, her body shaking so badly the chair began to rock. “You know what it's like.”

He ignored her, nodding his head slowly, as if he was having some sort of conversation with himself. Sara saw his lips moving, but no words came out. He engaged the safety before tucking the
gun back into his pants, then picked up the roll of tape again.

Sara watched him work the tape, knowing that he was going to tape her mouth shut so he could shoot her.

“He loves me,” Sara gripped the arms of the chair with her hands, trying to break free.

Robert tore off a strip of tape.

“You're going to take that away from him,” she said, the words rushing out of her mouth. “You're going to take away his child, Robert. His unborn child.” Sara's voice caught on the words, mostly because she knew that there was no other time in the world when she would be able to say them. “
Our
child,” she said, loving the way the words felt in her mouth. “
Our
baby.”

Robert obviously heard the passion in her voice, because he stopped what he was doing.

“I'm carrying his child,” Sara repeated, feeling herself letting go. She was at peace with this and whatever happened next. There was no explaining the logic behind her calm; it was simply the way she felt. “Our baby.”

“He's gonna hurt you,” Robert said. “Anybody who loves him always ends up getting hurt.”

“When you love somebody,” Sara told him, “that's the risk you take.”

He put his fingers to her bottom lip, tracing the broken skin. Before she knew what was happening, Robert leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. It was the softest kiss Sara had ever received, and she was too shocked to pull away.

He said, “I'm sorry,” then taped her mouth shut before she could answer. He stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. “I'm sorry for hurting you,” he said. “I've hurt enough people in my life already.” A sour look crossed his face, as if he'd had a thought that did not agree with him. “Jeffrey's gonna think I was into him,” he said. “You tell him that's not true, all right? I never thought about him that way—not ever.”

Sara nodded because that was all she could do.

“Tell him he's gonna be a great father, and that I would never take that from him.” Robert's voice caught. “Tell him he was the best friend I ever had, and that there was nothing else to it.”