Eyes Wide Open

Chapter Sixty-Four





He told her about the sneaker.

Evan’s sneaker. The one he had found in the trash a week before.

The one that proved that Evan hadn’t killed himself. That he hadn’t been alone up there.

“You found his sneaker?” Gabby looked at him, confusion spreading over her face.

Charlie hung his head. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t show it to me. For a whole week. You let me think all along our son had killed himself?”

“I couldn’t, Gabby. I was scared to. It would have brought everything out.”

“Everything? Everything that is more important than our son?” Her eyes became bright with anger. She slapped him. Charlie didn’t make a move to defend himself. She hit him again, a flood of emotion rushing into her cheeks. “How, Charlie? How could you have held such a thing from me?”

“I’m sorry, Gabby. I was scared. Scared for what it meant. I would give everything to take it back.”

“Where is this sneaker? What did you do with it, Charlie?”

“I had to give it to Sherwood. It’s evidence. But you know what it proves, don’t you? This proves he wasn’t alone up there.”

“I know,” Gabby said, raising her fist to strike him again. “I know . . .” Then, lowering it, tears staining her cheeks: “Our son, Charlie . . . Our poor son.”

She fell into his arms, sobbing, her tiny fists coiled against him, and he clutched her, tighter than he had ever held a thing in his life.

“Don’t hate me,” he said. “Don’t hate me.” He couldn’t bear to lose her too.

“I don’t,” she said into him, her tears on his shirt. “I don’t.” She lifted her head, eyes shining. “Our son is here. I can feel him, Charlie. I can feel him in this room.”

“I can feel him too,” Charlie said. Then he choked up, realizing that whatever had befallen Evan—his innocent, only son—had been aimed at him. Had been meant to hurt him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Evan . . .”

He sat down at the table, like a mound of broken bones. He was sobbing too.

“There was a note,” he said, drawing in a breath. “In Evan’s shoe. I didn’t give it to them.” He ran over to the chest. He dug through one of the folders in the bottom drawer and came out with it, and brought it to her.

She read it. Then put it down on the table.

The handwritten scrawl read: “Music’s over now, Charlie. Want to know how it all ends?”

Gabby’s eyes shook with ire. “Who would do this to us, Charlie? I want to kill these people.”

“I need to show this to Sherwood,” he said. “And to Jay.”

“No, no,” Gabby said, holding his arm. “They don’t have to see this.”

“They do. It’s possible that—”

“No.” Her tone was adamant, but there was a gentleness to it too. She placed her hand on top of his and gave him a soft smile. “What is left for us, Charlie? You know this as well as me. It’s over for us. Your brother has everything. Everything we have not. Yesterday, he could have died as well. For this? For whatever we have brought him? No. This is our business, Charlie, these people. Our fate. Let him be free of this.”

It took a moment for him to completely understand. And it scared him. “No, it’s my fate, Gabby. You have to get out of here too.”

“No.” Her hand was still on his and she squeezed. “We both know there’s nowhere for me to go.” She brushed his hair away and put her hand on his face. “I’m sorry, Charlie, what I just did. You are my husband and I stay with you, whatever fate has in store. You ask me what I want? Okay. What I want is to know the truth, Charlie. To hear it from them. The real truth about my son. What I want is the one chance to look the person who did this to him in the eye. Who made me feel like my boy was crazy. Who sent this to you—our son’s shoe—as a trophy, to torture us. I want to show them that we are not animals, Charlie. To make us suffer this way. This is all I want now. Nothing more. You see? What else is left for us?”

Charlie’s hair fell around his face like a shroud. He knew she was right. Their time was up. He wouldn’t put Jay at risk. It was their fate. He squeezed her hand. It was trembling, but at the same time, it was strong too—like the light in her eyes. You are wrong, Gabby, he was thinking, there is something else we have left, one thing no one can take from us.

“My whole life.” He gazed at her. “Has been a tale of wrong choices. All the drugs and my time on the road. How I threw away the one chance I had. All of them wrong. All but one . . .”

Tenderly, he wrapped his palm around her hand.

He kissed her. It had been years since they really kissed. Felt in their hearts the charge of what had brought them together.

“You couldn’t help it,” Gabby said, placing her head gently on his chest. “You were sick, Charlie. Evan was sick.”

“No, I could help it,” Charlie said. “I could.”

He pulled away and picked up the note. He read it again, and for the first time in a long time, years maybe, he felt perfectly clear. He said, “I can never make it right, not now. But I know what I can do to make it end.”