“Yeah.”
I lay my hand on the notes. “This doesn’t mean Nicole did this to herself. I can’t imagine anyone doing that.” I twist to look at him. “I hate even considering it. I know how you operate up here. If a woman comes to you and says she was sexually assaulted, you start from a position of presuming she’s telling the truth.”
“Of course.”
“That’s not how it works down south. We try to treat all crimes the same, but a woman claiming assault often bears the burden of proof. Do you know how many times I raged because Diana wasn’t believed when she accused her ex of abusing her, stalking her? And then it turned out—”
“Yeah. And you can stop beating yourself up over that.”
“I didn’t say—”
“You hate that you defended her. You hate even more that she sets a bad example for women who do have crazy exes. But half the women here are running from an abusive partner. You know how many others have turned out to be lying? None.”
“I know.”
“And not to defend Diana—she’s a bitch, always going to be a bitch—but Graham was still abusive. They may have staged the last beating for your benefit, but what about the ones that made her leave him? He beat her. He stalked her. She just kept going back, and I don’t understand that, but I’ve read enough to know it happens.”
He taps the pages. “Whatever this means, don’t think of it as blaming the victim. You believed her until you had reason to reconsider. Innocent until proven suspicious.”
“You’re right.”
“Usually am.” He gets to his feet. “Now you need to talk to Nicole. Sort this shit out.”
NINETEEN
Dalton takes his spot with the militia guard on Beth’s porch. I go inside. Diana is there, and she pauses, as if expecting to give a report, but I just nod and thank her. She leaves, and I walk into the living room where Nicole stands by the front window, looking out at Dalton.
I clear my throat. She steps back, but only half turns, still watching him.
“Why doesn’t he come in?” she asks.
“Do you want him to?”
She smiles. “I guess not.” She moves to sit on the futon. “Diana says you two are an item. At first, I thought she was kidding. I figured you and Will … Well, that makes more sense. You and Will.”
I take a seat.
“If he wants to come in…,” she says.
“If Eric wants to do anything, he does it. He’s fine there.”
“Eric. I don’t think I even knew his first name. He’s just Sheriff Dalton. Or ‘yes, sir.’” She smiles again, and it’s clear she senses a chill in my greeting, and she’s trying to coax a smile, but the silence drags until she’s fidgeting.
“I told you that I knew why you came to Rockton,” I say. “Eric gave me the official story. Which was not untrue. Your father got mixed up with a cartel and took the family into witness protection after your mother died. He later committed suicide, but that didn’t stop the cartel from coming after you and ultimately killing your brother.”
“Right…”
Her tone asks where this is leading, but her expression doesn’t echo it. Which means I can no longer cling to the hope that the council has outright lied.
“Why don’t you tell me where I’m going with this?” I say.
She reaches for her teacup, but her bony hand shakes too much to risk it.
I see that hand. I see her. How thin she is. Clumps of her hair have fallen out. Sores ring her mouth. Vitamin deficiencies have left her skin covered in a full-body rash.
Nicole swallows. Folds her hands. Unfolds them. Then she blurts out, “I gave them my brother.”
“Yes.”
She looks at me. Looks me right in the eye, and I don’t see defiance. I see relief. She has spoken the words, and I have accepted them, and there will be no outrage, no shock, because this is not news to me. I knew what she’d done when I walked in here. It reminds me of the relief I felt when I realized Dalton knew what I’d done to Blaine.
“May I explain?” she asks.
“If you like.”
Hands fold. Unfold. Like a disjointed wringing. She finally places them on her legs and grips her knees as if to hold her hands in place.
“We started moving when I was nine. Garrett was twelve. At first, Dad said it’d just be the one move. We’d live in San Diego, which we both loved. That would be our new home. And it was … for six months. Then we moved. We moved, and we moved, and we moved, and eventually Garrett and I stopped trying to make friends at our new schools. We became each other’s best friend. Dad encouraged that. It lessened the chance we’d slip up and say something to a stranger. But when I say we were best friends, it’s like … it’s like growing up here. I heard that’s what Sheriff Dalton did. That he was born here, has lived here all his life. It’s like that, except there’s this one other kid, so you have to be friends with that kid because there is no one else.”