Safe Keeping. Barbara Taylor Sissel

elementary school. But he’d also been labeled emotional, high-strung, ADD—whatever name the teacher du jour chose to assign to him, as if the label alone would be adequate to explain his behavior. Her parents sought help for him. Tucker was tested and counseled, but no one could come up with a diagnosis that was definitive. It was frustrating, especially for her folks, but for Tucker, too.

      He was a mystery even to himself.

      Lissa pulled into her driveway now and parked behind the dented, yellow VW, eyeing it as she passed by, wondering about the girl it belonged to. Not a nice girl. Nice girls weren’t in the habit of picking up stray guys from the side of the road in daylight, much less at night. Lissa was judging—she knew she was—but Tucker had a reputation for attracting the wrong sort of women, the kind who would lean on him and look up to him. He liked helping them; he liked it when they took his advice.

      She found him in the kitchen sitting at the table. “Hey,” she said, shrugging out of her jacket.

      “Hey yourself.” He found her gaze but let it go after only a moment.

      “Evan says you were in Austin? You couldn’t call?”

      “Can you spare me the lecture, Liss? I already know I’m a fuckup, okay?”

      She hung her jacket on the back of a chair, not saying anything, feeling her jaw tighten. Be something else, then, she wanted to say. Please...

      “Look, I know you’re pissed because I missed the meeting with Pederson, but I went by the office and gave Evan the plans, so it’ll be fine now.”

      “God, Tucker, you’re such an idiot! We were already behind schedule out there. We’re losing money hand over fist. Dad got hold of the books—he’s about to have a coronary.”

      “What’s that got to do with me? It’s not like I work there anymore.”

      Lissa closed her eyes and took a breath. The work wasn’t the issue. None of this—the schedule, Dad having the ledger, the fact that Tucker had been fired again—was important. But it was as if in some part of her mind she entertained a fantasy that if she concentrated on something else, she could hold off the calamity she could sense was shaping itself just beyond the periphery of her vision.

      She watched Tucker’s feet dance under the table. He looked rough, as if he hadn’t slept or had a decent meal in any one of the twelve days he’d been gone. Mud rimmed the sole of one tennis shoe, the hem of one leg of his jeans. She noticed a cut beneath his right eye, a tiny, upside-down crescent moon inked in blood.

      She leaned against the counter. “What were you doing in Austin?”

      “Helping out a friend.”

      “What friend?”

      “You don’t know him. Guy’s got a band—he’s looking for a bass guitarist. I might go on the road with them.”

      Lissa kept Tucker’s gaze, and he hung in with her, not letting hers go this time, and she was somehow relieved. Liars couldn’t look you in the eye. She said, “A man with a band, huh? I figured it would be one of your stray-dog friends.”

      “Not this time.”

      Lissa went to the pantry. “Do you want something to eat?”

      “Nah. Thanks. I stopped at Mickey D’s on the way here. I’d take a cup of coffee, though, if it’s no trouble.”

      “Since when do you drink coffee?”

      “Since it got colder than hell outside.” The grin he shot her was surface, a token meant to placate her. It didn’t.

      “You need to call Mom and Dad, Tuck.”

      “I’ll call Mom, but I’ve got nothing to say to the old man.”

      Lissa could have asked him right then why the police were looking for him, but she didn’t. Instead, she rinsed out the carafe while he told her about his Tahoe, that it had died coming back into town and that he’d gotten lucky when a girl pulled off the road to help him.

      “Did you know her?” Lissa asked.

      “I do now,” Tucker answered, cocking an eyebrow. “I spent the night at her place.”

      “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

      “Yeah, but you still love me, right?” His smile now was pure Tucker, full of mischief and his affection for her. Full of so many small teasing moments they’d shared just like this one. Full of all that connected them—family secrets, sibling histories, the ties that bind.

      Lissa would tell people they were close, and in her next breath she would say they had nothing in common. Either way it was true. She’d taught him to read; she’d taught him to tie his shoes and how to color inside the lines. She’d read aloud to him and sung songs with him. “Itsy Bitsy Spider” was his favorite. He’d loved playing the finger game that went with it. At one time he’d even slept with a big, stuffed spider. It had been purple, and he’d named it Itsy. She wondered what had become of it. They’d played endless rounds of Clue and Monopoly on rainy days and shared a love of Bon Jovi and the first Rocky movie. Sometimes she understood Tucker completely; other times he was an enigma, a puzzle to which she was missing a vital piece.

      She turned off the tap. “What happened to your face?”

      He touched his cheek. “This? Cut myself shaving.” His feet danced.

      She looked out the kitchen window. The coffeemaker sighed. She said, “I hate what’s happening, Tuck.”

      “It’s not your fault Pop’s an asshole.”

      He thought she was referring to the fight he’d had with their father, the latest blowout, and she was, but that was only part of it. The cup and saucer she handed him rattled in his big, work-roughened hands. He had strong, narrow wrists and long, tapered fingers that could measure an octave on the piano. Their mother had taught him to play, and he’d been a willing student until he picked up a friend’s guitar one day in high school. He’d played in a couple of bands, and Lissa thought he was good, but she wasn’t an expert. She only knew what she liked, and anyway, she kind of agreed with her dad. It wouldn’t be reliable, earning a living that way.

      Dad had wanted Tucker to play baseball, as if that would be a more stable occupation.

      “The old man told me not to come back.” Tucker blew over the top of his coffee cup. “So now, in addition to being jobless, I’m homeless.”

      “He didn’t mean it. You know how he is. He’s cooled off now. Trust me.”

      “I think I’m going to move in with Morgan, anyway.”

      “Who’s Morgan?” Lissa sat across from him and stirred the sugar substitute from two blue packets into her cup.

      “The girl I met last night. Her dad owns a car dealership. She thinks he’ll hire me.”

      “What about the band? I thought going on the road with them was the plan.”

      “Whichever works out, I guess.”

      Where were you really? Lissa couldn’t bring herself to ask. She was filled with foreboding, heavy with it. She cleared her throat.

      “What?” Tucker gulped his coffee.

      Too fast, she thought, because he grimaced as if he’d burned his mouth. When he asked for a Coke, she brought it to him, along with the Houston Chronicle. She unfolded it.

      He popped the top on his soft drink. “What’s this?”

      “Do you know her?” Lissa sat down.

      “This girl?” Tucker studied the picture. Nothing altered in his expression or in his voice. Lissa started to breathe, and then he said, “It’s Jessica Sweet. Holy shit!” He brought his glance to Lissa’s. “She’s dead?”

      “You knew her.” Lissa’s heart