“I wouldn’t call it a fight.”
“I told his mom they should still come to the party.”
Laurel sighed. “I wish you hadn’t done that. He’s just … it’s always all about him, you know?”
“Interpersonal relationships don’t come naturally to people like him.”
“What do you mean?”
“His autism.”
“No.” Laurel scrunched up her face. “He’s got something different. He gets violent.”
There was a tight coil in Annie’s chest. “What do you mean, violent?”
“I don’t know. He lashes out. What’s the word for someone who doesn’t care about other people’s feelings? You know, the kid that probably tortures kittens for fun?”
Annie blinked. “A sociopath?”
“Some other thing. A disorder. Colin told me once after Abe had a big meltdown.”
“Has he ever hurt you?”
Laurel shrugged. “He’s yelled a few times, and thrown things. He’s big into punishments. When people wrong him.”
“That’s not okay,” Annie said. The casual way Laurel said it made Annie’s stomach turn. “That’s abusive behavior, Laurel. You shouldn’t be anywhere near that.” She turned around to look at the jagged glass that remained in the window frame. “Did he do that?”
Laurel shrugged again. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
The motive is the easy part. It’s the same reason for murder as in ninety-nine percent of mystery novels:
Revenge.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
“The tamales are here, and they’re beautiful!” Janine trilled. “Bienvenidos, Lena! Guys, she rendered her own lard, just like her mother Alma used to do, even with all the work of Laurel’s party.”
“It was nothing,” Lena said. “I have a party planner.”
“The chickpea curry is exquisite,” Harriet said. She dipped a spoon into the bowl on her lap.
“Thank you,” Priya said. “I was worried there was too much ginger.”
“Deb, did your family really make this eighty-proof moonshine?”
“Probably?” Deb shrugged. “But the recipe is from online.”
“So,” Harriet said. “On to the book?”
No one responded.
“Iphigenia?” Harriet repeated. “Anyone?”
“True confession,” Janine said with a guilty glance around the room. “I didn’t finish it. I’m sorry, the end of the year is crazy.”
The rest of them paused for whatever brag was coming next—Katie’s lacrosse or mock trial or even the twins’ basketball—but none came.
“I didn’t read it either,” Lena said.
“You’re excused,” Deb said. “You rendered your own lard. I didn’t read it either.”
“I didn’t even start it,” Jen said. This was a surprise to the women, but given that Jen seemed to have not taken the time to brush her hair, people decided to believe her.
“Did anyone read it?” Priya said. “It was incredible.”
“The best book of the year, I think,” Harriet said.
“Absolutely. The writing was gorgeous.”
“Fill us in,” Deb said.
Priya and Harriet looked at each other helplessly.
“‘Query,’” Harriet read from her notes, “‘whether this Greek Chorus crafts the narrative or just reports it? As a reader, what authority did you give its voice?’”
Blank looks all around.
“Okay, here’s another: ‘What is the difference between vengeance and protection?’ No one? Okay—we could discuss the role of prophecies.”
“Prophecies?”
“You know how the Greek gods hand down prophecies to characters, outlining how they’re going to suffer and die and then the characters turn themselves into all sorts of pretzels to thwart the prophecy but never can. The prophecies just create blind spots?”
“Such interesting discussion topics!” Janine said.
“Yes,” Harriet said with a sigh of disappointment, “it could have been great.”
“Jen,” Deb said, “can’t you give us one of your mini-lectures so we feel less stupid?”
“Are you okay, Jen?” Priya said. “You seem not yourself.”
“Abe’s not doing so well, guys. His school wants to meet tomorrow. I think to kick him out.”
“Nan wouldn’t do that,” Priya said quickly. There were some tiny uncertain nods around the room. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
“I don’t know,” Jen said. “We always seem to find ourselves here.”
“In second grade,” Priya said, “Taylor tripped one of her friends, stuck out her foot because they were in a fight, and the way the girl landed on the pavement, she bit through her lip and needed stitches. I thought Taylor was going to get expelled.”
“Katie got a bad grade on her Latin test,” Janine blurted. “Last week, and she told the teacher that she wanted to die. They’re making her meet with a counselor.”
“A counselor is never a bad idea,” Priya said gently.
“She’s been so angry, too, so resentful all of a sudden,” Janine said. “I don’t even know where it’s coming from, what did I even do, and sometimes I think—”
With an awkward squeak of her chair, she jumped up and hurried out of the room.
“Excuse me,” Deb said, and followed her.
“Way to bring the party, Jen.”
Jen started to laugh; everyone did. “I’m sorry,” she said helplessly.
“Don’t be,” Priya said. “It’s good to discuss this stuff.”
“How did the Taylor situation resolve?”
“Wade golfs with someone on the school board and he called before our meeting, which is kind of unfair, I know, but the point is Taylor didn’t mean to even draw blood. It was bad luck, and a total overreaction on the school’s part. Kids make mistakes.”
“Does anyone by any chance golf with Nan Smalls?” Jen asked. “Or have dirt on her, skeletons from her past?”
She had expected sympathetic laughter but Harriet suddenly became very interested in the state of her cuticles and Lena abruptly got out of her chair, tripped on Harriet Nessel’s bag, and, for a few tortured silent seconds, worked to untangle her feet from its straps. She hurried out of the room, which was silent but for the sound of her footsteps echoing down the hall.
“Another one bites the dust,” Jen said, but no one laughed.
“What?” Jen looked around helplessly. “What did I say?”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Lena had last seen Nan Smalls fifteen years ago, back when she was still Nan Neary.
She and her ex-husband Gary sat together at their son’s funeral, in the front pew of St. Mary’s, so close that Lena could see Nan’s curly hair cascade down Gary’s sleeve.
Lena had read in the local paper about Nan’s wedding to Wesley Smalls six years after that, how the two had met in a grief support group Wes had formed after his own son Danny had drowned at a summer camp, years before Bryce’s death.
The article made their happiness sound like a reward after years of suffering, and it was clear from the quotes of the wedding guests that the couple’s bond was deep and faith-based. Since the accident, Nan had apparently become quite religious.
Gary Neary had moved to Phoenix the year after Bryce was killed. He had established a dental practice in Scottsdale and had remarried—a woman named Margot. A cycling club website had posted a photo of their group, and Gary and Margot were top left, second row, grinning after a metric century.
He looked like a stranger.
They were all different people now.
Nan had cut off all her hair, let it gray completely. Lena guessed that she wouldn’t have recognized her if they had bumped into each other on the street, although Lena had taken care through the years to avoid that very scenario.
Lena had sat down several times to write sympathy notes to the Nearys, but all her drafts were stale with platitudes.
Your tragedy, our tragedy, thinking of you, every parent’s worst nightmare.
The Nearys probably preferred to not hear from Lena anyway, because while there might have been the spark of something between Lena and Gary, in the end it came down to what was between Lena and Bryce, how she had knelt over his lifeless body in the blood-soaked grama grass, with one urgent thought that drowned out all else:
Quick, Lena, hide the body so no one finds out. There’s still time.
JUNE
Please join us in a Neighborhood Celebration for Laurel Perley’s graduation.
June 1st at 6 p.m.
5112 Cottonwood Lane
Festive attire
No presents please
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The meteorologists were falling over themselves in excitement about last night’s freak snowstorm. An inch had fallen between midnight and sunrise, the most in June since 1963, and no one could believe it.
When they started to play that song about snow in June for the third time, Jen switched off the car radio and sat in silence. Main Street was dark and gray and sloshy and as deserted as she’d ever seen it. The leaves of the Tatarian maples that lined the sidewalks drooped under the frost.
She might be excited about the snow, too, Jen supposed, if she weren’t waiting for Nan.
Poor Nan.
Jen hadn’t been able to apologize enough for bringing up Nan at book club. She hadn’t known; she had thought Nan’s son drowned.
Danny Smalls was Wes’s son from his first marriage, Priya explained. Wes and Nan had met afterward, in a grief support meeting.
The other women had told Jen the whole story—how Nan’s first husband, the one who hated gummy candy, was a man named Gary Neary, a local dentist who had moved into Cottonwood after the divorce, how Nan had, before Bryce died, been a bit of a hippie.
When Lena finally emerged from the bathroom, her mascara wilted, Jen apologized some more. And then Lena apologized for making a scene. And Jen apologized again for turning the final book club meeting into apology poker.
Nan Neary seemed like a lovely person, Lena said, and she was sure that Nan would be fair to Abe. When she wished Jen luck for tomorrow, Jen stammered that it really wasn’t important and again, she was sorry.
For a few awkward minutes, no one really knew what to say, until finally Deb Gallegos checked her watch and said, “Can we wrap this up, guys, because the stripper will be here in five minutes.”
It didn’t really make sense, and was more exploitative than funny, if Jen thought about it too hard, but it was an excuse to laugh. When they all filed out, exhausted, they felt a little closer for having burrowed through.
Long live Multi-Culti Night.
As tragic as Nan’s story was, Jen needed to focus on Abe, and whatever he had done, what had he done?
Colin didn’t know, although Jen had not been able to stop asking him. She could feel him getting annoyed at the frequency of her texts. His responses were further apart and increasingly terse. I didn’t see anything. I don’t know. IDK.
Nan probably hadn’t even told Colin anyway because she knew how close he was with the Paganos.
But, no, the Kingdom School was so tiny, Colin had to know if Abe had done something bad enough for Nan to take notice.
Jen felt a flash of anger at Abe. Everything had been going so well, and he’d ruined it. She’d done everything she could think of, and it still wasn’t enough.
Maybe he was beyond help.
Whenever she sat still for a minute, Jen could feel deep in the marrow of her bones one terrifying cell of hatred toward him. Small but powerful, it could probably spread like a cancer.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Annie left the house on graduation day for her early-morning walk in snow boots, down jacket zipped up to her chin.
She was almost at her mailbox when she saw the small blue sedan idled on the side of the road. Annie crossed the street and rapped on the window.
Colin looked up from typing on his phone, smiled, rolled down the window.
“Hi Mrs. Perley.” He shivered. “I’m just on my way to the Paganos’. Everyone’s so excited for the party, but can you believe this weather? Snow in June?”
Annie glanced back at her house, still and dark. “Laurel mentioned that Abe has some sort of diagnosis.”
“I can’t say anything,” Colin said. He pushed his hair over his ears. “I really can’t.”
“I disagree, Colin.” Annie employed her strictest teacher voice.
Colin looked at her with pleading eyes. He lifted his shirtsleeve to his mouth and started chewing on the cuff.
“You may feel that you have an obligation to the Paganos,” Annie pressed, “but you also have one to Laurel. I’m an educator, Colin. Same as you.”
Colin’s struggle was so transparent that Annie could see the exact moment when decency won. His shoulders sagged and the words tumbled out in a mumble.
“Abe has conduct disorder.”
“What?”
“He’s doing really well, though, so much better than at his last school and he hasn’t hurt anyone. Objects, but not people—”
“He hurt someone?”
“He was friends with this girl Harper, and he stabbed her.”
“He stabbed a child?”
“In art class. She wasn’t seriously hurt.”
“The way Laurel was talking about him last night, it sounded like an abusive relationship.”
“No,” Colin said. “Absolutely not. He’s never hurt Laurel and he never would. I’m there with them all the time.”
“All the time?”
He shifted again. No. Not always.
“But this is unreal. Jen has known this the entire time, and she hired you, presumably to monitor him, and she hasn’t said one word?”
“You’re getting the wrong idea, Mrs. Perley. Abe’s not a bad kid. He’s just a little more sensitive than the rest of us, and has very high standards—”
“I don’t give a crap about his high standards,” Annie said in a spit. “Might he have, for example, gotten mad at Laurel and thrown a rock through our window as punishment? Is that the type of thing someone with conduct disorder might do?”
Colin was silent for a such a long, tortured minute that his slight nod felt redundant.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
“I still can’t believe it. An inch of snow,” Lena said to Rachel. “Should I put you on video, so you can see? I’m in the yard now, and listen to it crunch under my feet.”
“Wow.”
“Thankfully, the party planner insisted on a tent.”
“Smart,” Rachel agreed.
“She’s been worth every penny. Oops, I found more trash.”
Lena bent down toward the glint of silver. Another protein-bar wrapper, the fourth one this month. Someone on Rudy’s staff. Lena suspected the new guy with all the muscles. He went shirtless at every possible opportunity, no matter the weather.
“What do you think would have happened?” Rachel said.
“If we didn’t have the tent?” Lena straightened up. “It probably would have been fine. The roads are clear and the sun will melt everything.”
“Not the tent.” Rachel spoke in a whisper. “Seeing Annie Perley has dragged it all up. I couldn’t sleep last night. We should’ve told the truth. Like I wanted to.”
Lena crumpled the wrapper in her fist. A bitter taste rose in the back of her throat. “Nothing good would have happened.”
“What about what’s right?”
“Honey, Tim Meeker was a crappy father and a horrible husband,” Lena whispered. “In his final moments, your father helped us. That’s what’s right.”
Lena swallowed, hard, and stared out over the neighborhood. A jogger bobbed up the road, stopped at Lena’s driveway, put her hands on her knees.
“I’ll call you back,” Lena said, her voice dry. “Laurel’s here.”
Laurel hadn’t seen Lena’s wave. She reached into the poc
ket of her running tights and slipped out her phone.
“Laurel!” Lena shouted, and Laurel spun around quickly and dropped the phone on the road. She bent to pick it up.
“Is it broken?” Lena said.
“No.” Laurel held up the phone. “It’s all right.”
“Well.” Lena turned in a slow circle, arms extended. “What do you think? Do you want to come inside the tent to see? Oh dear.” Another wrapper lay on the ground by the gate. This was getting ridiculous. She was going to have to say something to Rudy.
She straightened up and turned all the way around again, but Laurel was gone, vanished so quickly it was like she’d never been there.
“That was odd,” Lena said aloud to the empty yard.
She’d check in with Annie after graduation. Lena considered herself an expert on dirty secrets, and Laurel Perley sure looked like a girl who was keeping one.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Jen watched Nan walk slowly down Main Street in a puffy black parka that emphasized the stoop of her shoulders.
Jen pushed her own shoulders down and back against the driver’s seat. She couldn’t stop trying to picture Nan at her age, Indian print top, long flowing hair, saying goodbye to her son, taking for granted that she would see him tomorrow.
Then that middle-of-the-night phone call, blowing up Nan’s whole life.
Jen was already tearing up. She should go inside, hands raised in surrender. Don’t worry, I completely understand. Not a good fit.
What if I start to cry during the meeting, she had asked Paul in a panicked phone call.
You won’t, he said, you’re a fighter.
There was a lot wrong with his statement, but she was too overwhelmed to pick it apart. Because she was not a fighter, or at least she did not want to be one anymore.
Nan walked gingerly up the steps to the coffee shop, hand gripped onto the railing. Jen waited until she was inside before stepping out of the car.
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