The Best of Friends
Page 1
PRAISE FOR LUCINDA BERRY
THE BEST OF FRIENDS
“The Best of Friends gripped me from the stunning opening to the emotional, explosive ending. In this moving novel, Berry creates a beautifully crafted study of secrets and grief among a tight-knit group of friends and how far a mother will go to discover the truth and protect her children.”
—Heather Gudenkauf, New York Times bestselling author of The Weight of Silence and This Is How I Lied
“In The Best of Friends, Berry starts with a heart-stopping bang—the dreaded middle-of-the-night phone call—then delivers a dark and gritty tale that unfolds twist by devastating twist. Intense, terrifying, and at times utterly heartbreaking. Absolutely unputdownable.”
—Kimberly Belle, international bestselling author of Dear Wife and Stranger in the Lake
THE PERFECT CHILD
“I am a compulsive reader of literary novels—but this has been a terrible year for fiction that is actually readable and not experimental. I have been so disappointed when well-known writers came out with books that, to me, were just duds. But there was one book that kept me reading, the sort of novel I can’t put down . . . The Perfect Child by Lucinda Berry. It speaks to the fear of every parent: What if your child is a psychopath? This novel takes it a step farther. A couple, desperate for a child, has the chance to adopt a beautiful little girl who, they are told, has been abused. They’re told it might take a while for her to learn to behave and trust people. She can be sweet and loving, and in public she is adorable. But in private—well, I won’t give away what happens. But needless to say, it’s chilling.”
—Gina Kolata, New York Times
“A mesmerizing, unbearably tense thriller that will have you looking over your shoulder and sleeping with one eye open. This creepy, serpentine tale explores the darkest corners of parenthood and the profoundly unsettling lengths one will go to to keep a family together—no matter the consequences. Electrifying and atmospheric, this dark gem of a novel is one I couldn’t put down.”
—Heather Gudenkauf, New York Times bestselling author
“A deep, dark, and dangerously addictive read. All-absorbing to the very end!”
—Minka Kent, Washington Post bestselling author
ALSO BY LUCINDA BERRY
When She Returned
The Perfect Child
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by Heather Berry
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542022149
ISBN-10: 1542022142
Cover design by Rex Bonomelli
To domestic violence survivors
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SEVEN
FIFTY-EIGHT
FIFTY-NINE
SIXTY
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
A loud boom startles me, and I turn to my husband, Paul, instantly annoyed. “Does the Village have fireworks again tonight?” We just started the latest Succession episode, and I have to pay close attention, or I’m lost. I can’t do that if fireworks are popping off for the next thirty minutes.
He shrugs, brushing his brown hair off his forehead and tucking it behind his ears. “I don’t think so. I thought they were done after spring break.”
The Village is the outdoor mall at the center of our close-knit suburban community, and they’re constantly throwing events in their outdoor space. Most of them end in fireworks.
“I really hope they’re not.” I’ve been looking forward to this night all week. Even though Paul and I work together, it’s been almost three weeks since we’ve had any alone time. A surge of desire passes through me. It’s hard to believe I can still be attracted to him after more than twenty years together, but he’s sexier now than he was when we were in high school.
“It’s—” Another blast shatters the air, cutting him off.
“That one really sounded like a gun.” Fear crawls up my spine. My mouth is instantly dry. I move to stand, and Paul jerks me back to the couch. “It was a gun, wasn’t it?”
He shakes his head. “I’m sure it wasn’t, but just chill out and wait a second before you start running all over the house like a crazy person.”
“Should we get Reese?” I motion upstairs. We banished our youngest son, Reese, to his room for the night, and Sawyer’s sleeping over at his best friend Caleb’s house.
“No, he’s fine. He probably didn’t hear a thing with his headphones on, so I doubt he’s even worried.” He throws his arm over my shoulder. “This is why we need to stay off social media. Reading all that garbage makes us too jumpy.” He waits a few beats before pressing play on the remote and pulling me back against him on the couch. We’re halfway through the show recap when we hear the sound of approaching sirens.
This time we both fly to our feet.
“Reese!” Paul yells. “Get down here!”
No response.
“I’m going to get him,” Paul says as he turns around and thunders up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Red and blue lights flash through our living room windows. The emergency vehicles turn left. Headed to the street behind us.
The street behind us.
Sawyer.
I race to the dining room table, grab my phone, and quickly pull up his number from my favorites. I wait for the ring, but his phone goes straight to voice mail. I call back.
Same thing.
Reese’s and Paul’s footsteps echo above me. Their muffled voices move through the house as I wait for his message to end so I can leave mine. “Sawyer, honey, this is your mom. I hope one of you boys heard those noises outs
ide. We think they were gunshots, and now there’s lots of emergency vehicles headed your way. So be safe. Okay? Just be safe. Please, honey. And call me.”
I press end just as more sirens approach and Paul returns with Reese. His eyes are wild, and his video game headset dangles from his neck. “I’m going over there to check on them,” I say, moving past them.
“Going where? What are you talking about?” Paul asks.
“Sawyer isn’t answering his phone, and all the police are going toward Caleb’s street,” I say, slipping my shoes on and then opening the front door. “I just want to make sure they’re okay.”
“You can’t go out there!” Paul yells.
“What if there’s a crazy shooter?” Reese asks at the same time.
I ignore them and step outside before shutting the door tightly behind me. Three police cars race down the street and make a left at the corner just like all the others. I take off running. People are coming out of their houses, milling down the street while I sprint past them.
Dear God, please don’t let anything happen to my baby.
Around the corner. Almost there. My lungs burn.
Please, God.
Emergency vehicles surround Caleb’s house. They’re everywhere. The entire block is lit. I run as fast as I can, pushing through the throngs of people gathered outside until I’m almost to their front yard.
“Ma’am, you can’t come any closer,” a police officer calls out.
“My son!” I point to the Schultzes’ house as officers with SWAT printed on their backs roll out the yellow tape to surround it. “My son is inside!” I move around him, but he steps in front of me, stretching his arms out wide on each side to form a barricade with his body.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you pass through.” His face is grim, set in stone.
“Please, he’s in that house.”
He shakes his head. “You’re going to have to wait and speak with my supervisor.”
I can’t wait. There’s no time. Adrenaline shoots through me. I turn and bolt, running in the opposite direction.
The back way. I’ll go around. Cut through the Hammonds’.
Please, God, let my baby be okay.
Two squad cars block the Hammonds’ driveway. I creep behind the sand palms and alongside the shrubs until I reach the porch, feeling like a fugitive. I race up the stairs and rap on the door. Eloise opens it immediately, her dark robe tightened around her waist.
“Kendra?” She raises her eyebrows. “What are you doing out there?”
“El, please, you have to let me go through your house and into your backyard,” I say breathlessly as my heart thumps in my chest.
Her face fills with fear. “You can’t go in our backyard. The police said to stay inside and not do anything. We’re supposed to lock our doors and wait for further instructions.”
“Sawyer is over there.” Desperation lines every word. “He stayed overnight at Caleb’s.”
Her hand goes to her mouth. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Kendra.”
“That’s why I need to get over there.”
“You can’t. It’s too dangerous.” She shakes her head.
“I have to.” I shove her against the doorframe and push past her. Someone grabs me from behind. Muscular arms encircle me.
“I can’t let you do that.” A deep, gruff voice. The same officer as before.
“Please, my son. I have to see my son.” I writhe in his arms. Tears stream down my cheeks. Snot bubbles from my nose.
His walkie-talkie springs to life.
“Coroner on-site in five. Perimeter sealed,” it crackles.
Please, God, let my baby be okay.
ONE
LINDSEY
TWO WEEKS LATER
I slam the trash compactor shut and toss my plate in the sink. I’m too angry to eat. My phone rests on the granite countertop, where I left it after getting Dani’s text. The screen has long since gone dark—too much time to reply—but what was I supposed to say? We agreed no lawyers. That was part of the plan.
It has only been a day since the funeral. How could she? But it’s probably easier for her to worry about lawyers and things like that when her son, Caleb, is safely tucked in his bed at home tonight, unharmed.
The dog’s nails dig into my calf. “Get off me,” I snap, and he recoils like I’ve slapped him, tucking his tail between his legs and cowering next to my feet. “Go!” I point to the living room. His ears droop as he slinks underneath the kitchen table to hide. I try summoning up guilt, but I’m too tired. I should’ve just stayed at the hospital with Jacob, but my husband, Andrew, said that it was important for me to spend time with our other kids.
I glance into the living room, our open concept creating a perfect flow from one room to the next. Wyatt is lying on our L-shaped sectional watching soccer on the flat-screen TV hanging above the fireplace. He lit the fire even though it’s April in California, like somehow the heat will insulate us against what’s happening around us. He’s focused on the game, oblivious to the mess his younger sister, Sutton, is making with her coloring books and crayons in the middle of the floor. She’s probably scribbling on the rug underneath the coffee table with the red one whenever she gets the chance. It’s her favorite thing to do when I’m not looking. I let out an exasperated sigh. She’s got more attitude than her two teenage brothers combined, and I can’t fight with her tonight.
Normally, Jacob would be in there with them, riveted to the game like Wyatt or sprawled out on the floor next to Sutton, but he’s not. His nurses should be preparing for shift change right about now, and I hope the new one remembers to put Aquaphor on his lips. They’re cracked and bleeding, creating angry sores around his breathing tube. A wave of sadness buckles my knees, and I lean against the kitchen counter for support until it passes.
Andrew is going to be furious when I tell him the Schultzes got a lawyer, even though he’s going to pretend like he’s not. He wanted to speak to a lawyer before we talked to anyone that night, but I wouldn’t let him. Sawyer’s death was a terrible accident. Just like what happened to Jacob. Our boys were screwing around. Being drunk and stupid with a gun. That’s all. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. It wouldn’t look like an accident if we started getting lawyers—only suspicious. I grab my phone to text Kendra. She’s been my first call since I was eight. My finger stops midway. None of this matters to her.
Her son is gone—ripped away from her in an instant. But all I could think about when the pair of uniformed officers showed up at our door in the middle of the night to tell us about the tragedy was my own son. Their words came in flits and phrases like liquid moving in and out of me while panic hammered in my chest.
An accident with the three boys.
The hospital.
One of the boys had died.
But not Jacob.
He was alive, and time moved in slow motion as we drove to the hospital. All I wanted to do was throw my arms around him and never let go. Andrew rambled on and on about how we needed Jacob to tell us exactly what had happened before talking to anyone else, but all that changed when we got to the hospital and saw him. The officers had told us he’d been shot in the head and was unresponsive, but that did nothing to prepare us for his condition.
He lay in a curtained cubicle underneath the harsh lights of the intensive care unit. Unfamiliar beeps and buzzes surrounded us as machines kept him alive. His entire head was wrapped in thick bandages, his eyes swollen shut like they had been the day he was born. Tubes moved in and out of his body. Blood filled one of the lines. The air was pregnant with stillness despite the frenetic activity going on around us.
Andrew came to a sudden stop behind me, unable to go any farther. A nurse punched numbers into one of the monitors hanging above Jacob’s hospital bed. I shuffled forward. “Can I touch him?” I asked in a voice that didn’t sound like mine.
“Of course.” She nodded, pointing to his left arm. “That one’s free of wires and gear.”
But Andrew is right. Wyatt and Sutton need me just as much as he does. I move my neck from side to side, trying to ease some of the tension pinching my shoulders, but it only makes it worse. Maybe the kids will fall asleep fast if I put on a movie. I’d better let Andrew know about the lawyer before joining them. He won’t like it if he hears the news from someone else before me. I grab my phone and quickly text him:
You’re not going to believe what’s happening now.
TWO
DANI
I inhale the lavender-scented candles and let the bubbles spread over me, doing my best to allow the familiar ritual to relax me, but it’s impossible. I’m tied in knots. It’s been that way since the knock on the door in the middle of the night. I can’t eat. I don’t sleep. I’m barely keeping it together in front of the kids. But that’s not even the worst part. It’s the guilt gnawing away at me, because no matter how awful I feel, it doesn’t compare to what Kendra’s going through.
Lindsey’s rage fills our newly remodeled master bathroom from over two miles away. Kendra is on the cul-de-sac behind us, but Lindsey refused to move when everyone else did. She said she didn’t need to trade in what she had for a better model to make it sound like it wasn’t about being cheap, but we know her better than that. Not like the distance matters tonight. She might as well be sitting on the toilet, glaring down at me in the tub.
What was I supposed to do? It’s not like I had a choice in the matter. Bryan didn’t even consult me. How many times have Lindsey and Kendra told me that I need to have a voice in my marriage? I’m as mad at him as she is with me. Couldn’t he at least have given me a say in something as important as this? He sprang it on me like it was nothing.