“Found it,” I announced, waving the napkin so she wouldn’t look too closely at me and see how rattled I was. I darted to the washing machine, which still stood open, and dropped the napkin inside. I closed the lid and started the cycle before rushing back into the kitchen.
“There’s a red wine stain on the rug in the living room,” I lied, approaching Mama at the sink and opening the cabinet at her knees. I grabbed one of Mama’s cleaning cloths, the bottle of vinegar, and the box of baking soda. “I’ll get it.”
I straightened up to see Mama’s worried frown. “A stain?” She grimaced.
I shook my head. “It’s just a tiny one. I noticed it when I was on my knees looking for the napkin.” My steady voice surprised me. I’d lied to Mama before, of course, but I’d never been very good at it. Maybe I was getting better. “You’re almost done in here. I’ve got it.”
Mama watched me for a second, and then her grimace smoothed out into a sly smile. “I see you’re trying to make amends,” she said, raising a brow at me. “I appreciate that, Elise.”
I could only give her a weak smile.
She tilted her chin and arched her brow higher. “Of course, I hope you know you’re still in trouble.”
I nodded rapidly, keenly aware that I’d be in even more trouble if she knew I was lying to her. I was also aware of Cole listening from the other room.
“I know, Mama.”
She nodded. “Okay. Use the vinegar first. And dab. Don’t smear,” she instructed. “And don’t use too much baking soda, but if some won’t come up, I’ll get the vacuum out tomorrow.”
I nodded again. “Yes, ma’am, I know.” I started to retreat toward the dining room.
“Oh, and, Elise, don’t come back through the kitchen. Go out the side door and just bring those things back to the guesthouse with you,” she said. “I don’t want you to walk over my floor.”
This made my job a whole lot easier. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, trying not to smile.
Mama shut off the faucet, her bucket full. “And then get to bed. It’s late,” she told me, lifting the bucket from the sink and setting it on the floor. “We’ll talk about consequences for being late tomorrow.”
I didn’t have to try not to smile anymore. Instead, I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Goodnight, Mama.”
She picked up the mop and set it in her soapy water. “Goodnight, baby.”
Finally, I was able to slip out of the kitchen, and I found Cole right where I’d left him. The look on his face told me he’d listened to every word Mama and I had shared. I guessed it was only fair after what I’d heard. Besides, at least he knew I hadn’t broken my word.
I said nothing but motioned for him to follow me to the living room. There, I stopped by one of the wingback chairs on the area rug. I opened the bottle of vinegar and let a tiny dribble pour onto the rug.
“What are you doing?” Cole hissed.
With the corner of my cloth, I dabbed up the spill, matting down the fibers. “I’m covering my tracks,” I explained before standing and looking at my handiwork. If I knew Mama, she wouldn’t leave for the night until she was sure my wine spill had been properly cleaned. When she came to investigate, she’d easily find the spot I’d cleaned. I felt a little bad about fooling her, but I figured if she really knew what I was up to, she’d understand.
I hoped.
I got to my feet and grabbed Cole’s wrist. “C’mon,” I whispered. I led him back to the foyer. The floors there were gleaming oak planks, and I easily found two sinister drops of blood in the center of the room. I squatted down and wiped up the droplets with a dry corner of my cloth. And then, without a word, I tugged Cole out the side door and around the back of the house.
“Where are we going?” Cole asked, as we skirted the banana plants that edged the Whitehursts’ back patio. I stopped us before we reached the back porch, knowing that if Mama were facing the back yard, she’d see us.
“To the guesthouse so I can get you cleaned up.” Then I pressed a hand on his shoulder to still him. “Stay here until I make sure the coast is clear.”
Cole only nodded, but I noticed he watched me with a look I’d never seen before. I tiptoed into the beam of light off the back porch from the kitchen and saw Mama still mopping, and, as luck would have it, her back was to us.
I faced Cole and beckoned. “C’mon. Hurry,” I hissed, and then we sprinted across the space to the path that led to the guesthouse. I opened the door, dragged him inside, and shut it behind me. I wasted no time ushering him to my room. And then I closed my door. I didn’t lock it. Mama might come in and want to tell me goodnight, but if she stuck her head in and saw the light on under the bathroom door, she’d just call a greeting and head to bed.
“This is your room?” Cole asked, surveying the space, a small crease forming between his brows. I watched his eyes take in all the drawings I’d tacked up around my bed. Some I’d moved from our old house, but the two I’d liked best I’d done since we’d lived here.
That was because Mama had been able to buy me a set of gel pens and a sketchpad with the heavy sheets like they had at school.
“Yeah, it’s my room,” I answered, finally able to give him the you’re-weird look. “Whose else would it be?”
He shot me a half-glare before turning his eyes back to my pictures. When I’d hatched my plan to bring him in here to get him cleaned up, I hadn’t really thought about him seeing my stuff. My drawings usually made me proud, but I didn’t want Cole to spoil any of them for me by saying something ugly.
“Let’s go. We need to hurry,” I said.
But Cole didn’t budge. The crease between his brow deepened. “Why so many crowns?”
Out of the seven drawings on the wall above my bed, four of them were tiaras. I liked drawing tiaras because I could focus on drawing just one thing but make it as detailed as I wanted. The more detailed the better. Scrolls… flourishes… shading. And that was just in the metal part. I loved drawing the gemstones, too. And really, you have to start with those. Or at least I thought so. I had to see the gems in my mind first before I could build the metalwork around them. I could spend hours just on the design with my pencil before I even used any color.
But I wasn’t about to tell Cole Whitehurst any of that.
“My mama’s going to be here any second,” I said, ignoring his question. “Do you want my help or not?”
Cole pulled his gaze away from my drawings and looked down at this stained shirt. Then he met my eyes, his mouth a flat line. “I want your help.”
I could tell by the way he said it that he didn’t like accepting anything from me. Not one bit. But I discovered that being in a position to help him made me feel different. Less small.
“Let’s go into the bathroom.”
I carried my cleaning supplies in, set them on the counter, and closed and locked the door behind him.
“What happens if Flora comes back?” he asked, eyeing me with caution.
“She will come back,” I said with certainty. “That’s why we’re in here, so when we hear her, you need to be quiet.”
I wet one corner of the cloth under the tap of my bathroom sink and rubbed it over the bigger of his two blood stains. I knew enough to know that it would be better to rinse his shirt in cold water first, but I wasn’t about to ask Cole Whitehurst to take off his shirt in my bathroom. Neither one of us needed that embarrassment. So, I’d just have to do my best with what I had.
The stain faded under the pressure of my scrubbing, and I re-wet the cloth a few times to keep at it. Of course, it was still visible, especially around the edges of the stain, but I hoped the baking soda and vinegar would take care of that.
I got to work on the smaller stain the same way, and about halfway through it, I sensed that Cole was watching me. Not watching me remove the stain. But watching me.
I peered up at him from beneath my frowning brows. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Cole blinked, looking as if I’d st
artled him. Then he scowled. “What else am I supposed to look at? We’re in a bathroom.”
I didn’t have an answer for this, so I opened the bottle of vinegar and dabbed a little of onto my cloth. I made sure each stain was soaked through with vinegar before I stepped back and let the strong-smelling liquid do its thing.
“Now for the hard part,” I murmured.
Cole frowned. “What’s that?”
“Waiting.”
Cole blinked again. His mouth might have twitched. I sat on the edge of the tub while he leaned against the counter. I heard him draw in and release a breath. When he spoke, I almost jumped.
“Why are you helping me?”
My shoulders jolted at his question. Looking up at him, I realized I could only meet his eyes for a second.
Why was I helping him?
Cole Whitehurst was no longer the meanest kid I knew. Some girls in my fifth-grade class, like Anna Grace Hillborn, were a lot meaner to me and everyone else than Cole had been. Still, Cole was not a nice person, and we’d never been friends.
But hearing what I’d heard from under the dining table and then seeing the blood on his shirt, the cut on his lip, and the tears in his eyes had made me feel as if I’d swallowed a box of rocks. And knowing that his own daddy had done that to him felt like I’d washed those rocks down with a lead milkshake.
“Do you feel sorry for me?” The words bit, and I looked up into angry eyes.
“No,” I denied. But I did feel bad for him. Was feeling bad that something rotten had happened to someone the same thing as feeling sorry for them? And I didn’t just feel bad for him. No one should be hit that way. Sure, Mama used to spank me when I didn’t mind her, back when I was smaller. (Nowadays, she relied on giving me extra chores or grounding me, and frankly, I would have preferred a quick swat on the legs and the immediate absolution that followed over losing my TV privileges for a week or having my bike taken away.)
But what Mr. Whitehurst had done was nothing like that. He was a grown man — a big man — and he’d used his strength to make his son bleed. That had to be wrong.
And worse than that, I had a feeling in my rock-and-lead-filled gut that the scene I’d witnessed was not a first. If anything, Cole’s asking me if I felt sorry for him was proof of that.
To me, that meant Cole, as much as I did not like him, needed help.
He was still looking at me as if he was waiting for an answer, so I shrugged. “Maybe I’m just a good person.”
Cole’s eyes became slits as though he doubted that. I ignored his sour look and stood to check the stains. The vinegar had made them all but vanish, so I picked up the box of baking soda and tapped some out onto the cloth. I ran a trickle of water from the faucet onto it and made a paste. Then I rubbed the paste into the stains.
Cole kept watching me as though I confused him. I was about tell him to quit staring when I heard the front door shut. My eyes bugged full tilt, and I shot my index finger up to my lips as a sign for Cole to stay quiet. His eyes mirrored mine, and he nodded.
Seconds later, Mama opened my bedroom door, and I pushed past Cole and quickly flushed the toilet.
“Goodnight, Elise!” Mama called over the noise.
To keep up my ruse, I turned on the taps as though I were washing my hands. “‘Night, Mama!” I called back. Then I held my breath and listened for her to close the door. I didn’t think she’d be able to hear us behind two closed doors, so when the soft thud carried through the room, I let out my breath.
And Cole Whitehurst smiled. He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “Does a good person lie to her mother?”
More than anything, I wanted to wad up that wet cloth and throw it in his face. But I didn’t. His lip had stopped bleeding, but it was still an angry-looking cut. Lobbing a rag into his face would probably hurt. And it also wouldn’t help my claim of being a good person.
So instead of responding to his sassy remark, I just went back to work on his shirt. The stain was almost completely gone, and whatever traces remained didn’t look like blood. It could have been from the chocolate cake or the punch. Or even the pork roast.
None of which Cole had eaten, of course.
“You never told me why you didn’t want to be at the party,” I murmured, wiping up the last of the baking soda.
Cole’s breath stilled at my question. I knew this because his chest beneath my working fingers froze. I looked up at him and saw his jaw was locked tight.
“You really want to know?” he asked through clenched teeth.
Fury seemed to make the ice-blue of his eyes even colder. I swallowed. Did I really want to know?
Yes.
I nodded.
“Because it was all fake,” he spat, his lip curling in disgust.
I frowned. “What do you mean?” The party had looked pretty real to me.
Cole shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “My mother didn’t fall down the stairs,” he said, hatred dripping from his voice. “He pushed her.”
Chapter 4
COLE
The look of shock on Elise Cormier’s face was something I wouldn’t forget. Ever.
She was just a kid. Younger than Ava and still in elementary school. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her the truth, but she was living under my father’s roof now, so she probably deserved some warning.
Besides, it felt good to tell somebody. Even a little kid.
And even though she was young, I knew I could trust her not to make a fuss. She hadn’t made a peep about Halloween night years ago when Ava had almost gotten in the car with that creep.
She hadn’t even asked why we couldn’t tell. Elise had just kept her mouth shut.
But now her mouth hung open, her eyes going just as wide. When she finally blinked and lifted her jaw, she hit me with questions.
“Did anyone call the police?”
I had to clamp my jaw shut to keep from telling her that believing in the police was like believing in Santa Claus. Anyone looking into her wide amber eyes would guess she still believed in both and the Easter Bunny too.
“The police came to the emergency room,” I told her, because this was true.
The confusion on her face screwed up tighter. “Well, didn’t your daddy—”
“My father,” I corrected. I hadn’t called him Daddy in years.
Elise flinched a little before starting over. “Didn’t your father get arrested?”
I shook my head because this was the part I didn’t want to admit to her or anybody. Of course, Mom wouldn’t tell them what he’d done. Ava and I had been in bed when it happened. But I hadn’t been asleep. I could never sleep when they were fighting. Afterward — when the ambulance was on its way — I’d had to shake Ava awake and tell her to get dressed.
So, neither of us had seen anything.
And with both of my parents’ eyes on me while my mother awaited X-rays, that was what I’d told the police.
“I was in bed. I didn’t see anything.”
They hadn’t believed me. I could tell by the way the older cop with the short hair and thick glasses had stared at me that they hadn’t. But if everyone said accident, that was what the police wrote down.
“He lied to them,” I said, leaving out that I had lied to them, too. We all had. But Elise Cormier didn’t look satisfied. In fact, she looked angry, but she didn’t ask me any more questions about that.
I looked down at my shirt. The stain had faded to almost nothing. Facing her mirror, I saw my bottom lip had swollen like a grape, a quarter-inch slit marking the flesh. I’d need to ice it tonight. Still, tomorrow, Mr. Shen would ask how it happened, and I would have to tell him — in Chinese — that I got it at karate.
Of course, the mark would still be there Monday when I went to karate, and Sensei Kelly would know I hadn’t earned it on the mat. And even though I hoped she wouldn’t, she’d ask about it too. It was easier to lie to Mr. Shen in a foreign language than it was to Sensei Kelly in my own. I would feel
both of their eyes follow me during my whole lesson on the days I turned up with a stray bruise or scratch on my face, but it was Sensei who would ask more questions. Watch me more closely.
Fencing would be a breeze. Mr. Gerard never asked me personal questions. And maybe I could skip swim practice this weekend.
“It looks bad,” Elise said, peering over my shoulder to stare at my reflection.
I shook my head. “It’s not bad.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You’ve got a fat lip,” she said.
I coughed to keep from laughing. “Yeah, thanks, Elise. I hadn’t noticed.”
She smacked her sopping rag against the counter and glowered at me. “Well, you don’t have to be so sassy. I could have left you with a bloody shirt, remember?”
I rolled my eyes, even though I was grateful. “Thank you,” I said in a baby voice, tossing my head left and right. Mocking her.
Elise crossed her arms over her chest, still scowling. “That’s not a nice way to say thank you, and you know it.”
I shrugged. “I’m not the one who thinks I’m a good person.” I met her scowl with a look of boredom. I was grateful, but now that I knew how to remove my own bloodstains, I wouldn’t need her to do it for me, and I wouldn’t need to see the look of pity in her face. For Christ’s sake, she was a fifth grader! And she was my housekeeper’s kid. I should feel sorry for her, not the other way around.
She shook her head, eyeing me with disgust. “No one thinks you’re a good person, Cole Whitehurst.” Then she turned and flounced out of the bathroom.
She actually flounced, her dark ponytail swishing behind her. I followed her into her room.
“Should I go out the front door?” I whispered. We’d gotten this far without being caught. No need to screw that up now.
Without saying a word, Elise just jabbed a finger at her window.
“Out the window?” I asked, thinking of the barberry bushes that were planted on that side of the guesthouse. They had two-inch thorns.
“Uh, yeah,” she hissed with sarcasm. “Mama’s watching TV in the living room. Can’t you hear?”
Now that she’d mentioned it, I could hear the muted sound of theme music. It sounded like she was watching ER.
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