He may have smiled at her, but behind the smile had been an agenda. If Polly had learned anything in five marriages, and many more relationships besides, she’d learned what a man looked like when he was trying to hide something. She closed her eyes and steeled herself to listen to whatever voicemail her husband had left her. Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow she would call a lawyer. Tomorrow she would figure out what to do with the cash she’d hidden. It wasn’t safe to leave it here, at a possible crime scene. That detective had warned her the first time they had talked that they could search again at any time.
Calvin’s voice blared in the quiet room, and she grabbed for her phone to turn him down so Violet wouldn’t hear, though the girl was all the way upstairs, in her room, behind closed doors, where she stayed pretty much all the time, always saying she had to study. But no one needed to study that much. Tomorrow she needed to figure out that situation, too.
Polly reached down and touched her toes ten times, something she did whenever she needed to release stress, then rewound the message to start it over. “Sugar,” said Calvin, using the pet name he’d employed to charm her when they first began dating. For a moment the term of endearment filled her with hope, but the word was just like that fake smile on that cop’s lips.
“It’s your husband. I’ve just been over to the bank and spoken with a Mr. Dwight Richards, who says he has no idea what could’ve happened to my wife or our money. He suggested that I call you and straighten out our little domestic dispute. So that’s what I intend to do.” There was a pause, and in that pause she felt the violence that lay inside Calvin, coiled like a snake, so it shouldn’t have surprised her when he hissed the next sentence. “I’m going to straighten this out however I have to.” Then the line went dead.
She looked around, fear gripping her as she scanned her surroundings, as if she were going to find Calvin there, peering in the window, figuring out a way inside. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that Calvin didn’t know where she was. He didn’t even know she had a daughter, wouldn’t possibly link the news about the suburban madam’s arrest to Polly’s disappearing act. And she’d turned off the tracking on her phone before she’d even backed out of their driveway. So he’d never find her that way. She stood still and kept on taking deep breaths, telling herself it would all be OK. When Barney came slinking into the room, looking for solace, looking for forgiveness for his escape, she offered it willingly. Not because he deserved it, but because she needed to offer it. She needed to bury her face in his warmth and give absolution, hoping that in giving it, she’d somehow receive it, too.
Violet
When she took Barney outside again, it was on the leash. She gave him the evil eye before they ventured out into the yard, and he cowered appropriately. She took that to mean he’d learned his lesson. He did his usual sniffing and walking, and she let him lead the way, allowing the leash to slacken more and more with each step until he was walking far ahead of her and she was barely holding on.
Instead of watching the dog, she was keeping her eye on Micah’s house, thinking of that mortifying exchange earlier, hearing Polly go on and on about how they must know each other. Like they were friends or something. She would never admit to Polly that she’d had more conversations with Micah Berg in the past two weeks than she’d ever had in her life. She wondered if Micah had guessed that the man in his yard that afternoon had been a cop. She’d bet that Micah felt about cops the way she did right now. At the very least, they had that in common.
Movement across the street caught her eye and, though she didn’t want to, she felt the little zing of excitement that coursed through her body whenever Micah was near. She’d felt it earlier that afternoon when he’d been standing right in front of her, hoping that it wasn’t the kind of thing you could give off, like pheromones or anxiety. Was attraction obvious to other people? Could they feel it in the air? She watched him walk out of his garage, grab the basketball, and dribble it, the sound of ball on asphalt its own kind of siren call. She smiled to herself, let herself imagine walking across the street, stealing the ball, and magically sinking a shot before he even realized what was happening. He would say, Hey, who taught you how to play like that?
And she would say, I learned from watching you. And then he would look at her; he would finally feel the chemistry she felt, and he would realize after all this time, that the girl from across the street was the one for him. And he would reach for her and . . .
By the time Barney tugged the leash out of her loose grasp, he was already in the road. Thankfully there were no cars coming, so he was able to scoot the rest of the way across and lope into Micah’s front yard with the leash dragging uselessly behind. She gave chase, hollering “Barney!” as loud as she could, giving far too little thought to what she looked like as she did so. She would think about that only later, when she was tucked in bed and remembering it all, dying a little inside at the recall.
Chipper, for his part, realized what was happening before Micah did and trotted over to greet his new pal, wearing what could only be described as a doggie grin. The two practically embraced in the same area that Casey and Violet had ducked into two weeks before. Violet couldn’t believe that had been so recent. It felt like a whole lifetime ago. That had been before she went to her dad’s. That had been before she’d met Polly. Hell, before she’d even considered Polly’s existence. At the thought of Polly, she glanced over her shoulder to see if her grandmother had seen what happened. There was no sign of her yet. She hoped she had time to retrieve Barney and get back to the yard like nothing had happened.
She reached down into the pine straw to grab the leash handle. She fussed at Barney like she’d seen her grandmother do, but he didn’t seem to hear her. He was having too much fun tussling with Chipper. “Barney, come on!” she said in her most authoritative voice. And, though it did nothing to dissuade the dog from playing, it got Micah’s attention. He caught the basketball on the rebound and pulled it to his chest as he assessed the situation. When he began walking toward them, she closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to be cool, to say the right words, to be anyone but her actual self.
“Got yourself a runaway, huh?” he asked, and grinned. He didn’t have on a baseball cap at all this time, but she could see the ring around his head where the hat had been.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I was letting him explore a bit, not paying close enough attention, and he just took off. Yanked the leash right out of my hand.” Standing this close to Micah, she recalled what she’d been thinking about when Barney had made his getaway. She felt her cheeks grow warm. She hoped that in the dusk it would be hard for him to tell she was blushing. “It’ll never happen again.” She tugged on Barney’s leash to no avail. The dog was strong in his stubbornness.
“It’s no problem,” Micah said, looking unconcerned. They stood in silence for a moment, watching the two dogs play. Micah spoke up. “Mind if I take his leash off? He’s going to get tangled up in it. I don’t think he’ll go anywhere if he’s got Chipper here.”
Violet glanced over her shoulder again, checking to make sure Polly wasn’t standing in the front yard looking pissed. But Polly wasn’t there at all. She’d seemed preoccupied at dinner, and Violet had wondered if she’d already grown tired of being stuck there with her granddaughter. Violet wouldn’t blame her if she left. It wasn’t like they’d instantly bonded, with all the lost years falling away the moment they laid eyes on each other. It was more like they were very polite roommates who’d been randomly paired online. Though Polly had every right to leave, and no real obligation to her long-lost grandchild, Violet couldn’t help but wonder: Who would stay with her if Polly left?
“I guess that’s fine,” she said to Micah. He reached down and unhooked Barney’s leash from his collar as Barney played on, oblivious to the fact that he was no longer tethered to anything. He was free if he wanted to be. Sometimes you didn’t need a leash to keep you in place, Violet thought. Sometimes you ju
st chose to stay.
“So,” Micah said to break the silence, “he’s your grandmother’s dog?”
“Yeah,” she said, thinking that this wasn’t the way she had imagined someday having an actual conversation with Micah Berg.
“How long have they been here?”
“Coupla days.”
“She seems like a pretty nice lady,” he said. “Kinda young. For a grandmother.”
“I think she was pretty young when she had my mom.” She blanched internally at the mention of her mother. She wondered what he’d heard about Norah, wondered what he thought.
“You think she was?” he asked. “You don’t know?”
“We haven’t really talked about it,” she said. How to explain to this boy that she and her grandmother hadn’t really talked at all in her whole life?
He nodded. “Yeah, I guess it’s not something that would come up.” He chuckled. “So, Grandma, how old were you when you had my mother? Twelve?” He started to laugh, then looked at her, alarmed. “Sorry if that was offensive. I didn’t mean it to be.”
She held up her hand. “Not at all.” She chuckled, too. “It’s the truth.”
His eyes grew wide. “You think she was twelve?”
She laughed. “No! I mean it’s the truth that it’s not something I would outright ask her.”
He nodded, spinning the basketball around in his hands. She wondered whether it was because he was bored or nervous. It had to be boredom. There was no way he could be nervous around her of all people. Of course, after months of exile, he was out of practice socially.
“You can go back to basketball,” she offered. “I can just let them play for a few more minutes, and then I’ll take Barney back home.”
He shrugged. “Nah, I’ll just hang here if you don’t mind. I can play basketball anytime. We don’t often have company.” He looked away, realizing the admission in what he’d said, then added, “Not lately, that is.”
She wanted to say that she was sorry about Olivia, about what had happened that night, and all that had come after. She wanted to say something that would make the awkwardness less awkward, or just lighten the mood. She wanted to tell him what she’d overheard that night, ask him why he’d never told anyone that part. But instead she just stood there, mute, the whole of her knowledge closed up inside her. Her mother wasn’t the only one who could hold on to a secret. If Violet hadn’t inherited her beauty or her coolness, at least she had inherited that.
“Besides, I like seeing Chipper this happy,” he added, and she was grateful that he did what she could not do, steering the conversation away from maudlin and back to upbeat with seven words. So he hadn’t lost his social mojo after all.
“I think Barney was lonely,” she said.
He glanced over at her as she said it, and she feared he thought she was insinuating something else, something not about the dog. She hadn’t been, but how to clarify that without naming the things that sat between them, the things that had rendered them both lonely: his shame, and hers. They had that in common, too.
“I mean maybe he had a dog buddy back at my grandmother’s house,” she hurried to add. “Maybe he’s missing him.”
“Or her,” Micah said. “It could’ve been a her.” This time it was her turn to glance over at him, to wonder if his words had been some sort of hint. He gave her a playful grin, and for a moment he looked like the old Micah, the one she knew only from afar but loved just the same. Though that Micah had never deigned to speak to her, and this one—the broken version—was choosing to keep the conversation going when he’d had every opportunity to go back to playing basketball. Her brain told her not to take this to mean anything, but her heart took it anyway, seizing upon it and holding it close.
“Yes,” she managed to say, feeling momentarily brave. “It could’ve been a her.”
“Lonely no more,” Micah said, his voice so low she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.
She was about to ask him what he’d said when she heard Polly call her name from across the street. In response, Barney stopped playing with Chipper and turned his head toward his master’s voice. Quickly, before he could decide to bolt over to Polly, Violet rushed over, grabbed his collar, and snapped the leash onto it. She stood up and faced Micah. “Guess I better go,” she said.
“Wanna bring him back over tomorrow?” Micah asked, and she heard the note of hope in his voice. This was nothing; she understood that. And yet, nothing could become something with time. She understood that, too. Once, that big-ass pumpkin on their porch was just a tiny seed.
“Sure,” she said. “I’m sure Barney would like that.”
He grinned and held up the basketball. “I’ll be here.”
She laughed and turned to go back home, to where her grandmother was waiting in the yard. Barney strained against the leash and the sound of the basketball bouncing resumed, and, away from Micah’s gaze, Violet let a smile fill her face.
Hours later, loud, angry voices woke her. She swam to the surface of consciousness and, groggy and confused, blinked in the darkness, trying to discern where—and whom—the voices were coming from. She sat up and listened harder. For a moment hope flickered inside her. Had her mother returned home? Disappointment quickly replaced hope when she realized it was only male voices speaking. It wasn’t her mother, and it wasn’t Polly. The angry tones continued, coming, she determined, through her open window.
She reached for her nightstand to get her glasses, slipped from bed, and moved silently across the room to where the breeze was making her sheer curtains dance. She’d fallen asleep watching them earlier, recalling Micah’s invitation to return with Barney the next day, rehearsing things she might say to him. She glanced back over her shoulder to check the time on her bedside clock: 12:37 a.m. It was the next day.
She hunched down to get a better view out the window, angling herself so no one could look up and see her face framed there, watching like a creeper. She observed two figures standing in Micah’s front yard, close to the street. The nearby streetlight provided enough light that she could clearly see them both. One of the figures was Micah. The other was Olivia Ames’s brother, Devin, who was supposed to have graduated with Casey Strickland but didn’t because he had stopped going to class after his sister died. Violet realized she hadn’t seen him at school this year and wondered if he’d just completely dropped out. That would be a shame, she thought. Another casualty of that night.
Violet watched as Devin attempted to stand still yet swayed like a tree in the wind. Micah reached out to steady him, a reflex. “Don’t you fucking touch me!” Devin yelled and, as Violet watched, threw a sloppy punch that, thanks to the element of surprise, managed to connect with Micah’s jaw—though Violet could see he’d intended to punch Micah right in the nose.
Micah staggered back, holding his jaw. “You need to go home, Devin,” he said, and as he turned to walk away, Devin tackled him from behind, felling him with ease. Violet winced at the hard thud of his body hitting the ground. Before she knew it, she was running out of her room, down the stairs, and jabbing the alarm code into the security system so she could get out her front door, thinking as she ran about déjà vu and how much this night was like the night Olivia died—the temperature, the time, the breeze—one in fall and one in spring, yet so similar. But in the spring, she hadn’t run out to Micah’s front yard. She hadn’t intervened. And she’d always regretted it.
This much she knew for certain: Olivia Ames would be alive if she had intervened. Devin Ames would’ve graduated as planned and been off at college, not facing off with Micah, drunk and confrontational, there to blame him for what had happened, ready to demand a pound of flesh in restitution. But Devin should blame Violet, too, for being too scared to admit she’d been spying on the party that night, the wallflower never asked to dance, the pitiful Cinderella not invited to the ball. And in her silence, her desire not to be exposed, she’d inadvertently allowed what had happened to happen.
&n
bsp; By the time she arrived, Devin and Micah looked like a rolling log of a human, arms flailing and feet kicking cartoonishly. She shrieked, “Stop it!” and scanned the house, expecting lights to go on, for Micah’s parents to run out and help. But the house stayed quiet and dark, not even Chipper barked from inside. The boys continued to roll, cussing and spitting. In desperation, she reached out and grabbed someone’s shoulder—she didn’t care whose—and yanked at it roughly.
Interrupted, the owner of the shoulder looked over with puzzled indignation. Devin Ames blinked at her, and, in the pause, Micah skittered out from under him. Once again two people, they each lay still on the ground like casualties on a battlefield, heaving in unison as they both stared at her like they’d seen a ghost.
“You woke me up,” she said, attempting to explain her presence there, but it came out sounding like an accusation. She wondered what she must look like to them: Violet Ramsey, the madam’s daughter, wearing an old tennis-camp T-shirt and cutoff sweatpants and her glasses instead of the contact lenses she usually wore. She wished she’d just stayed in bed, because now what? Did she just turn around and leave while they watched her go? Demand an explanation as to what was going on?
She had a pretty good idea what had brought this on, though. Today, she knew, had been Olivia’s birthday. They’d mentioned it at school, had a moment of silence in her honor. Devin must’ve decided getting drunk in her honor was an equally good idea and, liquored up, come to Micah’s house to confront him. She looked back at the house and wondered again where Micah’s parents were.
“I think you should go home, Devin,” she said. “Before my grandmother calls the police. She’s in there, waiting for my sign if she needs to.” She looked back over her shoulder as if affirming that her grandmother was inside her house, watching with her phone at the ready.
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