The lawyer told her—and still she did not listen—that she would be held liable for those crimes as well, whether she knew about the violence happening inside or not. But it didn’t matter: she confessed them all.
By the time she did realize what was happening, around the time the media had also turned on her father, she found out she was pregnant—and she tried to leave. I hoped that counted for something. I hoped that counted for a lot. And that’s when they tied her up, kept her in the basement, burned her back with industrial-strength drain cleaner, doused the room in gasoline, holding up a match as a threat.
And then one day, she escaped.
Her father was dead.
She was guilty.
The media would vilify her too if they knew the truth. And she had something more, now. I was just an idea then, she said. But still, something more.
These were not simple choices. Most things weren’t.
When she finished her story, the lawyer said he wanted to discuss things in private. The police left, but I remained. My mother looked me in the eye, then at Jan. The room smelled like smoke, and I realized it was me. That I was covered in soot and smoke, and there was still half a story that needed to be told—mine. And that this part I would have to do on my own.
Jan placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s time to go now,” she said, but I shook her off.
“Go, Kelsey,” my mother said. She brought my hand to her face, which was warm and familiar, and she whispered into it, “It’s time for you to go now.”
She released my hand, my fingers slipping from her grip, but I couldn’t back away. “Mom,” I said, but it came out sounding like a plea.
“You’ll be okay,” she said.
I closed my eyes. “Okay,” I said.
One foot in front of the other. Out the door, through the bright hall, into the lobby where Ryan and Annika were asleep in chairs, side by side. “It’s time to go home,” I said, jarring them both awake.
Never mind that I didn’t have one. Never mind that I didn’t know where I was going, or what would happen to my mother, or me, or the three who were in police custody.
All I knew was that tonight I would be going back to Jan’s, and tomorrow she’d meet with my mom’s lawyer. I’d give my statement to the police, and Ryan would come see me, as he was currently promising to do. Annika would call, and we’d figure it out—that’s what Jan was saying. We’d figure it out tomorrow.
Tomorrow, anything could happen.
I was going to see the house today.
The house would become a rubble of debris and ash, a flat piece of land, as if it had never truly existed. It was built from blood and fear, but at the core, it was all still just wood and bolts, glass and concrete.
Whatever remained after the fire would be demolished. They said it was the safest way. I couldn’t live in it, anyway—not after I knew what it had been made from, and for. Guilt. Fear. A self-imposed confinement. The money wasn’t hers anyway. The house did not truly belong to us.
Samuel and his brother, Martin, were in jail awaiting trial, no bond. Eli, it turned out, was only seventeen. Had been missing from his home for nearly a year. His case would be more complicated, and I felt some sympathy for him—for a boy who saw nowhere else to go, who believed there was no choice except the one that had chosen him.
I saw their faces on the television screen at night, but they were starting to feel more and more like strangers.
To have a chance at freedom, my mother will have to testify. Even then, Jan said she may have to serve some time. The question was where. She’s been serving time, in one form or another, ever since. Anything can happen, Jan said. But she said it like it was something to hang on to. Like hope. And I thought of all the things that were happening right this very moment:
Annika, safe and heading back to school—I’ll be back soon, Kelsey darling, promise. Cole and Emma in the backyard while their father grilled burgers. Jan, down at the courthouse with my mother and the lawyer and a judge, deciding on the terms of her deal, and our fate.
I heard someone laughing down the street, from where I sat on Jan’s front porch. And then the rumble of a familiar engine. I stood, already walking down the driveway before his car pulled into view. Already smiling. Already picturing the smile on Ryan’s face as I slid into the seat beside him.
—
The house looked the same from the drive up, until you got close enough to see it, set down the slope. It had mostly burned, the walls caving, the interior charred. The only things still untouched were the black iron gates, the fence encircling the property, and the wall beyond. Ryan stood beside me as I wrapped my hands around the cool iron bars.
It was the first time either of us had been back here. “Wow,” Ryan said, “it’s…” His throat moved as he swallowed. “I can’t believe you got out of there.”
“I think it looks worse than it was.”
He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t.” He sucked in a breath. “It looks exactly as bad as it was, Kelsey.”
I looked over at him, his shoulders tense, his jaw set, staring down the house before us. “You’re mad,” I said. I had done something reckless, and now he was seeing exactly what it was. What I’d done. What I was made of.
“No,” he said, turning to face me. “I was scared.”
“So was I,” I said.
His hand brushed my hair, and I stood a little closer. Leaned a little nearer. Felt a little deeper. And for just a moment, everything felt close, and possible, and mine.
Once upon a time, my mother was a girl who risked everything to leave, risked everything for something that was still just an idea. She took on her life alone, and I couldn’t think of anything braver.
I thought I should feel more scared, because I was alone for the first time, too. But it’s hard to feel that way with the footsteps overhead at night, and Jan cooking in the next room, and my mother’s voice over the phone, and Emma arguing about how long was I staying exactly. And Ryan picking me up, keeping every promise he made to me. Standing beside me as I looked at this house one last time. It’s hard to feel alone when, truth is, you aren’t.
I didn’t know what would happen next. A thought that used to fill me with the greatest fear. But, as Ryan pointed out, maybe I was wrong.
“I’m ready,” I said, tapping the bars one last time. Goodbye, I thought.
Ryan’s hand was warm in mine as we walked down the gravel driveway, away from everything my life had been. But we were something other than the sum of our parts, something bigger than a story.
“So, tomorrow,” he was saying, and his words were music. “I’m thinking you, me, pizza, maybe a movie.”
I stopped him in his tracks, pulled him closer, rose up on my toes to kiss him.
“Oh. I like your plan, too,” he said, which made me laugh. And then he was laughing, too.
I heard the wind coming through the trees before I could feel it.
Like a whisper, getting louder. Something simmering, an idea coming to life.
Like an echo in my head: Out here, anything can happen.
Out here, everything can happen.
It felt, this time, like a promise.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to everyone who helped guide this book from idea to finished product:
My agent, Sarah Davies, whose thoughtful advice helps shape both ideas and careers. I am so thankful for your guidance.
My editor, Emily Easton, who always sees what an idea can become and shows me how to get it there. I’ve been so fortunate to work with you on five books now!
Phoebe Yeh, Samantha Gentry, and the entire team at Crown Books for Young Readers/Random House.
My critique partners, who provide invaluable feedback at every step of the process: Megan Shepherd, Elle Cosimano, Ashley Elston, Jill Hathaway, and Romily Bernard.
And, as always, my family.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MEGAN MIRANDA is the acclaimed author of Frac
ture, Vengeance, Hysteria, and Soulprint. She was inspired to write The Safest Lies after reading a study about the way emotions, like fear, are passed down through genes. Megan lives in North Carolina with her husband and two children. You can follow her on Facebook, on Instagram, and on Twitter at @MeganLMiranda.
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