We’re not the only neighbors outside at four in the morning. Mrs. Larson from two doors down is standing in her driveway and Mr. and Mrs. Ward have pulled camp chairs from their carport and are set up on their lawn to watch Paul and another guy be escorted from his house by four officers.
“Hell, that’s Levi Palmerton,” Seth hisses.
With Levi and Paul in handcuffs and secured in the back of the police cars, the activity dies down quickly. We find out that they’ve been arrested on some serious felony counts and are most likely going to go away for a long time. I start to worry about Sandra, but she finds us all watching on and tells us that she’s the one who turned Paul and Levi in.
“Serves them right for getting into a fistfight in my house,” she says, pulling her puffy purple bathrobe tighter around her chest. “Paul thought I’d just sit back and watch, but I called the police and when they showed up… well, the jig was up. Both of those boys are on something and I’ll tell you, Paul did not choose the best places to hide his drugs or his money. When the good Lord was handing out brains, I do believe he forgot about my son. Now I’ve got to go inside and start cleaning up. Those officers weren’t neat when they were searching the place.”
“Do you need help?” I ask her.
“You’re a sweet thing, but cleaning will help me keep my mind off things and Lord knows I need that right now.”
After that, Seth and I wander back inside but we’re both too amped up to go back to sleep.
As Seth is pouring out two cups of coffee, I say what I’ve been thinking since we saw Paul being dragged out of his house. “That could have been me.”
Seth shakes his head. “Nah, you aren’t Paul.”
“Maybe not, but I thought about it—easy money, the chance to stop worrying so much. You know I did, Seth.”
“But in the end, you always do the right thing because it’s who you are and because you put Carter first.” He pauses. “Speaking of—is Amelia’s dad really going to help?”
I blow across my cup, making ripples in the dark coffee. “That’s what he says.”
“What, you don’t believe him?”
“No, I believe him,” I say. “But I can’t wrap my head around the fact that someone is watching out for us. I’m afraid it’s a sick joke.”
“It’s not a joke. He’s helping you out because his daughter loves you.”
I shoot him a hard look. “She broke up with me.”
Seth shrugs. “More like she broke up with herself. You should tell her about college and how you’re doing something with your life. Take it from me—girls dig that shit.”
I close my eyes, not wanting to hear this. Not wanting to think again of Amelia and her crinkling brown eyes and her soft, shiny hair. She’s too much. It’s too much—that sense that I’m done for and I might never feel anything that good ever again.
“Don’t go there,” I tell him, my jaw twitching. “Rachel already tried.”
“Rachel?”
“Yeah, she came at me this afternoon with some bullshit about smiling and hope.” I sigh. “But it’s over and me telling Amelia that I’m moving away isn’t going to change that, which is fine. I’m finally used to her being gone and out of my life.”
He gives me a skeptical look.
“It’s true,” I say, my voice suddenly husky. “She’s been my weak spot, but I’m through waiting around and I’m through with hope. It’s nothing but a waste of time.”
Seth takes a sip of his coffee and thinks that over. “That’s too bad, man. The world is a shitty place without any room left for hope.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Amelia
My thoughts are a mess. My tongue feels swollen in my mouth.
Good gravy, what the heck am I doing? I think as my eyes dart around the large front porch and over a hanging bench and an impressive collection of potted ferns. The wooden porch slats are painted a shiny dark brown and I can actually see parts of my reflection in the paint. What are you thinking? I silently ask my blurry face.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re doing today and I’ll drive you all the way to Jupiter if that’s what it takes, but are you sure about this one?”
I pick my head up and find Audra’s eyes waiting. I try to smile. “No,” I tell her truthfully, “I’m not at all sure.”
“But you’re doing it anyway?” she guesses.
“Do you think it’s crazy?”
“No way. I thought going to Charleston this morning was a little crazy. I think this is brave.”
“I don’t feel very brave,” I say, glancing up. Then, bracing myself, I ring the doorbell beside the massive red door and take a step back.
A dog barks from inside the house. Footsteps sound. Finally, after what feels like a very long time, a woman with mousy brown hair peeks her head around the door, her slow and cautious movements reminding me that she’s spent the last five months dodging photographers and journalists.
“Can I help you?” she asks warily, barely looking at us.
“Mrs. McGovern?”
But the woman doesn’t answer. She clutches the doorframe harder and her whole body begins to tremble. “Amelia Bright?”
I can’t speak past the lump growing in my throat so I nod.
She covers her mouth with her hand and closes her eyes to trap her tears. Then she nods her head and steps back to usher us inside the house. “I’ve been praying to talk to you every day,” she tells us as she shoos away a buff-colored labrador retriever and leads us into a small sitting room. “But I never expected those prayers to be answered.”
When we’re all sitting, she pulls her cardigan around herself and asks, “Can I get you girls something to drink? I’ve got sweet tea or lemonade?”
“No we’re okay,” I answer heavily, trying not to be overwhelmed by the pictures hanging on the mossy green walls.
There’s a family portrait above the black tiled fireplace. In it, Spencer is around twelve years old and is smiling at the camera with a mouth full of metal braces. Then there is a collage of senior pictures in simple black frames—Spencer sitting down in the grass, Spencer holding a football under one arm, Spencer in a tuxedo with his hair gelled back from his forehead. But it’s a small 5X7 photo that makes me gasp.
I stand shakily and walk over to better study it. I’ve never seen this picture before. My sister and her killer are side by side with their arms around each other. Daphne is smiling brilliantly and the homecoming crown glitters on the top of her head. Spencer looks handsome in a suit and a tie that matches the color of Daphne’s dress.
How could things have gone so wrong after this? How could these smiles have changed so drastically?
Behind me, Mrs. McGovern says, “I wasn’t sure what to do with that one. Actually, I wasn’t sure what to do with any of them. Leaving them up feels wrong, but taking them down… Spencer’s father can’t understand why I don’t burn everything after what he did.” She sniffs. “We disagreed about a lot of other things and he left in February and moved to Atlanta. I haven’t heard much since.”
I turn around and swallow uncertainly. “I’m sorry.”
She stares at me, her body rigid. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I don’t know how I can ever account for your loss, but I’m grateful that you came here. The last months have been impossible. But I want you to know that I pray for you and your family every day.”
My breath is stalled somewhere in the back of my throat. I’ve hated Spencer so much that I let myself get used to that hate—that boiling, black feeling like a nasty pothole on the surface of my heart. I became comfortable with it and in a way, I needed it because it was easier to be angry than feel the hurt.
But, looking at the sad and guilty face of Spencer’s mother, I realize that no matter what happened, this woman lost her son. Her world was irrevocably changed the exact moment mine was. And at least I can go to sleep at night knowing that my sister was honored and mourned. Spencer’s mom has been suffering in this empty house a
ll alone in her pain. And, better than anyone, I should know that there’s no rule book for missing someone. You just do.
“I wish I could turn back the clock,” she says, her voice quivering on a sob. “I wish I had known more about what Spencer was thinking. I was his mother. It was my job and I failed. I should have been able to save him and your sister. I’m so sorry.”
I don’t think about it any longer. I cross the room to her and I take a deep breath and I say the words I know she needs me to say, “It’s not your fault.”
She can’t speak yet, but she wraps her hands around mine. Her skin is cool and smooth and I can feel the ridges in her fingers between my own.
I’ll never not ache for Daphne. And I’ll probably never forgive completely or understand. That feels like an impossible sort of thing. But maybe the universe is bigger than what I can hold within my heart. At least, I hope it is. I really hope so.
***
“One more stop to make,” Audra says, sliding the car into park.
My stomach shudders and dips as I turn to the car window and squint out at the doughy white clouds. I have no clue what to expect out of this meeting. “Believe it or not,” I say, “I think I’m more nervous about this one than I’ve been all day.”
“Girl, you’ve got this.”
“Do I?”
She twists her mouth to the side. “Heck yes. All you need to do is talk to him.”
“And tell him what? He was counting on me and I let him down in so many ways.”
“You tell him that you’re sorry.”
“I might be sorry, but he still has every right to be mad at me for basically abandoning him this semester.”
Audra rolls her eyes and laughs, but it’s halfhearted. “He’s not goin’ to be mad at you.”
“He might be.”
“Fine then,” she says as she reaches around the steering wheel and puts her hand on the car key. “Should we just leave?”
“No,” I say quickly and climb out. “I’m going.”
“I’ll be here,” she yells after me.
Good grief, I’m nervous. After everything else, you’d think this would be like nothing, but as I trudge up the steps and down the long, wide hallway, my heart feels like it’s a passenger on an elevator headed straight for the basement level.
At the door, I hesitate once more to gather my courage, then I slip quietly inside. He’s there at a table not far from me, head bent low, dark hair flopping down into his eyes. I don’t call his name. I hang back against the wall for a minute and watch him with his new tutor—a sophomore from my school. I think her name is Riley Adams.
It must be close to five minutes before I’m able to make myself walk across the cafeteria toward the table.
When I’m close enough to be noticed, the girl, Riley, glances up. She’s startled to see me there. “Amelia?”
“Hi. Um, it’s Riley, right?”
She nods, seemingly pleased that I know her name. “I tutor here in the afternoons.”
I shake my head, slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, I used to do the same thing. Carter was my star pupil.”
In response to that, Carter grunts and folds his arms over his chest.
I wince. This is exactly the reaction I’d been worried about. Audra was so sure he wouldn’t be angry, but I knew. He has every right to shun me.
I stand in awkward silence for a few more seconds before sucking it up and gesturing to the spot on the bench next to Carter. “Would it be okay if I joined you two?”
“Of course,” Riley says, and when Carter still says nothing, she nudges his arm and he gives a reluctant nod then slumps down in his seat.
“So, Carter, what are you reading?” I ask in a light tone that completely defies the hot anxiety brimming inside of me.
He ignores the question and looks back down at the book in his hands, which is a library copy of a book about sharks.
Riley, finally understanding that something is rotten in the state of Denmark, answers for him. “Actually, we just started a new book today because Carter moved up to the next reading group in his class.”
“Wow, go you!” I clap my hands together.
Still nothing.
Riley meets my eyes and twists her mouth in a silent apology. I can feel my cheeks starting to flush.
“So… Amelia,” she says, slowly standing from the bench. “I was wondering if you could take over for me for a minute? I just remembered that I forgot to make a phone call.”
I nod to her gratefully. “I would love that. As long as it’s okay with Carter.”
Another grunt.
When Riley is gone, I look back to the top of his head. “So, would you mind reading for me?”
It takes him a minute but he lifts his shoulders and opens the book and says, “I guess so.”
He then proceeds to read the entire first chapter without any help from me.
“Holy smokes, Carter. That was awesome!” I gush. It’s the truth. I’m so proud of him that I feel close to tears. “You’ve improved so much.”
I can tell that he wants to smile at my words, but he won’t let himself. Instead, he tilts his head and bites down on his bottom lip. “Thank you.” Then he wrinkles his nose and his eyes flicker to mine. “I can read more if you want me to.”
That’s something at least. Trying not to be too obvious about my excitement, because I can tell that would be uncool, I shrug and say, “You’re amazing so of course I want you to read for me, but only if you feel like it.”
He nods. “I’ll read.”
I smile. “Great.”
Carter reads the next two chapters easily. When he’s finished with them, he closes the book and blinks up at me and I know that this is my cue to get this over with and pull the Band-Aid off.
“Carter,” I say solemnly, “I understand why you’re angry with me. And I don’t blame you at all if you can’t forgive me, but I do want you to know how sorry I am.”
He doesn’t say anything at first. He fiddles with the pages of the book and sheepishly chews on his lip. Then, finally, he glances up at me and says, “My brother says you aren’t his girlfriend anymore.”
“That’s true.”
“But then he told me that your dad is helping us.”
“That’s true also.”
He makes a face. “So why aren’t you his girlfriend? Did Bash do something? Did he make you mad?”
“No, not at all.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t understand teenagers.”
It’s such a ridiculous thing for a seven-year-old to say, I burst into laughter.
“Why is that funny?”
I wave my hand in the air. “Just trust me.”
He lets my laughter fade then he glances over his shoulder and leans closer so that I can hear him whisper. “I want to tell you something.”
“Okay?”
“It was more fun when you were around. I like Riley, but I like you better.”
I sit back, smug. “I shouldn’t admit that I’m happy to hear that, but I am.”
He smiles, reluctant at first, but eventually showing me all of his teeth. “I wish you could be my tutor next year, but we won’t be living here anymore.”
My heart twists. “I heard about that.”
“We’re going to live in Gainesville, Florida in a yellow house.”
“Oh yeah?”
He nods eagerly. “And there’s a big yard with lots of trees.”
“Wow.”
“And, I’m getting a dog.”
“You are?”
“Well, Bash hasn’t said yes, but he hasn’t said no either and that usually ends up meaning yes.”
“I see.”
He pauses then looks down at his lap and back up. “Can I ask you something, Amelia?”
I draw closer. “You can ask me anything.”
“Did my brother make you sad?”
“No, he didn’t. But I think I might have made him sad because I’ve been so sad.”
Carter nods, thinking that through. “Because your sister died?”
I force myself to swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes.”
“I understand. You know my mama died?”
“I do.”
“I still get sad about that because all my friends have their moms around but I don’t. And she was the best,” he tells me. “She could count all the way to like four million and she could sing songs and do the Donald Duck voice.”
“She sounds pretty special.”
“She was. And when I get sad about it and I miss her, Bash reminds me that it’s actually a happy thing because Mama is an angel now which means she can be everywhere all the time watching over us. I bet she’s here with us right now.”
“I think you’re right.”
He smiles and impulsively wraps his arms around my waist and squeezes me tightly. Then he looks up at me and says, “So maybe your sister is an angel too?”
CHAPTER FORTY
Bash
“The goal is to settle this dispute fairly,” says the judge. “We are all here this afternoon because each of you has a vested interest in the minor, Carter Holbrook. Let’s try to remember that before we go any further.”
I nod, my heart like a heavy stone in my chest.
The room is windowless and cold. I look across the wide stained-oak conference table at my aunt. She’s sitting with her shoulders curled inward and her hands in her lap. Her eyes are wet with tears. Sitting beside her, my uncle is stoic and stiff in a grey suit. This room is a like a funeral parlor for families.
I thought we might be in an actual courtroom with a judge’s bench and a witness stand, but Mr. Bright told me the county doesn’t really do that for custody hearings anymore.
At the end of the table, the judge talks a little longer, explaining the process and how she’s had the chance to look over the paperwork and meet with the social worker who came to my house in the fall. She clears her throat and asks Mr. Bright a question.
“Yes, it’s right here,” Mr. Bright says, sliding a piece of paper to her.
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