by Nina Monroe
After Cal had had his turn, Abi told her story.
I took the safety catch off, she says. Mom’s boyfriend taught me how to do it—the one I shot in the leg. I wanted to see if I could remember. And I thought the others would think it was cool, that I knew how the gun worked … I thought it would make them like me …
Avery puts her arm around Abi’s shoulders, but that makes her feel even worse for letting her down. She’d promised herself that she’d do everything to make sure they could stay. But she’d messed it up. They both had.
As Lily sits beside her mum’s hospital bed, she whispers, I tried to make it into a game, Mum …
Dad’s getting them snacks from the vending machine. It’s the first chance she’s had to be with Mum alone.
I thought that if we all took it in turns to hold the gun, then we could get it away from Astrid and back into the safe … it was a stupid idea … I know that now … but I couldn’t think what else to do … And Astrid went for it. She said it would be fun if we all held the gun. She even dared us to point it at her—like we were in a movie. For the first time, she seemed to like me—you know how she ignored me every time we went over to their house. And I thought that maybe it could work …
I wanted to have a go too, Wynn says, looking up at his dad, his eyes wide. I didn’t think it was fair. I never get to do anything that the big kids do. I wanted to touch it … So I jumped up and down and tried to reach it—but then the horse got in the way …
The reason I was outside the stable when they were playing with the gun was because I was talking to Cal, Skye says. I wasn’t watching Wynn—or the other kids, like you asked me to. And then, when I did go back in, they wouldn’t listen to me. They were so wrapped up in their game that they refused to hand over the gun. I couldn’t stop them. And then Astrid got hurt. And I made them agree not to say anything. Because I was scared. I felt like it was my fault.
* * *
The twins sit at the kitchen island in front of their parents. Mom and Dad are waiting for them to start speaking.
It took so long for Mom to get home from taking Mrs. Day to the hospital that the twins nearly changed their minds about coming clean. Especially Hanif.
“But you said you weren’t involved,” Dad says.
“We never said that,” Laila says. “You just assumed, Dad. But we had an idea—”
“An idea?” Dad’s voice is fierce.
“To take the gun—after Astrid got shot.”
“Why on earth did you even touch the gun?” Dad asks.
“We had to hide it,” Laila says. “That’s why I took it to the car—I ran out of the stable, just before Mom and the other grown-ups ran over from the house to see what had happened.”
Dad stares at her and she can feel the disappointment flooding his body: she was his little girl, the one he trusted to get things right.
“I found the gun,” Mom says.
The three of them look up at her. She hasn’t said a word up to now.
“What?” Dad stares at her.
“The gun that was used to shoot Astrid. I found it and gave it to True. He’s handed it in to the police. They’re checking it for fingerprints.”
“What’s True got to do with anything?”
“I invited him over with the other parents. I told them that I’d found the gun. I wanted their advice.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Dad says. “You found a gun—where?”
“I was cleaning the twins’ room. It was in Laila’s trunk.”
“You kept the gun in our room?” Hanif bursts out. “You said you’d gotten rid of it. That no one would ever find it!”
“I didn’t know where else to put it.” Laila’s voice is shaky. “I found a lock. I thought that was enough. I didn’t think that Mom would break into it. She wasn’t even meant to be in our room. I told her—”
“Why would you want to hide the gun, Laila?” Dad says.
“We thought that if the police couldn’t find it, then maybe no one would get in trouble,” Laila says. “That maybe it would go away and that no one would be blamed for what happened.”
“Oh, Laila.” Mom sighs.
“And you went along with this plan, Hanif?” Dad stares at him.
Hanif’s bottom lip begins to tremble.
“Hanif?” Dad says again.
Laila takes Hanif’s hands and makes him look up at her. “We have to tell them, Hanif.”
Hanif nods. He takes a breath. “I thought that maybe …” Hanif starts. “Maybe …”
Laila finishes his sentence. “He thought that he could get the gun away from Astrid. So, he grabbed it.”
“You grabbed the gun!” Dad’s yelling now.
“Ayaan …” Mom presses Dad’s hand. “Let him talk.”
Dad stares at the granite counter and shakes his head.
“Astrid wasn’t going to let the gun go,” Laila says. “She was waving it around at everyone. We were scared that it was going to go off. And then Skye and Cal came in and Skye tried to stop what was happening but no one would listen to her. It was Hanif who talked Astrid into handing it to him. He said he wanted a turn with the gun, to make her think he was playing the game, but really he wanted to scare her. He thought that if she saw how dangerous it was—that it wasn’t a toy—that he could persuade her to hand it to Skye or to put it back in the safe.”
But Dad’s still shaking his head. The twins can feel it: how disappointed he is in them. Especially Hanif.
Hanif takes a breath and says, “I shot the gun.” He looks right at Dad. “I wanted to shoot in the air—away from everyone …”
“But the safety catch was off,” Laila says.
“It went off before it was meant to …” Hanif says.
“And Astrid was in the way,” Laila explains. “The bullet hit her straight in the chest.”
Mom and Dad sink into themselves.
“And the horse got so scared that she bucked and then stumbled backward and knocked Wynn off his feet. He was thrown against the side of the stall,” Hanif says. “We were all so busy focusing on Astrid that we didn’t realize he’d been hurt too.”
“That’s when we agreed—all of us—” Laila says.
“When you agreed?” Dad says.
“Not to tell anyone about what happened. It was Skye’s idea but we knew we’d be in trouble if you found out. Especially Hanif.”
“But Hanif didn’t mean to do anything wrong,” Laila says quickly. “He was trying to save everyone. He was really brave—”
Slowly, Dad stands up.
“You think what your brother did was brave?” He looks straight at Hanif. “It wasn’t brave. It was stupid.” He clenches his fists. “Do you realize what you’ve done to us, Hanif? Do you?”
“It was my fault too, Dad,” Laila says. “It was all our faults. We all joined in.”
But Dad’s not listening.
They should have expected him to take it badly. To blame Hanif. They’d hoped that this time, Dad would understand. But he’s never understood them, not really.
“I’m sorry, Dad—” Hanif’s voice breaks.
Dad won’t look at him.
“Don’t be sorry, Hanif.” Mom gets up off her stool. She’s standing really tall. “And don’t listen to your father.”
Dad looks up at her.
Don’t listen to Dad? The twins have spent their entire lives hearing the exact opposite: that they had to listen to him, to take his advice, to follow his example—to please him.
Mom faces Dad, square on.
“Our little boy wasn’t stupid, Ayaan. Like Laila said, he stepped in when he saw that something bad was going to happen. He was trying to do the right thing.” The words tumble out of Mom’s mouth. She catches her breath and then keeps going. “He was trying to be a hero, like you’re always telling him to be. To be strong and brave.” She pauses. “For God’s sake, can’t you see it, Ayaan? He did it for you.”
The twins stare at Mom.
She’s never stood up to Dad like this before.
And they’ve never seen Dad like this either: his whole body stooped over as he sits down on the stool at the kitchen island, unable to move or to say a word.
* * *
There’s only one piece of the story that the kids leave out: the bit that will change everything—more than anything they’ve told their parents. But right now, none of them feel like it’s for them to tell. The police have Astrid’s phone. They’ll have seen the video. It will come out soon enough.
CHAPTER
46
7.30 p.m.
KAITLIN GRABS HER keys and her handbag and heads to the front door.
“You don’t need to do this, Katie,” Ben says, following her out into the hall.
“I do. It’s only a matter of time before Priscilla finds out what the children have been saying to us. I don’t want her to hear it second-hand.”
They watched the talk show together this morning, listening to Priscilla blaming them and their son for shooting Astrid. Bryar sat at the kitchen table between them.
When the show ended and Bryar set off for school, she’d gone to the stable to muck out the horses and Ben had driven off somewhere in his truck. They hadn’t talked about the show. They haven’t talked properly about anything, not in days.
“You really think Priscilla is going to want to see you?” Ben asks. “After what she said about us?”
“I don’t know. But I have to try.”
He looks up at her. “You want me to come with you?”
He’s making an effort, she thinks. He wants to remind her of how things used to be between them: how they’d be there for each other no matter what.
“No. I think that would confuse things—”
“Because she hates me?”
Kaitlin waits for a beat.
“No. Because we’re not on the same page, Ben.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She’ll feel it, that you’re not sorry.”
“Of course I’m sorry—what happened to Astrid is terrible.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You heard what Mesenberg said. There are no grounds for a criminal charge. The pistol and the ammo were both locked up—in separate places. The fact that Bryar memorized the codes isn’t on me. And you saw those pictures from Astrid’s phone: that’s concrete evidence that she was the instigator. That she planned all this.”
As soon as Bryar told them what had happened, Ben called the lieutenant. She went straight to interview each of the other kids, to corroborate Bryar’s story. But she said that Bryar’s version of events stacked up with the evidence: multiple finger-prints on the pistol, gun residue on the children’s clothes. Hanif’s direct involvement in the shooting.
“We’re in the clear, Katie,” Ben goes on.
She shakes her head. “You really don’t get it, do you, Ben? It’s not about who shot Astrid. It’s about the guns being in our home. In our stable.”
He looks at her, like he did when they were having that argument a few days ago. Like he doesn’t recognize her any more. Like she’s trying to hurt him on purpose.
“None of this is about the guns, Katie. They were locked away. They were safe.”
“It’s all about the guns, Ben. It is for Priscilla. And it is for me too. And it’s precisely because you don’t understand that that you shouldn’t come with me.”
She turns and walks toward the door. At that moment Bryar comes down the stairs. He’s wearing his jacket, as if he’s about to go out. He’s been in his bedroom all afternoon, his curtains drawn.
“I’m coming with you, Mom,” Bryar says.
He must have overheard them arguing.
“Oh, Bryar—” Kaitlin starts. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
He shakes his head. “I’m coming. I’ve made up my mind.”
“Your mom’s right—this isn’t going to help,” Ben says. “And Mesenberg will have filled her in, anyway. She doesn’t need you turning up—”
“I think he should go,” Kaitlin says, talking over him. “He feels responsible. By telling us the truth, he’s taken the first step. He now needs to speak to Priscilla. It will help him.”
“Help him how?” Ben says.
“To work through this.”
Ben sits down on the bottom step. He looks defeated. Kaitlin wants to tell him that she still loves him: that nothing will change that. But she has to do the right thing, even if it hurts him. Even if it hurts their marriage.
* * *
Kaitlin and Bryar drive through the dark September evening. Night is falling so much faster these days. Soon it will be winter: snow on the ground; the pond frozen over; a different world from that sweltering Sunday afternoon of the party.
She keeps looking over at Bryar. He’s quiet, his eyes fixed on the road. She should be relieved that he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. But there are still a million things wrong with what happened in the stable. And no matter how she looks at it, she always reaches the same conclusion: if she hadn’t invited those children into their home, a home with guns, no one would have gotten hurt.
“Mom?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“If I hadn’t—”
“It wasn’t your fault, Bryar.”
“But I was the one who got the gun out. And the ammo.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
If there was anything the children’s story had showed them, it was this: that life’s messy. That when things go wrong, it’s rarely about clear-cut guilt or innocence. Most of the time, we’re all to blame in some way.
They keep driving. Then Bryar says. “I don’t want you to do the talking—with Dr. Carver. I want to tell her myself.”
“Oh, Bryar, I know you mean well, but you don’t have to do that—”
“I think it would be better coming from me.”
She’d tried to get a diagnosis for Bryar. Gone to endless psychologists. It would have been easier to have a label for him. Something more specific than “on the spectrum.” A label meant there was a chance that she could find some kind of treatment. But then Eva had come along and said: You don’t need to put him in a box, Kaitlin. So what if he’s a little different from the others? It might make things harder for him, but then life gets hard for all of us at one point or another, he’ll just have a head start on understanding that. Then she’d looked Kaitlin right in the eye and said: Don’t ever forget that Bryar is wonderful—just as he is.
It took a while for Eva’s words to sink in. But now she sees it too: her complicated, wonderful son for whom life would be hard. She couldn’t protect him from that but she could believe in him—in the fact that he was strong enough to get through it. That maybe, just maybe, he could do more than just get through; he could do something good, like he was trying to do now.
“Remember that she might not be ready to hear what you have to say. What matters is your honesty and your courage. How she reacts isn’t your responsibility, Bry. That’s on her, okay?”
He nods. “Okay, Mom.”
As they reach a red light, Kaitlin leans over, pulls Bryar’s face toward her and kisses his cheek. “I love you, Bry, you know that?”
Bryar wipes the kiss off and smiles.
She laughs. “Well, at least that hasn’t changed.”
“Mom?” Bryar asks.
“Yes, buddy.”
“Is Dad going to move out, like Astrid’s dad?”
“Move out? No—”
“You keep arguing.” He swallows hard. “And I know it’s because of what I did.”
“No—no, please don’t think that.” She takes her hand in his. “Let’s focus on today—and on this brave thing you did by telling us what happened.”
Bryar leans back in his seat. She wishes she could tell him that she and Ben are going to be okay, but right now, things feel so broken between them t
hat she can’t make that promise.
* * *
When Kaitlin and Bryar get to the reception desk of the pediatric ward, Peter comes up behind them. He’s carrying a bag of clothes for Astrid.
“Kaitlin?” he says, surprised.
She hesitates. They haven’t talked in close to three years, but, after a few seconds of awkwardness, astonishingly, he steps forward and gives her a hug.
“It’s good to see you again, Kaitlin,” Peter says. “And you too, Bryar.”
Kaitlin and Bryar stare at Peter, floored by his warmth. But then she remembers that Priscilla was the one who’d taken against them. Peter had stood by her but he’d never attacked them about what happened to their dog, not like Priscilla had.
“We’re so glad that Astrid is going to be okay,” Kaitlin says.
Peter nods. “It’s been a hell of a week for all of us.”
She doesn’t know how she’s going to go through with this. This kindness or tolerance or whatever it is that Peter’s showing right now—it’s not going to last. Not when he finds out what happened at the party.
But that’s why they’re here. To tell him—and Priscilla—the truth. Maybe now that Astrid has woken up, she’ll be ready to hear it. Maybe something good can come out of this after all.
Bryar steps forward and says, “Would it be possible for me to speak to Dr. Carver?”
Kaitlin’s heart swells. At how polite he’s being. And how brave. And by how scared she is that he’s going to be knocked back.
Peter raises his eyebrows. “You want to talk to Priscilla?”
“Yes. I’d like her to know what happened in the stable—and how Astrid got hurt.”
Peter stares at him. “Well, that’s very good of you, Bryar. But I’m not sure that’s the best idea.” He looks at Kaitlin, clearly hoping that she’ll agree with him. “Cil is still pretty raw about all this …” He clears his throat. “I guess you saw the TV interview.”