by Nina Monroe
52
Midday
IN THE SMALL bedroom of the house that looks over the stable, Lily and Bryar sort through pieces of granite. It surprises Lily that you can find them on the ground here—these stones that look like a night sky full of stars. Bryar had explained to her how, in the ice age, glaciers swept over the landscape of New Hampshire, revealing its stone foundation—that it was then that the granite came to the surface. She wonders what else is down there that we don’t know about yet.
It feels easy, sitting next to him, without even needing to say anything.
She notices him snatching glances out of his bedroom window. And she knows what he’s looking at: the white cottage across the valley.
She can tell that Bryar’s been thinking about her—the girl with the pale hair and the sunburnt skin who, a week ago, came into the stable and changed their lives for ever.
She swallows hard.
“Why don’t we go and see her?” she says, the words at odds with her heart. “At the hospital.”
He looks up at her. “Really?” he asks.
“Really.”
“You think she’ll be allowed visitors?”
Lily shrugs. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
The corners of his lips turn up and his cheeks flush pink. “Okay. But how are we meant to get there?”
“I’ll get Dad to take us.”
“He’ll be okay with that?”
“Okay with me doing something nice for his boss’s daughter? You bet he’ll be fine with it.”
“You’ve got it all planned, haven’t you?”
“Yep.”
Part of her wishes that they never had to see Astrid again, but she knows that’s not an option. She’s in their lives now. And it will help Bryar to see her.
* * *
On the driveway of the house with the big marble columns, Laila and Hanif climb into Dad’s truck. He’s taking them to the mosque: they have to be there early for photos.
Mom stands on the doorstep in a sweatshirt, her hair hanging down her back.
Dad doesn’t seem surprised that she’s not coming.
Is it their fault? the twins wonder. Is it because of what they did at the party, that their parents don’t love each other any more?
As Dad turns the car, they wave at Mom but she doesn’t see them; her gaze is far away.
* * *
In the old house next to the church, Abi and Cal sit at the top of the staircase. Bill’s come back. He and Avery are talking in the kitchen.
It’s hard to hear with the door closed, but they catch enough of the words to work out what’s going on.
I’ve had to pull a number of strings for this …
I know—thank you.
And Cal defacing the mosque like that—and stealing the spray cans from the art room at school—
I know. But we’ve talked. He’s promised never to do it again. And I’ve discussed it with his teacher too. She wants to give him a second chance.
It’s not the first time he’s gotten in trouble. The same for Abi … The fact that she took the safety catch off that pistol … It really doesn’t look good, Avery.
But they weren’t actually involved in the shooting—that should count for something, right? And you heard about Astrid: that she was the one who loaded the gun. They all made stupid decisions that day. It wasn’t just Cal and Abi.
And you’re sure Mr. Sayed isn’t going to press charges against Cal for the graffiti?
No. He’s been good about it. Ca’s going to do some jobs for him to pay him back. A kind of community service, I guess.
There’s a silence. They can hear Bill letting out a loud, deliberate sigh.
If there’s even the smallest hiccup between now and Christmas—
Cal and Abi look at each other. This was the bit they’d been waiting for. To hear whether they’d get to stay. And for how long.
There won’t be. I promise.
I’m not sure it’s something you can promise, Avery.
It is. There’s a pause. They’re meant to be here, Bill. They want to be here. We’ll work this out together.
Well, we’ll see about that.
The scraping of chairs.
The kitchen door opens.
The brother and sister dash back to Cal’s room. They stand at his window and watch Bill getting into his gray Subaru, the one that brought them here two months ago. They still remember the smell: of coffee and greasy burger wrappers and old smoke; of the other children who’d sat there before them.
Beyond the car park, Cal notices Skye, walking out of the woods with her dad and her brothers. She looks up at the house and he wants to open the window and wave at her, like he used to earlier in the summer whenever he saw her walking past the church. But he’s scared that she’s still angry with him. He was the one who suggested they leave the stable that afternoon. And maybe she’s angry too, at what he did to the mosque.
* * *
In the pediatric wing of Colebrook Hospital, Astrid sits in bed, rubbing her eyes, wondering whether she’s still half-asleep or whether he’s really here, standing next to her bed.
“I had to pretend I was your cousin, so they’d let me see you,” he says. “I told them my dad was finding a parking spot and that I went in ahead of him.”
“What?”
“If you’re related, they let you in,” he says.
“And they believed you?”
He smiles. “Yup.” Then his eyes dart around. “Is your mom here?”
“She went home for a bit. I’m meant to be sleeping, but I’m scared to close my eyes … in case …”
“Yeah,” Bryar says. “I get it.”
Her face softens.
“I came to say sorry, Astrid,” he goes on, looking at the bandages across her chest.
“You’re sorry?” she says.
He nods.
“But I’m the one who made you open the safe. And get the ammo. I’m the one who loaded the gun and made everyone play that stupid game. You didn’t want to do it.”
When she told Lieutenant Mesenberg everything that happened at the party, she was sure that Mom was going to be angry with her, but Mom just held her and said it wasn’t her fault.
“You’re wrong,” Bryar says. “I did want to do it.”
“What d’you mean?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was a loser.” He swallows. “I wanted you to like me again.” His eyes are shiny.
“I never stopped liking you, Bryar.”
“You didn’t?”
She shakes her head. “I was just angry at Mom for keeping us apart—I was angry at everyone.” Her voice goes thick and choky. “And I wanted Dad to come home. I thought that maybe if I did something bad enough—if I got hurt—he’d wake up and realize that I needed him.” She tries to lean forward but it hurts too much. “I should never have come to the party, Bryar.”
He looks her right in the eye. “I’m glad you came.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You are?”
“I mean—I’m not glad that you got hurt.” His cheeks go pink. “But I’m glad you came.”
“Me too,” she says.
Because they both know that if she hadn’t run through the cornfields that day, if she hadn’t gone to the party, then they wouldn’t be in this room together now, feeling like maybe they could be friends after all.
“Are you going to be okay?” Bryar asks.
She nods. “I think so.”
“Does anything hurt?”
“It hurts to breathe. And to move.”
He frowns. “So basically, everything does.”
“Basically, yeah. But it’s okay. I’ll get better. That’s what the doctors are saying. And, in the meantime, I get to miss loads of school.” She smiles. “And I won’t have to join in with PhysEd, which is always a plus, right?”
He smiles. “Yeah, it is.”
“And when this is over, I’ll have a pretty awesome scar too.” She strokes the bandag
e across her chest.
“Like a superhero?” he says.
“A pretty screwed-up superhero, but sure, if you like.”
They both laugh.
“We were all so scared that you might not make it.” He pauses. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”
“Yeah, me too.”
And she realizes it’s the first time she’s said it out loud—or let herself think it. That she’s happier to be alive now than she was before she was shot. That something’s changed. Between her and Mom. Between her and the world.
He glances toward the door. “I brought someone with me.”
Her heart skips a beat. “What?”
“I think you’ll like her—if you give her a chance.”
Before she can stop him, Bryar walks over to the door. “It was her idea—me coming here,” he says. “She got her dad to take us. And saying I was your cousin was her idea too. She noticed that we looked alike. And she knows that we used to be friends—really good friends.” He looks right at Astrid. “She understood that I had to see you.”
And then she’s standing there at the door, the English girl with the tangled brown hair and the brown eyes; the girl who’d made Astrid feel so angry—like she could just sweep across the ocean and replace her.
“Hi, Astrid,” Lily says.
An old voice pushes to the front of Astrid’s throat: it wants to say something mean to make her go away, so that it’s just her and Bryar again. But she presses it back down.
“Are you meant to be my cousin too?”
Lily smiles. “I don’t think I’d pull it off—at least you guys look alike, right?”
The girls lock eyes.
“So you just snuck in.”
“Dad’s talking to the nurses—he’s good at keeping people talking. They didn’t notice me go past.”
“Thanks,” Astrid says. “For getting Bryar to come.”
Lily nods. “Sure.”
“And for coming too.”
Maybe, Astrid thinks, just maybe there can be room for both of us. Maybe we could even be friends.
CHAPTER
53
1 p.m.
A GOOD CROWD HAS turned out for the opening. Locals. A few from further afield. Reporters. Photographers. There’s a podium and a microphone set up for the speeches. A red ribbon flutters in front of the main doors to the mosque.
At first glance, everything looks like it’s supposed to.
But on the stage, there’s an empty seat beside the Sayed twins where their mother should be.
And there’s another empty seat too, a little further along with a reserved sign for Dr. Priscilla Carver.
And in the audience, Kaitlin and Bryar sit without Ben. Kaitlin had hoped that he’d be back from work in time for the opening—that he’d want to be here, but it looks like he’s not coming.
Will, Eva, and Lily Day sit beside them. Eva should have stayed home to rest, but she wanted to be here for Yasmin, though she can’t see her.
At the end of one of the rows, so that she can get out easily for her speech, Avery sits with Abi and Cal. The three of them stare at the marble wall of the mosque: someone’s put up a sheet to cover the gray shadows left behind by Cal’s words.
Near the back, Skye stands next to Phoenix. Wynn is sitting on True’s shoulders, so he can see what’s going on at the front. Every now and then he pokes a little finger under the cast on his right arm to scratch at a bit of dry skin.
Skye looks over at Cal, the boy with the thick blond hair that she’d run her fingers through when they kissed outside the stable a week ago. It was her first kiss and it had been better than anything she’d ever dreamt of. And a few seconds later, Astrid got shot and Wynn got hurt.
It had felt like a punishment—as if someone was saying to her that she wasn’t allowed to have anything just for herself. So she’d tried to block the kiss from her memory. And whenever she missed Cal, she forced herself to feel angry at him instead: for distracting her; for allowing her to forget that her job was to look after her brothers. But the harder she tried to forget—or to feel angry—the stronger it came back, the memory of his soft lips against hers.
So, when Cal turns around, though she knows she should look away, she can’t.
You’re still here, her eyes tell him. Despite everything, you haven’t been taken away. And I’m glad.
At the front of the audience, the imam of the new Middlebrook Mosque walks across the stage and taps the microphone. Then he leans in and says, “Welcome, everyone.”
* * *
On the side of the road that leads up from Middlebrook, a few yards from Woodwind Stables, Priscilla sits in her car, looking at the row of maples. She and Peter had their honeymoon in New Hampshire: they’d walked for hours under trees like this, dreaming of retiring here. And then, after the case that left Priscilla certain that she never wanted to set foot in a courtroom again, it was Peter who suggested they move north, to the countryside—that they start over.
But now, she doesn’t know where to go or what to do.
She can’t go home, because all she’ll feel is the emptiness of him not being there any more.
And she can’t go back to the hospital. Because then she’ll have to look Astrid in the eye and tell her that she’d gotten it wrong: that her dad’s never coming home to them. That she’s messed up again.
She’s failed. As a wife. As a mom. As a human being. It was obvious to her now that those things Astrid did at the party—they were her fault.
She looks at the steering wheel. At the ignition button. And then down at the pedals. She doesn’t know how to do it any more. How to drive. How to keep living.
There’s a knock on the window.
“You okay?”
She looks up and sees him standing there: Ben Wright in his border patrol uniform.
They look at each other, feeling the weight of the past week—of the past three years—hanging between them.
She winds down the window.
“Just checking you haven’t broken down,” Ben says.
“Broken down? No … I was just …” She feels her throat thicken. “I was just taking a break.”
He nods, like he understands.
“I can’t seem to …” she starts. “I can’t seem to get myself together.” She reaches into the glovebox for some tissues and tries to sniff back the tears.
“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay.”
She balls up a tissue and dabs at her eyes. “I’m tired, that’s all.”
“I understand,” he says. And then he leans in toward her. “Look, I realize that I’m the last person you want to see right now, but if there’s anything I can do—”
“I’ll be fine in a minute.”
She waits for him to leave but he keeps standing there.
“I was heading home for a shower—and to get changed,” he says. “I might be a bit late, but I wanted to show my support.”
She doesn’t understand what he’s saying.
“Maybe—you’d like me to drive you?” he says.
She looks up at him blankly.
“To the opening of the mosque? I thought that was where you’d be heading.”
The opening. She’d forgotten.
Priscilla looks up the valley and thinks of the beautiful, white stone mosque she’d been so keen to support. All the money she’d raised. The planning meetings with Ayaan Sayed. The speeches she’d given. She closes her eyes. She’s not that person any more. Maybe she never was.
She opens her eyes and looks at Ben Wright, standing next to her. She doesn’t want to be alone right now.
“Okay,” she says.
“Okay?”
She nods.
He opens the door for her and she steps out and together, they walk to his truck.
* * *
She waits for him in the living room. She’d only been in the Wrights’ house a few times before Ben shot her dog and she cut off contact.
She’d forgo
tten how cozy it was. How although nothing really matches—not like in her house, where every tiny detail is planned—this feels like the kind of home you’d want to come back to: the handmade quilts on the back of the sofa; the scratches on the hardwood floor; the family pictures on the wall; the big old grandfather clock in the hallway, ticking away.
And then she sees it, sitting in the corner in the back. The gun safe. Her conversation with Kaitlin comes back to her and she realizes how absurd it is, her standing here, in this house, after everything.
She turns away—she’ll wait for him outside—but a picture catches her eye. She walks up to the black and white print of an old man with a young boy, a hunting rifle in each of their hands.
“My grandfather,” Ben says.
He’s wearing jeans and a red flannel shirt. He smells of soap.
“My dad was so busy with the farm that I spent most of my time with my grandfather. He taught me how to shoot.” He looks over to the safe. “Most of the rifles I have here are from him.”
In that moment, looking at the picture, Priscilla realizes how much more complicated people’s lives are than their opinions. And how little we often know about those we disagree with.
“Kaitlin came to see me,” Priscilla says.
“I know. She said it didn’t go so well—”
“She came back—a second time.”
He smiles. “Katie’s persistent like that.”
“Yeah. She is.”
“She told me about the argument you had.”
“She did?”
She nods.
He feels it too. How strange this new world is, in which Kaitlin would come and confide in her.
“It seems that she’s come round to your way of thinking,” he says.
“I’m sorry.”
He looks up at her. “Are you?”
“I’m sorry that it’s gotten between you.”
He looks back at the picture of his grandfather.
“I think you’ll work it out,” Priscilla says.
“I’m not so sure.”
“She loves you, Ben. That hasn’t changed, just because you don’t agree right now.”
Priscilla thinks about Peter and Kim up at the cottage. How Kim has travelled thousands of miles for him, because she’s certain that Peter belongs to her now.