“Give me your keys to the office,” he said.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
My cheeks flushed with shame as I unclipped the carabiner from my belt loop. That’s another thing about small towns; you end up with keys to everything. I had my car keys, the keys to the house, the master key to the high school, a set to Owen’s cabin and the diner, even a set to his parents’ house in case of an emergency; I still had my spare keys to Betty’s, too, and I flipped past them sadly until I got to the pair that unlocked my dad’s office.
“Here,” I said, handing them over. “Do you feel better now?”
“I know you think you’re doing all this for Betty, but you’re not. You’re doing this for you. And that other girl. Serena.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Whose idea was it? Yours or hers?”
Even my dad knew about me and Serena. “It was my idea,” I said, meeting his eyes defiantly, making a point of not moving mine to the left, the classic liar’s tell you learn if you watch enough movies.
“Let me tell you something,” he said, leaning down so he could whisper in my ear. “And if you’ve got a brain in that fucking head, you’ll take this to heart. You’re not half the liar you think you are. When you get home tonight, you better start packing.”
He left me there, shivering. I lit up with shaking hands and smoked, listening to the muted sound of Charlie’s at full bore. No one else was on the deck. As I was about to finish my cigarette, Serena showed up with my beer.
“Your dad?” she asked.
I nodded, taking a long pull. It only made me colder; I wished it were whiskey instead. I would have even settled for Fighting Cock.
“I just saw him leave,” she said. “He looked pissed.”
“He found out. About what we did to the police blotter. He wants me out of the house. He told me to go back to New York.”
She put her arm around me. “It’ll blow over. We’ll figure something out until it does.”
“Yeah. I know,” I said, leaning into her.
“Come on, you’re freezing. Let’s get you back inside.” I followed her numbly as she took my hand and led me through the back door. No point being discreet anymore.
Something was happening. We both felt it before we saw it. A hush had fallen over the room; every conversation had died, every patron was frozen in place, some with their drinks en route to their lips. REO Speedwagon was playing on the jukebox, “Can’t Fight This Feeling,” and beneath it all was that hum of anticipation that only comes in the instant before something terrible happens—before someone throws the first punch, before the storm takes out the power, before the flames catch and start climbing the walls like vines.
For one second, I thought the crowd was going to unpause and turn toward me; I don’t know why I thought that, aside from my own self-absorption, but it did occur to me that the jig was up, so to speak, and that I was about to pay, in spades, for every shady thing I thought I’d gotten away with so far that summer. It had already started, with my father. I’d targeted Williston’s golden boy, and now the lynch mob I’d tried to send in his direction was going to come after me.
It was Serena who brought me back from this brief, dark reverie, elbowing me and pointing toward the door. “Look,” she said, grabbing my beer and setting it down on a nearby table.
I was about to protest the loss of my drink at the moment I might need it most when I saw them—the two police officers standing just inside the door, scanning the crowd.
We drew closer together as they came farther inside. One spotted the Millers and made the smallest indication to his partner, but still, we all saw it, I felt us all seeing it.
Calder was standing with his parents, and as the cops began walking toward them, he shrank back. Leroy put a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder, but a grim expression spread across his features, as if he knew he was finally facing the inevitable. Calder’s face remained impassive, but I actually saw his eyes flicker toward the back door, possibly contemplating an escape attempt.
This was it, it was finally happening, and in front of the whole fucking town, no less. They were going to slap the cuffs on Calder in the middle of Charlie’s, and his life would be ruined and at last I could get on with mine. Mission fucking accomplished. Serena and I were going to watch Calder get arrested and then find someplace to have epic, victorious sex.
The cops spoke to the Millers quietly, so no one else could hear, although not a single person in that bar bothered to pretend they weren’t straining to catch the conversation. When Mrs. Miller let out a desperate wail I had to force myself to hold back a triumphant cry of my own. I could feel it forming in my throat, and I grabbed Serena’s wrist in an effort to control myself. An unfamiliar madness took hold of me, and I was terrified I might start laughing or clapping with childlike delight.
But something was wrong. The police weren’t handcuffing Calder or leading him away. They were not eyeing him with suspicion or contempt; they did not look satisfied to be, finally, apprehending a murderer who had managed to elude them for the better part of a year. No, they looked sympathetic and grave, as if they were delivering bad news, and now tears were streaming down Calder’s face and my fleeting giddiness was replaced with a horrible understanding. The police led the Millers out of Charlie’s, and as soon as the door closed behind them it was like someone had turned the volume back up. I looked at Serena; I was leaning on her for support now. The news swirled around us but her name was already on my lips.
“Caroline.”
She’d been in an accident driving home from Pullman. No one knew if she was alive or dead, but Charlie’s was on fire with speculation. We’d seen her with Jack, we’d known what shape she was in, we hadn’t given a single thought to how she was getting home—but I had to put my guilt aside if I wanted to prevent the next inevitable, terrible thing from happening.
I dragged Serena out the door and found a pay phone on the corner. The Halyard was closed; the cabin phone was busy. “Fuck!” I dropped the receiver and sprinted to my car.
“Where are we going?” Serena asked as I floored it.
I didn’t answer. I drove as fast as I dared on the dark, slick highway, certain that at any minute I would hear sirens behind me, that I wouldn’t get there in time, that the universe had somehow misinterpreted my fervent desires and tonight Owen would be the one I’d see handcuffed and taken away.
The driveway was empty; the cabin was dark. I kicked the side of the house in frustration and sank into a defeated crouch, my head in my hands.
“Finley,” Serena said gently, guiding me to sit next to her on the steps, “tell me what’s going on, and we’ll figure it out. Let me help.”
“When they find the drugs in Caroline’s system, they’ll come for him. There’re enough people in this town who know what he does. And if he gets arrested—” Between Leroy and Silas, Owen would pay.
“Okay,” Serena said calmly. “He’s not at home, or at Charlie’s, or at the diner. So where could he be?”
I knew Owen. Stone cold. And I knew where to find him. But none of us were going to like it.
• • •
I passed the narrow driveway by accident the first time, missing it in the dark; I drove past on purpose the second time, pulling a quick U-turn farther down the road and killing the headlights. As soon as I pulled in I put the Subaru in neutral and turned off the engine, coasting just far enough that my car would be hidden from the road.
“You stay here,” I said to Serena as she started to unbuckle her seat belt.
“No fucking way,” she said.
“Do you know whose place this is?”
“I think I’m starting to put the pieces together, yeah.”
“Then please, I’m begging you, stay in the car.”
“Not a chance.” She got ou
t, holding the latch inside the door so the dome light stayed dark.
We crept up the narrow drive. The rain had started again in earnest, and this time I was glad, hoping the sound would mask our weak attempt at stealth. I tried not to think about what Emily had said about Silas’s criminal record, or whether or not Caroline was dead; instead, I tried to calculate the over/under of Owen ever speaking to me again after tonight, if he would weigh the fact that I was trying to save his ass against the absolute, inarguable stupidity of what I was doing. I put the odds at an even fifty-fifty.
His truck was parked in the clearing, and I sighed with relief. At least I had successfully located him. Sort of. There were no lights on in the house, but I remembered Owen telling me it was essentially abandoned.
“Is that a wigwam?” Serena whispered.
“I’m afraid so.”
The wigwam, Silas’s actual dwelling, looked dark as well, but for all I knew it had no electricity. We got closer, sticking to the edge of the clearing where there was some coverage from the trees and brush. I was glad Serena couldn’t see the feathers; I suspected they would have freaked her out even more. I strained my senses—could I hear voices? Smell a fire?—but all I could tell was it was fucking pouring.
“Maybe we should just go back to the car,” I whispered. “Wait for him to leave, catch him on the way out.”
“So if the cops show up we’ll be the first thing they see. Great.”
“What do you suggest then?”
She shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” Leaving the relative shelter of the clearing, she strode toward the wigwam.
Silas appeared out of the darkness like he’d been there all along, watching us with amusement. I honestly couldn’t tell where he had come from. Shirtless and barefoot, wearing the same patchwork corduroy pants, his enormous blond dreadlocks glistening with rain, his hemp necklace lying among the few sparse hairs of his tattooed chest.
“Good evening, sisters,” he said. “Can I help you?”
Serena was back at my side in an instant. It was up to me, apparently, to do the talking, which made sense. Owen was my friend, after all. My family.
“I need to talk to Owen,” I said, loathing myself for being so terrified of this hippie. “It’s an emergency.”
“And how did you know to find him here?” Silas asked.
“Please, there’s not much time. It’s his dad,” I said with urgency. “His dad’s just been rushed to the hospital, he needs to go now.”
Silas came closer, and I tried not to step back. He looked me up and down in a way that made me very aware of how my wet shirt was clinging to my skin. “What’s your name, sister?”
“Finley.”
He glanced at Serena. “And your girlfriend?”
“Never mind about her. Where’s Owen?” I said, raising my voice in the hope that he would hear me over the rain if he were nearby.
As if I had willed it, Owen emerged from the wigwam. “Silas? Everything okay?” He saw me and Serena, and I recognized both the murder he had for me in his heart right then, and the fear brought on by my proximity to Silas. “What the fuck—”
I cut him off. “Owen, we have to go. It’s your dad. It’s an emergency.”
He raced toward me, and even in the rain I could smell the weed on him. “Jesus Christ, what happened? Is he okay?”
“I’ll explain everything, you just have to come with me right now.” I tossed Serena my car keys. “Take my car, I’ll go with him.”
Serena didn’t have to be told twice. She turned around and sprinted through the clearing and back up the driveway. Owen was already headed for his truck and I hurried to keep up with him.
“I’m sorry, dude, I have to go,” he called to Silas over his shoulder. “Where am I going?” he asked me when we were back in the truck. “To the hospital?”
“Just drive. I’ll explain when we’re back on the highway.” I waited until Silas’s place was behind us before I said, “Your dad’s fine. Where’s your stash?”
Owen almost swerved off the road. “Wait, what?”
“Caroline Miller wrecked her car driving home from Pullman. She could be alive or dead, I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s pretty common fucking knowledge that you’re her dealer, and when they find that shit in her system Leroy is going to come for you, so tell me, Owen, where’s your fucking stash? Is it in your house? Your truck? The diner? Are they going to find it when they show up? What about the cash? You need to get rid of everything, right now.”
“It doesn’t work that way. I can’t just flush ten thousand dollars’ worth of—”
“Ten thousand dollars?” I cried.
“—OxyContin down the fucking toilet. Then I’m in to Silas for ten grand.”
“So hide it.”
“Hide it? Hide it where?”
“I can keep it at my house.”
Owen laughed. “So when they finally come to arrest you for the fire, they can find my stash in your mattress? I don’t think so.”
I fingered the master key on my carabiner. “Okay. Neutral ground, then.”
CHAPTER TEN.
THE NEXT DAY, the story was the talk of the diner. Caroline had flipped her car on the highway somewhere between Pullman and Williston; luckily, someone driving behind her had seen it happen. They said she just swerved off the road; maybe she’d been trying to avoid a deer, someone theorized, but I was nine out of ten she’d nodded off behind the wheel.
She wasn’t dead, but it had been close, and it still wasn’t a sure thing that she’d make it. No one was allowed to see her but family.
Owen closed early, right after lunch, and went home to wait, rather than be confronted in public at the diner. The police, as I’d predicted, came for him that afternoon. I was surprised it had taken Leroy that long to get the warrants through, but he had been tied up at the hospital, after all. The cops searched Owen’s cabin and truck and came up empty; after they were gone, I went over and found him sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette, his hand shaking as he brought it to his lips. He was clammy and pale.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I threw up. As soon as they were gone. I was afraid if I puked when they were here, it would make me look guilty. So I managed to hold it. And then as soon as they left, I got sick. Then I called you.” He looked at me pathetically. I thought he might start crying. “Do you think my parents know? Do you think they’ve heard yet?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
“What the fuck was I thinking, Fin? What am I going to do?”
I put my arms around him. “It’s going to be okay.”
“If she dies, it’s on me.”
“Not entirely,” I said, and I told him about seeing Caroline in Pullman after the game.
“I didn’t know she was that bad, I swear. I thought she was buying it for her and her friends, I never thought she was doing it all herself. Oh my God Finley, what if she dies?”
“She’s not going to die.”
“I don’t know what to do. Silas is going to want his money. I can’t sell anything if the cops are watching me. What do I do?”
“You do nothing, O. You keep opening the diner every morning. You keep checking in on your parents. You stay away from Silas for now. You’re just a local who runs the Halyard and serves coffee to everyone in town. And Caroline will get better, Leroy will leave you alone, things will calm down, and we’ll figure it out.”
“How did shit get so bad so fast?” he asked me.
“I hate to tell you this,” I said, as he buried his face in my shoulder, “but shit has been going south for a long time.”
“Just please don’t say, ‘I told you so.’”
I stroked his hair. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The best thing I could do for Owen, I figured, was get him drunk t
o the point of unconsciousness and put him to bed, even though it was barely five in the afternoon. So I went inside and found a bottle of bourbon, and I sipped one drink while I refilled his glass again and again. Just as I had when Dad had confronted me, I was already scheming, working out a way to get Owen off the hook, out from under Silas, and a vague plan was starting to form in my mind, a nuclear option I wouldn’t even consider deploying unless the situation got considerably more dire.
In the meantime, I focused on filling him with liquor until his eyes were red and glassy, the lids tinted purple and starting to droop.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said.
“And what’s that?” I raised an eyebrow, blatantly imitating one of his go-to facial expressions.
“Thank you,” he said. “I know I can be a real asshole sometimes, but—”
“Don’t get sentimental on me, okay?”
“Just listen to me. I know I’m a hypocrite. I know I have no business saying this after I’ve been selling that shit all over town. But promise me you’ll stay away from it. If anything happened to you—”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me. I swear. Come on.” I put an arm around him and helped him up. “Let’s get you inside. You can sleep it off. Tomorrow is another day.”
“Will it be better than this one?”
“It will. You’ll see.”
But I was wrong about that, too.
• • •
Serena wanted to go to Charlie’s that night, a reconnaissance mission to gather more information about Caroline and whatever other rumors might be flying around, but I told her she was on her own.
Seeing Owen so shaken had undone something in me—driven home, I supposed, the real-life consequences of what up until now I had essentially treated like a game of Risk or Monopoly. Yes, Owen had sold Caroline the drugs that had gotten her fucked up enough to flip her car; yes, Serena and I had seen her in that condition and not thought twice about whether she’d be driving. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Jack, the sudden wavering in her belief that her brother was innocent. That was why she had been so upset; that was why she had made the trip to Pullman in the first place. We had done that, Serena and I, and while I should have been glad—wasn’t that our intention? To make people realize he was guilty?—it seemed safe to say our plan had backfired, at the very least. Caroline was in the hospital, Owen was closer to being arrested than Calder, and Betty’s death—or disappearance, as some in Williston still insisted—was more an afterthought than ever.
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