Innocent Mistakes

by Melissa F. Miller

  Then the cobwebs clear and she clicks on the photo to review the embedded information. She’s not an expert, but it looks like it was linked from the PTA forum, which she’d assiduously avoided during her hours of poking around the site. She sighs. In the morning, she’ll fortify herself with an extra-strong coffee and plunge into the bowels of the PTA. She fires off a text thanking Siobhan and telling her to go to sleep. Then she takes her own advice and crawls into bed next to Connelly, who shifts to make room for her.

  “Good night,” she whispers.

  But the only answer is his slow, even breathing.

  She closes her eyes and tries to still her racing mind. A series of numbers flashes behind her eyes: 20:18. 20:18.20:18. After a moment, her eyes pop open and she stares at the ceiling, her heart thumping.

  The picture Siobhan forwarded is time-stamped 20:18—military time. It was taken at eighteen minutes after eight p.m. Three minutes before Jordan called to tell her about the broken window. Her heart thumps. Did the photographer throw the brick? Unlikely, unless the PTA has changed a lot since she was a kid. But they very likely witnessed it. They’ll know who did.

  She pats around on the bedside table until she makes contact with her notepad and pen, then she scrawls herself a note in the dark. In the morning, she’ll have the firm’s new IT specialist see if the photo’s metadata yields any information about who took the picture. It’s not directly related to the post Colin’s accused of making, but there’s a connection. She feels it.

  She caps the pen, tosses it and the pad back on the table, and wriggles down under the covers to wedge herself into the space under Connelly’s left arm. He murmurs in his sleep and pulls her closer. She wills herself to sleep.

  9

  Friday morning

  6:00 a.m.

  * * *

  The overhead light in Hunter Dalton’s bedroom flares to life, bright and white, smashing into his dream just as he’s sprinting to victory.

  “Gah.” He jams a pillow over his head and squeezes his eyes closed under it.

  “It’s oh-six-hundred hours! Up and at ‘em!” His mother trills loudly.

  He pushes the pillow aside and squints at her through slitted eyes. “Go away.”

  She flicks the lights. Off. On. Off. On.

  “Get up. Get a shower. I want to see you in the kitchen in twenty minutes. You can eat breakfast in the car. Don’t forget the shirt.”

  He rubs the sand out of his eyes and hopes he’s still dreaming. She’s wearing a green dress with gold diagonal stripes. She wants them to match. In the school colors, no less. He squeezes his eyes shut.

  “Hunter Dalton,” she warns, drawing out his name.

  “Mom, please get out of my room so I can get out of bed. I sleep in the raw. I mean, unless …”

  He opens his eyes and grabs the edge of the blanket. She gasps and withdraws to the hallway, slamming the door behind her. He laughs at the expression of horror he glimpsed just before she pulled the door closed. Then he rolls out of bed and pads over to his closet, tripping over the cuffs of his plaid pajamas bottoms.

  She must be high if she thinks they’re going to wear matching clothes on television. Or, if he has to, it’s not going to be in that dorky green-and-gold patterned button-down shirt she wants him to wear. He paws through the hangers and settles on his track team warm-up suit. It’s green with gold trim. He’ll tell her he’s representing the Tigers and that it’ll look good for the college scouts. That should make her happy.

  He turns the shower on full blast and checks his phone while the water heats. His phone’s exploded overnight with texts and private messages, but not the one he’s waiting for. He frowns down at the endless variations of R U OK? and I always knew McCandless was a loser. No pictures from his supposed girlfriend.

  He’s losing patience with Mallory’s hard-to-get act. He could replace her with the snap of his fingers, doesn’t she know that? Emmaline would jump at the chance to date him. He considers making a move on her, then he remembers Mallory’s anxious expression in the picture Emmaline posted. He’ll lean into her concern and give her another chance. He thumbs out a quick message reminding her to catch him on TV.

  Fifteen miles away, six a.m. comes too soon for Sasha. She groans and throws her arm over her eyes. Connelly stretches and stands. He pulls open the curtains and stands looking down at the street below, yawning and rubbing the stubble on his chin.

  “Rain stopped at least.”

  She rolls and pushes herself off the bed, then goes to stand beside him at the window, wrapping her arms around his middle.

  “Morning.”

  “Learn anything interesting last night?”

  “Yeah, I learned that I am nowhere near ready for Finn and Fiona to go to high school.”

  He smiles down at her, still drowsy. “Luckily, you have years to prepare.”

  She doesn’t smile back. “It seems that way now, but it wasn’t that long ago when Colin and Siobhan were their age. I remember when they were born. Sean and Jordan seemed impossibly grown up. Parents of twins! And I couldn’t even be trusted with a houseplant. Now we have twins.”

  “And houseplants.”

  “And a dog, and a cat.”

  “Pretty sure the cat has us.”

  She laughs, but she isn’t derailed. “I’m serious. Time’s going so fast. Too fast. I don’t want Finn and Fiona to get any older.”

  She thinks, but does not say, I don’t want to get any older. He seems to hear the unspoken thought, though.

  “I do. I want to grow old with you and watch our kids blossom into the amazing adults I know they’ll be.”

  Her heart softens, and she melts into his arms. But only for a heartbeat. She pulls back. “If they make it through high school.”

  “It just seems scary now because they’re so little,” he assures her.

  “Maybe. But I keep thinking of that saying Riley and Jordan are so fond of.”

  “Little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems?” He kisses her forehead as she looks up at him.

  “Yeah, that’s the one. I think they have it wrong, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Little kids, little problems; big kids, federal felony charges.”

  “Not with you in his corner, counselor.”

  She’s about to answer when Finn appears in the doorway.

  “Uh, Mom?”

  “Yeah, pumpkin?”

  “We have a problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My toothbrush is in the toilet.”

  She notes the curious lack of an actor in this sentence. “Oh? How’d it get there?”

  He shuffles his feet. “I was multitasking. Being deficient.”

  Connelly snorts, tries to stifle a laugh.

  She exhales and smiles. “Efficient. Only, not so much, as it turns out. Come on, there are extra toothbrushes in the hall closet. But, Finn?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Take the extra minute and pee before you brush your teeth from now on.”

  “Okay, Mommy,” he promises solemnly, slipping his hand into hers as they walk down the hall.

  She takes the solution to Finn’s little-kid problem from the package on the shelf and hands it to her son, then heads to the bathroom to fish his old toothbrush out of the toilet and dispose of it. As she washes her hands, she wonders how Jordan’s doing this morning and tries to imagine her future self parenting a pair of teenaged twins. But Sasha McCandless-Connelly’s fabled overactive imagination fails her utterly.

  10

  “Listen, you two, I know today’s going to be weird. Just remember: you’re McCandlesses. You can do hard things.” Mom cranes her neck to peer at them in the backseat and give them a tense smile as she delivers this motivational speech.

  Siobhan smiles, nodding her head, and Colin manages not to roll his eyes.

  “Right, Mom.”

  She locks eyes with him for a long, searching moment, and he resists the urge to sh
out ‘I didn’t do it.’ He thinks she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t. She hits the button, and the minivan doors glide open.

  Siobhan and Colin hop out in unison. Then, in unison, they sling their backpacks over their shoulders. Colin glances at his sister and gives her a crooked smile.

  “Twinsies,” he says.

  She grins back at their old joke.

  Mom pulls away with a wave. They fall silent and make their way up the sloping hill from the drop off circle to the main school building. The reason for Mom’s insistence on driving them settles over Colin like a blanket—no, not a blanket, a heavy tarp or maybe a body bag—as they draw closer to the building.

  He lowers his head and drags his feet across the macadam, as they pass clusters of whispering, staring kids. His face burns. He gives his sister a sidelong glance. Her head is high and her chin is raised, defiant. She turns slowly, unblinkingly—like an owl, he thinks—and meets every eye that follows them to the door.

  I can do hard things.

  Watching her stare down the crowd, he almost believes it. He wants to hug her. Instead, he coughs. Then, he chokes out, “I’m sorry, Vonnie.” His voice is low and growly, almost a whisper.

  She stops to face him. “Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says fiercely. “And Aunt Sasha’s gonna prove it.”

  “What if she can’t?”

  Saying the words aloud is somehow less frightening than just thinking them. That question ran through his head all night, shaking him awake in his dark room and clawing at him worse than any monster under the bed.

  She shakes her head. He can tell she’s going to give him a big speech, pump him up for the craptacular day ahead. She’s just like Mom, that way. She should’ve gone out for the spirit squad.

  But before she gets the chance to shake her metaphorical pompoms at him, Mrs. Grady, the receptionist at the administration building, runs across the driveway, awkward in a long, fitted skirt and heels, waving her arms and calling his name.

  “Colin McCandless! Colin McCandless, Principal Dunbar wants to see you.”

  She screeches to a stop in front of them and reaches for his arm, panting a little.

  He meets Siobhan’s wide-eyed look with one of his own and musters a smile that’s supposed to say, ‘it’s fine.’

  She smiles back, and he wonders if his smile looks as sickly as hers does.

  He shakes off Mrs. Grady’s hand. As he trails her across the quad, he wonders how much worse his life can get. A whole lot worse, is the answer.

  11

  Siobhan watches Mrs. Grady hustle her brother into the administrative building. Colin’s brave face didn’t fool her for a second. After a moment, she glances back toward the academic wing, trying to decide.

  She should report to homeroom, mind her business. She knows there’s nothing she can do to help Colin. But he’s her brother. He’s her twin. Her friends always ask stupid questions like can she feel his pain, or does he know when she gets sick. She brushes them off because she can’t put the connection into words. But they’re twinsies. He’s like another her walking around outside her body. She can’t just walk away and act like nothing’s happening.

  She lowers her head and races into the administrative complex before she can second guess her decision. The door hasn’t swung shut fully behind Colin and Mrs. Grady. She catches it and sidles inside. There’s no one at the reception desk to stop her, so she presses the button under the counter to let herself in and races down the hallway.

  Colin and Mrs. Grady are already at the far end of the hall, almost to the principal’s office. She slips silently along the corridor. When she reaches the restroom, she ducks inside to wait for Mrs. Grady to pass by on her way back to the reception desk. She presses herself against the cool tile wall and listens hard for the clacking of high heels on the floor outside.

  Once she hears Mrs. Grady tap, tap, tap past the restroom, she pushes off the wall. Her heart is racing, and she’s all clammy. She splashes some water on her face and dries her hands on one of the rough recycled brown paper towels. Then she squares her shoulders.

  She eases open the metal door, just a crack, and peers around to make sure the hall is clear. It is. Mrs. Grady’s returned to her post, her back to the hallway, her fingers flying over her computer keyboard.

  Siobhan creeps along the corridor and presses her ear against Principal Dunbar’s door.

  If she’s being honest, she doesn’t actually expect to hear anything. Mr. Dunbar isn’t one of those guys with the loud and booming voice, not like Dad. He’s more soft-spoken. Gentle even.

  But luckily for her, Mr. Dunbar isn’t the one doing the talking. A stranger’s voice, deep and intimidating, carries through the door clearly.

  “The Bureau did some computer forensics last night, and guess what we learned, son?”

  Colin’s response is muffled, but Siobhan thinks he says, “I’m not your son.” She winces at the disrespect, but she can’t say she blames him. This guy—probably the FBI agent from yesterday—is condescending.

  “I’d lose the attitude if I were you. Our computer experts analyzed the traffic to the school intranet and confirmed that the post originated from a cell phone. That mobile carrier confirmed that the phone number is one of four registered to Sean and Jordan McCandless. I assume neither of your parents logged into your school intranet account and told Hunter Dalton to kill himself. This is your last chance to come clean and admit what you’ve done.” The agent’s voice softens, but he’s still loud. “I can help you, Colin. But I can only help you if you’re honest with me. Tell me what happened.”

  Colin’s voice is tight and high. “I already told you. I didn’t post that. I don’t know how it got tracked back to my cell phone. Maybe whoever did it spoofed the number? I don’t know—I’m not a computer nerd.”

  Siobhan digs her fingernails into the palms of her hand and squeezes her eyes shut.

  Stay strong, Colin. Don’t give in. You didn’t do this.

  Principal Dunbar clears his throat. She can’t make out everything he says, but she gets the gist. He tells Colin the evidence doesn’t look good and encourages him to cooperate with Agent Merriweather. He says in light of Colin’s age and the fact that this is a first offense, the authorities will be lenient—but only if he shows remorse and accepts responsibility.

  She holds her breath waiting to hear if Colin cracks, but he explodes, “I’m not responsible! How many times do I have to explain that I did not write that post? Call my Aunt Sasha. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

  The FBI agent takes over, his voice firm and hard. “That’s not how this works. What we’re going to do is call your parents and let them know that you’ve been taken into custody by the local police.”

  “Wait, you’re arresting me?”

  The Agent huffs. “Not yet. When the accused is a juvenile, we try to defer to the local authorities. That’s why Officer Hill is here. I’ll tell you right now that, given the gravity of the death threat you’ve made, I am seeking approval to bring a federal criminal indictment. But, for now, I’m turning you over to the Commonwealth for juvenile detention proceedings.”

  Siobhan exhales. Officer Hill isn’t exactly easygoing, but she’s better than this faceless FBI agent. Siobhan’s glad she’s there.

  “I want my lawyer,” Colin insists.

  Officer Hill speaks up. “Well, you’re a minor, Colin. So the way it works is you and I are going to go down to the station. Principal Dunbar will contact your parents and let them know what’s going on. Once they get to the station, they can decide if they want to contact a lawyer for you.”

  “But my aunt said—”

  “I understand, but this is how we do it. I bet she also told you not to talk to the authorities without her present, so maybe you want to give that some thought.” Officer Hill is kind but firm.

  The FBI agent snorts. “Officer, spare us your legal musing and just take him into custody. I have places to
be.”

  “Colin, please stand up and—”

  Siobhan gasps and wheels around, running full out back to the bathroom. She no longer cares if anyone sees her. As soon as she’s inside, she pulls out her phone with shaking hands and pulls up Aunt Sasha’s contact card. Her fingers are trembling so hard she can barely hit the call icon.

  She answers on the second ring. “This is Sasha McCandless. Siobhan? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

  “I am. Colin needs you.”

  “What’s happening?”

  She stammers, tries to collect her thoughts, and swallows hard. “Mom dropped us off outside the building today. She didn’t want us to take the bus. When we were walking into the building Mrs. Grady came out and grabbed Colin.”

  “The receptionist?”

  “Yeah. She said for Colin to come with her to Principal Dunbar’s office. She seemed frantic, you know?”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I … um … well, I followed them.” She pauses to see if Aunt Sasha is going to scold her.

  But all she says is, “Go on.”

  “I was outside the door and …”

  “You eavesdropped.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. What did you hear?”

  “The FBI agent—that Merriweather guy—said they confirmed that the cell phone that posted that message was registered to mom and dad, and that’s enough to charge Colin. He and Principal Dunbar tried to convince Colin that if he cooperated and admitted what he did, they’d go easy on him.”

  She pauses to catch her breath, and she thinks she hears Aunt Sasha swear softly, but she must be wrong. Aunt Sasha never swears.

  “Please tell me Colin didn’t talk to him.”

  “Well, he insisted it wasn’t him, and he said he wanted them to call you. They said no, and—”

  “Hold on, Siobhan. This is important. You’re telling me Agent Merriweather refused Colin’s request for counsel?”