This Story Might Save Your Life(72)

“Did he now?”

Benny’s eyes rapidly searched mine. “You didn’t say that?”

“I love eucalyptus, you know that.”

Another night, leaving the green room, Xander handed me a box of mints. “You might want to pop one of these before the next meet and greet.”

“Do I have bad breath?”

“Well, Benny said…”

This went on. And on. I wish I could say I tried to put a stop to it, but it was easier to disengage. If I argued, for example, that Benny would never comment on my weight, Xander would laugh and say, “Of course he would never say it to your face.” And then he’d spend the next ten minutes telling me how lovely I was. How lucky I was to have a husband who could see my beauty in all its different forms.

And even though I knew what he was doing, even though I saw right through it, his words got under my skin. Benny might not have said anything about my weight, but clearly it was on Xander’s mind if he thought to bring it up. Benny had never complained about my breath, but I still found myself popping mints whenever either of them was around.

There was no love lost between Benny and Xander by the end of our tour, and things only worsened after that. It occurs to me, as I wait for Mitali to return, that Benny might have already reached his tipping point before finding the memoir. If he hurt you, I swear to god I’ll kill him. Fear coils around my heart. If he read it that night, if he returned to my house later to have it out with Xander and something happened …



* * *



THE BED SHIFTS. I open my eyes to find Mitali sitting at my feet. She stares at me for so long my skin starts to tingle. “Did you get through?”

“I couldn’t figure out how to call Benny, so I called the police.”

My pulse quickens. “And?”

She takes my hand. “You’re to stay here. Rest. As long as you need. Gloria already knows.”

“Stay?” I assumed someone would come get me.

“For now, you’re safer here.” Lowering her voice, she adds, “Whoever killed Xander hasn’t been arrested yet.”

Arrested. I almost don’t want to ask. “And … Benny?”

Her eyes crinkle. “They promised they would let Benny know you’re okay.”

Hearing this, I’m hit with a jolt of relief so powerful it makes me dizzy again: Benny couldn’t have done it. They wouldn’t say I was safer here if they thought Benny was responsible for Xander’s death because Benny would never hurt me. Never. My throat swells. I want to see him. I wish I could see him. “How long do I have to stay here? How am I supposed to know when it’s okay to leave?”

“I gave them my email. They said they’d let us know if they had any updates.”

I close my eyes, suddenly heavy again. There are still countless unanswered questions, but I’ll worry about those later. For right now, here, I’m in no danger, and Benny will soon know I’m alive, and I suppose that’s all that matters.

When I open my eyes again, Mitali’s holding my pill organizer. “When was your last dose? Are you due?”

Again, the shame that I’m not doing this right. That if I were more scientific about tapering off my drugs, I wouldn’t be so out of sorts.

That Xander would’ve done better.

“You shouldn’t take these on an empty stomach.” She regards my collection of half-eaten muffins and browning bananas. “Wait here.”



* * *



I WAKE TO find Mitali holding out a bowl. It smells of curry and cumin, ginger and garlic. I’m overwhelmed to the point of lightheadedness. “Go on, then,” she says. “It’s mulligatawny. I made it last night.”

I love mulligatawny, but for the life of me I cannot bring myself to reach for the bowl. “I’m sorry. I’m not very hungry.”

Mitali releases a disappointed sigh.

“I’ll eat it later. I promise.”

She searches my face, and sets the bowl on the nightstand before leaving. At the door, she stops. “Before it gets too cold.”

“I will,” I say. “Thank you.”





Benny Abbott


Day Five

“Turn right up there,” I say.

Sarah points to the strip mall off the main boulevard. “There?”

We’ve been in the car all day, having left the house before reporters set up camp in the hope of finding answers about Xander’s accident. The exact location in Angeles National Forest was never disclosed, only that it happened off the Angeles Crest Highway, a windy two-lane mountain road north of Los Angeles. We drove the entire stretch from the dry-brush hills through the pine-stippled mountains and out the other side to where the highway ended, and then we turned around. But nothing. No traffic cones, no camera vans, not a single piece of yellow tape. Which means they’ve either misled us about the location, or they’ve given up their search for Joy.

Or—I can’t even bear to think it—they never started searching to begin with.

The entire round trip took four hours, and between fits of anger and frustration, Sarah and I dissected every shred of information we’ve been given over the past few days. The part we keep coming back to is Mallory. And whatever it is she and Quinn are hiding.