When Devils Sing(56)

Reid was buried in his bed in the early evening when his bedroom door swung open, sending harsh light into his eyes. “Leave me alone,” he pleaded to the silhouette in the doorway. “I already told you; I’m not going to another stupid fucking party.”

“You’re not doing what?” The question came from his father.

Reid quickly sat up. “I’m sorry, sir. I meant—I can’t—”

His father stepped into his room, dressed in a crisp button-up and khakis, and met him at his bedside. The sight of him here was a surprise. Reid couldn’t remember the last time his father had bothered to come to his room. Russ Langley was the kind of man who called, and you answered.

“What’s this business I hear,” his father began, kneeling on the hardwood floor before him, “that you’ve been crying all day?”

Reid couldn’t meet his gaze. “We’re no longer allowed to cry in this house? Tell that to Jonah.”

His father snorted. “That’s not what I meant.” He glanced around Reid’s room as if it was a novelty to witness. “I understand what you’re feeling right now, son. But there are ways to deal with it, and this isn’t it.”

“Yeah, right,” Reid said. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Watch that mouth,” his father said coolly, narrowing his gray eyes. “You think it was easy for me to get out of bed every day—after what happened to your mother?”

Reid shrugged. “It seemed like it was.”

“Exactly,” his father said. “It seemed like it, and that’s all that matters. We are Langleys. We are the pillars of this community, and that means there are certain obligations expected of us.”

“None of this is fair,” Reid protested. He suddenly felt like a child again, a scared little boy being scolded by his father.

“Fairness doesn’t exist in this world, son,” his father said. “The sooner you come to terms with that, the better off you’ll be.” He reached for Reid’s hand, holding it in his own. “It’s none of my business what that Carrion boy meant to you. I, of all people, can’t judge you for that. However, it’s my job as your father to tell you this: Wipe your tears, buck up, and get your ass out of bed.”

Reid allowed his father to pull him up and into an uneasy embrace. They patted each other on the back, then stepped apart.

“Dad,” Reid began, “you think we could have birthday breakfast for me this year? Like how we used to when we were little, with the homemade French toast?”

“I’m sorry, son.” For the briefest moment, a distant, pained expression flashed across his father’s face. “There won’t be time that day. This year, the Fourth is going to be something special for not only our family, but for all of Lake Clearwater.”

“More important than my eighteenth birthday?” Reid asked. He realized how childish he sounded, but that’s how it always was with his father. He couldn’t help but regress in his presence.

“You’ll understand when the time comes,” his father said, his tone shifting, signaling an end to any further questions.

Reid could only nod as the weight of his father’s words enveloped him. His father made his way to the door, lingering for a moment. He then asked, “How ’bout we do the next morning for your birthday breakfast?”

Reid nodded. “The next morning,” he agreed sadly, realizing that breakfast would never come. “Sounds good.”

His father checked the time on his watch. “I’m gonna head on over to Laurence’s house with your brother and sister now. I better see you there within an hour—not a minute later. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, and then his father was gone.

And soon, Reid would be gone, too.





ISAIAH


WHEN ISAIAH’S FATHER invited him to dinner that night, he failed to mention it would include a housewarming party for his new summer home on Lake Clearwater, with dozens of people in attendance. Isaiah navigated through the house, taking the contours of it in, all while guests made a point to stop and shake his hand, congratulating him on Harvard.

It felt like his father had made sure the whole of Lake Clearwater knew of his Ivy League horizons.

His father had a way of treating Isaiah like an extension of himself. In all the ways Isaiah shined, it only made his father shine brighter. With every passing year, it felt as if the path his father laid before him grew narrower, boxing Isaiah into a role he didn’t fully agree with.

And as it was, that role didn’t allow for a secret investigative podcast that sought to pierce through the gleaming veneer of Lake Clearwater.

Isaiah made his way upstairs, eager for a break from hobnobbing and rubbing elbows. It appeared he wasn’t the only one who wanted to get away, as he found Reid Langley sitting at the top of the stairs, his limbs tangled between the banisters, looking down on the party.

This is my chance, Isaiah thought, recalling his research into Dawson’s social life. Reid had seemed like Dawson’s only friend before he went missing. He must know something.

Isaiah and Reid weren’t strangers, but they weren’t exactly friends, either. He needed to tread carefully if he wanted real answers.

Reid gave him an awkward nod.