I slam the front door, cutting off his venomous tirade.
I don’t remember getting into my car or Alyssa shoving me over so she could get behind the wheel.
When I look down at my hands, they’re shaking.
“Has he ever said anything like that before?” Alyssa asks softly as she steers out of my neighborhood.
“Not like that. But he’s always hated me.”
“He doesn’t hate you. He was just drunk.”
“Being drunk doesn’t change how you feel about someone. It just gives you permission to say it out loud.”
She doesn’t have a response for that. For a few minutes, we sit in silence as she drives toward her house. Eventually, Alyssa sighs. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Stan. It’s obvious he loves your mom. He seems to like me. And we both love you. So what’s his problem with you?”
I shrug. I’ve spent eighteen years grappling with that question. “Maybe he’s got a thing for you.”
She laughs. “Gross.”
“I’m serious. It would make so much sense. I mean, just look at him and my mom. What kind of grown man in his late thirties takes in a pregnant nineteen-year-old he’s never met, just because she’s his cousin’s granddaughter?”
“Someone who cares?”
“Or someone who’s a pervert.”
“He is not a pervert.”
“He just admitted he wished he’d committed baby murder. I’m not sure we can rule anything out.”
Alyssa shakes her head but doesn’t push the issue. “I’ve never seen him drink before,” she says quietly.
“Me neither.”
“He must be really upset.”
I shrug. I’m not in the mood to make excuses for Stan.
“You think it’s because of the remains the police found?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Do you think it was someone he knew?”
“Maybe it’s someone he killed.”
Alyssa glances away from the road, narrowing her eyes at me. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny. Once again, I will point out that the man just admitted to considering infanticide. Who’s to say he hasn’t already killed someone?”
I picture Stan out where the police just were with a shovel, dumping a body by the side of the river. It’s not that hard. Maybe that’s why he’s drinking himself into oblivion right now. He’s worried he’ll finally be caught.
I imagine myself going down to the sheriff, telling him my suspicion. I picture the cars showing up at our house, Stan leaving in handcuffs. I imagine my mom crying as he’s hauled away, the mixed feelings of satisfaction and guilt wrestling inside me as I watch it all unfold.
I can see it all so clearly. Even though I know I won’t do it.
Mom will be coming home from work soon, to find Stan drunk in our kitchen. When I think about that scene, it makes me want to sink through the floor of the car to be flattened by my own tires.
I sigh, resting my head against the window as Alyssa pulls into her driveway. “Alyssa?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think . . . I mean, would your parents mind . . .”
“You want to stay here tonight?”
“Yeah. That okay?”
“Yeah.”
Chapter Eight
KARL
Karl stood in the doorway of his parents’ room, shifting from foot to foot as his mother methodically opened and slammed drawers, one after another. Each drawer made the same sound.
Shhhh—WHAP.
Karl’s older sister, Charlene, was out with her friend Lisa, and his parents were getting ready to head to dinner, which would leave him at home alone. As usual.
Unless his mom couldn’t find what she was looking for. Then maybe his parents wouldn’t leave after all.
Shhhh—WHAP. Shhhh—WHAP. Shhhh—WHAP.
“Mom?”
“Not now, honey,” she muttered, pulling open yet another drawer—shhhh—and riffling through it with anxious fingers tipped in sharp red nails. A shiny slip edged with lace spilled over the drawer’s edge, onto the floor. She ignored it, shoving the drawer back into the dresser—WHAP—and moving on to the next one. The slip tangled under her stockinged feet, and she kicked it aside with an irritated grunt.
“But, Mom, I just wanted—”
She sighed and turned to him, hands moving to her narrow hips, gold bracelets clinking. “What is so important, Karl?”
Karl’s eyes dropped to the thick cream carpeting. “I just was wondering if it would be okay if I didn’t go to the bonfire tomorrow,” he muttered.
His mother rolled her eyes, false lashes fluttering against her brightly painted lids like a perturbed butterfly. “That’s fine,” she said absently, turning her full attention back to the dresser. She opened a drawer, then slammed it with a grunt of disgust. “Ugh, it’s not here.” She glanced over her shoulder and seemed surprised to realize Karl was still there. “Do you know where my gold-and-pearl brooch is?”
Karl shrugged. He should’ve known she wouldn’t ask him why he didn’t want to go. He didn’t know why he’d thought she might.
“If you don’t find it, will you stay home?” he asked hopefully.
She shook her head, sending her earrings swinging. “Of course not,” she said absently, then looked at him and sighed. “Why don’t you invite a friend over? You can have a sleepover. Play your video game or something.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Karl said, his shoulders drooping. What friend? he wanted to ask, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to answer. The second controller for the brand-new video game system that his parents had given him for his birthday, months ahead of its official release, still sat in its original box, unused. Neither of his parents had noticed.
His mother closed her eyes, crimson-slicked lips moving as she whispered to herself, walking through the last time she could remember wearing the brooch.
Karl backed out of his parents’ room and headed downstairs, hands jammed in his pockets. His dad sat on the living room couch in his suit, a Time magazine open on his lap. He glanced up as Karl walked past. “Your mom almost ready?”
“She can’t find her brooch.”
His father groaned, checking his watch before tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. “Moira, we’re going to be late.”
Her frantic voice drifted down from above. “Just another minute.”
“Oh, for the love of . . .” He stomped toward the stairs. “Just pick a different one.”
Karl waited for a few seconds, listening to his parents argue above him, before slipping out the front door. Headlights were approaching up their long drive—probably Charlene coming home—so he ducked around the side of the house instead of cutting in front of the garage, disappearing into the thick trees that lined their property.
He pressed into the shadows, keeping his breathing soft as his sister parked her car and climbed out. Karl was one of the smallest kids in his seventh-grade class, including the girls. It made running away hard, but hiding easy. Charlene didn’t even glance his way as she walked inside, humming wordlessly along to whatever rock tune leaked from the headphones draped around her neck.