They watch it on an old TV-VCR combo that Aubrey bought at a garage sale. The movie is from a garage sale too, bought with the money she made as a bagger at Big Y. The movie is gory and terrible. Usually they’d be making jokes through the whole thing, but tonight, after a few quips from Maya, they just watch, and with every murder, Aubrey’s choice feels more passive-aggressive. She’s so quiet when it’s over that Maya thinks she’s asleep, so she turns off the TV and lies beside Aubrey in bed. The day was hot, but the night air is cold, so she gets beneath the blanket. Closes her eyes.
“What happens when you go away to college?” Aubrey asks.
“Huh?”
“With you and Frank. What happens when you leave?”
“I don’t know,” Maya says. “Maybe I’ll defer.” Only as the words leave her mouth does she realize she’s considering it, but now that she’s said it, she knows it’s true.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Plenty of people take a gap year,” Maya says, surprised she hadn’t thought of it before. What does it matter if she starts at BU next year instead of next week?
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Aubrey asks.
Maya doesn’t know how to answer. Nothing is wrong with her. And who is Aubrey to criticize her for staying? Aubrey will be here too, still working at Big Y while attending Berkshire Community College. She had said it wasn’t worth taking out loans to go anywhere else, that community college was fine, more than anyone else in her family had done.
“Thought you’d be happy,” Maya says, “to know I might stay in town.”
“Wow,” Aubrey says sarcastically. Then a pause when it seems she might say more, but in the end, all she says is: “Good night.”
* * *
— Maya is brushing her hair in the mirror after trying on several shirts and settling on a blue-and-white-striped tank top when the knock comes at the door. It’s not quite one, and her mom’s sleeping off last night’s shift, so Maya hurries to the door before Frank knocks again and wakes her up. He’s a few minutes early. She’s already smiling as she opens the door. But it isn’t Frank.
It’s Aubrey. She looks amazing. And she’s wearing that dress, the one she wore the night she made out with the drummer of the Screaming Mimis. Maya had watched him eyeing her all night as she danced near the stage, the dress slipping now and then from her shoulders, hugging her swinging hips. Aubrey too had known the drummer was watching her. That was the point. The dress is red, blood red.
“Hey,” Aubrey says.
How dare she?
Now all the guilt Maya had felt, all her sympathy, sizzles away like drops of water on a skillet. She steps outside, closes the door behind her so she doesn’t have to whisper. “You knew he’d be here at one.”
Aubrey smiles and shrugs like this is no big deal. “You said you wanted to introduce us, so here I am.”
“Look, we have plans, okay? You can’t just—”
“Don’t worry, I’m not staying. My mom’s having one of her Avon parties, so I had to get out of the house. Thought I’d come here. Meet Frank.”
Maya shakes her head. She’s about to ask Aubrey to leave when Frank pulls into the driveaway. Gets out of the car. He smiles as he approaches.
“Hey,” Aubrey says, extending her hand. “I’m—”
“Aubrey.” He clasps her hand warmly.
“You must be Frank.” Her voice is light, but she holds his eyes as if trying to read him. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she says.
“Same here. All good things.” He seems comfortable, and Maya wonders if she was wrong in assuming he preferred to spend time with her alone.
She almost dies as his eyes dart down the front of Aubrey’s body. “Well,” Maya says a little too forcefully, “nice seeing you, Aubrey. But as I was saying, Frank and I have plans today . . .”
Aubrey looks to him, waits to be invited.
To Maya’s immense relief, he stays out of the conversation. He’s not quite smiling, not quite amused, but close. And she wonders how this looks to him, the obvious tension in the air. Maya’s tone. For a moment, she’s sure he’s deduced the whole situation.
“Okay, well . . . see you around, I guess,” Aubrey says to Maya, and she sounds almost sad, but Maya has no sympathy for her. They have never hurt each other in this way. Not like this, with what feels like cruelty.
“It was nice to meet you, Frank,” Aubrey says. “And congrats.”
He freezes. “Congrats?”
“On the cabin. Maya said you finished it.”
The hint of amusement vanishes from his face. He glares at Maya. “You told her about my cabin.”
“I—I told her you built it. Was I not supposed to?”
Frank glowers. He could be a stranger.
“Sorry I brought it up,” Aubrey says. “I’ll . . . go now.”
“It’s fine,” he says as she walks away. “Really. I’m glad you know about it, Aubrey.” A smile sparks in his eyes and spreads across his face, brightening him as quickly as he’d darkened. “Maybe you’d like to see it too.”
No! Maya wants to shout.
“It’ll have to be another day, though,” he says. “I actually need to get back to my dad. He had a rough morning. That’s what I came here to tell you, Maya. Today doesn’t work anymore, I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t believe him. He was going to take her to his cabin, she was going to tell him her thoughts about deferring, but Aubrey ruined everything.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“For what?” He hugs her goodbye, but the hug is wooden, bloodless. Even as his face pretends nothing’s changed. “Good to meet you,” he says to Aubrey. His gaze drops again to her body, and Maya feels a gut punch. “Did you walk here?” Frank asks.
Aubrey nods.
“Want a ride?”
Aubrey glances at Maya, then at Frank. She thinks about it. “Sure,” she says.
Maya doesn’t breathe as she watches him open the car door for her. Aubrey gets in. She avoids eye contact with Maya through the windshield.
TWENTY-TWO
Maya had been drinking since five p.m., the tea in her mug replaced with orange juice and the cheap gin she’d bought on her way home from the museum. Four hours later, the pint was nearly empty, and she felt calmer, but not drunk, as she should have. Any other time she would have been sloppy by now, but it was as if her body wouldn’t allow it, as if her every cell intended to stay vigilant.
The smell of chili seeped through the walls. Roasted cumin and garlic, sizzling beef. This was one of Brenda’s best dishes, but Maya hadn’t had any. She understood that she was being cruel, but her mom had questioned her sanity again.
It wouldn’t have bothered her so much if she wasn’t tempted to succumb to her mom’s fears. If she just agreed that she was crazy, Maya would be given the kind of meds that would make her sleep for twelve hours straight. She added more gin to her mug. She was sitting in the dark, cross-legged on top of the bed with her phone in one hand. Hours of searching for information on Ruby Garza hadn’t turned up anything new. And even if it had—if Maya could link a third dead woman to Frank—she still wouldn’t know how he did it.