And that was that. She’d made her decision, and it was really her idea, not mine at all.
Cass went upstairs to change and call Percy. She returned in more suitable clothes—better suited than my own jeans and sweatshirt, in fact, but I hadn’t expected to be doing any hiking when I packed. She made a few attempts at small talk, asking after Mitch and business before we petered out into silence. At least it was only a few minutes’ drive to where we were going. I pulled off at the Pond Loop trailhead this time. The trail had been built after I moved away, but if it went to the pond, it would put us close to the Grotto.
“I really don’t remember where to go,” Cass said nervously.
“We have a map,” I reminded her. I took the photos out of my pocket and fanned them, finding one that had a sliver of road. “We just passed this tree. Come on.”
We made our way through the woods following Liv’s breadcrumbs. They took us along the trail for a few minutes and then off into the unmarked trees. It wasn’t long before I realized that not all of the photos led to the Grotto—there were others I recognized from elsewhere in the woods, but we were able to cobble together a path.
The sky was clear, the sun high, but I had brought the flashlight. If we got where we were going, we would need it. After a while, Cass started breathing heavily.
“I should work out more,” she grumbled. “You’re still skinny as a stick, I see.”
“It’s either the fast metabolism or the fact that sitting down to eat makes me nervous for some reason,” I said.
“Seriously?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I used to get panic attacks. Still can’t stand the smell of peanut butter.”
She was silent for a few steps. Finally she said, “I forgot about that. That you were eating your lunch when it happened. I thought I remembered every second of that day.” She sounded disturbed.
“It’s been a long time,” I said. I kept my pace slow, keeping level with her. Don’t let anybody be at your back, my instincts said. In these woods, I wasn’t going to even try to talk my hindbrain out of it.
“I don’t want you to think that I’ve forgotten. Like I don’t think about it anymore. About you,” she said. “I’ve done so much therapy, you wouldn’t even believe it.”
I grunted in amusement. “In a competition of who’s had more time getting psychoanalyzed, I do not think you would win, Cassidy Green.”
“I’m not saying it’s a competition.”
“Then you have changed,” I replied, flashing her a smile to take the edge off it, and she sighed.
“I was a little shit back then,” she said.
“So was I. That’s why we got along,” I reminded her. I paused. “And it’s not like I can blame you.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
I paused. “I know it wasn’t easy for you at home. Your parents…”
“I’m not about to whine about my rich parents to you,” she said. “Even I’m not that clueless.”
“At least my dad never hit me,” I said quietly. I’d seen her bruises. Always where they wouldn’t be noticed. She looked away. “Granted, he was neglectful as fuck and it’s a miracle I didn’t get carted off by raccoons to raise as their own.”
She laughed at that, but quickly fell silent. “It wasn’t that bad. Oscar got it way worse, until he got bigger. And when he was around…” She didn’t finish the thought.
I’d never really understood why Cassidy worshipped her brother so much, but if he was protecting her, that explained it. I’d never known him as a protector. To me, he had been something else entirely.
She was looking at me sidelong. “I know you never liked Oscar.”
“I guess,” I said dismissively. As if he’d never done anything to me. As if I’d never let him.
There were things I’d never told Cassidy Green. They would only earn her pity—or her hate. I didn’t want either.
“The past is the past,” she said, like a mantra. She picked up her pace. “All I can do is be a good mom now. Take care of my own, you know? Nothing good comes from digging up old trouble.”
“Like Liv wants to.”
“You can’t tell me you’re not worried about what will happen when everything gets dragged into the open,” Cass said. “When people start asking questions about what else might have been going on.”
“You mean about Stahl.” I stopped, foot braced against a root.
I could never quite sort out my own memories. I didn’t remember deciding to lie about seeing Stahl. I wasn’t sure when I had realized—admitted—that it was a lie. After the hospital. Before the trial.
There was agony in not knowing the truth of my own recollections. Agony, and hope—because if things were that scattered, maybe I had remembered, for a little while.
“You know, don’t you?” I asked Cass.
She sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “That you never saw him? Yeah. I know.”
“How?” I asked. And who else knew? I wanted to add, but I restrained myself.
She hesitated. “It’s not like I knew for sure. But I know you. I’ve always been able to tell when you’re lying.”
“You knew all along,” I said, and she nodded, not looking at me. I thought she’d figured it out somewhere along the way. Had she really always known? My stomach clenched, guilt and shame roiling. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
She looked at me levelly. “You did what you had to do. It wasn’t our fault the cops fucked up the identification process. You were making up for their mistake. Liv and I saw him. It was the truth. It just wasn’t your truth.”
“My lies sent a man to prison for life.”
“And?” she said.
“You don’t think that’s a problem?” I asked her with a disbelieving laugh.
She crossed her arms. “Naomi. Stop. You’re beating yourself up for no reason. We saw him. Liv and I saw Stahl, one hundred percent. I promise. You believe that, don’t you? You don’t think we’re lying.”
“No, of course not,” I said. I opened my mouth, shut it, unable to put it into words. It didn’t matter whether I believed them, in a way. It didn’t even matter whether Stahl was guilty. A righteous lie was still a lie. A wicked life was still a life. I had destroyed a man, and I couldn’t trust my own memories to tell me that I’d done the right thing. I had to take it on faith. I had to trust in what other people had seen.
I’d never been good at trust.
“So why are you so freaked out now? Just because he died?” Cass’s lips wrinkled into a frown.
“I got a letter from Stahl’s son,” I said. “He knows that I lied. He says his father wasn’t the one who attacked me. Is there any way—if you were wrong—”
Cass held up a hand. “Hold on. He knows you lied? How?”
“I…” The letter hadn’t gone into detail, had it? My memory was foggy. “I’m not sure.”
“If he knew that you’d lied, if he knew his dad hadn’t done it, don’t you think he would have said something? The guy is probably just messed up about his dad dying and lashing out. I think you need to ask yourself why you’re so eager to find something that’s your fault.”