“They’re going to lock you in my parents’ room while the police are here.”
Summer was quiet as she thought. Sara was right. Without her mother’s protection, they could do anything they wanted to her, especially if everyone thought she’d run away. Would her grandparents believe she’d run away? Ha! Why wouldn’t they? According to Lorraine, they had always wanted to believe the worst about their own daughter, so why would they question a story about the granddaughter they’d never met? Yet…they were all she had. Duty would make them take care of her; her mama had said something of that nature once. No matter what, she had to get out of here. Taured had killed her mother, and eventually, he would kill her, too. The memory of him standing in the cafeteria, staring at her as they led her away to her mother’s funeral, surfaced in her mind. Chilled, she looked with new resolve at her brave friend, who was risking everything to help her.
Ama’s parents had the most private room other than Taured himself; it was in the south wing of the compound, near the infirmary and far away from Taured’s office and the chapel.
“I’ll come let you out when it’s time. I promise,” Sara said.
Something was brewing now in her belly beside the pain, beside the yearning of grief; it was determination.
They whispered for a few more minutes, making plans. Summer squeezed her friend’s hand, not knowing what else to say, feeling the dampness of her palms and being comforted by it. Sara was the only person on the planet she cared about anymore. And if everything went right, she’d never see Sara again.
The door opened and the girls said “Amen” at the same time; Summer had to fight to hide her smile.
“Thank you for your help today,” Summer said, speaking formally for Ama’s benefit. She squeezed her friend’s hand three times: I…love…you. Sara squeezed back three times and then Ama and her daughter were gone. It felt terrible, the loss and loneliness. All she could do now was wait.
18
Now
Mackenzie was taking the first flight out the next morning to Arizona to see her parents. The rest of them were supposed to land at SeaTac together on the midday flight. Rainy was staring at the ceiling of Charlie’s Inn at five a.m., composing her text. She’d send it to their group chat so she could deal with them all at once. She heard the rolling of suitcase wheels outside her room; someone was leaving early. She hadn’t been able to sleep, the events of the previous day playing out over and over in her mind till she felt loopy from them, and now she had a headache. At midnight she’d left her room and walked. There was a place she wanted to see, and she needed the darkness to see it, lest she be noticed.
Once Rainy had sent the text, she got out of bed. Grabbing a hair tie off the nightstand, she braided her hair. Everything that had happened with the Tiger Mountain group made her feel sick now. It was too much—being in Friendship and thinking about the things her supposed friends had said. Like a tornado and a hurricane in one heart, Rainy thought.
Ursa had let it slip that Braithe had called Grant “boo.” Had they been together at some point? Why hadn’t Grant told her? In the bathroom she turned on the shower, studying her reflection in the mirror. Grant encouraged her friendship with Braithe, which seemed like a strange thing to do if he’d been with her in that way. And why when people said “it was nothing” did that always mean it was something? That was an unspoken rule.
After her shower, Rainy put on yesterday’s clothes and headed to Red’s for aspirin and some toiletries. Her headache was starting to make her feel fried. Red had a soda fountain along the back near the pharmacy, and she ordered a coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. She watched the few stragglers ambling about—mostly employees dressed in red vests. A man drank from a water bottle near the automatic doors, his suit sagging off his body like it was more exhausted than he was. She pulled her phone from her bag and stared at the screen. She touched cool fingertips to her eyelids, breathing in. The bagel rolled in her stomach, threatening to slide back up on a wave of cream cheese.
Rainy finished off the rest of her coffee and tossed the cup in the trash. She urgently needed to be done with this place and to get out of there. Her headache hadn’t subsided with the caffeine and aspirin as she’d hoped.
She checked her phone again. Only a text from the gallery in New York saying they’d sold her Jar of Parts piece to a private collector. The piece had sold for a hundred thousand dollars, an amount that was impressive and worth celebrating, yet the moment fell flat.