“Jesus.”
“She was so strong that the muscles held it in place. She kept performing. But then her legs went numb and she was rushed to the ER and she had spinal fusion surgery and she had to wear a halo to keep her head from turning and she started taking Oxy for the pain and—”
“Heroin.” Nick was on the streets. He’d seen the progression in real time. “That’s quite a sob story, Counselor. The judge must’a bought it since her ass isn’t behind bars where it belongs.”
The judge had bought a confession from the innocent junkie Leigh had bribed to take the fall.
Nick asked, “ She on the needle or smoking it?”
“Needle. It’s been off and on for almost twenty years.” Leigh’s heart had started pounding again. The crushing guilt of her sister’s tortured life had broken through the veil of Valium. “Some years are better than others.”
“Christ, that’s a hard road to walk.”
“It is.” Leigh had watched it play out like a never-ending horror novel. “I wanted to check on her because I feel guilty.”
His eyebrows arched back up. “Since when does a defense lawyer ever feel guilty?”
“She almost died last year.” Leigh couldn’t look at him anymore. She stared out the window instead. “I gave her Covid.”
SUMMER 1998
The night was pitch black. Harleigh’s eyes sharpened on every detail picked out by her car’s headlights. Mailbox numbers. Stop signs. Taillights on parked cars. A cat’s eyes as it scrambled across the road.
Harleigh, I think I killed Buddy.
Callie’s hoarse whisper had been barely perceptible on the other end of the telephone. There was a scary flatness to her voice. She had shown more emotion this morning when she couldn’t find her socks for cheerleading practice.
I think I killed him with a knife.
Harleigh hadn’t asked questions or demanded a reason why. She had known exactly why, because in that moment, her mind had taken her back to that sweaty yellow Corvette, the song on the radio, Buddy’s enormous hand covering her knee.
Callie, listen to me. Don’t move until I get there.
Callie had not moved. Harleigh had found her sitting on the floor of the Waleskis’ bedroom. She still had the phone to her ear. The operator’s staticky voice was talking over the screeching wah-wah-wah sound that the phone made when you left it off the hook too long.
Callie’s hair was out of its usual ponytail, shrouding her face. Her voice sounded raspy as she spoke the words along with the recording. “If you’d like to make a call …”
“Cal!” Harleigh dropped to her knees. She tried to pry the phone out of her sister’s hands, but Callie wouldn’t let go. “Callie, please.”
Callie looked up.
Harleigh fell back in horror.
The whites in her sister’s eyes had turned black. Her nose had been broken. Blood dripped from her mouth. Finger-shaped red slashes ringed Callie’s neck where Buddy had tried to choke the life out of her.
Harleigh was responsible for this. She had protected herself from Buddy, but then she had put Callie directly in his path.
“Cal, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“What—” Callie coughed, and blood misted out from her lips. “What are we going to do?”
Harleigh gripped Callie’s hands like she could keep them both from sinking farther down. So much ran through her mind—you’re going to be okay. I’ll fix this. We’ll get through it together—but she saw no way to fix this, no path out of hell. Harleigh had entered the house through the kitchen. Her eyes had flickered across Buddy the same guilty way you’d pretend to not see a homeless person freezing in a doorway.
But he wasn’t homeless.
Buddy Waleski was connected. He had friends all over the place, including inside the police force. Callie wasn’t some coddled suburban white kid with two parents who would lay down their lives to protect her. She was a trashy teenager from the bad side of town who’d already spent time in juvie for stealing a pink cat collar from the dollar store.
“Maybe—” Tears welled into Callie’s eyes. Her throat was so swollen that she had trouble speaking. “Maybe he’s okay?”
Harleigh didn’t understand. “What?”
“Will you see if he’s okay?” Callie’s black eyes caught the reflection from the table lamp. She was looking at Harleigh, but she was somewhere else, a place where everything was going to work out all right. “Buddy was mad, but maybe he’s not mad anymore if he’s okay? We can—we can get him help. Linda won’t be home until—”