No one responded, not a word, until the truth sank in, and the drama shifted from the board to reality.
Charlotte was nothing if not detail-oriented and organized. She piled Bob’s things neatly into boxes and stacked them out front. We saw the locksmith’s van parked along the street before the end of the day.
The girls aligned themselves, as expected, with their mother—remaining here more often than not, even though their parents lived in the same town and shared custody. Bob had stuck it out with the girlfriend. Word was, he’d moved straight in with her on the other side of the lake after Charlotte had kicked him out.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Molly said to me, pushing the door closed. But she was too old to be wary of strangers—and anyway, I wasn’t a stranger. However much the sisters looked alike, their personalities were very different. Even though they were only a year apart, Molly was always the more cautious of the two, the more hesitant, the quieter. Sometimes, if her sister wasn’t around, you could forget she was there.
It was the older one, Whitney, who was bold. Who ran the lawn mower close to the window to get a glimpse of Ruby.
“Will you tell your mother I stopped by, please?” I asked.
“Tell her yourself tonight,” Molly said. “Isn’t there some big meeting at the clubhouse?” Bolder than I remembered, then. Older, anyway.
“By the way, no need to be nervous. She’ll be gone for a bit,” I said as I stepped back. Molly blinked twice, her face blank of emotion. “Ruby,” I continued. “You don’t have to hide out inside.”
Molly stared at me. “She’s guilty, you know,” she said, a tinge of disgust in her expression—at me or at Ruby, I wasn’t sure. “She shouldn’t be allowed to stay here.”
“Well,” I said, trying to remember myself at seventeen, how I hated being lied to by adults; how all I wanted then was honesty, “they didn’t prove it.” It was the one honest thing I could think of. I figured it was Charlotte’s job to explain the legal system to her children.
“Yes,” Molly countered with a roll of her eyes, a spot-on impression of her mother. “They did.” And then she shut the door, effectively ending the conversation.
* * *
AS I WALKED DOWN their porch steps, I saw Chase jogging up the street, his familiar broad frame, mechanical stride, quickening pace. I walked faster for home, hoping to avoid him. Knowing that Ruby was currently out in the world, having a discussion with her lawyer. I wondered whom she was referring to when she said Someone’s going to pay, whether it was only Officer Chase Colby of the Lake Hollow Police Department. Chase had already been placed on leave from the department, pending internal investigation. He had all the time in the world to let things fester. And now the source of all of his troubles, all he had lost, was here—with me.
I strode up my porch steps, head down. Had just shut the door behind me when I heard the steady stomp of his tread passing by. I peered out the front window, watching him retreat. Who needed a neighborhood watch when we knew Chase was watching?
The truth was, I didn’t blame him. I didn’t blame any of them, walking past the pool to get a closer look, pushing the lawn mower for a peek in our window, jogging by to check up on her—they weren’t the only ones who wanted to know what Ruby was doing here.
We’re going to sue, she said. On the news, the lawyer had implied that there was contention with the neighbors, with us, that Ruby had been wronged by more than the system. I no longer trusted that she would confide the truth to me, not anymore. If she ever had. Tell them, Harper. Tell them I couldn’t have done it—
It was instinct, at first, to want to believe her. Before her image was found on the cameras. Before the trial and the testimonies. I’d heard the echo of my brother in her plea, appealing to something baser inside of me.
Maybe that’s what made me confide in Kellen, in an ill-advised confession on Christmas night, after too much eggnog and not enough sleep. Thinking he would understand, tell me I had done the right thing.
By tradition, we spent Christmas Day with my mother’s side of the family, at the cape house we’d grown up in, and where she and sometimes Kellen still lived—occasionally by his choice, more likely by her heavy suggestion.
After dinner, we had made a joint escape from our extended family’s probing questions—Have you met someone new, Harper? How’s the job working out, Kellen?—seeking solace on the covered patio, even in the bitter cold.