He wasn’t sure what Griff had told her. He didn’t know whether to confess or deny.
“You—you broke us up,” Luna said. “You sent a text from my phone.”
Owen had dreaded this moment for so long. He should have been more prepared. “Let me explain,” Owen said, even though he wasn’t sure he could.
“How could you do that?”
“You were twenty-one. It was going to end eventually.”
“That wasn’t for you to decide. Why’d you do it?”
“I don’t know. There was a lot going on back then. I thought I was doing you a favor.”
Luna was trying to get a read on Owen’s behavior. He was explaining, but it was all matter-of-fact. Sometimes you’re too tired for panic. That was the stage Owen had reached.
“You didn’t feel guilty?” Luna asked.
“Not that guilty,” Owen said.
What Owen would have said if he’d had time to think about it was that Luna thought too hard about being good. Thinking about being good didn’t make you good. Sacrificing individual happiness didn’t make the world a better place.
Luna felt dizzy, an anger so intense that she almost understood a murderous urge. Was that how it worked?
“How did you know what Scarlet was wearing the night she died?” Luna asked.
Owen shook his head, disappointed. He wasn’t sure until that point how much past dirt Griff had kicked up. “Who’s asking? You or Griff?”
“I’m asking,” Luna said. “How did you know?”
“One conversation with Griff and now you think I’m a murderer?” Owen asked.
“Why won’t you answer the question?”
“Because you’re not asking me what you really want to know. If you’re going to accuse me of something, have the fucking balls to say it.”
“Fine,” Luna said. “Did you kill Scarlet?”
“No,” he said.
“Did you kill Irene?”
Owen wasn’t expecting that. Clearly, Griff had gotten into her head.
“You’re the only murderer in this room,” Owen said. “You’re still Luna Brown, and at least one girl would be alive if it weren’t for you.”
Owen felt like an asshole. Not once in their entire friendship had he picked at the scabs of her past. But Luna didn’t care anymore. There are only so many blows you can absorb before you stop feeling the individual punches and all the pain melts together.
Luna turned around and stumbled toward the front door. Everything was coming out wrong, Owen thought. Watching her leave, Owen wondered if this was really the end. To lose Irene and then Luna, in less than two weeks. He wasn’t sure he could handle that. But he also wasn’t sure if he loved Luna enough to forgive her for the accusation.
Luna opened the door. The day was so bright, you could see the dust particles in the air. She stepped outside, blinded by the sun and her own tears. She walked down the steps to the street. She didn’t see the man standing behind his car until he shouted at her.
“Luna Brown,” the man said.
That’s what she would remember later—hearing the name she’d tried so long to escape, twice in one day.
She turned in the direction of the voice, squinting. She heard the shot before she saw the gun or hit the ground. Her perception of time went askew. Like each individual moment was on a card and then those cards were shuffled. She stared at the last card, diagonal stripes of cirrus clouds on a bright-blue sky.
* * *
—
Maya Wilton called the police as soon as she saw the suspicious man park outside her house. Maya had been staring out the window when Luna drove up and came to a stop with her front right tire against the curb, the back left fender jutting into the street. There was hardly enough room for two vehicles to pass. Maya was about to step outside and have a word with Luna when she noticed a Chevy SUV pull up at the curb. The driver was male. Maya had a sixth sense, she later explained. She could feel bad energy. The man just sat behind his wheel, watching Owen’s front door. She couldn’t see his license plate, so she stepped outside and walked down her block to take a quick photo in case she needed it later.
Maya estimated that about five minutes passed before Luna emerged from Owen’s house. There was yelling. Maya strained to make out the words. The strange man got out of his car. His hair was so greasy it looked like a pile of garter snakes. Maya heard a gunshot and then saw Luna collapse on the sidewalk. She realized that the strange man had a gun. Maya ducked behind a neighbor’s shrubs and dialed 911. The man with the gun scanned the sidewalk, climbed into his car, and drove away. Maya told the 911 operator to send an ambulance and provided a description of the perpetrator, reading off the license-plate number from her photo. While Maya was alerting the authorities, Owen knelt down over Luna, screamed for help, and tried to stop the bleeding.