Her forehead lines with stress, but he’s apparently gotten to her with his syrupy words about staying local. People around here act like outsiders are from other planets instead of other places.
“Genevieve, something awful happened out there, and the only thing I want to do is figure out what, because I gotta know who I need to protect. That’s my job. I gotta protect this town. These people.” He makes a sweeping motion in front of him. “I gotta know exactly what happened out there, and I’m starting to think maybe things didn’t happen the way you said they did.”
“So now you’re calling me a liar?” She jumps to her feet, hands on her hips. “I’m the victim here.” She points above her. “He’s the victim here too. Did you forget that?”
Detective Layne rises slowly and reaches out like he’s trying to call a truce. “I understand that, Mrs. Hill. I do. And I’m going to do whatever is in my power to make that right, but I can’t be unsure about any of the details, and right now, I’m not feeling very sure.” He takes a step toward her. Just one. Then stops. He puts both hands up. “Was Mason on a walk by himself that day? Is that what happened?”
“I already told you what happened,” she cries, still clinging to her story.
“Genevieve.” He says it like it’s its own definitive statement.
“He was walking by himself. I told you that.”
“Genevieve.” Slower this time.
“He does walk by himself. Sometimes . . . he does. And he knows not to go down by the creek alone. I’ve taught him that—stay on the bank. Don’t go past the rocks.” She uses her mom voice to say it. Her face is flushed. “I always wanted him to know exactly what to do if we ever got separated. Where to go. I’m always trying to keep him safe. Out of trouble. I—”
“Did Mason get away from you that day?” I interrupt.
Recognition flashes through her eyes, and she knows she’s caught. She tries to arrange her face, but it’s too late.
“Did Mason get away from you that day?” Detective Layne presses, doubling down.
She flips her hair over her shoulder and juts her right hip out. “Okay, fine, whatever. Does it really matter if he took off for a walk because I let him or if he took off for a walk when he wasn’t supposed to?”
“That might be fine if that was the only thing about your story that wasn’t quite right, but here’s the thing, Mrs. Hill: that’s not the only part of the story that you haven’t been honest with me about. And see, that’s the problem with dishonesty.” He gives her a pointed stare. “Once you tell one lie, it’s so much easier to tell another one, and before you know it, you’ve got lies tumbling out everywhere.”
“I’m not lying.” Her lips are set in a straight line, an angry pout.
“Okay, but then why wouldn’t you just tell us that from the beginning?” He raises his eyebrows at her.
“Why?” She lets out a shrill shriek, pointing back and forth between herself and Detective Layne. “Because of this. Exactly this.”
NINE
GENEVIEVE HILL
“I knew if I told you what really happened, you’d find a way to pin it on Mason, and I didn’t want that to happen. Clearly, I wasn’t wrong.” They’re doing it now. Exactly what I was afraid of. The reason I lied. “If the details were important or would’ve made any difference in the case, then I would’ve told you, but it didn’t change anything about what happened, so why bother? Why put unnecessary doubt on an innocent boy?”
“Why don’t you just start by telling us what really happened down there, and we’ll worry about guilt or innocence later?” Detective Layne asks like that’s possible.
“It’s not even a big deal.” I plead with my hands. “It doesn’t change anything about what happened. That’s what I’m telling you.”
Ms. Walker jumps up and rushes over to stand beside me. “We’re just trying to help you.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Let us help you.”
They’re not trying to help me. They don’t care anything about me or my family’s safety. I slap Ms. Walker’s hand off me. “Really? You of all people should know exactly how bad this looks for Mason.”
It’s no secret that kids with ASD can be aggressive, and people never understand that it’s not because they’re violent. It’s almost always because they’re intensely frustrated or can’t communicate what they want, but nobody ever sees it that way, and their judgment toward Mason only gets worse the older he gets. People used to be so sweet and kind to us. Back then, he was cute as a button, and his huge, half-terrified blue eyes melted your heart even if he was kicking or throwing things at you. All you wanted to do was help him feel better.
But now? All that’s different. I see the way everyone looks at him. How they clutch their purses next to themselves when he comes close, like violence and stealing go hand in hand. Nobody’s kind, and they’re definitely not helpful. They turn their noses up at him like they smell something funny when he starts smacking his hands together or repeating the same sentence over and over again. People purposefully cross to the other side of the street when they see us coming. It makes me so angry and heartsick.
“But that’s the thing,” Ms. Walker says in her sweet therapist voice, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. “I’m here so you don’t have to navigate all this by yourself. You can just be his mom, and I can help people understand things from Mason’s perspective. That’s why I’m on the case. I’m on your side. Trust me, I get it.”
But she doesn’t. Her little girl isn’t the same as my Mason.
Detective Layne cuts in, “Genevieve, we’re trying to get to the bottom of this thing, and the longer you go without telling us the whole truth, the more I start thinking you’ve got something to hide. That’s not what I want for our relationship. Do you?” He peers down his nose at me. “We need to be able to trust each other. That’s really important. You want us to be able to trust each other, don’t you?”
A frustrated sigh escapes. I hate being cornered. I sink back into the couch, defeated. “Okay, things didn’t happen exactly as I said they happened . . .” Another sigh. “I was afraid if I told you what really happened, that you would assume Mason hurt Annabelle, and I just want you to know that my son would never hurt anyone. Ever.” I look at one. Then the other. They can’t miss this. “He’s the most innocent and gentle child there ever was. And yes, he is a child, even if he doesn’t look like it. Do you know how hard that’s always been? He looked like he was three before he was even a year old, so everyone always expected him to act like a toddler. I wanted to put a sign on his back that said I’m still a baby so they’d leave him alone. Stop judging me. But I’m getting off on a tangent now, aren’t I?”
“It’s okay, Genevieve. We’re not in any rush. You just take all the time you need,” Detective Layne says, settling into his chair. A satisfied expression rests on his face. He thinks he’s won. I want to tell him he’s not even in the right game, but I force myself to stay focused.