Julia’s expression balled tight, tears still falling. “There wasn’t anybody I liked talking to more, when she wasn’t being mean. We didn’t even have to talk. We just knew each other. But she was hiding something inside. She was hurting. And what if she wakes up down there, all alone? What if she thinks I abandoned her?”
“It’s not your fault,” they all said, together, even Larry. “It’s not your fault,” they repeated.
She slackened like a drugged calf, resting her head on Gertie’s breast. Larry petted her frizzy hair. With his skinny, monster-tattooed arms, Arlo leaned down and encircled his family, trying but not quite able to encompass the entirety of them.
Very softly, Julia said, “One day I’ll save kids. All the kids.”
Yes, they said, and they knew she meant it. They knew, when she grew up, that this would happen because of Shelly. Of course you will.
In the end, Julia asked that her hair be cut short just like Shelly had done. They did this, and braided the eighteen wild, curly inches with elastic ponytail holders, then added this to the cigar box. Each hammered a nail into one of the box’s corners to close it. Then they showered and dressed in their summer best. Not black, but pretty florals for the girls, the Hawaiian shirt for Arlo （cleaned now of blood）， and Larry’s typical green. They discussed the backyard, but knew where they’d eventually agree upon.
They walked out of their house and into Sterling Park. They passed the orange cones and tape. The crew, having stopped coming on weekends, were all gone. A new, thicker slab covered the hole. They knelt at the edge. Arlo pried loose six rivets to lift a corner.
Sweet fumes wafted up. Together, they dropped the box down. It fell for so long they didn’t hear the splash of its landing.
Arlo hammered each rivet back into place. Tested, to make sure the slab was solid again. They walked back home feeling lighter. Julia picked some hydrangeas from a bush in Sterling Park and tied them with a leaf. Gertie pulled a pen from her purse and wrote a note on her Century 21 business card:
Thinking of you.
—The Wildes
They deposited this on the Schroeders’ front porch. Then they walked to their house, ready to recover from so much.
They slept deep and dreamless that night, the kids in bed with the grown-ups, and everyone tucked close. In the morning, there was coffee and sugar cereal and extra harmonicas. There was the optimism of a new day. But then their front bell rang. They opened the door to the police.
Sunday, July 25
Two detectives, a black-and-white cop car parked out front. Gertie assumed they were partners, but who knows how these things worked? They wore plain clothes and showed their badges. They actually handed them over, so Gertie and Arlo could read every word.
The first was an older Black woman named Denise Hudson, the other a younger red-haired Asian man named Gennet. Both had sweat through their business-casual work shirts. They informed Arlo and Gertie they were wanted at the police station. Now.
Neither detective offered a smile, not even to the children.
This was not Gertie’s first clue that something was wrong, but it was the most startling one.
“Sure! We’ll go now!” Arlo said, nervous and high-pitched. After deliberation with Gertie and also with the detectives, they headed over to Fred and Bethany’s house. Though Bethany lay on the couch with pillows piled along her sides and behind her back （her eyes rimmed with what looked like smeared, dark blue eyeliner, but was in fact her actual complexion）， the Atlases agreed to watch the kids.
“Oh, you sweethearts,” Bethany cooed. “Fred? Do we have milk for them? Go get some milk!” She winced when she craned her neck to look at the children, pained from just that small movement. “Darlings? Why don’t you bring that deck of cards over here? I’ll teach you rummy.”
Arlo gave Fred a sorry shrug. “I owe you big.”
Fred, looking exhausted, squeezed Arlo’s shoulder. They’d missed the last two movie nights—life had gotten in the way. “It makes her happy,” Fred said. Then he raised his voice loud enough for the detectives outside to hear: “Call me if it gets serious. I know people at the DA.”
Arlo and Gertie took the Passat. They followed the cop car to the Garden City police station.
Inside, they walked past reception and through a deep atrium with open desks to the back, where they were ushered into a small, closed-off room, folding chairs surrounding a long table. Gertie and Arlo took one side, Detectives Hudson and Gennet took the other, deploying an old-fashioned tape recorder in the middle. The table was pale wood under polyurethane—school desk material. It was clean, save for pen smears. Hudson and Gennet had replaced their muted suit jackets, both of which were ill-fitting, and Gertie now understood why: the room was over-air-conditioned. Both Gertie and Arlo shivered.