He stares at me in this open, sympathetic way that makes me uncomfortable. I wish he’d go back to looking like he’s about to murder me.
“You really don’t remember that night, do you?” he asks quietly.
“I think about the way the knife went into his throat every night,” she whispers in my ear. “It’s like my own personal lullaby.”
“No,” I say.
“Did you think Lucy was lying?” Emmett asks, with genuine curiosity.
“Of course I did! We all did.”
“I didn’t.” He says it matter-of-factly, and maybe I’m an idiot, but I believe him.
“Well, good for you, Sunshine, but the rest of us were skeptical. But now…” He shakes his head and takes a drink of his beer.
I lean forward, folding my arms on the table. It’s damp and sticky with beer. “Keaton, are you trying to apologize to me?”
“No.” He runs a hand over his mouth. “Fuck, I don’t know. But you know what I do know? I know both Matt and Nina well, and neither of them said shit to me about being out that night. They didn’t say shit to anyone. And that doesn’t sit right.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
LUCY
Ben wants to meet at Grandma’s again, and he’s waiting for me on the porch when I pull up in front of the tiny pink house. He strolls over to me as I get out of the car, tossing his dark hair out of his eyes in a way that seems practiced. Like he rehearsed being sexy in a mirror.
“Why are you always here?” I ask.
“I’m not always here.”
“You’re not fucking me and my grandma, are you? That would really bum me out.”
“I am not fucking your grandma. Honestly, I don’t think Beverly could fit me into the rotation. She has a lot of men coming around.” His tone is teasing, and I step away from him when it looks like he’s going to lean in. I’d rather my grandma not know about this particular poor life choice.
“Come on.” I head toward the house. “It feels like Satan’s asshole out here.”
He follows me into the house, where he’s already set up his podcasting equipment on the table. Grandma is on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She wears an old, faded T-shirt tucked into a full red skirt, and I marvel again at how much cooler my grandma is than I am.
“Is this now our designated interview spot?” I plop down in one of the chairs.
“It’s quiet. And Beverly doesn’t mind.” He smiles at her. I was only half kidding when I asked whether they were fucking.
“He likes that you’re more relaxed here,” Grandma says without looking up from her phone.
Ben appears startled, like that was something that Grandma inferred on her own.
I take it back. My grandmother is too smart to sleep with Ben Owens. It’s too bad common sense isn’t genetic.
“I was hoping we could delve deeper into your relationship with Nina today.” Ben slides into the seat next to me.
I sigh, looking past his head, out the window to the empty field behind the house. A breeze blows through the tall weeds. Ben looks over his shoulder and then back at me.
I haven’t told him about my conversation with Keaton and Emmett. He doesn’t know that Matt and Nina are still sleeping together.
I haven’t told Ben a lot of things about Nina.
“She yelled at me while I was holding a knife,” Savvy whispers in my ear. “She probably wouldn’t have done that if she knew all the fun things I’ve done with knives.”
I laughed when she said that to me. I can’t even remember exactly why Nina and Savvy didn’t like each other. I’m not even sure that anyone besides me knows how much they truly despised each other.
“Lucy?” Ben says.
Nina didn’t like Savvy. So what? I don’t like lots of people. It never seemed relevant.
It still probably isn’t relevant. And if I say it, I’m doing to Nina what they all did to me—making accusations that will haunt her forever. I should lie, or dance delicately about the truth, like the other people Ben has interviewed have done.
Because she couldn’t have done it. My brain isn’t letting that scenario even take shape in my head. I’ve imagined killing so many people, and yet I can’t put an object in Nina’s hand and watch her smash it against Savvy’s head.
“Hon?” Grandma touches my arm. She and Ben are hovering, looking at me with concern.
“I don’t want to,” I say softly.
The wrinkles around Grandma’s eyes crinkle as she squints at me. “You don’t want to what?”