“Hang on.” I grab Valentine’s papers and head downstairs.
My grandfather is in his office. Now that he’s retired, it’s basically a library. A place where he can get away from the rest of us now and again.
I take a deep breath outside his door. I can do this. He won’t turn away from me. I knock.
“Yes?”
I hold out the papers. “I need help.” I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve said those words.
To the untrained observer, he might seem unsurprised. But I’m not untrained—he’s the one who taught me how to read people. There’s no widening of the eyes, no raised eyebrows, no fidgeting with his clothes or the objects on his desk. It’s the absence of those things that exposes him. I can see the years of CIA training at work, ridding him of all those messy, reflexive movements most people make when they’re anxious.
He sets his book down carefully. “What can I do?”
I explain the documents and the LLC situation. “Please tell me you have some black ops buddy who can figure this out?”
He adjusts his reading glasses and takes the papers. I try not to fidget as he reads.
Without lifting his eyes from the documents, he says, “It’s not easy, you know. Being your parent.”
His tone is mild, but the words sting anyway. There’s a cup of pens on his desk. I adjust them one by one so that they’ll all lean the same way.
He continues. “You can’t understand how terrifying it is to see you hurt.”
My shoulders draw tight together.
He flips a page. “I know you do not tell me everything. You go places without my knowledge. Engage in activities you’d rather not discuss. I seldom force you to share the details. I know you will tell me the truth if I ask for it, and that’s enough.”
After a long pause, he says, “When we spoke before you left the other night, that was the first time I wasn’t certain you’d answer me honestly. When you came home injured, I lost control.”
Every pen is oriented the right way now.
“I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but I am always on your side, Flora. If you ask me for help, I will give it to you every time.”
I want to believe him. He’s looking over those documents like he didn’t just tell me three nights ago to drop the case, but what happens when I get hurt again? Or if I show him those photos? And now Olive’s in danger, too.
Gramps shuffles my papers back together and sets them on his desk. “I have a few people I can call.”
I could tell him. No matter how scared he is, he’s trying. He’s not running away like Mom. And it would be a relief to not be the only one who knows exactly how much danger we’re all in.
If you ask me for help, I will give it to you every time.
The doorbell rings, and I practically explode out of my skin.
Gramps gives me a curious look. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Tired. Makes me twitchy.”
His head is still canted to one side, evaluating me.
“I’ll get the door.” My knees won’t stop locking as I leave the room.
I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans before opening the door.
Valentine’s hands are in his pockets and he’s rocking on the balls of his feet like he’s nervous.
I go warm all over, then want to smack myself.
“Flora? Who is it?” Gramps says behind me.
Oh, God. Please no.
Gramps takes a long look at Valentine. His eyes sweep him from top to bottom. They pause for emphasis on the black eye, the cut lip.
This is so much worse than I even imagined. My tongue is bone-dry. I have lost the power of speech.
Sensing that I can’t save him, Valentine blurts out, “Lab partner. Got a project for the science fair. VT Yates.” He holds out his hand, then adds, “Sir.”
Could he have come up with a more transparent excuse?
Gramps shakes his hand. He turns to me with one eyebrow raised. “Flora.”
Seriously. Someone kill me.
I break down. “Okay, fine. He’s an informant.”
He doesn’t react. “And how do you two know each other, exactly?”
“Well, he was supposed to insert himself into my investigation and then double-cross me, but he’s really, really bad at his job.”
Valentine’s eyes go flinty. “I’m standin’ right here.”
“It’s not anything I haven’t said to your face before,” I snap back.
Gramps looks back and forth between us. “I see. Mr. Yates, you may wait for her on the porch. Flora, a word?”
Valentine goes outside. Gramps is looking at me like he knows there’s something more than information going on between us.
Finally, he sighs and says, “Be careful, please.”
With Valentine, I’m not sure that’s possible. Add that to the list of things I definitely cannot tell my grandfather, though. I nod.
“I meant what I said before.” His eyes land on my bandaged cheek. “You ask for help, I give it to you. Always.” With one last long look, he returns to his study.
I exhale. It could have been a lot worse.
Valentine is leaning against my porch rail. “Your pop seems pretty chill with the whole Nancy Drew routine. Must be nice.” He shrugs like it’s a casual thing to say, but it reminds me how lonely Valentine must be.
This is what he does, though. He gets that soft look in his eyes, and I go all mushy inside, and then he does something stupid.
I scowl at him. “I can’t get through a single day without you showing up to confuse things, can I?”
The hopeful expression vanishes. “You asked me about Molly Sawyer?”
“What about her?”
“Turns out she has a little brother. Visits her every day, around 3:30.”
It’s 2:45 now.
“You want to go talk to him?” I ask.
“Kid might know something. I was a little brother once. We see more than people think.”
He’s trying to prove himself to me, like he said yesterday. As usual, I don’t know how I feel about that.
Upstairs, I tell Cass and Olive the plan.
“I’m coming,” Olive says at the same time that Cass goes, “Okay, let me pee and get my shoes on.”
“You’re both staying here,” I say.
They start to argue, but I talk over them. “Valentine and I have this covered. I need you two on research duty. You’re way better at it than me. You be the brains, Valentine and I can be the muscle.”
Olive’s cheeks go pink with pleasure at the compliment, and I feel like a real shit for manipulating her. Olive is better than me at research, but that’s not the whole reason.
They’re safer here. Someone obviously wants Molly Sawyer to stay buried, and Cass and I were spotted the last time we went to the hospital. After the newspaper clippings in my room, I’m not so sure the house is safe, either, but at least Gramps is here.
“Besides,” I add to Cass. “You have a date. I don’t want you to miss that.”
Cass flushes, but she’s still suspicious. “VT’s going with you?” She knows that normally I wouldn’t go on a mission like this without her.
“Uh. Yeah,” I answer.
She raises an eyebrow. “Glad you two made up.”
“It’s not like that.” I protest because she expects me to, but it’s easier if she thinks I’m trying to get alone time with a cute boy, and not deliberately lying to her.
Her mouth twitches. “Yeah, and I’m definitely not going on a date tonight. You two go… muscle… together. I demand details later.”
I pause on the threshold of room 317. Molly looks like she hasn’t moved at all since I last visited, which, duh: coma. It’s still eerie, like time doesn’t pass for her the way it does for the rest of us.
She’s not alone in the room. A boy, maybe ten or eleven, sits next to her bed. They share the same shape to their lips, the same turned-up nose.
He looks
up when we walk in. “Hi?” He inches closer to Molly, like he can protect her.
I give him an awkward wave. “Hi, I’m Flora. I’m a friend of Molly’s.”
The wariness in his eyes fades, and he scoots back in his chair. “I’m Max.” He frowns. “Molls doesn’t usually get visitors, besides me.”
“You come here by yourself?” I ask.
He nods. “I live a couple blocks away. Dad doesn’t mind, usually.”
It’s a little weird to let a fifth grader walk to the hospital by himself, but I’m not the kid’s social worker. “How’s Molly?”
Max smiles down at his sister’s sleeping face. “Really good. The doctor told me she might wake up soon.” He straightens her covers.
A voice from behind me says, “Didn’t I tell you last time? It’s family only.”
The same nurse from the other day is standing in the doorway.
“It’s okay, Sophie,” Max says. “They’re with me. They’re Molly’s friends.”
Sophie the nurse keeps a skeptical eye on Valentine and me—between the two of us we have one black eye, one gashed cheek, and one split lip—but her voice is softer when she speaks to Max. “Come and get me if they bother you, okay?”
Sophie shoots a warning look at the two of us and leaves.
“Sophie seems really strict at first, but she’s one of the nice nurses,” Max tells us.
I take one of the other visitors’ seats next to him. “It’s great that you come see your sister so much. Are you guys close?”
Max nods. “Uh-huh. Molls is my best friend. Some people think that’s dumb, but it’s always been the two of us.”
“So, Max,” I venture, “do you know how Molly got hurt?”
Max looks between Valentine and me. “The police say she got robbed.” He doesn’t sound too sure of it.
“We won’t get you in trouble,” I reassure him.
He looks at his hands in his lap. “She told me it was a secret.”
I lean closer. “If we know more about how she got hurt, maybe the doctors can help her get better.” It’s a dirty trick. I can’t wake Molly Sawyer up any more than I can raise Ava from the dead.
He looks back at his sister, torn. “I saw her leave that night. I think she went to the place.”
“The place,” Valentine repeats.
Max nods. “The place she always went.”
“Where was that?” I ask.
“Molls used to go out at night, after Dad fell asleep.” Pink spots of embarrassment appear on the tops of his cheeks. “She let me sleep in her room when I had nightmares, but sometimes I’d wake up and she was gone. I promised not to tell.”
“What about your parents?” I ask.
Max shakes his head. Looks at his shoes. “No. I never wake him up.”
Valentine stiffens beside me, but I keep my focus on Max. “So what’s the place?”
He pops his knuckles. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but one time I followed her.”
“At night?” I mean, he’s obviously independent enough to come here alone, but really?
He nods. “It wasn’t very far. She walked to this big empty building and went into the basement.” He cracks another knuckle. “I didn’t want to go down there.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No. She’d be so mad.”
“Did Molly ever bring home money?”
He won’t meet my eyes.
“It’s okay. We won’t tell,” I promise again.
“She hid it under her bed. In a box of, um, those things girls use.” His face glows red.
I resist the urge to laugh. “Tampons?”
“So our dad wouldn’t find it.” In my peripheral vision, Valentine twitches again.
“Was it a lot of money?”
He nods. “Molly said it was our adventure fund.”
“You two were going somewhere?” Valentine’s voice is tight and clipped.
Max answers, “She said one day she’d have enough, and we could go away.”
“Anywhere in particular?” Valentine asks before I can get another question in.
Max shrugs. “It changed a lot. She used to tell me stories when I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes it was Alaska. We would see moose and the aurora borealis. One time it was Egypt, and we were going to live inside a pyramid. I knew it wasn’t real, but she liked to talk about it.”
Sounds like Molly wanted to run away from something. But what?
“Just the two of you?” Valentine’s arms are crossed over his chest. Every line of his body is pulled tight like he might snap.
His intensity is making Max nervous. “Yeah…”
“Not your dad?”
Max’s eyes flick around the room, pausing on the door behind us like he’s watching the exit.
“Where’d you get that scar?” Valentine points to a faded white line on Max’s chin.
A splinter of ice lodges itself in my chest. I have a sudden, horrible feeling I know where Valentine is going with this.
Max looks at the ground and mumbles, “Busted it. I fell down the stairs.”
“You ever break your arm?” Valentine asks. His eyes are locked on Max’s face.
The cold feeling spreads. I look at Max more carefully, searching for clues and hoping I don’t find them.
There. Peeking out from the neck of his sweatshirt: what looks like the edge of a fresh bruise.
Max cracks the knuckles on his other hand, not meeting Valentine’s eyes. “Um, my bike one time. I fell off. And I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk once.”
My heart shatters. The scars, the broken bones, the excuses. Someone is hurting him.
He looks so small in his chair. His feet don’t quite reach the ground.
That’s why she was fighting. Molly was saving money so that they could escape. She got hurt, and now she’s stuck here, and Max is all alone at home with a monster.
“Fall down a lot?” Valentine is still pushing him.
Max’s shoulders swallow his ears. “I’m really clumsy.”
“VT,” I warn. Max is obviously terrified. He probably hasn’t told anyone about this.
Valentine ignores me. “What about your ribs?” I shoot him a look, but one glance at his face and my heart breaks all over again. He put it together before I did, because he’s lived it, too.
“Enough.” I put a hand on Valentine’s arm. He tries to shake me off, but I’m not going to let him scare this kid to death just because he’s falling apart. He looks at me with hollow, unseeing eyes and I tighten my grip. He blinks. Looks at me, then Max, then walks out of the room without another word.
I turn back to Max and attempt a reassuring smile. “This is really helpful. Can I give you my number? You can call me if Molly wakes up, or anything happens.”
“Oh, sure.” He takes a battered notebook out of his backpack and writes down my number in careful, precise handwriting.
I pause, unsure of what to do. Do I tell someone? But then what happens when Molly wakes up? I’ve heard stories about siblings separated forever. I don’t know anything about this. For all of my problems with my family, I have never truly had to worry about being safe, or loved, or fed.
“Max,” I try, “I’m here because I’m trying to help Molly, kind of like a detective. If anything happens to you, if anyone hurts you, or you need help, you can call me, okay?”
It doesn’t feel like nearly enough. Max nods, but his expression is blank and distant now, and I know he won’t call.
I lean back against the passenger-side window of Valentine’s car. The dash clock says it’s almost five o’clock. The dying light gilds his profile.
He doesn’t look at me. After leaving Max, I found him in the parking lot smoking a cigarette. It didn’t look like it was his first.
I’m still angry, but I also feel an aching sadness for him. I spend enough time running from my own emotional baggage. I know how much it sucks to get smacked in the face with it out of nowhere.
His eye
s are steady on the road, but his lower lip trembles slightly. He clenches his jaw, and it stops.
I don’t need to overthink this right now. His hand rests on the gearshift. I reach across the center console and place mine on top of his.
Valentine looks at me in surprise, but his subsequent smile is so sudden and fragile that I don’t immediately pull away. He rubs the back of my wrist twice with his calloused thumb. His skin on mine is a sliding piano scale down my spine.
He turns back to the road but doesn’t let go of my hand. “Mind if we make a pit stop? Got something I wanna show you.”
“Okay. Why not?”
“Yeah.” His voice is soft. “Why not?”
He takes an unfamiliar exit and pulls over in a wooded area.
Outside the car, I pull my jacket tighter around me. The trees block out the last bit of sun. Valentine walks off into the woods, and I follow.
We don’t go far. After about twenty paces, the trees open onto a hidden overlook perched above the Hudson River. The parkway runs like a jewel-bright ant trail below. New York and New Jersey reach for each other across the water.
Valentine leans against the railing and lights a cigarette. “I used to come here on the way back to school. My family lived in White Plains, wasn’t a long drive, but I didn’t go home much. Even when I did, before long I’d start feeling like I was suffocating, and I’d have to leave. On the drive back to school, sometimes I felt like I might wreck the car if I didn’t get out and scream or something. Found this place. I’ve never seen anyone else here.”
He squints into the dying red sun. “My whole world at Juilliard was so shiny. Glittering. I’d go home and feel like I was rotting from the inside out. This place was my reset.”
For a couple minutes, we stand there and watch the shimmering reflection of the sun setting on the river. I don’t fill the silence.
“I knew her a little.” Valentine’s voice is rough. “Molly. Spoke to her once or twice at the club. Nice girl, I think. I barely remember. I didn’t recognize her name when you asked. I’d heard a girl got hurt. Never thought much about it.”
I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
He exhales smoke. “After Annie died, I was done. Didn’t want to need anyone anymore. Wasn’t worth the effort. I kept my head down, stuck to my own thing. What that girl and her brother were going through at home—it was right there in front of my face, and I didn’t even remember her name.”
You’re Next Page 24
