Even more than a storm, Gin wished for the ability to capture this moment in time, preserve it forever, and take it with her when she and Jake left for college. Lately, Lily had been petulant with her; only Christine seemed to be able to talk her out of her moods. But today was perfect. If it weren’t for the future Gin had planned with Jake, she might have wished that the five of them—six, if you counted Ben Blankenship, Christine’s latest boyfriend—could just stay here by the creek for the rest of their lives.
Lily was sprawled in Tom’s lap, her bare feet dirty, as far from the water as she could get; she said the reeds along the shore gave her a rash. She was lazily weaving one of her bracelets; this one was red and orange, a gift for Christine to go with her new sundress. Christine was climbing the narrow metal ladder attached to the old water tower. Ben, several rungs ahead, had talked her into it. Watching them, small as beetles in the distance, halfway up the ladder, Gin knew Ben was in for a disappointment. No girl allowed herself to be lured up that ladder unless she was planning on being kissed, but Christine was never distracted by a boy for long.
Jake tickled Gin’s cheek with a fringed stem of Queen Anne’s Lace. She was lying on a smooth rock, enjoying the heat of it on her spine; she’d changed from the Speedo that her mother made her wear into the bikini she’d bought with her allowance. Gold-toned rings joined the fabric at her hips and between her breasts. Seeing her skin through the rings made Gin feel sophisticated in a way she couldn’t explain.
Jake was leaning on his elbow beside her, watching her. She tilted her head to avoid the direct glare of the sun, happy to be watched. The smell of wet leaves was sweet on the air.
Lily leaped up from the rock and plunged into the creek, breaking the perfect moment. She came up for air laughing and drenched. “Save me!” she yelled, splashing water at Gin.
Tom got up and went in the water after her, and if only Gin had known it would be one of her last afternoons with Lily, she might have done the same.
6
The French toast arrived, drizzled in aromatic honey and garnished with an artfully sliced and fanned strawberry.
“Wow,” Gin said. “Things have come a long way around here, at least in the food department.”
“Here, anyway.” Jake upended the hot sauce bottle on his scrambled eggs. “Out there . . . well, some things haven’t changed much at all.”
“Why do you stay?” Gin asked abruptly. Her curiosity was genuine. “Why put yourself through this?”
He held her gaze, his expression shadowed. “By this, do you mean the shitty economy, watching this town give up and die, get taken over by meth heads? Or do you mean living in a town of six thousand people, nearly all of whom probably think I’m a murderer?”
“You stay for Lawrence,” Gin said, sidestepping the question.
Jake shrugged. “Lawrence doesn’t need me now. I stay because my work is here, my whole life. My guys do good work; there’s always someone ready to hire us. And as for the people who won’t . . . well, if they need a building boarded up, they can hire a few guys at Home Depot and buy a bucket of screws and a stack of plywood, get the job done by noon. If they want the place burned down so they can collect on insurance, there’s people they can hire for that, too.”
“I never said—”
“Listen, it was tough at first, I admit that. Dad wanted me to go back to school before he was fully recovered. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t trying to do too much, too soon. But we figured it out. We got by. I started picking up renovation work when the economy turned around. Thirty miles to a job site is nothing when someone wants to put in a seventy-five-thousand-dollar kitchen, you know?”
“None of that’s going to help you if the county cops come after you,” Gin said. “Have you got a good lawyer?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. He reached across the table and put his hand over hers, pressing down. The gesture wasn’t meant to be tender. “So you still believe I could have done it? Killed Lily?” he asked, very quietly.
She winced, wishing she hadn’t agreed to this conversation. She wasn’t really sure what she’d been hoping to get out of it. If the investigation led to conclusive proof of Jake’s guilt, then she was sure to regret every second she spent in his company.
The door opened and three men in shirts and ties and city haircuts came in, laughing at something one of them said.
A change came over Jake. He laid his silverware across his plate and crumpled up his napkin. Then he reached for his wallet, tugging out a couple of bills and pushing them under his plate, more than enough for the whole bill.
“I’ve got to run,” he said. “Truth is this probably wasn’t such a hot idea.”
He was up and out of the booth before Gin could react. His hand rested on her shoulder so briefly that she felt the aftershock of his touch more than the touch itself.
“No matter what happens,” he said, “the things I said then are still true now. But I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”
He ducked out the side door, and Gin stared at her plate, wondering which things he meant. His protestations of innocence? Or something else?
Gin took a sip of her coffee. The three men headed for a big, square four-top by the back. When they passed Gin’s table, one of them stopped. His face was florid and pink from the rapidly warming day.
“Gin?” he said. “Oh my God, it’s you.”
But she didn’t recognize him. Until he pulled her out of her chair, into his arms, making a choking, sobbing sound into the crook of her neck. “I’m so sorry,” he said hoarsely as he pulled away, and Gin suddenly realized that underneath thirty extra pounds he could have done without, it was Tom.
7
“I can’t believe it’s you,” Gin said.
Tom laughed self-consciously. “Neither can my personal trainer. I think he’s going to quit if I don’t lose a few pounds by fall. He’s got me signed up for a ten-K. Kind of a tough love thing.”
“No no, you look wonderful,” Gin said, though it was only selectively true. Tom had held onto his hair and the wholesome good looks he’d gotten from his mother’s side, the mother who’d died giving birth to him and his sister.
But he’d also started to take on the florid complexion with broken capillaries that signaled a drinking problem. Gin had plenty of experience seeing the ravages of addiction on her cases, and she wasn’t too surprised that Tom’s habits hadn’t changed. By the summer after their senior year, he was putting away a six pack and a half every night they were together. The version of the stories that reached her over the next few years, filtered first through Spencer and then through her mother, had a decidedly “boys will be boys” tone to them. Tom had gone Greek at Duquesne, and there had been fraternity pranks as well as an extra semester to make up for some academic probation.
But she hadn’t anticipated his physical decline. In the Christmas card Spencer had sent a few years ago, before Christine’s divorce, Tom still looked like the golden boy he’d always been.
“Listen.” Tom put his hands on her shoulders, digging in with his fingers. “I can’t even begin. I mean . . . Lily. God.”
“Thank you, Tom, but—”
“I don’t even know how to put it into words. I mean, I’m just so sorry, Gin. She’s . . . it’s like, it brings it all back again, you know?”
That was Tom: unparalleled master of the obvious. He’d never been capable of much depth. Seventeen years ago, he had been a bit like an adolescent Labrador, tearing around after Lily and looking for excitement. He didn’t think about the future; he had rarely seemed to think past the next ten minutes.
But when Lily disappeared, Tom had shut down completely. It was the only time in his life that he’d refused even to talk to his twin sister. Christine had implored Gin to help, but Gin was so consumed by her worry about Lily that she’d shut her out.
A wave of guilt passed through Gin. This was what she had chosen to leave behind—people who were struggling, people who w
eren’t strong enough to devise strategies for dealing with loss.
“But listen to me,” Tom said, seemingly genuinely stricken. “I mean, you and your family, God, I know I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I just, if there’s anything I can do, seriously, Gin.”
“Tom. Thank you.” Her words had the soft, spongy quality of checked tears; Tom’s eyes were shiny and pink, too. “How is Christine?” she asked, to change the subject.
“Well, you heard she and Brandon split up.”
“Yes, actually, Mom mentioned it.” Although Gin would have been hard pressed to come up with his name—that was one of the weddings she’d skipped. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Nah, it’s probably for the best. Got a little ugly there; Brandon had some extracurricular activities, if you catch my drift.”
“How are the kids doing?”
“Aw, they’re awesome. Especially Olive. I mean, Austen is cool, too, but he’s still kind of too young to begood at anything. I get Olive out there shooting sometimes—she’s got real potential.” He mimed a free throw. “Lucky she got her dad’s height.”
“That’s great, Tom.” Gin meant it, even as she thought sadly that of the five of them, only Christine had become a parent.
“What about you? How are things in the Windy City?”
“Oh, you know. Fine.” Just once, Gin had invited Tom and Christine to come up and visit. It was during her first year in Chicago, when she was a first-year resident at the University of Chicago. But the visit never happened, and Gin had wondered since then if it had already been too late. If their friendship had already disappeared, along with Lily.
“It better be fine, after all that school.” Tom gave a mock shudder. He hated studying and had barely graduated from Duquesne. He wasn’t stupid, but he had the work habits of his teen self.
“Work is good. I like it.”
“And you were dating a lawyer, right?”
“Clay’s an attorney, yes,” Gin said. “He works for one of the big downtown firms.”
“Aw, I’m glad you found someone, Gin.”
She didn’t miss the wistfulness in his tone. “What about you? Seeing anyone?”
“Me? No, no. I mean yeah, a couple people. Nothing serious. Work, long days, you know how it gets.” His discomfort was evident in his lowered gaze, his rapid speech.
“You just haven’t found the right woman yet.” Gin smiled kindly. Tom had been a heartbreaker before ending up with Lily, and her mother implied he’d made the rounds of the sororities while at school. Since then, though, he’d been stuck in the ever-shrinking pond of Trumbull. Gin almost felt sorry for him.
“You going to see Dad while you’re here?” He blinked, and seemed to catch up a half-second later. “Wait, I guess that would be . . . I mean, hell, it’s time they all get over that, right? Especially now.”
“I’d love to see the whole family,” Gin said diplomatically. “You’re coming to the memorial on Saturday, aren’t you?”
“Of course. Dad called this morning—he said you’re having it at the Grange.”
Gin nodded. “It can accommodate a lot of people. And Mom was able to bring in the caterers she wanted.”
“Not local . . .”
“I’m not sure, actually. We didn’t have much time to talk last night. I imagine I’ll find out more this afternoon.” She sighed. “I don’t suppose I can talk you into coming for dinner, can I? Dealing with the two of them on my own can be . . . challenging.”
Now it was Tom’s turn to look uncomfortable. “I love your folks, but I always feel like I’m on the verge of disappointing them. Of course, that’s how I feel around my dad, too. Anyway, I’m afraid I can’t make it over tonight, but thanks for the invitation. A rain check?”
“Absolutely.”
“You going to be around for a while this time, Ginny?” His voice had softened and there was sadness in his eyes.
“I’m not sure. Probably through the end of the week, anyway. It depends on . . . on whether there’s anything I can do here.”
“For your folks?”
“Well, that, and . . .” Gin decided it would be best not to voice her intention to lend a hand with the investigation. “And just reconnecting with people,” she finished awkwardly.
“Like Jake? I saw him when I came in. I’m sorry I didn’t come over right away—things are still . . . awkward, between us. Which is kind of tough, as you might imagine, given the size of this shithole town.”
“Jake still holds you responsible for the accusations against him back then?”
Tom looked increasingly uncomfortable. “Not just me . . . well, maybe mostly me. He never believed me, that I didn’t really think he did it. Not deep down, because of the stupid things I said. I tried to apologize, you know . . . It’s just, these things take on a life of their own.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re coming on Saturday. I’m hoping Lawrence will be there, too,” she said carefully. “And Jake may make an appearance. I hope that won’t be uncomfortable for you . . .”
“Aw, hell no, of course not,” Tom said, forcing a jocular tone. “We’re all adults. It was so long ago—and now the important thing is to give Lily the peace she deserves, let your parents and you grieve.”
“All of us,” Gin said with feeling. “You, too.”
“She was special,” Tom said quietly. “I’ve never met anyone like her. I doubt I ever will.”
Gin felt her eyes mist over, and rubbed at them impatiently. She wasn’t going to fall apart—not here, not in front of the whole town.
“You know, there’s bound to be questions about that cooler,” she said, changing the subject. “The only people who knew it was there—”
“Was half the senior class,” Tom finished her sentence. “Not to mention anyone who ever fished or dirt biked or went walking out there. Wasn’t like we ever tried to hide it.”
“It was too big to hide,” Gin remembered. At first they’d planned to haul it back and forth in Jake’s truck, but then they decided that the sheer size and unwieldiness of it would be deterrent enough to anyone taking it. They’d dragged it close to the pilings under a rustic footbridge over the creek, carrying in their ice and beer and sandwiches.
“Did we even notice it was gone?” Tom asked. “I can’t remember now.”
Gin thought back: after her sister’s disappearance, she’d never returned to the clearing. And two months later, she left for college.
“I don’t think I ever went back there,” she said softly. “Not that summer. Not ever.”
They were quiet for a moment. Then Tom cleared his throat. “Well, I’d better get going. I’ll see you Saturday, if not before. And Gin? It’s really good to see you again.”
“You, too.” That, at least, she really meant.
8
When she got back to the house, a Trumbull police vehicle was parked in the drive behind her mother’s Volvo. It was disconcerting to see that it was a hulking Explorer; gone were the Impalas that Gin remembered from her high school years.
Letting herself in the front door, she could hear Lawrence’s voice in the kitchen. She found him sitting with her mother over untouched slices of coffee cake.
“And there she is,” Lawrence said with forced cheer, pushing back from the table and getting up, the process slowed by his arthritic joints. Lawrence, who would now be in his late sixties, was older than the other parents, something that had made him seem especially avuncular when Gin was young.
Gin was dismayed to see how old he looked: his back was hunched, and deep lines had taken over his face. He had finally given up the comb-over, the strands he’d kept plastered across the smooth dome of his bald, freckled head all those years, and he somehow looked more vulnerable with the close crop of gray hair. He had been in his thirties when Jake was born, and Jake had confided to Gin once that his much-younger mother had blamed Lawrence for robbing her of her youth, before she left them both for good.
“He told
me he figured it was a little too late to give me back,” Jake had reported wryly. It was local legend how Lawrence had let the boy ride along in the cruiser on school holidays and vacations. Some of town gossips had clucked that it was a disgrace, only to have to eat their words when Jake graduated at the top of the class, second only to Gin.
Jake had had a bright future, once.
Gin held back when hugging Lawrence, all too aware of the sharp edges of his shoulder blades, the thinness of his biceps. But Lawrence gripped her hard and murmured fiercely, “You are a sight for sore eyes, Ginny-girl. We’re all so glad you’re here now.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, swallowing her feelings of guilt over the suspicions she couldn’t quash, the resentment she still felt toward Jake.
“This—this awful thing, it’s devastated all of us,” Lawrence continued. “I was just saying to your mom, not a day has gone that I haven’t thought of your sister.”
Madeleine got up and went to the stove, busying herself with cutting a slice of pastry from the white bakery box. “I’ll make more coffee,” she said.
“Not for me, Mom. Is Dad around?”
“No, sweetheart, he took a run up to the Burgh to finalize things with the caterers.”
The Burgh—what they’d called Pittsburgh in high school, lacing their voices with contempt for a city fifty times the size of their town but nowhere near big enough for their dreams. She had never heard her mother use the term before.
“Didn’t he want to be here?” Gin asked. “To hear what Lawrence has to say?”
“I’ll fill him in later,” her mother said, sidestepping the question.
“We’ve just got started,” Lawrence said tactfully. “You haven’t missed much.”
“Have the county police already taken over the case?”
“Yep, fella name of Stillman’s in charge. Good guy, been a detective nine, ten years now. I knew him when he was still a beat cop. Then they got this young guy, Witt. Sharp as a tack. Liam’s his first name, he came up from downstate.”
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