What My Sister Knew
Page 26
They’ll have to leave me alone eventually, and then I’ll live my life however I want. I’ll take all the media attention I can get. I’ll talk Milton into forgiving me, we’ll get back together, and then we’ll get married like we always meant to. I’ll find a new AA chapter where no one knows too much, and go to every meeting like a good girl. I’ll earn my badges and be a shining example to anyone struggling with the demons of alcoholism. A good daughter, exemplary wife, model employee, dedicating my life to helping kids from troubled homes, victims of people like my brother.
I’ll live in the town house with Milt, and I won’t second-guess or question any of it. I won’t spend sleepless nights obsessing over what I do or don’t deserve. God knows I spent enough time on that. If nothing else, my brother put a stop to it once and for all—in dying, he freed me from self-doubt.
The sirens are deafening now. No doubt they’ll get here in time to put out the fire before it rages out of control. Or before it can alter the crime scene inside the house: Jonathan Lamb, shot four times in the chest with his own gun, with Eli Warren’s fingerprints all over it. And whatever’s left of Eli, clutching a lighter in his fist. And me, out here, hair and clothes soaked with cheap liquor and singed at the edges. He tried to set me on fire, I’ll tell the ambulance techs as I sob my heart out.
They’re here now. A half dozen fire trucks, police cars, two ambulances. The police cars surround me, tires screeching, in a blaze of lights and sirens.
The final act, Addie, I tell myself. Let’s make it a good one.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Fifteen years earlier: the night of the fire
Andrea wakes up alone that night. She knows it before she opens her eyes. Her brother isn’t in their room. He’s probably down in the rec room. Or maybe he did run away like he said he would, she thinks, and to her surprise, her main emotion is relief.
She gets out of bed, throws a sweatshirt on over her pajamas, and goes downstairs, her steps slapping against the floor. The house is still and empty. Sergio isn’t home yet and won’t be for another half hour according to the clock. But her mother is nowhere to be found either.
The kitchen is dark and drafty, ice-cold. She sees that the door leading to the yard is open a crack. Like someone left it that way in a hurry.
She pushes the curtain aside and sees the car, idling in the alleyway. Andrea can see the glow of its taillights through the fence.
She makes her way down the stairs and into the backyard barefoot. It’s cold, even for April, and within seconds, she can barely feel her toes. Her every breath is a puff of steam that rises into the dark sky in skinny wisps.
The gate is unlocked. Andrea clings to the fence and presses her cheek against one of the boards. There are voices. She glimpses a figure—only a silhouette against the intense red light of the car’s taillights but she recognizes her mother anyway. She huddles in her robe. Her hair is pulled back sloppily, and wisps of it dance around her head.
“Don’t do this,” her mother is saying, her voice low but filled with urgency, verging on desperation. Andrea’s heart starts to hammer, and she’s afraid they’ll hear it and catch her spying. “Don’t do this, please. We can work it out.”
“Jesus H. Christ.” The man’s voice mingles with the low rumble of the engine, and it’s much harder to make out what he’s saying. “Do you hear yourself, Cassie?”
It’s jarring, hearing someone other than Sergio call her that. To everyone else, Andrea’s mother is Mrs. Bianchi or Cassandra.
Her mother murmurs something pleading.
“After what that freak did to my daughter? How could I possibly keep seeing you? What kind of man would I be?”
“It can’t end like this.” The sheer anguish in her mother’s voice is shocking. Andrea already knew she was witnessing something incredibly private but this adds a new layer. This is a secret, a shameful secret. “Listen. Please. We’re sending Eli away. To boarding school. We’re making arrangements. He’ll be gone by the end of the week.”
The man gives an exasperated groan. “Forget about it.”
“Jim,” she pleads. “You can’t. You can’t let my idiot son stand in the way of us.”
It’s like a slap. Andrea’s ears are ringing.
“You bet I can. I have a family, Cassie. Think about it. If it were the other way around, would you still want to be with me?”
“Yes!” Her mother’s voice rises in pitch, hysterical. For the longest time, there’s only her frantic breathing, like she’s crying or about to cry.
“There’s something wrong with you,” the man says. Even the noise of the car can’t hide the disgust in his voice.
Her mother staggers back. Her silhouette is vivid in the red lights as she covers her mouth with her hands. The car door slams shut, and the car pulls away, leaving her standing there, motionless.
Andrea is numb, and not because of the cold. She doesn’t remember reaching into her pocket, but her hand is there, curled around the lighter. The enamel has become hot and damp from her touch.
So it’s all true, she finds herself thinking. The realization is like being punched in the stomach. Eli was right. He was right about everything. And that’s what makes her angriest. Not her mother’s betrayal, or the fact that everything Andrea thought she knew was a lie and the world was unendurable after all. It was that Eli had been right, just like always.
She hurries toward the house before her mother can notice her. She races up the stairs, leaving the kitchen door wide open. Cold April wind skewers the house. She thinks she hears her mother call her name but the bathroom door is already banging shut behind her. Her face is dirty, a gray streak where she leaned on the fence.
Andrea turns on the faucet and sees they’re out of soap. She opens the cabinet to look for more. There isn’t any soap but there’s a bottle of nail polish remover, next to her mother’s neat row of polish bottles in all shades of pink and red. Andrea isn’t allowed to touch them but who cares anymore?
She takes the bottle of remover and hides it under her shirt and then makes her way to her room. The lighter is snug in her pocket.
How I hate you all, she finds herself thinking. But the thoughts are calm now. Steady. How I hate you. I want you all to die. A horrible, painful, fiery death.
She shuts the door of her room behind her, climbs into bed, and waits.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my fabulous agent, Rachel Ekstrom Courage, for always being there with advice and help and nervous-author hand-holding. Huge thanks to Alex Logan, my editor, for dealing with my flights of imagination and to the entire editorial team at Grand Central Publishing for making my book sparkle! Thanks also to Kamrun Nesa and Tiffany Sanchez in publicity and marketing for going above and beyond.
A huge thank-you to everyone who supported me throughout the writing and publishing process. Alana, Marie-Pierre, Jessica, Nisha, Richard, and everyone who showed up with words of encouragement. Special thanks to Maude Michaud and everyone at The Ladies! You keep me sane. Thanks also go to my family for their support and cheerleading. And a separate thank-you to Patrick, for being by my side always.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nina Laurin is the bilingual (English/French) author of Girl Last Seen and What My Sister Knew, both published by Grand Central Publishing. She studied creative writing at Concordia University in her hometown of Montreal, Canada, where she lives and writes. You can learn more at thrillerina.wordpress.com and on Twitter @girlinthetitle.
Also by Nina Laurin
Girl Last Seen
PRAISE FOR NINA LAURIN
“Debut novelist Nina Laurin has created a memorable character in complicated, flawed and endearing Laine Moreno. From the very first page, Girl Last Seen jettisons the reader into the life of a crime
victim trying to outrun her past.”
―Heather Gudenkauf, New York Times bestselling author of
The Weight of Silence and Not a Sound
“Girl Last Seen hooked me so quickly I might have whiplash. This is a sharp, twisting, intense thriller, the heartbreaking and fast-paced story of a woman who bears the scars of a trip to hell and back but who refuses to be defeated. Don’t miss this smashing debut!”
―David Bell, bestselling author of Bring Her Home
“Girl Last Seen gripped me from start to finish. Lainey Moreno is a riveting heroine, a kidnapping survivor who will only escape her demons if she faces her greatest fears, and Nina Laurin brings her vividly to life. Psychological suspense doesn’t come much grittier or more packed with satisfying twists and turns.”
―Meg Gardiner, Edgar Award–winning author of Unsub
“Girl Last Seen by Nina Laurin is a chilling suspense about two missing girls whose stories intertwine—perfect for Paula Hawkins fans.”
―EliteDaily.com
“Every good thriller has a shocking plot twist. Girl Last Seen has many. Author Nina Laurin’s eerie novel will stay with you for days, months, even years to come.”
—HelloGiggles.com
“A well-written and compelling novel that offers more than suspense; it offers a deeper understanding of how sexual assault can leave its victims broken. Ms. Laurin is to be congratulated for her achievement.”
—NYJournalofBooks.com on Girl Last Seen
“4 Stars! This debut novel is a gritty thriller with dark twists you won’t see coming. The heartbreaking, heart-racing journey…will keep you guessing to the nail-biting end.”
—TheSuspenseisThrillingMe.com on Girl Last Seen
“Laurin creates a compelling, vulnerable central character.”
― Publishers Weekly on Girl Last Seen
“Laurin’s novel is nearly as compelling as it is depressing in detailing Lainey’s story to a hair-raising, violent climax. A promising debut.”
― Booklist Online on Girl Last Seen
“Disturbing and suspenseful…provides a great twisty ending that will satisfy.”
―RT Book Reviews on Girl Last Seen