He opened his arms wide, anticipating a hug.
Lifting an eyebrow, she folded her arms tightly across her chest.
“Well, don’t look so enthusiastic,” he said, the grin still frozen on his face.
“I’m just tired.” Lying was much easier. Besides, he lied, too. In fact, nearly everything that came out of his mouth was a lie. It had simply taken her a while to want to see it. After catching Johnny in his first lie, something broke a little inside of her, and a thin wall went up. When the lies kept coming, the wall grew thicker. Then, without realizing it, her heart had hardened against him and she realized she no longer felt comfort when he touched her.
But still, Allie had clung to her relationship with Johnny out of need. She used to think his deceit was the price she was supposed to pay for him to accept her, because she’d had little self-worth. But she no longer thought that way. As she grew to love and finally accept herself, imperfections and all, her feelings for Johnny had slowly cooled. Now they were iced over.
“Well, aren’t you at least surprised?”
“That you showed up? That you finally did something you said you’d do? Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”
Sammy appeared next to him, clutching two Lego figures. She noticed the boy shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“Do you have to go potty?”
He shook his head.
But she knew better. She knew he’d rather wet himself than miss a rare moment with his father.
She pointed in the direction of the bathroom. “Go. Now.”
“But Mommy!”
She shot him one of her firm mommy looks. He stared at her, weighing how serious she was, then reluctantly darted off toward the bathroom. When he’d disappeared down the hallway, she pushed past Johnny, into the living room. Her arms folded protectively across her middle, she sat down on the ottoman.
Johnny walked around the ottoman. He placed his strong hands on her shoulders, slid her forward in her seat, and slipped in behind her. “I missed you,” he whispered, his breath warm on her earlobe.
He sounded so affectionate.
So genuine.
For years, she craved hearing those words from him, because it was as good as it got.
He pressed his warm lips to her neck and kissed it softly. She breathed in the musky, clean scent of his Cool Water cologne . . . a scent she used to spray on her pillowcases because it made Johnny feel close when he really wasn’t: physically or emotionally. Those were the days when every inch of her would ache when she didn’t get to see him. The days he made her breathless.
Now it was difficult not to shrink from his touch.
“I need money to take Sammy to the dentist,” she said. She used to beat around the bush when it came to the things she needed from him, afraid he would say no. Afraid of rejection. But that had never worked, so now it was time for a new strategy. Besides, Bitty had been having money problems lately, which meant Allie was now pitching in more with the monthly household expenses.
Johnny’s mouth was no longer on her neck. “Sorry, li’l bit, but I’m broke. But hey, look, I promise I’ll send you some this week.” He nuzzled closer to her again.
She twisted on the ottoman. “But you say that every time, Johnny. Don’t you realize that? And when . . . when do you ever come through for us? Tell me. When?”
Johnny stared at her with the blank look he always got when he didn’t know how to answer one of her questions. He stood and returned to the couch. He sat down, the springs protesting beneath his weight.
“Look, babe. I don’t want to argue. I came here to spend some time with you and my boy. I just wanted us to have fun. That’s all. So please, don’t do this.”
After returning from the Child Advocacy Center, Carrie crawled into bed and squeezed her eyes closed. She was desperate to find sleep . . . to slam shut the door on the nightmare that her life had suddenly become.
She heard Zoe pacing the floor, humming and muttering to herself. A moment later, she felt Zoe sit next to her on the bed. “Carrie?” she said softly.
Carrie kept her eyes shut.
“I know you can hear me. Look at me.”
Carrie reluctantly opened her eyes. Zoe was perched on the side of the bed, her eyes red and full of fear. “They keep saying Dad’s dead. Why do they keep saying that?”
Warm tears slid down Carrie’s face. They’d already been through this before.
Zoe’s eyes were desperate. “Carrie? Why? Why do they keep saying . . .”
Carrie studied her sister, wondering if she really could have forgotten the monstrous things they’d witnessed Tuesday night. “You really don’t know, do you?” she whispered.
Zoe shook her head.
Carrie could see that she was telling the truth. “Because he is,” Carrie answered. “It’s true. He is dead.”
Zoe gasped. Her eyes filled with tears, then what looked like rage. Her face grew beet red and her jaw tensed—and for a long moment, Carrie thought Zoe was going to hit her. But instead, she buried her face into a pillow and started screaming. She screamed so hard and long, the side of her face grew red and the big blood vessel in her neck throbbed.
Carrie wanted to take care of Zoe . . . to protect her . . . like she always had, but she didn’t have the energy to even move. If she had, she’d be searching the bathroom for a razor blade. She’d been cutting for months. Her arms, her stomach, her legs . . . aside from the pills their mother used to give them, it was the only thing that eased the pain when it became unbearable.
And right now, it was unbearable.
But she was so exhausted, just the idea of standing was overwhelming, so she merely closed her eyes . . . and wished for the millionth time that their mother had never met Gary.
Three Months Before the Murders
The night Carrie and Zoe first met Gary, their mother had walked into Zoe’s bedroom, holding the brush—and made Zoe sit in front of the vanity mirror so she could brush her long dark hair. The woman hummed as she brushed, a weird, empty look in her eyes.
Every time their mother had something important to say, she’d come in with the brush. And she’d brush their hair way too hard, for way too long, until she finally got around to saying whatever was on her mind. She didn’t brush Carrie’s anymore. Just Zoe’s . . . because Zoe was the confident, stubborn one.
Zoe was also the one she blamed.
In fact, their mother barely addressed Carrie anymore. It was almost as though, over the years, she’d become invisible. But Carrie kind of liked being invisible. Carrie also adored Zoe. She was everything Carrie never would be: beautiful, fearless, funny, confident. While most people starred in the movie of their own lives, Zoe was the star in Carrie’s.
She always had been.
Since the death of their little brother, Joey, both of their parents had changed. Their father took more routes as a long-haul trucker, and came home only one or two nights a week. Their mother began using alcohol and pills, and slept during the day and hung out with new male “friends” at night. She met them at the supermarket, at the gas station, the 7-Eleven, the Laundromat. Men were attracted to their mother. She was a beautiful woman.
On the outside.
Over the last three years, many men came and went. Guys with beards, mustaches, goatees, a few with shaven faces. All made their home feel and smell a little different. Carrie and her sister longed for their dad to be home more. They adored him. With him, they felt safe. But he was gone a lot, so most of the time they were alone with their mother.
On the nights their mother went out, she’d drug Carrie and Zoe with Xanax to make sure they slept through the evening and well into the night so they didn’t get into any trouble. It was cheaper and more reliable than a babysitter, and she was always able to get more pills from a bald-headed pharmacist “friend” she’d been seeing off and on since Joey’s accident. She gave them two or three . . . sometimes even four . . . Xanax that would make them drowsy about fifteen mi
nutes later. Then, often the next thing they knew, it was the following morning. Or afternoon.
Carrie watched her sister from the newly carpeted floor, every nerve in her body standing at attention. She studied the reflection of her sister’s eyes in the vanity mirror, wondering how she was going to react. To see if their mother’s little visit was going to end up badly.
Zoe had become somewhat of a loose cannon over the last few years—often fluctuating between being really sweet and helpful to their mother, or being mouthy and throwing the woman into a rage.
The brush paused midair, and the humming stopped. Their mother reached for her glass. In two gulps, she finished her drink and set the glass back down, the ice clinking as it settled to the bottom.
She cleared her throat. “I want you girls to meet a new friend of mine tonight. His name is Gary. He’s . . . he’s different than my other friends.”
Carrie saw Zoe’s ears redden. Both girls, especially Zoe, hated that their mother had “friends.”
“Did you hear me, Zoe?”
Zoe nodded.
Their mother’s tone softened and she suddenly laughed. “You know what’s hysterical? We met at the Stop n Buy. We were both looking for Bloody Mary mix. It was midnight, and we were both at the store looking for the same thing.” She studied her own reflection in the mirror and smiled. “It was like it was meant to be.”
Since Joey’s death, their mother’s moods had become strangely inconsistent. One moment, she treated them like she was a prison warden or simply ignored them. The next, she spoke to them about personal things as though they were close girlfriends.
“Gary . . . he gets me, you know?” she said, her heavily made-up eyes filling with tears.
Both girls were silent.
“And this should go without saying, but you’re not to tell anyone about Gary, you hear me? Our friendship is no one’s business, especially your father’s.”
The room was quiet.
“Zoe? I want an answer, young lady.”
“Okay.”
“Okay what? I want the whole sentence.”
“Okay, I won’t say anything,” Zoe said, angrily. Carrie could see that Zoe was grinding her teeth. Tears suddenly spilled down Zoe’s cheeks and she hastily cleared them away with the back of her hand.
Carrie’s stomach dipped. Seeing Zoe cry was worse than Carrie crying herself. She hated to see Zoe in pain. She’d rather bear the pain for her.
I know it’s hard, but please . . . don’t say anything, Zoe, Carrie silently pleaded. She’s almost done. Just keep your mouth shut for a few more minutes, and she’ll leave . . . and everything will be okay.
In the mirror, Zoe’s eyes shifted to Carrie’s. They narrowed a little and Carrie read the look as Don’t worry. I won’t.
They were good at sending each other silent messages. Their father said it was because they were twins. That it was a gift some twins had that regular sisters didn’t. But even though they were twins, they were different in almost every way imaginable. Zoe was the one who had been given all the gifts. Although Carrie had been given nothing special, she’d never felt jealous. Not really.
The doorbell rang.
The brush landed on the vanity with a thud. Their mother fussed with her hair in the mirror for a moment, then leapt off the bed. Straightening her dress, she slipped her feet into her pumps and clapped her hands together. “Okay. It’s time. Let’s go meet Gary.”
CHAPTER 8
ALLIE HURLED LAUNDRY into the washer, taking out her frustration with Johnny on the dirty underwear and socks.
She let the hot water from the fill cycle run over her hand. She was angry. Angry with Johnny for showing up and ruining her day. Angry at herself for not yet ending things with him. For stringing out the relationship for way too long. She knew better than that.
When the spin cycle started, she leaned against the machine, and let the spinning soothe her. She dragged her thoughts to the forty days she’d been on hospital bed rest with Sammy—and how Johnny hadn’t visited once. He hadn’t been there through any of it: the birth, the ten days that Sammy spent in the neonatal intensive care unit. He hadn’t even helped with the expenses.
During the first couple of years, she’d been hell-bent on being the perfect partner to Johnny, thinking that if she was, she’d make herself indispensable to him and he’d finally step up to the plate. Without fail, she put his needs before her own and didn’t complain about anything, no matter what he did—or didn’t do. But then, one day about a year ago, something Bitty told her really hit home. She’d said that you teach people how to treat you.
The words hit her like a punch to the stomach because it was true. She had taught Johnny that it didn’t matter if he was dishonest. That there’d be no real consequence if he didn’t keep his word, help with Sammy’s expenses, or wasn’t there for her when she needed him. She’d taught him that no matter what, she’d still be there.
But that was going to change.
Allie went to the kitchen and prepared lunch. She was carrying a tray of food to the bedroom when she heard the roar of an engine, then tires squealing.
What the—?
She rushed to the front window and pulled back the drapes to see a black truck barreling away, kicking up dirt. Her stomach flooded with anxiety as she watched the truck disappear around the bend.
Could someone just be lost? she wondered. But her gut said no. After all, their house was almost two acres from the closest paved road. And their nearest neighbor was a good quarter of a mile away. You had to really search for their house to find it.
Her mind flashed to the caller this morning, and fear curled in the pit of her stomach.
Could the two be connected?
Could they be connected to the girls?
To their parents’ murders?
She walked down the hallway and pressed her ear to Bitty’s bedroom door, listening for any signs she was awake from her nap, but there were none. After a quick check of the locks, Allie went to her bedroom and tried to rationalize the situation. After all, it was possible that the person driving the truck had simply been lost. Or, it could’ve been some kids looking for a place to go four wheeling. The possibilities were endless, really, once she thought about it.
She pushed open her bedroom door. “Who was that?” Johnny asked, propped up against a pillow in bed. Sammy was curled up beside him, clutching Johnny’s torso as though if he let go of him, he’d vanish into a puff of air.
“I don’t know,” Allie answered. “Someone probably got lost.”
He flipped through the channels. “Way out here? That’s pretty unlikely, don’t you think?”
She glared at him.
But even she wasn’t buying it.
“What I smell, Mommy?” Sammy asked.
“Grilled tomato sandwiches and cream of chicken soup.”
“Mmm!” Sammy released his father and sat up. “Yummy! I want some!”
“Hold on. Let me get a TV tray for you.” She went to her closet and reached for one of the folded TV trays. When she straightened, she felt Johnny standing behind her. Before she could move, Johnny’s big arms were embracing her. He spoke softly. “C’mon. Relax a little, babe. I came here to have fun. Not fight.”
“I am relaxed.”
He kneaded her shoulders, apparently oblivious to the fact that she was flinching beneath his touch.
“Wow. I can feel your heart racing. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, wiggling out from beneath his grasp.
But she wasn’t fine. She was worried.
Later that night, after Sammy fell asleep, Allie placed him on a cot next to the bed and covered him with warm blankets. She set Emmet, his favorite Lego man, next to him and kissed him on the forehead.
Sammy had his own bedroom in the five-bedroom ranch-style house, but these days, they used it more for toy storage than anything else. Allie and Sammy had co-slept since he was born, and Allie found it extremely bonding.
>
Allie crawled back on the bed, next to where Johnny lay queuing up Breaking Bad on Netflix. It was one of Allie’s favorite things to do with him, and for minutes at a time, she was able to forget about the issues they had—and that she would soon be breaking up with him. Allie concentrated on the program, welcoming the chance to escape for a while. But twenty minutes into their second episode, the phone rang.
She hurried to pick it up before it woke anyone. “Hello?”
She heard silence on the other end of the line. The hair on the back of her neck rose.
What the hell? Again?
She glanced at the caller ID, but the screen indicated the call was coming from a private number. “Hello?” she said louder.
She could hear muffled breathing. Then a man’s voice asked, “Who is this?”
She frowned. “Who is this? You called me.”
The man was silent.
A shiver crawled up Allie’s back. She instinctively glanced at Sammy. He was still asleep.
She heard more muffled breathing, then the line went dead.
When she hung up, Johnny was propped up on his elbow, staring at her. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know. Some man,” she said, rubbing her arms.
“Well, what did he say?”
“He asked who I was.”
“Really? Well, that’s weird.”
“Yeah . . . and I think he might’ve called this morning, too.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “You okay? You look a little green.”
She felt green.
Allie glanced at Sammy again to make sure he was still asleep, then she lowered her voice. “Did you see those little girls who came home with Bitty today?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Their parents were killed a few days ago.”
“Killed? What? How?”
“They were murdered.”
Johnny’s eyes widened. “No shit?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus. That’s crazy. Who killed them?” Johnny asked.
Don't Say a Word (Strangers Series) Page 4
