by S. Massery
She knew.
She orchestrated the whole thing.
Not outside the realm of possibilities.
“Caleb,” Keith says, his hand on my shoulder.
I rise automatically and flinch when he hugs me. When’s the last time I was hugged by a man? Certainly not Uncle David.
My eyes burn.
“It’s okay, son,” he whispers. I’m barely taller than him. “And I’m so, so sorry.”
He pulls away, cups my jaw like a father might, and then…
Well, he just walks away. Toward the guard, through the door.
I shake off the chills.
Margo takes my hand. “Well, now we both have allegedly murderous parents.”
“That only counts if they commit two separate murders, I think.”
My girl leads me out, to our locker to retrieve our things and then into the cold. I take a deep breath in, the sharpness of the air waking me up a bit. I needed this like a slap in the face.
Wake up.
“I never asked… how did he die?” Margo asks.
I blink. “What?”
She stamps her foot into the snow-dusted road, pausing by the back bumper of Theo’s car. “I didn’t even know he was dead. What was I supposed to ask Dad—‘How did you kill him?’ No thanks.”
“I…” I shake off the memories. Battle them away. In as monotone a voice as possible, I say, “He was stabbed.”
She reaches for me.
“I can’t, Margo,” I say quietly. I step away from her.
She sets her jaw and comes for me anyway.
I never thought I’d be the one running, but here I am. Backing away from her like she’s fire and I’m ice.
My shoulder hits the car’s side mirror, and she pushes me against the door.
“No running,” she says, eyes narrowed.
I start to shake my head, but she presses her finger to my lips.
“You can’t run from me—and you definitely can’t run from whatever you're trying not to remember.”
A snowflake lands on her head, and more follow. I follow them with my eyes, contemplating. Her finger is still on my lips.
I talk through it. “If my mom did it—”
“Yeah.” She drops her hand. “Then this is bigger than either of us.”
“We should get back,” I say in a low voice.
Robert and Lenora weren’t exactly approving of me whisking Margo off, but they softened when she said where we were going. And they don’t know the half of it… but they’re doing their best.
When Eli and I had arrived mid-afternoon, a cleaning team was dealing with Margo’s room. She and Robert were both dozing on the couch, mirror images of each other on different sides of the couch.
She nods, stepping away from me. And then she comes rushing right back, hands wrapping around my neck. She has to stand on her tiptoes to reach my lips, but her kiss is forceful. Aggressive and… short-lived.
I pause as she pulls away, and she grimaces at me.
“That’s for trying to run.” She watches my mouth.
I lick my lips, surprised to taste blood.
“You bit me.”
She just grins.
“Little wolf.” I smile. “Thanks.”
She just lifts one shoulder. Her smile falls pretty fast once we’re in the car. She stares straight ahead, and I take a moment to realize…
“Oh fuck. Is it because it’s snowing?”
She nods.
“We’ll be okay,” I promise her.
“You shouldn’t even be driving.” She closes her eyes. “God, Unknown could’ve followed us here—”
“It’s like lightning striking the same spot twice.” I reach over and take her hand. “Improbable.”
“You didn’t say impossible,” she whispers. She clutches my fingers like I’m a lifeline. “Okay, okay. Let’s just go before it gets worse.”
We’re the last car out of the parking lot, and the road is deserted.
I drive more carefully than I’ve ever driven in my life. I check each intersection three times, barely make the speed limit… and the entire way, Margo just holds on to my hand. Her eyes are closed, and she looks pale.
My tongue touches my lower lip again. I’m still shocked that she bit me and I didn’t even feel it until after. It feels bruised now.
Bruised like my mind was after I relived walking in to find my dad’s body. And here I go again, about to replay it in my mind for the thousandth time—although this time, maybe I’ll remember something new.
Something to exonerate Margo’s dad.
Past
Mom and I walked into a silent house.
She muttered something and dropped her purse on the side table, striding away from me.
Dad should’ve been home. There was always a hustle and bustle in our home—whether it be Amberly in the kitchen or Dad in his study, on the phone, or playing music to cover up the sounds of Amberly’s…
We heard that exactly once before Mom put an end to it.
I checked the kitchen, but it was empty. Mom appeared in the doorway of Dad’s study, shaking her head. So he wasn’t in there, either.
“Did he go out?” she asked herself. She met my gaze. “Honey, go upstairs.”
“But Margo—”
“Keith’s car is gone,” she said. “And so is Amberly’s. I doubt she’s home.”
I nodded and went to the stairs. I should’ve gone to my room, but I didn’t.
My parents’ door was open, and a lamp was on.
A lamp in the middle of the day.
It drew my eye, and I went toward it like a moth drawn to a flame. Couldn’t help it.
“Dad?” I called.
Nothing.
Up here, I couldn’t even hear Mom moving around downstairs.
I steeled myself and pushed the door open.
It was stupid. He was going to be coming out of the bathroom or dozing in the chair they kept in the corner of the room for reading. A chair neither of them used for anything except not-clean-not-dirty clothes.
But my imagination told me that he’d be in that chair, and there he was.
Except his eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling, and…
“Dad?”
Silence.
So much silence, it reverberated in my ears.
I stared and stared, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
He was covered in blood, but it wasn’t bright red like in the movies. It didn’t pump out of the hole in his neck or abdomen, between his fingers that were over his stomach.
It was dark. Still. Like it had flowed and then stopped when his heart finally gave up.
I couldn’t blink. Couldn’t move from the single step I had taken into the bedroom.
“Honey, did you find—” Mom grabbed me, pulling me backward. “Oh my god,” she shrieked. She covered my eyes, holding me to her chest.
My body was already wooden.
Dad was dead, or it was a trick. An awful trick.
I tried to get away from her, but I had lost my chance to check him. To shout, Joke’s on you, Dad! I’m not falling for it. She held me fast.
It was ketchup smeared across his face, that had run in rivers down the chair. It was soaked into the carpet, even, around his feet.
So much blood.
A whole body’s worth, spilled out of him.
“Don’t look,” Mom whispered into the top of my head.
My eyes were burning, but I couldn’t not.
“I’m sorry, Caleb.”
A groan worked its way out of my chest. The first noise, but certainly not the last.
She picked me up, grunting with the effort, and carried me downstairs. I was starting to come back alive then, the puppet cutting his strings and becoming a real boy.
My eyes were on fire, but I didn’t cry. I just sat at the breakfast bar, turned toward Margo’s house, and wished on every stupid thing I could think of that she’d be home soon.
She wo
uld understand, even if she didn’t go through this kind of thing. She hadn’t lost a parent, but she would know what to say to make it better.
“We have a chef,” Mom told a detective behind me. “She and her family live in our guest house. Her husband and her have always had some marital problems, but we tried to offer support as best we could…”
I glared at Mom. She was forgetting the part where Dad’s version of support was his—
“Caleb,” Mom warned, like she could read my thoughts.
Maybe the ugly truth was written across my face.
“Can you wait outside, please, honey?” She turned to the detective. “I just don’t want him to hear…”
“Understandable, ma’am.” He was an older man with a full head of gray hair and a mustache to match. “My partner can go sit with him outside, if that’s all right?”
His partner was young, bald, and probably as freaked out as I was.
“We could both use the fresh air,” he said. He motioned for me to hop down, and I led the way to the patio furniture outside. “You know the Wolfes well, son?”
I flinched. “I ain’t your son.”
He raised his hands in surrender, settling across the table from me. “I meant no offense.”
I thought about it. “Keith is nice. Margo’s my best friend.” I grinned, forgetting the horrors of the house now that we were in the sunshine. “I’m going to marry her.”
He smiled at me. “And Margo’s mom?”
I frowned. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to keep the secret that she and Dad were… more than friends. So I decided on, “She and Dad were close.”
He nodded like he knew what I was saying.
“Where is Margo?”
The older detective slid open the door. “Come on, Masters. We’ve got work to do.”
Mom came outside and knelt beside me. “We’re going to go on a little trip, okay? Just while they figure out what happened to Daddy.”
I hadn’t called him Daddy since I was six, but I kept my mouth shut.
She took my hand and led me around the side of the house, putting me in the car. I hadn’t realized the older detective had followed us, but he stopped Mom in front of the car.
I cranked my window down an inch.
“Caleb mentioned Amberly Wolfe and your husband being close,” he said.
“Close? They do talk often.” She blinks. It seemed she was coming apart at the seams at a faster rate than before. “But, what does that have to do with anything?”
“Ma’am—”
“My husband wouldn’t cheat on me,” Mom swore. She covered her mouth just before she burst into tears. “He was just murdered—”
The detective shuffled backward. He handed her a handkerchief, and she took it, sparing him a smile. I watched in utter disbelief as she dabbed at her eyes, then offered it to him.
He shook his head. “Keep it. Don’t leave town, all right? We’ll be in touch.”
He extended her a business card, and she shoved it into her purse.
She nodded, standing in front of the car until he turned and went back into our house. Then she got in the car and met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “You told them they were close?”
I shrugged.
To my surprise, she smiled. “Good. That will set them on the right path.”
31
Margo
Caleb is pale by the time we get back to my house.
I reach over and stroke his cheek, frowning. It does the trick. He shakes his head and comes out of whatever trance he was in.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He frowns. “I was just remembering…”
Ah. If he had to relive finding his dad, that’s on me. I’m the one who brought it up. I put my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He meets my gaze. “It’s not your fault. And besides… I actually realized a few things.”
I lift my eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Masters was the detective’s partner on my dad’s case,” he says.
I jerk back. “You’re just mentioning this now?”
“It only just occurred to me.” He grimaces. “Masters knew Theo’s mom. I wonder if he went to school with our dads.”
Our dads. It’s so weird to hear him say it like that. Up until this year, we had no idea they were anything beyond acquaintances. Two men burned by Amberly.
“The police made the arrest quickly, right? Within the day?”
“An open-and-shut case,” he answers. “So they thought.”
“I just wish I could remember what happened after—” I press my lips together. “There’s still the blank wall that I can’t get through. I go back home and then what? My memories skip to being at the park.”
His expression borders on sympathetic. “I don’t think your memory alone will free your dad. We need proof.”
My stomach twists. “What would the implication be if he did go to school with them?”
“He wasn’t in charge, so I don’t know how much he could’ve swayed. And it would depend on their relationship, you know? People didn’t really like my dad. He was known as the developer.”
Real estate. Insurance. His dad did it all, and happily—until he sold his company to the highest bidder.
Caleb snaps his fingers. “Yearbook!”
“What?”
“I know Mom kept her old yearbook from high school. And your dad might’ve kept his from their year. Maybe we can go back to your house—”
I grab his hand before he can put the car in reverse. “It’s no use, Caleb. Everything is gone.”
He pauses. “Huh?”
Oh shit. Did I not tell him?
“My house,” I say slowly. “It was completely cleared out except for my parents’ bedroom.” A giggle bubbles out of me. “All this time, I thought you did it just to keep it away from me. That you had everything in a storage room somewhere—”
“Margo, no,” Caleb murmurs. His hand slides around my neck, into my hair. “I had no idea.”
His hand is grounding.
“It’s your house,” I remind him. “Who else would do that?”
“I have a few guesses.” He puts the car in park, killing the engine. “Unfortunately, none of them will be forthcoming unless we’re sneakier about it. Let’s go inside.”
I zip my jacket tighter and follow him to my front door. Robert and Lenora are both on the couch, curled up together, when we come in.
“Have a good visit?” Lenora asks. There’s unveiled concern shining in her eyes.
“We had a good conversation,” Caleb says.
I nod.
I loop my arm in his, pulling him toward the stairs. My room is clean, albeit stark. We got a new bed frame and mattress, and a white dresser, but everything is in limbo. We plan on painting and going shopping for new decorations once the weekend hits. The two coats of primer cover the red almost to the point of invisibility.
Pretty bird, broken wings. I shudder to think about it.
“Who do you think did it?” I whisper on the stairs.
Caleb pauses next to the picture of me and him. The detective never did notice the red fingerprint, but he hones in on it. “Was this—?”
“Yes.”
“It’s right over your face,” he says in a low voice. “You didn’t think to mention this?”
“It isn’t like it’s a threat.”
He gives me an exasperated look. “It could be, since everything Unknown does seems to have hidden meaning.”
I don’t have a response to that. Because, yeah, he’s totally right. It could be a threat, as subtle as it may seem.
“They wrote on my wall,” I point out. “Isn’t that a bit more…”
“Precise?” He scowls.
“I think I’m going to paint the room light blue,” I tell him, walking into my room. My things—what was salvaged, anyway—are neatly stacked on top of the dresser. The primer is a creamy white color. It’s not awful, but it isn’t my first choice.
“Is that, ‘Oh, what a glorious fall’ from something?” Caleb asks. He plops down on my bed, smoothing the blanket. “Or do you think they made it up?”
I sit next to him. “I’ve been stewing over that myself,” I admit. “And at the same time, it infuriates me that I’m even wasting the brain power on it.”
“Fair.”
“Pretty bird, though… it reminds me of something just out of reach.”
He lifts a lock of my hair, twirling it. “It’ll come to you. Is that the painting?”
My attention goes to the canvas in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall. Small mercies that it wasn’t in the room when it got destroyed.
I still need to finish it, now that my view of Caleb has changed once again.
“It’s due soon,” he reminds me. “And my eyes are blank.”
My cheeks heat. “Yeah, I haven’t really had much time…”
“You’re right. Me neither. Luckily, I finished mine weeks ago.”
I stare at him. “Seriously? And you didn’t show me?”
He leans forward, kissing my forehead. It’s way too sweet for… him.
He’s not sweet.
Or kind.
Or nice.
But… he has been. Unfailingly sweet and supportive and gentle.
What on earth is wrong with me?
“Is this the new us?” I blurt out. “You being nice?”
He smirks. “Is this not what you want?”
Is it? Not if it isn’t real.
He seems to realize the seriousness of my question, because he leans back and drops the piece of hair he was still twirling. “Margo. I think our situations in the past few weeks have called for niceness. Would you prefer…?”
“Caleb the jerk?” I laugh, looking away.
His thumb brushes my cheek, catching a tear I didn’t even realize was falling.
“I just want a little stability, you know?” I whisper.
“I’m starting to think you never deserved anything I did to you,” he admits. “It was so black and white, and then you just… changed everything in a matter of months.”
I nod. “Your uncle?”
His jaw sets.
“It’s okay. We’ll undo whatever he did.”
I kiss him softly. Honestly, I meant it as a peck. But his hand cups the back of my head, trapping me there, and he deepens it. His tongue slides into my mouth.
