by Amber Garza
Thinking hard, Whitney bit her lip. No, that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t that much money. Besides, if all he was after was money, why date Whitney? She wasn’t rich by any means.
And she supposed Amelia could’ve found the money. It wasn’t like she’d hidden it that well.
But why had Jay lied about where he lived?
God, she couldn’t understand any of this.
From day one, she’d thought Jay seemed too good to be true. Now it seemed, she was right.
20
FOUR DAYS
BEFORE DROP-OFF
“CAN I SPEND the night at Lauren’s Friday?”
“Sure,” Whitney responded, already fantasizing about what she’d do with a free night.
“Sweet. I’ll tell Lauren.” Amelia smiled, her thumbs flying over the screen on her phone. After a few seconds, she looked up. “Is it cool if I just go home with Lauren after school?”
Whitney wanted to say yes. To fight against her helicopter-mom tendencies for once. To keep that smile on Amelia’s face. She rarely saw it anymore. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Whitney knew she’d been gone a lot lately. Work had been demanding as Natalie’s business continued to grow. And, also, she’d been spending a lot of time with Jay. But that was all the more reason for Whitney to be more attentive to Amelia when she was around. Not to mention the fact that she was curious about Lauren’s mom.
“I’d actually rather drop you off.”
Amelia groaned. “Mom, I’m not five.”
“You’re also not twenty-five,” Whitney said.
“Is this seriously how you’re gonna be even when I get my license?”
Whitney shrugged. “Maybe.”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “God, I can’t wait until I’m eighteen and can be on my own!” Spinning around, she stormed down the hallway, a hurricane of teenage hormones and emotion.
Whitney flinched when the bedroom door slammed. The downstairs neighbors were probably tired of hearing that sound. Whitney was definitely over it.
Amelia had always been independent.
When she was a little girl, Whitney would reach out when they were about to cross the street, close her fingers around Amelia’s. But Amelia would pry them off and step away, running across the street by herself. Dan thought it was funny. Called her Little Miss Independent. Said it showed confidence. Whitney thought it showed defiance. Irresponsibility. It terrified her. She would have nightmares of Amelia getting run over by cars—visions of her little body unmoving on the pavement filling her dreams. Whenever they went somewhere, Whitney spent the entire time on edge, nervous and sweaty. Finally, Whitney gave in and bought one of those harnesses. Dan was so angry. Said there was no way she was leashing their daughter as if she was a dog. Whitney argued that it was better than having her dead on the street. They never did come to an agreement. It was one of many fights they got into about how to parent Amelia.
When Whitney’s phone buzzed, she snatched it up to see Jay’s name on the screen. She smiled.
“Hey.” She pressed the phone to her ear.
“Hey,” he parroted. “Whatcha doing?”
Whitney’s heart flipped at the flirty lilt to his voice. She glanced down at the sink of dirty dishes she was about to tackle and frowned. That wasn’t sexy. “Um...” Whitney racked her brain for a flirty response but came up blank. Finally, she answered with the truth. “Actually, I was just about to do some dishes.”
“Hmm. I love when you talk dirty to me.”
She laughed, grateful that he never made her feel stupid for her boring life. “I’ve got a lot more where that came from.” Sinking into a nearby kitchen chair, she spoke in a sultry voice. “After the dishes, I plan to do some laundry, maybe pick up the family room and then I’ve got some work to do for Natalie.”
“You work too hard,” Jay responded.
“The life of a single mom. What are you gonna do?” She laughed.
“You could have your daughter help you. Surely, she knows how to do dishes, right?”
Whitney bristled at the statement. Why did men always feel the need to give their opinion without being asked? Judge how she did things? It was a huge part of the reason she hadn’t wanted to date when Amelia was younger. Whitney finally had control over how she ran her household. No way was she giving it up. It was hard enough with Amelia’s actual dad. Imagine how much worse it would be with a man who had no tie to her at all.
A defensive response lingered on her tongue, but she bit it back. Jay wasn’t Dan. He wasn’t trying to be rude. And it’s not like he was the only one who had said this to her. Natalie was on her all the time about how lax she was with Amelia about chores. They weren’t wrong. Whitney did work too hard. Exhaustion had become a way of life for her.
Sighing, she said, “Nah, she’s already mad enough at me right now. I’d rather do the chores than fight with her again.”
“I’m sorry.” Whitney’s heart melted at his concerned tone. “What were you fighting about?”
“She’s spending the night at her friend Lauren’s on Friday and I insisted on taking her instead of just letting her go over after school.” Whitney paused, wondering if she sounded too overbearing. “She’s never gone over there before,” she added.
“So, you’re all alone on Friday night, huh?”
Whitney’s belly quivered at the memory of his gentle touch. “Yeah, I guess I am.” She loved how he’d taken a dark situation and shone some light. “You wanna come over?”
“Of course I do.” She smiled at his quick response. “Oh, but shoot. I can’t.” Whitney’s heart sank. “I forgot I’m going out of town on a business trip. Rain check?”
“Yeah,” she answered, trying to mask her disappointment. The only red flag she’d detected about him so far was his demanding job and traveling schedule. She’d already been married to a man like that, and it was rough.
After hanging up, she headed toward the sink. Thinking over what Jay said, she contemplated asking Amelia to do them. It would be nice to have some help around here. To be able to sit down and take a load off.
Amelia still hadn’t come out of her room. Probably in there sulking and listening to music on her earbuds. She imagined how it would go if she went into Amelia’s room.
“Hey, do you mind doing the dishes?”
“What?” she’d shout, rolling over, popping out one earbud.
“Can you do the dishes?”
“In a little bit.” Translation: Wait for Whitney to finally give in and do it herself.
“No, I’d rather you do it now.”
“Fine.” Groaning and stomping would ensue. Then would come the muttering under the breath, “Oh, my God. I have so much homework to do. And I still have to study for that test.”
Next would be the loudness. The banging of pans. Clinking of dishes. Slamming of cabinet doors.
For the moment it was calm and quiet. Why would she want to upset that?
It was easier to simply do it herself. Taking a deep breath, Whitney turned on the faucet. Yes, it was better this way.
She’d let Amelia cool off, and then she’d see if she wanted to go grab dinner or something.
Whitney had learned early to pick her battles with Amelia. She didn’t want to risk losing her for good.
21
MILLIE KEPT A lot of secrets from me.
When I started finding out about them, cracks began to form in what I thought was a solidly built friendship.
The first was the truth about Mitch.
He was one of the guys who lived in the apartment below Millie’s. The one we often partied with. In the beginning, I didn’t notice Mitch very much. I mean, he was always there. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Black clothes. A shadow in the corner.
But he was quiet, mostly keeping to himself.
Sometimes I’d catch
him watching us—Millie and me—and I would get a funny feeling in my gut. An uneasiness I didn’t quite understand. I thought it was just because he was older—in his early twenties—which seemed old to me at seventeen. And I knew he was the one supplying Millie with her weed. Not only that, but I’d seen other drugs and paraphernalia in his apartment. Pills. Needles. Small glass pipes. That alone made him seem dangerous. At least, enough for me to keep my distance.
I’d like to say that Millie came clean—confessed the truth to me—but that’s not how it went down.
I found out the truth on a Sunday afternoon. It was an insanely hot spring day. As we sat on the floor in Mitch’s apartment, we kept joking that we were getting baked by the sun and the joint. It was just the four of us—me, Millie, Mitch and his roommate, Greg.
The AC blasted, causing my damp skin to break out in goose bumps. Heavy metal shrieked from the speakers, sharp guitars and pounding drums. Leaning my back against the couch, I stared up at the ceiling, enjoying the spacy, mellow sensation that took over. Millie nudged me, asking if I could hand her a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table in front of me. I went to grab one out, but the pack was empty.
Greg threw her one from his pack, then said he’d go up to the liquor store and get more. Millie piped up then, suggesting I go with him. When I caught the encouraging smile on her face, I thought maybe she was playing matchmaker. I’d confessed to her once that I thought Greg was cute. Even though he and Mitch were the same age, he didn’t scare me the way Mitch did.
So I went.
We rode in his beat-up Buick. It didn’t have air-conditioning, and the passenger window wouldn’t roll down all the way. I was so sweaty that my bare thighs stuck to the seat. Luckily, the liquor store was only down the street.
When we got there, Greg left me in the car with it running—not that that helped. It only made the car hotter. I couldn’t stand the heat. Sweat covered my skin, slid down my spine. I needed air, so I got out and rested my back against the passenger-side door and fanned myself, staring across the street at the Dollar Dayz Inn.
Man, I can’t believe anyone would stay in that dump, I thought, my stomach churning.
Next thing I know, Greg runs out, hollering for me to get my ass in the car.
I was so scared, I had trouble opening the door. My hands were all slick and sweaty. He barely even waited for me to get my butt on the seat before peeling out of the parking lot. My door was still partially open.
He was like, “Why the fuck did you get outta the car?”
Seriously, that’s what he said. No apology or anything.
I was, like, “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to.”
He made some comment about me being a bad partner in crime.
That’s when it hit me. What he’d done. I must have looked shocked when I asked if he stole the cigarettes, because he started laughing then. Said he’d never met anyone as innocent as me. I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or not.
I wondered if Millie knew what he planned to do. I hoped not.
When we got back to the apartment, I hurried inside ready to ask her about it. But the question died on my lips, startled by what I saw. She and Mitch on the couch, making out. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.
His hands slid up her back, his fingers playing over her spine as if he was drawing pictures. The way we did. I felt sick. They didn’t even see us. Just kept kissing, their lips plastered together in a sickening way.
It wasn’t until Greg slammed the door behind us that they looked up, dazed. Lipstick trailed up Millie’s cheek. Her hair was messy, tangled. Her eyes were wide. Apologetic.
I thought she would tell me it was a one-time thing. A terrible error in judgment. No way did she want to be with this guy. She was high. They were alone. I suppose I could understand that.
But that wasn’t the case.
This had been going on for a while. They’d just been keeping it a secret.
Now it all made sense. How come she always had a stash of weed and cigarettes. He bought them for her because they were together.
In a relationship.
Boyfriend/girlfriend.
I felt disgusted. Betrayed.
All this time I thought she and I had something special. I thought that we had so many things only the two of us shared. But I was wrong. She’d been keeping a secret from me. A secret she had with him.
I knew then where her loyalty lay.
Not with me.
With him.
22
SATURDAY, 11:30 P.M.
THIRTY AND A HALF HOURS
AFTER DROP-OFF
WHITNEY HAD NEVER given a second thought to sharing Amelia’s plans with Jay. Looking back, there were times when he even asked her what Amelia was up to on a given day. It didn’t seem suspicious, though, because when Amelia was gone that meant they could be alone. And that’s what they both wanted.
At least that’s what she thought.
Now she didn’t know what to think.
In the past, Whitney dated guys she met through work: once she’d dated a dad she’d met at Amelia’s school. They’d talk every afternoon while waiting for their children, and struck up a mutual attraction. But Jay showed up out of the blue.
And, actually, he’d entered her life at almost the same time Lauren had entered Amelia’s.
Were the two of them connected somehow?
Whitney’s mind traveled back to the night she’d left Jay’s apartment early to spend time with Amelia.
Whitney opened the door to the apartment, expecting to see Amelia sitting on the couch in the exact spot she’d left her. It was what usually happened when she went out. As long as she had food, TV and her phone, there was no need for her to move.
But when she stepped inside, the couch was empty. The bowl of popcorn was half-gone, but the TV was still blaring. Whitney heard shuffling down the hallway.
After throwing her keys and purse down by the door, she followed the sound. “Amelia, I’m home!”
“Mom?” Amelia leaped into the hallway, her face flushed and her breathing slightly labored. “You’re home early.”
“Yeah.” Good thing too. “What’s goin’ on?”
Lauren appeared out of nowhere. Whitney’s heart seized. She narrowed in on Amelia. “You didn’t ask if you could have a friend over.”
“I just stopped by for a little bit. My mom was out, too, and I was bored at home alone,” Lauren answered, while Amelia stared at the floor, pushing at the carpet with her big toe.
She nodded and stepped inside Amelia’s room. Her mom radar was way up, her gaze inching over every surface. She sniffed the air, but it smelled like Amelia’s peppermint lotion, faintly of soap and the vanilla candle she’d been burning earlier. Nothing seemed amiss. She stared deeply into both girls’ eyes. Nope. Not red.
Amelia blinked. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Whitney didn’t bother responding. Instead, she said, “Can I talk to you in private for a minute?”
“I’ll be right back,” Amelia said to her friend.
Lauren nodded as if giving her permission. “Okay, Millie.”
Heat rose to the surface of Whitney’s skin. “What did you call her?”
“Millie,” she said slowly, as if Whitney was hard of hearing.
“It’s a nickname,” Amelia said.
“I know that,” Whitney snapped. It had just taken her by surprise. She’d never heard anyone call Amelia that before.
Whitney smoothed down her hair. Then she beckoned Amelia to follow her as she made her way down the hallway. Amelia’s shoulders were slumped, and her footsteps so slow it was like she was trekking across a sandy beach.
When they made it into Whitney’s bedroom, she put a hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side. “What’s really going on?” s
he whispered to her daughter.
“Lauren told you. She didn’t want to be alone, so she came over,” Amelia deadpanned. “What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s not like I threw a party or something. It’s one friend.”
“I know, but you didn’t ask,” Whitney said. “And you both were acting kinda suspicious when I got home.”
“God, Mom, I’m not you, okay?” Amelia groaned. “I’m not gonna make the same dumb mistakes you did. Why can’t you see that?”
The words stung. But she was right. Sometimes Whitney forgot how different they were. Just because Whitney had taken a bad path at Amelia’s age, didn’t mean she would.
“Sorry. I guess I was just disappointed. I came home early, hoping we could spend some time together.”
“C’mon, Mom, we spend all our time together.”
It wasn’t true. At least not lately. But that wasn’t all Amelia’s fault, so Whitney kept her mouth shut. She was too tired to keep arguing. It seemed like all they did was talk in circles lately, anyway.
After Amelia left the room, Whitney closed the door and started taking off her jewelry. When she went to drop the earrings on top of her dresser, a chill brushed down her back. Her stuff had been moved, rearranged. Nothing was exactly as she’d left it.
The girls giggled through the adjoining wall.
Had they been in here?
She scoured the top of her dresser again. Nothing had been taken, that she could see. But things had definitely been moved.
Why?
She tried Jay again, but this time when he didn’t answer, she called McAvoy. After telling him about the missing money and her suspicions about Jay, she hung up and flung her body back down on the bed.
SATURDAY, 11:45 P.M.
She was floating in water, her body weightless. Warm. Bobbing up and down, swaying back and forth in a rhythmic pattern. Black nothingness surrounded her. Mind blank. Fuzzy.
In the distance she heard noises. The creak of a door as it opened. Something metal being raked across a pole. The shower curtain? No. That wasn’t it. A clothes hanger.
