Thirty-Seven Grace
Geny comes back into the kitchen a new person. She’s calm and smiling, and to be honest, it’s a little unnerving. But I don’t want to judge her too harshly. She just found Brooke dead on the beach. That’s enough to unmoor anyone. Especially Geny.
She’s been through so much. Losing me. Our mom.
And now our dad. She was at the beach when I disappeared that night.
I always knew it would hurt her. But until a few hours ago, I really couldn’t wrap my head around just how bad it must have been.
I didn’t know until I thought it was happening to me.
I feel worse than I ever have about leaving her that night. And still, I know I didn’t have a choice. There were no good options. I had to pick one and live with it.
We drink our tea together at the table as Geny attempts small talk. Her face looks thin in this light. I don’t know how she normally looks, so maybe it’s in my head.
“So, you were with Murphy this morning?” She smiles like we’re teenagers gossiping.
I’m not ready to talk about Murphy just yet. I haven’t figured anything out for myself, so it doesn’t feel right saying anything out loud.
“It’s nothing exciting, Gen. We were just hanging out.”
She raises an eyebrow. “It seemed like more than hanging out to me.”
My eyes narrow and her face changes.
“He just seemed a little cozy with you is all. You guys hardly talked back in the day so it just seems like maybe you like him.”
I shake my head. “I’ve been back for less than a week. I don’t know anything right now.”
“Right,” she says. “Of course.”
She reacts like I scolded her.
“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but Brooke . . . You found her.”
She nods. “It was awful.”
It’s hard to get the words out, but I have to know. “When the sheet blew up . . . all I saw was her head.”
I don’t ask the question and hope she’ll fill in the gaps. She does.
“She was buried up to her neck. She must’ve drowned when waves came in.”
My hand goes to my mouth. “That’s horrible.”
My eyes fill. I’m so tired of crying. This is what this place does to me. This place is one I used to love with all my heart, but it’s sick at its core.
“I don’t want to talk about the bad stuff anymore,” Geny says. She smiles with tears in her eyes.
The image of her makes me so sad. She really doesn’t look well.
“Do you think you’ll hang out with Murphy again?” she asks.
I chew on my lip while I think of how to respond. I know she’s trying to talk about something else, but it comes off in a weird way. A little uncaring. A little shallow.
“Probably,” I say. “We’re friends.”
“You don’t want to be more than friends?”
I shake my head. I can’t keep the disgusted look from my face even though I really do try. “I don’t really care about that right now, Geny. My friend was just killed. Our dad is being accused of horrible things. All I care about is figuring out what happened with Dad.”
She looks like I slapped her, and I can feel the annoyance bubbling in my blood.
“You want to know too, don’t you? You want to find out how that crap got on Dad’s computer. Raven PD have been known to plant evidence—”
I snap my mouth shut. I shouldn’t have said that.
She tilts her head to the side like a curious puppy.
Why did I say that? I heard what the man said at the beach about Brooke no longer being a problem for the police after being pushy with her questions.
I gave her even more to question them about, and now she’s dead.
Geny already knows more than she should about me and Frank and that’s enough. I shouldn’t be getting her involved with anything else. She has two boys. A family. That’s all she needs to worry about.
I stand up and walk my cup to the sink.
“What did you mean by that?” she asks when I don’t continue.
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just upset. I’m going to go back to Mom and Dad’s for a while. I just need some time. Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, but her voice lacks conviction. “Let me drive you.”
“No. That’s okay. Some time walking will be nice. I’ll call you later. Maybe we can do dinner tomorrow. I want to hang out with the boys.”
She stands like she isn’t sure what to do with her body. “Okay.”
“I love you,” I call as I make for the door.
I don’t hear her response, but I need to leave. I need space and a burn in my lungs. Luckily, I’m wearing tennis shoes. It doesn’t matter that I’m in jeans. I’ve run in jeans plenty of times.
I pump my legs and find a comfortable pace. The familiar feel of my legs burning is a solvent for my messy mind and aching heart. Soon the burn will dissipate as my body settles in. The cold air burns my throat. My favorite feeling in the world.
Usually, after the first mile, my thoughts go away.
I focus only on my breathing and the pace of my feet hitting the ground.
But I’m almost two miles in and they won’t go away.
I’m the reason Brooke is dead. Two sisters dead on the same beach nearly two decades apart.
Is it more important to prove my dad innocent?
He’s already gone. What does the truth matter?
The police are crooked, and that’s all I need to know.
I could leave right now and never look back. I could let it all go like I intended to when I swam away from the shore that night. I should have left things as they were. I shouldn’t have come back. I’ve stirred up too much and now other people are paying the price.
And what if it’s Geny who’s next? What if it’s me? Someone is following me, texting me, and threatening me. I can’t die here. I have too much to lose. More than I ever did back then. Or at least that I knew of.
I keep running without thought or intention, and to my surprise, I stop right outside Murphy’s house.
It’s a long run. It must be something like seven or eight miles.
Nothing in a car, but a bit much for an impromptu run in jeans.
His truck is parked outside. I feel so stupid for coming here. I don’t know why I did.
I’m about to turn around and start the long run back when his front door opens.
“I have more coffee,” he calls.
I hesitate, already facing the road away from him.
“And bagels.”
“What kind of bagels?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Come in and see.”
I sigh and give in. I haven’t eaten anything yet and fourteen miles on an empty stomach is a dumb move. He holds the door open for me and I step inside. It’s warm. Probably warmer to me because I’m sweating and my body is used to the cold air outside. I strip off my jacket and hold it in my arms.
Murphy takes it from me and tosses it on the armchair before leading the way to the kitchen. He goes to a cabinet and takes out three different bags of bagels.
“Plain, cinnamon, or everything?” he asks, looking up at me.
“Why do you have so many bagels?”
“I like bagels. Are you trying to judge me on my bagel selection?”
I shake my head. “No. Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He raises a suspicious eyebrow.
“Cinnamon, please.”
He puts the other two bags away and starts to prepare a cinnamon bagel for me.
“Toasted? Butter or cream cheese?”
“Toasted. Cream cheese.”
“All right,” he says. “Got it. Go sit down in the living room. I’ll bring it out to you.”
I don’t argue. My legs feel heavy, and it takes everything I have to carry myself back to the other room.
I ask if he can bring me a water too, and then I let myself fall into the couch across from the fireplace.
There’s a throw blanket folded on the arm of the couch and I grab it, shake it out, and cover up.
A few minutes pass, and he’s there with coffee and a bagel.
“Thanks,” I mumble as I shove the thick bread into my mouth.
“You could have just texted me and I’d have come and got you.” He sits on the other end of the couch.
“I didn’t know I was coming until I got here,” I say with a partially full mouth. I swallow. “And then I was just going to turn around and go home.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
We’re quiet for a minute. I keep eating and sipping my coffee to keep my hands and my mouth focused on something while I try like hell to get out of my head.
“You were friends with Brooke, weren’t you?” he asks, and my throat squeezes.
I nod.
“You were friends with her sister. Morgan O’Neil. I remember you guys hanging out a lot in high school. Brooke was a year older than me. Away at college.”
I nod again, not trusting my voice.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I lose my composure. The tears fall and my face crumples into what I’m sure is a very ugly crying face.
I hate letting people see me upset. It’s all my fault Brooke is dead.
I don’t know it for sure, but I’m certain of it.
Someone buried her up to her neck and let her slowly drown in the waves.
She was asking too many questions and now she’s gone. And that means I could be next.
Murphy moves closer to me and puts a hand on my knee. He waits while I cry, and I’m thankful he doesn’t pull me closer to him. I take a deep breath and try to pull myself together and stop the tears.
“Someone killed her,” I say. “And I think it was my fault.”
“It definitely looked like she was killed, but how could that be your fault?”
I take another breath while I consider what to say. I feel so alone. I can’t talk to anyone. I’ve seen what happens when I do.
“Someone said something on the beach when I was leaving. Someone in the crowd. They said something about how Brooke ended up dead after asking questions about what happened to me. How she wouldn’t be a problem for the police anymore.”
I watch Murphy’s face as he processes what I said. He bites his cheek and looks off, thinking. “I’m sure they want to cover their asses. Especially Frank. He’s the one that identified your body. But he wasn’t the only one. They’ve done some shady shit over the years, but that’s a big slip-up.”
“You’ve dealt with the cops before, right? I mean, we all did as teens. But I remember you being more of a troublemaker.”
He smirks. “We were on a first name basis, yeah.”
“And you said they’ve done shady stuff. What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “The usual. Taking drugs for themselves. Lying for each other to stay out of trouble. Lying to get other people into trouble.”
“Do you think they’re capable of killing someone?”
He’s quiet for a second. “Sure.”
My stomach coils into a knot. But I knew this, didn’t I? Kind of. I knew Frank was capable of wanting someone dead because he wanted me dead. His own son is the only reason I’m alive. But he didn’t do it himself. Would he have if Wyatt hadn’t convinced him I was dead?
And what about my dad? Everything in me says he didn’t do what they say he did. Not the pictures and not the suicide. That would mean someone set him up and killed him. Frank wouldn’t have done that to his best friend, would he? For what reason?
“This is going to seem random, but do you remember Tara messing around with someone in high school? Like junior year, maybe sophomore?”
His eyebrows go up and he looks like he’s going to laugh. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific. We weren’t messing around together yet.”
I roll my eyes, but he’s right. Tara was one of my good friends and I never judged her for it, but she enjoyed her male companions.
“Like an older guy. Older than you. Someone she shouldn’t have been messing around with.”
He tries to think but he shakes his head. “No. Doesn’t mean she wasn’t, but I wasn’t in school anymore, so I wouldn’t really know.”
“Right.” I sigh.
Things feel so close to clicking together, but I’m terrified to keep going. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. I was in over my head before I ever came back here. I was stupid and naive to think . . . What? What was I even thinking? That I was going to take down a whole police force?
No. Just Frank Gibbs. I wanted to take down Frank Gibbs and clear my dad’s name. And I’m failing at both.
“I just wanted to prove my dad didn’t do what they’re saying he did,” I say. “And clearly, I can’t trust the police to do anything.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
I laugh. “You sound so sure.”
“I am,” he says. “You’re the fearless Grace Chandler. Defeater of death. You never turned down a single dare. You flipped off Mr. Copeland your freshman year.”
“He was a creep.”
“Very much so. But no one but you had the balls to tell him that.”
I shake my head. He doesn’t get it. That girl died the night they all thought I drowned. I was fearless because I thought I was invincible. I learned that night that I wasn’t. And I’ve been afraid ever since.