7 #2
Something pricks up in my chest. An unwelcome feeling. “How do you know it was an Abbott?” This is exactly what the detectives had hinted at yesterday, and just like then, I refuse to fall for it.
“I followed her,” Lydia says, yanking a dandelion from the earth.
“Kennedy had been real quiet and secretive since around the time school started. Skittish too, you know? This one time, I came up behind her while she was at her locker, and she literally jumped and then got all pissed. She even slammed her locker door. I figured she was, like, into drugs or something. Hiding them in her locker. I was worried about her.”
“Had you ever seen her do drugs before?” Fireball prances up to me in the grass, trying to get my attention as he skirts me, his tail swerving dangerously close to my nose. I sneeze again, a violent sound.
“No, never,” Lydia says, graciously oblivious to my condition.
“She told me about this patient of her dad’s, this addict who stole some shit out of the medicine cabinet when no one was looking.
Dr. Russo realized it when he went back into the room.
The guy was gone, and so were the drugs.
And Kennedy was so vocal about how messed up it was and how she never wanted to end up that way.
” Lydia tosses the now petalless flower into the grass.
“But something had to account for her behavior. I wanted to save her before she could turn into some loser, like that addict. One night, we were doing homework, and she kept getting distracted with her texts. Well, when she got up to use the bathroom, I took her phone. It hadn’t locked yet, so I pulled up her messages and saw that she’d made plans to meet someone that night.
The contact didn’t have a name, just a number I didn’t recognize. ”
“So you think it was drugs then?” I ask, brushing the orange cat fur off my sleeve, only to find that it’s practically glued on. I try plucking individual hairs, letting each one blow off into the field with the wind.
“I wasn’t sure. She came back before I could read much or write down the number.
And then, what do you know? She grabbed her books, claiming she needed to go home and get to bed early.
” Lydia shrugs, her lips a tight line. “That’s when I followed her.
Whoever this guy was, he’d turned my best friend into a stranger. Someone who lied to me.”
“You followed her in your car?” I ask, struggling to picture Lydia tailing Kennedy on these two-lane roads unnoticed.
“At the beginning, I had to keep my headlights off.” She waves a hand. “I know, it was dangerous. But it was the only way. Eventually, we ended up in your part of town—I remembered from when we worked on that English project. That was when Ken parked outside the Abbott property.”
I lean forward to listen, my posture mimicking the windswept weeds.
“Ken got out and started to push open the gate. Only it was so loud, I heard it through my closed window. So she changed tactics and climbed the gate. That’s how I knew whatever was going on had to be shady.
She didn’t want anyone spotting her.” Lydia gives me a smug look, which falls, like she only just remembered that there’s no reason to feel triumphant.
I try with everything in me not to sniffle or sneeze again, and interrupt her focus. “Did you follow her over the gate?”
“Yeah, but I was too slow. She didn’t take the path up to the mansion. She veered off into the woods on their property, and I lost track of her. Then I got creeped out. Everyone says the Abbott brothers are like modern-day Blackbeards.”
She’s trying to reference the old fairy tale about the rich man who murdered his wives. “I think you mean Blue Beards,” I correct, though the damage is done. I’m already imagining the triplets with eye patches and peg legs.
“Anyway…” Lydia says, shivering, “Now, I think everyone might’ve been right. I don’t think it was drugs at all. I think she was seeing one of the Abbott boys, and then…” Her gaze veers off to the trees lining the far end of the property.
“Okay,” I say, letting the word drag. “But why would Kennedy keep a boyfriend from you? Is it because you don’t like the Abbotts?”
“No.” She pauses, her head doing a little swish from one side to the other. “I mean, I don’t like them now. But before this week, I didn’t have a problem with them. I think Ken kept her relationship from me because everyone else hates the Abbotts. Especially her dad.”
This isn’t exactly news. I’m aware that Dr. Russo hasn’t been the Abbott brothers’ biggest fan since Mariana’s accident.
And the fact that he was Adam Abbott’s doctor yet clearly sided against him made the rest of the town believe he knew more about the case—knew things that patient-doctor privilege didn’t allow him to disclose.
And though I hate to admit it, while the idea of Kennedy and an Abbott brother having a relationship out in the open seems ridiculous, a secret relationship makes perfect sense.
She was gorgeous; they’re gorgeous. If we’re basing this on appearances alone, Kennedy and any one of the Abbott triplets would’ve made a perfect match.
And I never explicitly heard Kennedy speak ill of the brothers.
“Plus, I mean,” Lydia continues, “if I’m honest, I have a little bit of a problem keeping my mouth shut about basically everything. So Ken was probably afraid of not only the entire school’s judgment but also of what her dad might do, you know, if I spilled.”
Kennedy had been afraid of Dr. Russo? Her own father? “You never figured out which brother Kennedy was meeting?” I clear my throat and add, “Allegedly.”
Lydia shakes her head, eyes tearing up. “This was only a few weeks ago. I tried to dig up something, but like I said, she was so secretive. And now, I’ll never…” A sob racks her body and the words crumple. “I’ll never forgive myself for not saving her.”
I freeze, unsure how to help. Spotting Cal rolling in the grass, I scoop him up and, holding my breath, place him in her lap.
Fireball, because he’s just as mischievous as he is energetic, bounds into my lap like a little devil. I sneeze again.
Lydia is cuddling Cal to her chest, letting her tears drip onto his spotted fur.
I attempt to nudge Fireball off my lap, but he stays planted, looking up at me with devious amber eyes.
“I’d hate to separate these two,” I say, which is both the truth and the only excuse that will save me from taking a tiny bundle of allergens home.
“Do you think your parents would let you keep both?”
Lydia sighs. “Honestly? After everything with Kennedy? Yeah.”
“Then you should,” I say, handing over Fireball, who digs his baby claws into my sweatshirt sleeve like he’s holding on for dear life. “You need them more than I do.”
“Thanks, Hayden. I forgot what a good person you were.”
I get to my feet, wiping grass and fur off my clothes, that knot of guilt solidifying in my chest.