Chapter 10
Nicole
When I got home, Amanda and the kids were sitting at the kitchen table, playing that pirate game—the one where a little pirate jumps out when you stick plastic knives into the barrel.
Amanda had been with us every day since the incident.
Being a mother to the kids seemed to help her just as much as it helped them.
She was born to be the center of a large family but never got that wish fulfilled.
Most of her relatives were either dead or avoided because of substance abuse issues.
And Zach’s family never liked her. They treated their marriage like it was a mistake.
All eyes turned to me when I entered the room with Lacey and the messy Dairy Queen bags.
“How did it go?” Dylan asked.
“Really well,” I said, hoping to mask the lie. “The doctor says it’s just a response to trauma. She’ll be talking again in no time.”
The kids exchanged glances. Then Lila jumped up, ran to her mom, and wrapped her little arms around Lacey’s waist.
“See, Mom? I told you. You’ll be better soon.”
Lacey stared over her head at the wall. Not even a blink. The contrast between the two was insane. Life versus death. Lila beaming with light. Lacey’s body bony and pale.
I swallowed. Pushed those thoughts aside before the tears came.
Lila didn’t seem to notice my struggle and ripped the paper bags from my hands like a wild animal on the hunt. Ethan and Dylan rushed in next, each giving Lacey a tight hug before diving toward the food.
“Careful!” I scolded as one of the bags ripped open. Napkins were scattered on the floor while they bickered over who got what. But they were already halfway to the TV room before I could say more.
Brian walked up from the basement with a laundry basket tucked under one arm. He looked tired.
“Are the blinds down in the TV room?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I’ll bring Lacey upstairs to rest for a bit,” I said.
Brian and Amanda exchanged glances. Then nodded.
Amanda stepped forward and reached for the laundry basket. “Let me do that.”
He held on. “What kind of man do you think I am? I can do laundry.”
“Let go. You’ll shrink everything.”
“No way.”
They went back and forth a few more times.
It was so familiar. Almost like a married couple.
Amanda always had that power over Brian.
To soften him. Bring out his humor. As if he could finally breathe when she was in the room.
They had gone to preschool together before Lacey met them both in kindergarten. Small-town stuff.
“Fine,” she said, finally letting him win. “I’ll cut up some fruit and veggies for the kids. They can’t just eat ice cream and fries.”
Brian headed upstairs. “That’ll make you enemy number one,” he called out.
“Only until the toys I ordered arrive tomorrow,” she called back with a smirk.
“You bought more?” he countered.
“Board games and books!” she shouted, then turned to me and said in a softer tone, “And a few other things.”
Amanda walked over, grabbed Lacey’s hand, and held it tight. And just like that, the smile disappeared. Her whole face dropped. Grief hit fast.
“I don’t know what else to do with the money Zach left me,” she said. “Might as well spend it on my family.”
I placed my hand on Lacey’s back. “I’ll take her upstairs and let her rest. I’ll feed her in bed. Then we’ll deal with whatever’s happening out there.”
But we all knew what was happening out there. There was nothing to figure out. We had become the big show in town.
Amanda gave a small nod and walked toward the fridge.
On my way to the stairs, I paused beside her and gently brushed a strand of golden hair from her pretty face.
“Sweetie … we love you.”
She didn’t turn. Just nodded, eyes fixed on whatever she was doing inside the fridge.
* * *
Later that evening, I turned on the TV. Lila and Ethan were upstairs, asleep, when Brian walked in from the hallway.
“Did Amanda leave?” I asked.
“Yeah. She’ll call after she’s done over at Zach’s parents.”
I nodded. They’d called and insisted she come. Said they needed to talk.
“Is Lacey asleep?”
“If you want to call it that,” Brian said, flat. “Staring at the ceiling is more like it.”
“She needs rest,” I said, annoyed. “Call it what you want.”
Brian never had much tolerance for stress. And when he was stressed, he got rude. Sarcastic.
Dylan walked in. His hair stuck up in the back. Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
“Lila crawled into Mom’s bed again,” he said. “I let her stay this time. Ethan’s sleeping in his crib.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” I flipped the channel to the local news.
“Oh my fucking God,” Brian breathed, right as we realized what we were looking at.
It was the front of our house. On live TV … live!
A blond woman stood out front, overly styled, holding a microphone to her mouth. People walked by behind her. Reporters moved like ants, setting up cameras. Flashbulbs burst. Our house was the backdrop. Our home. And we were standing inside it. Watching.
“Why don’t they just take a few shots and leave?” Dylan groused.
The volume was still on mute, but we didn’t need to hear it. The reporter pointed at our front door.
“Dylan,” Brian said in a stiff voice, “why don’t you go upstairs and play the new video game Amanda got you? You shouldn’t be seeing this.”
“Dad,” Dylan said calmly, “I’m a teenager with a phone. I can Google all of this shit.”
“Language,” I scolded him.
Brian glared at him. Then looked at me.
I said nothing. Just reached for the remote and turned on the volume.
The three of us stood there, shoulder to shoulder, the cold TV light glowing on our faces.
“… the murder weapon has still not been found,” the anchorwoman said, “but when we inquired about the DNA results, Police Chief Henderson did confirm that the blood found on the female survivor was, in fact, not hers but that of the male victim. Making her one of the prime—”
I clicked off the TV. We’d heard enough.
The room went dark.
No one moved.
“What …” Brian mumbled. “What is she talking about?”
He sounded like someone sitting on a train headed straight for derailment.
Inside, a tornado raged. My brain was spinning. Questions. Fear. Every thought knotted with panic. But then I remembered Dylan was standing right beside me. So I faked a calm I didn’t feel.
I placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
“What does this mean?” Brian yelled, dropping his head into his hands. “Are they saying she killed—”
“It means we need to remain calm. And call a lawyer,” I said.
“A lawyer?” Brian echoed, as if the word were foreign.
“Yes, Dad. A lawyer,” Dylan said, annoyed. How was he so calm? So strong? “It means they’re going to look at Mom as a suspect now,” he added. “Have you never seen a crime show?”
“It’s all going to be sorted out,” I said, making myself believe it. “We have nothing to hide. Nothing will come of any of this nonsense.”
Dylan nodded.
I smiled at him, but my mind flashed to that memory. Lacey sitting in room 12, covered in blood. Not hers … Zach’s.
It made me sick.
If that was Zach’s blood, she must’ve been right there when it happened. Probably screaming for help. Maybe she tried to help him fight back. But then fled when it was too late. Was she chased? Fell? Hit her head? Or was she struck?
So far, all the police told us was that they were still investigating, but it looked like a robbery gone wrong. To be patient. She wasn’t raped. We knew that. And the bruises on her body could have been from a struggle or a fall. So as of now, we didn’t know.
“Nicole!” Brian said in a stern tone.
I looked up. He had probably said my name more than once.
“Do you still have Jack Whitman’s number?” he asked.
“The lawyer who read Great-grandma’s will?” Dylan asked.
And handled your dad’s DUIs, I almost said but caught myself.
“Yes,” I said instead. “I’ll call him right now.”