Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
PRESENT DAY
On the way to Mom’s, nothing matters but getting there as quickly as we can.
Will is silent in the passenger seat staring out the window, one elbow resting on the door and his hand pressed to his chin.
His shoulders are tight, body completely still.
Every so often, his gaze darts to the rearview mirror as if he expects to see something terrible there.
He’s as worried as I am but trying not to show it.
I’m angry, too. Mom should’ve called me. She promised she’d call if she was alone. Cory was supposed to be back any minute when I left. It’s been hours.
If anything happens to her—
A dry ache tightens in my throat. Glancing my way, Will puts a hand on my leg.
When we pull up outside the house, the living room light is on, as well as a light in her bedroom. I slip out of the car and jog across the porch, bracing myself for the worst. Will reaches past me to grab the door, holding it open, and together we make our way inside.
She never locks the door. Why doesn’t she ever lock the door?
My stomach knots.
I remember, even when I was a kid, Mom always bragged about how we live in one of those places where you don’t have to lock your doors.
For a long time, she’d lost our house key and never bothered to make a replacement.
Even as I got older and asked her to lock it to make me feel better, it was as if she couldn’t bear the thought, as if she was proving a point to herself.
To feel safe, she needed to know the door could be kept unlocked.
It infuriated me then as much as it does now.
“Mom?” I call, listening to the silent house. The quiet outside presses against the windows, and every sound—the hum of the heat kicking on, the scratch of a branch outside against the pane—makes my pulse spike.
Will meets my eyes as he moves in the direction of her bedroom. All at once, we both freeze.
Soft footsteps are heading toward us.
I hold my breath, trying to think. Before I can search for a weapon, the bedroom door is pulled open, and Mom appears in the hall. She’s dressed in her pajamas and a robe, her hair tucked back behind a cloth headband.
Her eyes dart between us, wide and frantic.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” She hurries forward with purpose, wringing the hem of her robe.
I drag her into a rushed hug. “You’re okay. You scared us.”
“Scared you?” Her brows draw together. “What on earth for?”
Will and I look at each other.
“We tried to call you,” I say, my tone too harsh.
Will is much gentler. “Cory tried to call you, too. He had car trouble, and when he couldn’t reach you, we all worried.”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone? We called a hundred times,” I say.
“Oh.” Mom’s face goes slack. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I…I’ve been cleaning all afternoon. I left it in the kitchen, I think. Is Cory okay?”
“He’s fine,” Will tells her. “Just a flat tire. He was waiting on a tow truck when we spoke. Mom’s been telling him he needed to replace his spare.” He gives a small, reassuring smile. “We’re just glad you’re okay. I should let him know.” He pulls out his phone and sends Cory a quick text.
“I told you to call me if Cory left you,” I say, frustration flaring in me.
“And I would’ve. He didn’t leave because he never came back,” Mom says defiantly.
“I forgot he said something about Richie having soccer practice after school. Anyway, I’m fine.
” Then her shoulders fall. “I’m sorry, though.
I never meant to worry you kids.” After a beat, she adds, “I’ll keep my phone with me from now on. ”
“And you’ll lock the door,” I say, daring her to argue.
She purses her lips and shuffles past me toward the kitchen. “Well, let’s not get carried away.”
I groan, looking at Will, who just sort of smiles at me as we follow her.
“I suppose you two’ll be babysitting me until Cory makes it back now.” Mom finds her phone on the counter and tucks it into the pocket of her robe. She’s not being unkind, just slightly annoyed, and I don’t blame her, but I also wonder how she can blame us for wanting to keep her safe.
“Babysitting?” Will asks, face full of denial. “Nah. We just want to hang out.”
“I’m not leaving you alone,” I say, being more honest than Will. “Not until we know what’s going on.”
Mom’s sigh is drawn out and dramatic. She grabs the kettle from the stove and fills it, then comes to sit down at the table. Will and I sit with her, in the same three chairs that she, Ruth, and Margie have filled all my life.
“We already know what’s going on,” Mom says. “I’m not in danger. I know you want this to all make sense, but it’s not ever going to make sense. Ruth did what she did for reasons we will never fully understand. And Margie’s fall was an accident. It’s just that simple.”
“We don’t know that,” I argue. “You don’t know that. There are things that still don’t make sense. The blue truck. The light—” As the words slip from my mouth, I realize I never asked Will about being at Margie’s house. “Did you come by your mom’s last night?”
“What? No.” Will watches me. “Why?”
I meet Mom’s gaze. “Because someone was there. Mom saw a light on.”
“Must’ve been Cory,” he says.
I shake my head. “He says it wasn’t him.”
Mom’s eyes are distant, sad as I turn back to face her.
“Can’t you just admit the timing of this is suspicious? Ruth wouldn’t have killed herself.” Everyone in the room flinches at my words. It’s still hard for us to say them, to hear them. “She wouldn’t have. She was strong.”
“Strong has nothing to do with it,” Mom says, her eyes drilling into mine. “She was the strongest person I know, but she was also sad. And sometimes sad wins out. This time sad won out.” Tears swim in her eyes, and there’s a truth there I haven’t seen before.
Something she’s not telling us.
“You knew she was struggling?” I ask.
The color drains from Mom’s face. “No. Yes. Er, well, yes, we did. But not… I never thought…” Her head falls forward.
In lingering silence, she dries her eyes with two fingers, then leans back in her seat.
Her eyes trace methodical lines over my face, then Will’s.
Finally, she gives an unreadable nod. “There are things you both should know. Well, if you want my opinion, things you shouldn’t know.
But maybe things you need to know anyway.
” She looks away dismissively, almost angry. “What do I know?”
Will and I just watch her, waiting.
Mom sighs and stands, moving to the kettle just as it starts to whistle. Across the house, the front door opens, and Cory and Richie make their way inside.
My hope deflates.
My fingers curl into fists as I wait to see if she’s going to change her mind, if we’ve just lost our chance to finally learn the truth.
“Put Richie in the bath, Cory,” Mom says, voice flat, focus tuned entirely to the kettle. “And then come join us. ’Cause I’m only talking about this once.”