214 Palmer Street(53)
When he’d made some progress, he crouched down and pulled at the plastic, working it loose. Finally, he looked up at Clarice in annoyance. “A little help?”
Wordlessly, she knelt opposite him, set the flashlight on the ground, and pinched at the piece of exposed plastic on her side. She gave it a small tug before wrinkling up her nose. “No way.” She shook her head. “No way in hell, Gavin. I can’t do this.” She stood up. “This is disgusting. Leave the damn body here. Who cares if someone finds it? I want to go home.”
Who cares if someone finds it? Clarice navigated through the world, taking what she wanted without worrying about the consequences and refusing to take responsibility for her own actions. Anything she didn’t want to do became other people’s problems. Well, this was one problem he wasn’t taking on by himself.
“Come on, Clarice. An hour from now we’ll be done with this forever.” Even as he spoke he knew it was pointless. When Clarice took that tone of voice there was no persuading her otherwise.
“No. Not an hour. Not even another minute. I’m done here. Time to go.” She snapped her fingers.
“You’re not going anywhere. I have the car keys. We’re going to see this through.”
“Not a chance. Get Kirk to help.”
“You’re here and he’s not.”
“I’m not kidding around, Gavin. I’m going. If you’re smart, you’ll leave with me.”
She obviously didn’t understand what was at stake here—either that or she didn’t care. He stood up and pulled the gun out of his belt, then pointed it at her.
“You’re not going anywhere until we move this body. Pick up your end. Now.”
Clarice tilted her head back and laughed. “Or else what? You’re going to shoot me? Stop being so stupid, Gavin.”
Stupid? With a steady hand he kept the gun aimed right at her head. “Don’t push me, Clarice. I will shoot you.” Once again, her challenging expression reminded him of Blake Starkey right before he got the pissant to confess. Fury boiled up inside Gavin.
“No, you won’t,” she taunted. “You need me like an addict needs his fix. Be a nice boy or I’ll tell Natalie all about her husband’s extracurricular activities.” She walked over to the stairs, but stopped short of the first step, saying, “Hell, I might tell her anyway. Just for fun.”
Now she’d gone too far.
He pulled the trigger.
THIRTY
I came back after spying on Sarah at the Adens’ old house to find Mom asleep in her recliner. With her face relaxed—eyes closed and mouth slightly open—her worry lines had softened and time erased. Except for the gray in her hair, she looked exactly like the mother who had raised me, the one who listened sympathetically when I’d had a bad day and bought me the expensive jeans I was dying to have even though we couldn’t really afford them, and I probably didn’t deserve them. I knew she’d done everything she could to make up for my dad. On his good days he was pleasant enough, but those days became fewer as Jeremy and I reached our high school years.
For the most part I remember the rages, the way he’d blow up over nothing. Shoes left in the front hall. A bad grade on a math test. The wrong look on my face. Sometimes just our existence seemed to enrage him. We always trod cautiously, never knowing when we’d step on one of his emotional landmines. I didn’t even know how much stress he’d caused our family until he was gone. Then it was like someone had lifted an anvil off my back.
Jeremy had vowed to go away to college and said he’d make sure I could join him when I turned eighteen. At the time we planned it, I secretly felt guilty for planning to leave Mom behind, but as Jeremy pointed out, she’d be free to leave then too. As a kid it didn’t occur to me that she could have taken us kids and left at any time, sparing all of us so much of the pain. I don’t fault her for staying. For some reason, she couldn’t make the break.
For Jeremy, escape was on the horizon, and while we waited for time to pass, we spent as much of it away from our house as possible. Kirk’s mother welcomed us with open arms, giving us snacks, laughing at Jeremy’s jokes, inviting us to stay for dinner. Kirk had lucked out having a warm and inviting home life. And then there was the bomb shelter, our private teenage enclave. The three guys played Risk down there and told ghost stories and argued about sports. I was always in the background. They barely noticed me, which was fine. I had my nose in a book, peacefully reading. No one was criticizing me or slamming me against a wall because I hadn’t pushed my chair back to the kitchen table when getting up after a meal.
Everything was perfect until Clarice Carter showed up. Jeremy adored her and she reveled in being the center of his world. She strung all of them along, soaking in their adoration like it was nectar from the gods. She blatantly made the move on each one of them, not even caring who was watching. Resting her hand briefly on a thigh. Making comments about their strength. Licking at the ice cream cone supplied by Mrs. Aden in a provocative way. Jeremy, who’d never had a girlfriend, or even a date to a school dance, was smitten. One time he’d asked me to leave the bomb shelter for a few minutes after Kirk and Gavin had gone to pick up a pizza. Dutifully, I took my book and read under a tree in the backyard for half an hour until they’d returned, crossing the yard, pizza box in hand.