Everything We Didn't Say(42)
Damn, he’s smooth. Sullivan is playing me like my mother’s cello, but even though I can spot his tactics from a mile away, I can’t resist the squeaky whine of the ball of fur in my arms. I should lecture him about Baxter, tell him I’m not interested, and send him on his way. Instead, I lift the puppy to my face. “Hey, sweet thing. You want me to come?” I whisper. I’m rewarded with a lick.
“I think that’s a yes,” Sullivan says.
“You’re a terrible person,” I tell him. “Sneaky and manipulative and—”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“If I go with you, it has everything to do with the puppy and nothing to—”
“Just get in the truck.”
And I do. Heaven help me, I do.
CHAPTER 11
WINTER TODAY
Juniper didn’t stay at the hospital long. When she left Jonathan’s bedside, she found her parents standing in the hallway, watching the door to their son’s ICU room with expressions that seemed more guarded than hopeful. It was clear by the loose cuffs of Reb’s sweater that she had been stretching the fabric in her balled fists, and Law’s shoulders were so tight and close to his ears that Juniper knew it would take weeks to work out the knots in his tense muscles. A burst of pity bloomed in her chest. It was unnerving to see her parents so reduced. They had powered through her entire childhood and beyond with hard work and Midwestern pragmatism, but it was obvious that Jonathan’s accident had shaken loose the bedrock. Law and Reb seemed to have aged years in a matter of days.
“Hey,” Juniper said, pulling her mother into an embrace. Reb responded with a few limp pats on her back. “How are you two holding up?”
“Fine,” Law responded. But his jaw stiffened as if he was holding back tears.
“Are you sleeping okay? Eating? You feel skinny, Mom.”
“I’m fine.” Reb pulled away and tugged the sleeves of her sweater over her hands, making fists with the droopy fabric. “Never liked hospitals much.”
“Amen to that.” Juniper began to strip off the protective gear that she had worn into Jonathan’s room. It was light as air and obviously disposable. Within seconds it was all packed down into a ball that she tucked under one arm because there was no garbage can immediately visible. As the silence pooled between them, Juniper wondered if she should invite her parents out for lunch or offer to grab them something from the cafeteria. Maybe they needed a few basic necessities, toiletries or a bottle of ibuprofen, but before she could offer anything, Law narrowed his eyes at her.
“The nurses tell us that Jonathan responded to you.”
“I don’t know about that.” Juniper shrugged. “It certainly didn’t seem significant to me.”
“What happened?” Reb asked, her voice tremulous and bright.
“Not much. I was talking to him and a few machines started to beep. The nurse came to check on him, but it was nothing. Jonathan’s still… sleeping.”
“What did you talk about?”
Juniper couldn’t imagine what difference it made. “Nothing. Nothing important, anyway.” But in a flash of sudden, absurd disregard for an unspoken family rule, she added, “I wanted to talk to him about the Murphys.”
The air around them seemed to freeze and shatter. At least, it felt that way to Juniper. Clearly Mandy was right: Law and Reb didn’t know about how Jonathan was being tormented. Juniper hugged the wad of protective coverings to her chest and tried to suppress the current that pulsed through her limbs. She had done this. She had made her mother’s face crumble like dry earth between her fingers. I’m sorry. The words rose to her lips, but she didn’t speak them.
The Bakers didn’t talk about what happened. Ever. It wasn’t explicitly forbidden, but it was understood that to mention the murders of Cal and Beth Murphy was to call into question everything they feigned to be true. There were too many uncertainties, too many unanswered questions. So many things they couldn’t say without inflicting irrevocable damage. But the alleged podcast, Jonathan’s harassment, and Everett’s makeshift incident room had convinced her the truth would come out. And they all had to be prepared for it.
Of course, her parents knew none of that. Lawrence was glaring at her, and Reb’s eyes were swimming. “How could you?” Law said through gritted teeth.
Juniper took a tiny step back. “We have to talk about this. What if Jonathan’s accident has something to do with what happened?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Law hissed.
It wasn’t, but she couldn’t tell them about the private conversation she was supposed to have with Jonathan, her necklace that was found in his pocket, or the newspaper clippings and photographs that she had seen in Everett’s house. She just wanted to tip off her parents so that when everything blew sky-high, they weren’t incinerated by the blast.
“I think we need to be ready,” Juniper said, lifting her chin so she could hold Law’s gaze. “People are going to ask questions. They already are. We can’t pretend they’re not justified.”
“And you can’t pretend to know anything about us.” Law’s words were razor-sharp. “You’ve been gone a long time, Juniper Grace.”
Know your place. Law didn’t say it, but Juniper could read between the lines. It was the undercurrent of her life with her family, the careful boundaries that silenced her when the Murphys were killed, and then relegated her to little more than big sister status when Willa was born. Juniper couldn’t deny that at nineteen years old she was terrifyingly young and unprepared to be a mother, and when Reb heroically stepped into the role, Juniper had been relieved. But that didn’t make it right. Juniper understood now that she had probably been suffering from PTSD and postpartum depression. She had needed professional help, not to be edged out of her daughter’s life and sent off to college as if nothing had happened.