Little Secrets(100)

It’s enough.

“Go ahead, hit me,” she says. “It’s the only thing you’re good at, anyway.”



* * *



She hears the sirens before she sees the lights, and she bolts up from the table, where she’s been sitting with Lorna watching the end of Jeopardy! J.R. is upstairs in his bedroom. When he’d stormed out of the living room earlier, she heard his door slam, which signified he’d be in his room for the rest of the night.

Lorna came back into the house a few minutes after their fight. The old woman’s face was flushed from the exertion of wherever she’d gone and whatever she’d been doing. J.R.’s mother moves around quite well for someone who’s apparently on the verge of another hip replacement, and she’d plopped herself down at the table to catch the Final Jeopardy question, which of course she knew the answer to.

This fucking house. These fucking people.

Kenzie moves back into the living room and looks out the window. Blue and red lights flash from somewhere down the road, and while she can see only a flicker, it’s clear they’re coming.

Shit. The cops are coming for her, of course. Tyler must not have canceled the missing persons report in time. It’s no secret that Kenzie’s hometown is Prosser, and that she’s close to J.R., so his family’s farmhouse would be a logical place for the police to look for her. How the hell is she going to explain this? Surely the police won’t arrest her for her roommate thinking she’s missing. She can just say it’s all a misunderstanding, which it is.

Unless, of course, it’s not about the missing persons report, specifically. Maybe it’s about the ransom demand. Maybe Derek called the police to report that she’s being held against her will, and that her kidnappers are demanding money in exchange for her life. If that’s why the cops are coming, then she’s in trouble for sure. And so is J.R.

There are so many lies, there’s absolutely no way to know what, exactly, is happening.

She feels Lorna moving behind her, and she turns to see that the woman is frantic. Above them, she can hear J.R. stomping across his bedroom. Without warning, Lorna grips Kenzie’s shoulders with surprising strength.

“Wine cellar,” she hisses, as J.R. thunders down the stairs.

Before Lorna can say anything more, her son bursts into the living room, red-faced, looking like a wild animal. Lorna rushes to him, puts her hands on his chest, but he shoves her away. The older woman stumbles back onto the sofa.

“Calm down, son, please,” Lorna says, but her words have no effect.

J.R. is the furthest thing from calm. He’s pacing the living room like before, but his strides are longer, and he’s rubbing his face and hair, agitated. He reeks of marijuana. His pupils are fully dilated; his normally brown eyes are black.

“What do I do?” he says to them. “What the fuck do I do?”

“We’ll have to see what they want,” Kenzie says, trying to remain calm. It’s not easy. J.R.’s negative energy is infectious. “Whatever the cops think, I’ll just tell them it was a stupid joke—”

“Did you call them?” J.R. asks.

“Of course not,” she says. “Why the hell would I call the police on myself?”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so stupid.” He paces again, and the sirens grow louder. The lights are flashing through the curtains. “They’re not here for you, M.K. They’re here for me.”

He turns to his mother. “They’re gonna arrest me, Mom. I’m going back to prison. Forever this time.” He’s on the verge of tears, his eyes searching every inch of the room as if looking for an escape. “It was Julian, I know it. Motherfucking weasel must have ratted me out.”

“You’ll talk your way out of it.” Kenzie doesn’t think she’s ever seen J.R. so worked up before. “Deny it all and say that Julian planned the whole thing. He took Marin’s money, then kidnapped me and sent the ransom demand. Blame it all on him. I’ll back you up.”

It occurs to her then that Lorna is hearing all this right now and isn’t surprised by any of it. It’s like she knew about all of it, all along.

“Mom, you still have Dad’s gun?” he says.

“Bedroom,” Lorna says. She doesn’t seem surprised by this question, either. “In the wall safe, in the closet. The code is your father’s birthday.”

What gun? Kenzie didn’t know they had a gun.

The second J.R. is out of sight, Lorna grabs her again.

“Wine cellar,” the woman whisper-screams into Kenzie’s ear. “Go. Lock the door behind you. And no matter what, do not let my son in, no matter what he says. You understand me?”

Lorna is dead serious, and in this moment, she’s not the loopy, batty woman Kenzie is used to talking to. But why is J.R.’s mother telling her to hide in the wine cellar? And to lock her son out? It makes no sense.

The lights are getting brighter, the sirens louder. The road leading to the farmhouse is long and relatively straight. The cops are almost here.

“Mom! The gun’s not in the safe!” J.R. shouts from down the hall.

Lorna opens her robe. The gun—the one that she sent her son to find, the one that was supposed to be locked in the wall safe that Kenzie didn’t even know they had—is tucked into the waistband of her lounge pants.