One of Those Faces (66)

I turned off the water and stepped onto the rug, my eyes more alert now.

I considered what I was willingly walking into if I went back to Evanston. He was gone now, but his family wasn’t.

I threw on my clothes and brushed through my wet hair. As I caught my reflection in the mirror, I thought about how much my father would disapprove of everything I was right now. He would hate how short my hair was, that it only hit below my shoulders. He would hate that I wasn’t wearing a dress and that I was going out with my hair wet. He’d always hated it when I had to wear makeup for performances.

I leaned across the counter and grabbed a bright-red lipstick and swiped it across my lips.

I topped off Woodstock’s food in the kitchen, and he came running. On my way to the door, I stretched behind the TV and fished out what cash I had tucked underneath. I would need to buy a new pass to get on the train.

A car rumbled toward my apartment as I locked the front door.

Wilder parked by the curb and jogged up to me as I started down the stairs. “Are you on your way out?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “What’s going on?”

He searched my face. “Nothing, I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by and check in with you.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. It seemed strange that he really cared. Or that he would be that transparent about caring. “I’m surprised you’re still up here,” I said, coolly. “Aren’t you supposed to be back in downtown?”

“I will be soon. Still just wrapping things up.” He met my eyes again. “How are you doing with everything?”

I clenched my jaw. “I’m fine.” I could still smell the liquor on my breath as I spoke. “I’m heading to Evanston right now.”

“You’re driving?” he asked, eyeing the dark circles under my eyes.

“No, I’m taking the train. I don’t have a car.” I walked past him onto the sidewalk.

“That’s a two-hour trip one way.” He matched my pace.

“An hour and fifteen minutes,” I corrected. If I was lucky. The construction at Howard Station might even add a few extra minutes.

“By car it’s only thirty,” he countered.

“Yes, it is. But I’m not going by car.”

He tapped my arm. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride.” He turned and walked back to his car.

I stood there for a few seconds before following after him. I was already buckled into the passenger seat by the time I could think better of it. As we started down the road, my stomach filled with a cold, heavy dread.

“Are you allowed to be doing this?” I asked. Traffic was beginning to thin out as we continued north into the suburbs.

“Do what?” he asked, staring straight ahead, one hand on the wheel.

“To give me a ride. Don’t you have murders to solve?”

One edge of his lips curled into a smile. “Yes, but I got off the clock a couple of hours ago. This is unofficial.” After a moment he continued, “So you’re from Evanston originally?”

I nodded and looked out the window. The lake rushed past as we continued faster down the road now that traffic had dissipated entirely. “Yeah.” I closed my eyes.

“Do you have any other family there?”

I sighed, opening my eyes and watching the red and orange trees breeze by the window, the gray-blue of the lake gently swaying in the background. “I don’t know.” It was dismissive but accurate. Surely my father’s family still remained, but I couldn’t forgive them. “To be completely honest, I’m not too thrilled to be going back.”

“Then why are you?”

“I don’t know how to explain it.” After staying away for so long, there was a part of me that just needed to go home one last time. Without the threat of seeing him again. “But since the funeral’s this afternoon, it might be my best shot at avoiding running into relatives, if they’re even still around.”

“I get it,” he said. “I mean, based off of everything you’ve said, it doesn’t sound like you left on good terms.”

“Thank you. For giving me a ride. I appreciate it. As much as I hate that place, taking the train would’ve made it ten times worse.”

His cheeks reddened. “It’s no problem.”



Everything had changed in the last nine years in my hometown. More buildings, less green.

“Where to now?” he asked once we’d reached the city limits.

I turned my head to observe the street signs. “Take a right here, and go straight down Church Avenue.” The house came into view, sending a chill down my spine. Any good memory there had been wiped out by a thousand bad ones. “It’s this one,” I said, pointing to the narrow two-story blue house at the corner of the street.

Wilder parked along the road. There was a car in the driveway. Maybe it was a lawyer or a real estate agent already trying to wipe Russell Mallen’s existence off the map.

I glanced out the window at the house for a long moment, aware of Wilder’s eyes on me.

“Do you want to go in?” he asked finally.

I opened the door and stepped out of the car, my eyes still focused on the house. As if it might disappear if I looked away for a moment. With Wilder behind me, we crossed the street and walked up the steps to the porch. The white trim had peeled everywhere, but it was most apparent on the banisters.