Real Bad Things(24)
Something had happened to Jason late in elementary school. Something he never shared with her. That’s when it all changed. Her thoughts raced. Where had they been living? Who were their teachers? Who had Diane been dating at the time? That last question made her especially nervous about what might have happened to Jason.
“Mostly, Warren liked to tease Jason about how he looked different, walked funny, smelled funny. Acted like a sissy,” she added, gauging his response to confirm her suspicion. He was all professional, though. “I never saw bruises, but that doesn’t mean anything.” Why did the cops always have to wait until the worst happened? Why did they wait for bruises when they were all right there under the surface of the skin, the beatings occurring in any manner of ways, sometimes without a fist? She waited for more questions while he absorbed what she had said. Probably already had a bulleted list in his head. Reasons why she was no longer the suspect and someone else was. How selfish to believe her freedom meant freedom for her brother as well. That’s what she got for being confident, telling stories. She’d probably manifest her brother’s arrest.
“I think that’ll be all for now, Miss Mooney.”
She wanted to say more, do more, but she worried it would only lead him to Jason. She couldn’t ask if they’d talked to him because maybe that would trigger some police hunch about her wanting to run over and get their stories straight, which was exactly what she would do if she had his address. And she couldn’t ask how long this investigation of his would last, because she didn’t want to sound too eager. If the investigation ended, that would mean one of two outcomes: jail or freedom. For now, she’d have to sit in the horrible in-between.
“How long do you expect until we can bury him?” She braced for his answer, hoping he’d say soon. Soon meant that maybe they would bury the investigation too.
“I know you all would like some closure. But it’s still an active investigation.”
No more momma. No timelines or reassurances. Only requests for patience and callbacks if they had questions. All that magic and optimism from earlier evaporated.
She uttered fake assurances of her cooperation and her story being true and overdone thank-yous with a smiling voice instead of a dying-on-the-inside one. He shook her hand, all business, and then made his way back toward his truck before pausing to face her. He didn’t say anything, just stood there interrogating her with his eyes.
“What?” she asked out of nervousness.
“I’m having a hard time figuring out why you’d confess to a murder during a routine questioning at your home when the cops didn’t even have a case. It’s almost like you were making sure someone else didn’t say it first.”
She tried to find an ounce of hope inside her, something to hold on to. A cough from swallowing all wrong earlier tried to work its way out of her mouth, but she held it off.
“Well, you’re wrong,” she said.
He tilted his head. A smile danced across his lips before he turned to depart.
As soon as he disappeared around the corner, she yanked her phone out of her pocket. She needed Jason to call her. Text her. What was supposed to have been an easy confession and an easy burial had just become a lot more complicated.
Eight
GEORGIA LEE
Georgia Lee could barely breathe, and here Christlyn and Susannah sat, not only breathing but sucking down margaritas like it was half-off happy hour.
“First the gym and then a postworkout drink? What’s gotten into you?” Christlyn laughed and looked to Susannah. “What’s it been since you last came out with us? A year?”
“Ten?” Susannah joined in the laughter. “We can’t vote in your district, sugar. No need to kill yourself on our behalf.” She tapped her glass to Georgia Lee’s and cackled. Georgia Lee nearly dumped her drink on her.
Earlier, Georgia Lee had laughed along with them while they pumped their arms, first on the ellipticals and then on the weight machines. She’d hated the whole experience. She’d not had a proper workout bra, one that didn’t squeeze her insides out one end or the other, so she’d had to go to the store to find one. There was display after display of cute tops that would hide some of the curves she’d accumulated over the years. Then she saw a sign about something called compression tights, which promised to suck in her thighs like spandex, rendering all those unfortunate spots on her thighs and butt nearly invisible.
She couldn’t say no to that. Especially in light of her conversation with Diane.
How dare she try to blackmail Georgia Lee! If her parents weren’t already dead, she might murder them for falling for Diane’s tricks the first time. They had negotiated with a terrorist. And now Georgia Lee had to pay the price, all because they couldn’t bear the thought of anyone knowing their daughter associated with Jane.
Or maybe they had somehow learned the truth on their own? But how? Jane? Had she mentioned Georgia Lee when she was arrested and someone at the station told Diane, who then told Georgia Lee’s parents? If only she could ask them.
Georgia Lee had searched her name in conjunction with Jane’s on the internet and found nothing. Jane might as well not even exist. She’d given up after an hour. It did no good to imagine Jane’s life now. Despite everything, she probably had a good life—an amazing life, to spite everyone. A great job, a good-looking wife, well-behaved children and pets, well-traveled friends she hadn’t known since birth and who didn’t make fun of her breath control and zip code. They’d only been together a few months before that business with Warren ruined everything. Maybe, even after all they’d been through, Jane would hear Georgia Lee’s voice and struggle to put a face to a name. Maybe Jane had not only left physically but emotionally as well. Mentally, like one of those people who was so traumatized they forgot everything, including Georgia Lee. Or maybe she’d gone to therapy. Maybe she’d just moved on. And here Georgia Lee sat, fixated. Like a schoolgirl. Despite her best effort, her brain kept circling back to what Jane looked like now. Terrible, she hoped. She might learn soon enough. In the meantime, a workout couldn’t hurt.