Such a Quiet Place: A Novel(44)

“No,” I said. “There was nothing to write down. It was quiet.”

She raised an eyebrow, reached a hand for my wrist, and flipped it over, exposing the fragile skin there. I could feel the blood pulsing. “What’s the matter?” she asked, leaning closer.

I felt boneless, my arm limp in her grip, not sure what I could trust—my memories, even; my perception of events. The words she might’ve spoken in the courtroom. The knife she kept under her mattress and the threatening pictures left inside. Whether she was afraid or someone to fear.

The way she’d sneaked in here the first day, barefoot, with no warning. The fact that Chase believed she’d tried to break into his house, the missed calls from her lawyer, and this sudden thought that maybe she had taken my car and gone absolutely nowhere. That she’d been here all along, watching. That she’d had fourteen months to let things fester, and now she was back for a reason.

“Ruby,” I said quietly. “Ruby, you can’t go to that party today.”

You can’t be here at all.

Her eyes narrowed, and her face became impenetrable, nothing but hard angles and flat expression. “You know what no one does around here? Talk to each other face-to-face. Ask questions or demand answers. It’s contagious, the way people act to save face.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “Smile on the surface, and whisper something else to the police. Cut someone out of their lives and pretend she never existed.”

I held my breath, held my expression still, refusing to look away. Not knowing whether she was speaking with generality or specificity.

“I’ve been ignored for a long time, Harper.”

I thought of Charlotte and what she would say. Chase and what he would do. What I was truly afraid of. “You can’t go,” I said. Direct and to the point. “Don’t go.” A plea instead.

She pushed back her chair slightly so the wooden legs cried against the tile floor. “Is this coming from you or them?” she asked.

I swallowed around the dryness in my throat. “It’s coming from me,” I said.

Her eyebrows shot up, like I’d surprised her. But she stood abruptly, turning away. “Don’t worry,” she said as she opened the fridge, pulling out the containers of fruit, placing them beside the bottles of red wine lining the back of the counter. “I won’t show up empty-handed. Wouldn’t want to be a bad guest, would I?”



* * *



I WAS GOING TO be sick. The last time I’d felt this ceaseless nausea, this unstoppable force heading my way, was in the days leading up to the trial. When I knew I’d have to face her and everyone else. I was barely able to eat the entire week.

Margo was right—a party was a bad idea. I couldn’t tell whether their insistence on the party was fueled by stubbornness, or animosity, or na?veté, but as the day progressed, the setup began, undaunted.

I had no control over Ruby Fletcher. I was naive to think I ever had.

From my bedroom window in the early afternoon, I saw Javier and Chase carrying the white folding tables from Javier’s garage. I heard the sharp pop of bang snaps being tossed in the street, and someone yelping with delight.

I needed to stop this.

Downstairs, Ruby had the music on too loud, so the entire house seemed to vibrate with the beat. She was mixing a second pitcher of sangria and didn’t seem to notice when I left.

I stepped outside to the sound of laughter, could smell the lingering smoke drifting from Charlotte’s driveway, where her daughters stood barefoot on the edge of the dry grass, tossing bang snaps onto the pavement.

Molly darted across the hot asphalt, and Whitney tossed one at her feet, both of them laughing as she leaped out of the way, smoke rising in her wake.

Music was already carrying from around the corner, probably the pool.

“Hey,” I called, walking across the Truetts’ lawn. “Where’s your mom?” I asked Whitney, who was the closest, standing on the Truett side of the driveway.

“Setting up,” Whitney said, thumb jutting over her shoulder. I could see the outline of her American-flag bikini under her white tank. Behind her, across the driveway, Molly wore a red-and-white-striped cover-up and jean shorts, not coming any closer. I wondered what would happen if she saw Ruby out here. Molly tossed a bang snap close to the spot where Whitney stood, still turned away. Whitney yelped, leaping into the air.

“Nice moves,” Molly deadpanned as Whitney returned fire.

I kept moving, passed the Seaver brothers’ house. The pool came into view. The gates were propped ajar, neighbors filing in and out, setting up. Their movements were rapid, almost frenetic, like they knew what they were doing—taunting fate; taunting her.

Like if they moved as one, they became a force and would be protected.

Chase wheeled a grill to a spot near the front fence where Charlotte stood in a flowing pale blue cover-up, partially sheer and hitting just below her knees.

“Charlotte,” I called, and she turned her head quickly my way.

“Right here, Chase.” She gestured to her spot on the concrete. “Be right back. What’s up?” she called, meeting me at the entrance.

“She’s going to come,” I said, sounding breathless even to myself. “Doesn’t matter what I tell her.”

Molly and Whitney came in right behind me, like they’d been following me, but Charlotte held up a hand as they passed through the gate. “Did either of you remember the sparklers?”