The Accomplice(89)

“Seriously, dude. You remember what happened there?” Owen asked.

“Yeah. But it’s over, Owen. And you’re going to need a degree to teach, which, let’s face it, is probably how you’ll make a living. Unless you’re luckier than I think you are.”

Owen winced. “Did you pay for douchebag school or go on scholarship?” he asked.

Vera breezed into the room and warmed her coffee in the microwave. “Boys, be nice,” she said.

“All I did was suggest Owen return to Markham in the fall. It’s easier than transferring credits.”

“Half the student body thinks I’m a murderer. I’m not going back,” Owen said.

He was stunned that he had to explain it to his family. Griff could tell that Owen’s wounds were still exposed.

“Sorry,” Griff said. “I thought your reputation would have been rehabbed after the police closed the case.”

“People don’t remember the two paragraphs in the Markham Gazette. They don’t care that it was an accident, that Scarlet went on a drunken late-night hike, wearing a party dress and Converse sneakers. They remember that I was dragged off campus by two uniformed officers. They remember that I was the only suspect. For the rest of my life, that incident will hang over my head. I go for a job interview, all they have to do is google my name.”

Griff nodded his understanding and didn’t say a word after that. Owen took Griff’s silence as a win.



* * *



—

Luna and Griff were still a couple and still in love, by both accounts. But there wasn’t much time for them to be together. Griff’s first year at the law firm required eighty hours a week. Before Tom’s diagnosis, Luna would take the train to Manhattan every other weekend. Griff’s visits home to see his dad cut into some of that. Sometimes Luna would meet Griff in Boston, see the entire clan, but she always felt uneasy in that house. It could have been the looming death, Luna’s general discomfort with Vera, or the weirdness of being under the same roof as Owen while sleeping with his brother.

Then Luna found out she was pregnant. Her plan was to deal with it without telling a soul. Casey came home early one day and heard Luna crying.

“What happened?” Casey asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Luna said.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Casey asked.

It was a wild guess. Luna’s shocked expression answered the question.

“Oh fuck. You are,” Casey said. “Wait, are you sure? You should see a doctor.” She sat down on Luna’s bed, dispensing tissues.

“I’m sure.”

“What are you going to do?” Casey asked.

“What do you think?” Luna said.

The answer was so plain to her, she couldn’t believe Casey would even ask.

“Have you talked to Griff?”

Luna sat up in bed and glared at Casey. Casey winced under Luna’s feral advance.

“If you say one word to anyone, I swear, Casey, I will—”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence; the threat was established. Casey knew not to cross Luna.

“I won’t say a word. Have you made the appointment?”

“A week from Monday,” Luna said.

“Okay,” Casey said. “I’ll come with you.”

Mason didn’t know what the hell was going on. Casey had sworn her silence. Even if she hadn’t, she knew Mason was a crap liar. But because of Mason’s sensitive nature, he couldn’t get used to the overall feeling in the house. There was so much pain behind Luna’s door. Mason only wanted to help. Since Luna so rarely emerged from her room, Mason took to bringing her things. Coffee in the morning. Toast a few hours later. Soup or sandwiches around lunchtime. Water. He’d place a mug or plate next to her door and knock quietly, alerting Luna to the delivery. One of those times he was hovering near her door, he heard Luna on the phone.

“Why can’t I do it now? It’s my choice. What would I need to do to make it happen?” she said. “I can’t wait eight more years. It’s not about that. It’s better for society—I understand what you’re saying, but it’s my body.”

Mason spent the whole day trying to figure out what was going on with Luna. Then he had an idea.

“Is Luna donating an organ?” Mason asked Casey.

Casey inquired how Mason arrived at such a hypothesis. He explained the one-sided conversation. The eight-years remark stumped Casey as well. Mason insisted that’s what Luna had said.



* * *



—

By mid-July, Owen, Griff, and Vera came to realize that the doctor’s original prognosis was not just optimistic but unrealistic. In early August, Vera asked the doctor how much time Tom had. The doctor said six months. A week later, Tom was dead.

It was Owen who made the discovery. As usual, he got up, started the coffee, and walked down the hallway to check on his dad.

“Morning, Dad,” Owen said, as he opened the door.

Owen sensed it right away. His dad was a loud breather, generally. Owen stepped closer to investigate. He poked his dad and jumped back. Tom didn’t move. Then Owen saw the empty bottle of pills on the nightstand. Owen couldn’t figure out how his dad would have gotten the pills, since they were locked up.