The Inmate (20)

“It was just a broken rib anyway,” Brandon says. “He didn’t even spend the night.”

“Oh, is that all?” Tim retorts. “Just a broken rib?”

Brandon’s eyes flash as a crack of lightning makes his face glow eerily. He throws his cup on the coffee table so harshly that the orange liquid splashes out. “You want to be next, Reese?”

“For Christ’s sake, shut up, Brandon,” Shane growls. He turns to look at me. “It was stupid. Really stupid. We had just lost a game the day before and when I heard him say those things about my mom—I mean, it’s my mom—anyway, I just… like I said, we were being stupid.”

Tim’s eyes meet mine. I can see the question written all over his face. Are you buying this bullshit? I have to look away.

“Brooke?” Shane says.

“Just…” I touch my snowflake necklace—my fingers always go there whenever I’m anxious. “Don’t do it again.”

After all, he’s sorry. Everybody does stupid stuff in high school. I can’t expect Shane to be perfect. I’m sure not.

“All right.” Shane clears his throat loudly. “It’s my turn again.”

We all turn to look at him, our drinks ready.

“Never have I ever,” he says, “been on a date with Tracy Gifford.”

Shane is staring at Tim as a bolt of thunder shakes the room. Tim raises his eyes, and a look passes between them that I can’t quite identify. We all sit there, our hands frozen on our paper cups. Tracy Gifford is the girl who was found dead over the summer. Obviously, none of us have been on a date with her.

But then Tim raises his cup. And he takes a drink.





Chapter 13


PRESENT DAY





I can’t believe after all these years, I’m going on a date with Tim Reese.

No, correction: it’s not a date. We’re just getting drinks. As friends. For all I know, Tim has a girlfriend. After all, he’s good-looking and charming and has a decent job. Tim is a catch. It seems almost impossible that he would still be single.

But I get the feeling he is.

I had wanted to take separate cars, but Tim pointed out that we are leaving from pretty much the same block, so “for the sake of the environment, we should carpool.” I couldn’t argue with that logic. And I didn’t argue when he offered to drive.

So that’s why I’m wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a flattering blouse while I’m standing in front of my house, waiting for Tim to arrive. I never used to wear much makeup in high school, and I’m not going to wear much now. Just a bit of eyeliner and a slash of lipstick. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.

A white Lincoln Continental pulls up in front of the house, and before I have a chance to be surprised that this is the car Tim drives, I realize that there’s a white-haired woman behind the steering wheel. When she emerges from the car, she pushes her oversized glasses up the bridge of her nose and smooths out her pink suit.

“Brooke?” She holds out her arms like I’m going to run into them for a hug. “Brooke! I can’t believe it’s you!”

I stare at her blankly. “Hello…?”

“It’s Estelle!” She grins at me with bright red lips. She wasn’t nearly as subtle in applying makeup as I was. “Estelle Greenberg! We talked on the phone.”

I cringe, wishing I could go back inside my house. Estelle Greenberg is Raker’s premier real estate agent. In my parents’ will, they earmarked money to pay for Estelle to sell their house and give me the proceeds. She called me up while I was back in the city, assuring me that she would take care of the sale of the house and I wouldn’t even have to set foot in Raker if I didn’t want to.

She was fairly shocked when I told her not only did I not want her to sell the house, but I would be living there.

“Oh, Brooke,” she sighs. “I remember you when you were only this high!”

She holds up a hand at about mid-hip, to indicate how big I was in her memory of me. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

“I have to tell you, Brooke,” she says, “the real estate market is insane right now. You can’t even imagine what price I could get you for this house. Enough for you to buy your dream apartment back in the city. You could even live in Manhattan if you wanted.”

A vein pulses in my temple. “I appreciate that, but I’m not interested.”

“You know, the real estate bubble won’t last forever. You should be smart about this.”

“I’m fine,” I say tightly. “Really.”

“What do you want with that dusty old house anyway?”

Estelle fixes her brown eyes on me, waiting for my answer. It’s not an entirely unfair question. It’s not like my most recent memories of this town are good. But there was a time I was happy here. In some ways, I spent the happiest years of my life in this house. Back when I was young and carefree.

Or maybe part of me is still a rebellious teenager, who wanted to come back here solely because my parents would never let me after I got pregnant.

“This is my goddamn house, Estelle,” I say in a low voice. “And I’m allowed to do whatever I want with it without having to justify it to you.”