The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(53)

“Did you just say leaking gas line?” Nate said from above.

“Smells more like ass than gas,” David replied. “Tight, dark, smelly. This tunnel has it all! Five out of five stars.”

“It’s really okay to leave him to die,” Nate said. Then, perhaps remembering that someone actually had died the last time they went into the tunnel, he went silent.

The space felt like it was getting smaller, and she wondered if they might get to some point where they actually got stuck, like people who dove into caves and their hoses caught on rock and they never got out, except this wasn’t underwater. This was almost worse.

“Now this is a Halloween,” David said. Stevie could only see a bit of the back of his shirt. She kept one hand in the middle of his back as a way of maintaining pace. Now that they had proven there was a tunnel under Minerva, it was unclear to Stevie how far they had to go in this exercise. But if she knew anything about David, it was that he was going to find the other end of this passage, and if the other end was at the Great House, that was a good distance away.

So they went farther into the dark, step by step.

“So,” David said, his voice low, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we just need to clean the slate.”

Stevie hesitated for a moment, losing contact with the back of his shirt.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“Maybe I should give you everything so there’s nothing left for you to snoop for. Do you want to know about me? About my dad? Do you want to know the whole deal?”

Now? Now he was doing this? In some death crack under the ground?

But it made sense, in a way. It was dark. They couldn’t see each other. No one could hear them—not even Nate, who was too far away at this point. This was as private as you could get, and they were invisible to each other.

“Okay?” she said.

“I don’t tell people my dad is Edward King because he’s Edward King. But I also don’t tell people because it’s pathetic. It’s like every other dumb divorce story. But here goes.”

Stevie wasn’t sure if the sudden airlessness in the tunnel was her imagination. Probably.

“My mom was a concierge at a swanky resort in Marin,” David began. “She did things like set up the wine-tasting weekends and the spa experiences and golf trips. Edward King went to some event there, some fundraising thing, and he and Becky locked eyes. This was before he was a big deal. He wasn’t a senator yet, just some local politician on the rise. My mom is very pretty. And Edward King is rich. It’s not that Becky is just after money, it’s more that she doesn’t get that money doesn’t make you smart. She thinks people who have it are . . . maybe not better, but more complete, or something. I don’t think she’s worked out that you can be rich and have done nothing to deserve it. Which is weird, because she dealt with rich people for a living and should have known that’s not true. She’s not stupid, but she has some issues. You don’t get together with Edward King if you feel great about yourself. It’s not a solid emotional choice.”

He paused, and Stevie wondered what was happening. She could not see his face, or really even his back. But she could tell that the caustic tone in his voice was forced. He was talking into the dark because it was easier, because he could not be seen while he revealed himself. Even though nothing physical was happening, this was the most intimate they had ever been.

“No,” she said into the beating pause.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s really not. They got married pretty quickly in some shady, private ceremony in a judge’s office and I came out seven months later. Eddie put Becky and me in his house in Harrisburg and went off to DC to continue his career. And that was the end of the romance. I was the result of the most consequential bang Eddie ever had. Captain Personal Responsibility paid the bills. I never really remember him being around much. Maybe at Christmas. He pulled us out to use us as props at a few things, but then that stopped. Becky was bitter and had nothing to do, so she started drinking. One time when I was maybe nine I heard water running. I was playing on my Xbox, but I always listened. When you live with an alcoholic, you have to listen a lot. The water was running way too long. I went upstairs and the carpet in the hallway was all wet and there was water coming out from under the bathroom door. Becky went in there with a bottle of Chablis and passed out. She was red all over—the water was turned all the way up on the hot side. I had to pull her out, then shower her in cool water because of the burns. She didn’t wake up. So I called Eddie. I got his assistant, who told me to call 911. So the ambulance came. She was okay in the end—just drunk, minor burns. Eddie called me later that night and basically told me off for calling him and letting his assistant know about what was going on with my mom. I should have handled it. That was the night I decided that Edward King could fuck off, forever. That was one of the things I liked about you right away—you also know that Edward King should fuck off, forever. It’s a good quality to have.”

She noticed that he had slowed his pace. She kept her hand on his back and pressed in a bit, assuring him of her presence.

“When I was ten, Becky got pregnant with a magic baby. It wasn’t Eddie’s. I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I can count to nine. And Eddie was not around nine months before my sister, Allison, was born. Her dad is probably this guy in the state legislature who went to Becky’s gym. He came around the house a few times. I never remembered his name, so I just called him Chad. To his face. Right after Allison was born, Chad left the state legislature, and then the state. One does not simply sleep with Edward King’s wife. Then Eddie and Becky got a nice quiet divorce.”