Until the Day I Die(70)

I can feel the force of her stare, almost like a physical blow. But I don’t want to meet her eyes. I can’t. A strange chemical taste fills my mouth. The taste of fear.

“What’s wrong, Erin?” Jess says quietly.

I don’t reply.

“Aren’t you going to ask me her name? The name of the woman whom I gave away my brother’s secrets to?”

I can’t speak.

“Don’t you want to know who the blonde with the perfect body from Alabama is? Who that woman is, who is so talented—so incredibly adept—at drawing people to her and convincing them that she loves them?”

“I think I already do,” I whisper.

“Yes. I think you do.”

But I still have to say it out loud. I have to say her name. My best friend.

“It’s Sabine Fleming.”

Jess is quiet for a moment. “I would say this to you: if she did everything I laid out for her, everything Matt did at his bank, my guess is that she’s stolen at least a quarter of a million from your company since March. Since your husband died.”





38

SHORIE

I jam Dad’s journal into the back of my shorts and pull my T-shirt out over it. It makes me stand up really straight.

“Shorie? Sweetheart,” Sabine says. “It’s the middle of the week. What in the world are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” I blurt out, then immediately regret it. This is her freaking house, hello.

“I had to run Tiger to the vet,” she says. “But you should be in class, right?”

Her face fills with motherly concern, and I burst into a fountain of tears. It kind of surprises me. My first thought had been to play up a whole homesick act. Turns out I actually am homesick.

“Oh, Shorie,” Sabine says.

“I’m sorry,” I sob. “The key was where it always has been, and I thought it would be okay . . .”

“Honey, it’s okay.” Instead of hugging me, she turns her attention to corralling Tiger, who, at the sound of my crying, has started barking again.

“I was having a rough day. A rough couple of days, and I just wanted to see some familiar faces.” I sniff, but the tears continue to flow. Mindful of the journal in my shorts, I lower myself gingerly to the sofa. Tiger leaps on me and sprawls across my lap.

“Is everything with school okay?” Sabine asks.

“Yes. I just really miss . . . everything. Everybody.”

“Shorie,” Sabine says. “You know you are always welcome here. And your friends, of course. Just give me a call next time. You kind of gave me a start, standing in here like that.” She picks up the saucer with the joint and heads for the kitchen.

Dele punches my thigh and shoots me a meaningful look, but I can’t focus. My phone dings against my butt—another email notification, maybe from Ms. X’s account. From the kitchen, I hear the fridge open, drinks clinking in the door. I feel like I’m about to have a panic attack.

“Y’all want some kombucha?” Sabine calls out.

“Sure,” Dele answers.

“Sure,” I say too. I’m jittery now—sweating and jangly all over with the worst nerves I’ve ever felt. I wish I’d come up with a better plan before getting into this mess.

“Oh! I just remembered,” she calls from the kitchen. “I have kale chips too!”

“Oh, good,” Rhys whispers. “Kale chips.”

“Go,” I hiss to them. “I’m going to stay.”

“No way,” Rhys says. “What if Ben figures out you found the journal?”

I keep my eyes trained on the kitchen doorway. “I’ll think of something.”

And then, the front door slams open, and Ben and Layton walk into the living room. They’re both dressed in running clothes, flushed and damp. Tiger starts his freak-out routine again, running around, barking at the top of his lungs, and Ben gives me a strange look. I give him one right back, then Layton gives me a hug.

Sabine bustles in, sets the tray down, and kisses Ben. I can feel the tension between them—or at least I think I can. Maybe I’m so freaked out, I’m imagining things. Over the din Tiger’s making, I introduce my friends to Ben and Layton and repeat the homesick story. While I jabber away, I keep tabs on Ben and Rhys, watching for any indication that they know each other. But they both act pretty normal. That is, if I’m any judge of what normal means.

“So,” Dele says to Ben. “Out for a jog?”

I widen my eyes at her, but she just smirks.

“They’re training for the Mercedes Marathon,” Sabine says.

Layton shows me a picture on her phone of Foxy Cat curled up on one of her chairs in the sunlight. She tells me how great Foxy’s doing, then says she should be getting home.

“I’ll take you,” Sabine volunteers, and when they’re gone, we all sit.

“So the Mercedes Marathon’s not until February, right?” I say. “You’re training already? And on a weekday?”

“We wanted to get an early start.” Ben sits, stretches out his leg, and rubs his knee with a grimace. “So we don’t drop dead in the process. You know how unpredictable the workweek can be. We take our opportunities when we can get them.” He looks at me. “What’s up, Shorie? It’s good to see you. Surprising, but good.”