Wish You Were Gone(23)
It was moments like these, when she was alone and it was dull outside and dead leaves whipped past the window, that Lizzie wondered if she’d made a huge mistake moving here. It had been almost ten years since she’d made the decision to leave the rural, upstate New York town she’d grown up in and come here. Oakmont had seemed like a dream world with its hippie-meets-preppy downtown vibe and huge parks, its massive Gothic library and tony private school. The public school was fantastic in this village with its ridiculously high taxes, but when Lizzie saw the grounds of Oakmont Day and imagined her daughter running around on the lacrosse fields or singing in the hallowed chapel, she had to have it for Willow. Luckily, her daughter, even in second grade, had a math brain that impressed the most skeptical of headmasters, and she’d been awarded a scholarship. Otherwise, Lizzie might never have met Emma. And Willow might never have formed her surprising, seemingly unbreakable friendship with Hunter.
Were those relationships enough? Did they balance out the financial strain of keeping up with the millionaires that populated this town? (Even the hippies drove Teslas.) Lizzie hadn’t been raised to value material things, and she’d always prided herself on her ability to put together funky outfits from secondhand clothes and old jewelry that had belonged to her mom. But living here had changed her. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but over time it crept up on her in small ways. Coveting those sandals everyone had that were insanely expensive for something one wore two months out of the year. Replacing her everyday Target dishes with a set from Bloomingdale’s. Upgrading from her Subaru to a Buick. Which wasn’t a luxury car, but still. The Subaru had gotten her from point A to point B. What the hell did she need heated seats and satellite radio for?
Lizzie finished with the kale, picked up her paring knife, and was reaching for the onion, thinking it might be nice to have a valid excuse to cry, when a police car pulled up outside the house.
Her grip tightened around the knife’s handle. No.
Officer Dyondra Miller got out of the car, her black hair pulled into a neat bun, and opened the back door.
No, Willow. Not again.
Lizzie stabbed the knife into the cutting board. Her daughter got out of the backseat, head down, hair covering her face, shoulders hunched. Officer Miller held out a hand and Willow trudged ahead of her up the steps and to the door, where Lizzie met them, shaking.
“What happened?” she asked. It was probably a sign of bad maternal skills that she was actually hoping Willow had been hurt, but the alternative—
“Ms. Larkin.” Officer Miller nodded. “I’m sorry to say we had to pick up Willow again after another shoplifting complaint.”
Lizzie deflated. “Willow—”
Her daughter shoved past her and made for the stairs, but Officer Miller whistled, loud and sharp. Willow turned, but barely looked up through the veil of her hair. Impressive. Lizzie wondered if she could learn to whistle like that.
“I want you to listen to me and listen good,” Miller said. “This is your third infraction. The only reason I haven’t booked you yet is because we’re friends, and you’re talented, and I don’t want to see you waste your life. But I can’t cover for you anymore.” She looked at Lizzie. “The shop owners in town are starting to compare notes. There’s talk of banning her from the shopping district. There are at least five other complaints we can’t confirm, but people are saying it was your daughter.”
“They weren’t all me,” Willow began. “I can’t—”
Miller silenced her with a look, her dark eyes cutting. But after a long moment, they softened, and so did Miller’s stance.
“Willow, you did a great job at Mary Kate’s party. We were so grateful to have a young woman there performing for them. You were like a breath of fresh air compared to all the dirty old men magicians we’ve seen over the years. But let me be perfectly clear. If you’ve got a record, no family in this town or anywhere else is going to invite you into their house to perform magic tricks for their kids. And you can forget about college. Is that what you want?”
Lizzie’s pulse thrummed in her ears. She stared at Willow.
“No, ma’am,” her daughter said.
“Good. No offense, but I’d rather not see the inside of this house again.”
The officer bid Lizzie good night, then strolled out onto the porch. Lizzie closed the door and leaned back against it, drained of all energy. She stared at the floor, barely holding back tears of frustration.
“What was it this time?” she asked.
Willow pulled something out of her pocket and tossed it on the floor at Lizzie’s feet. It was a pair of earrings—tiny, dangling silver doves, their wires threaded through a small, cardboard square. They were beautiful and delicate and stolen. Lizzie bent and picked them up. The price tag on the back was handwritten: $22.
“They didn’t make you give them back?” Lizzie asked.
“When they caught me, I paid for them,” Willow said. “I got them for you.”
“What?”
“You’ve been so tense lately. And I know you’re sad and whatever. I wanted to get you something. To cheer you up.” Willow shoved her hands under her arms.
“Oh, Willow.”
Lizzie made a move to hug her daughter, but Willow angled away and she stopped in her tracks.