Wish You Were Gone(80)

“Yes way.”

“I have my audition on Saturday.”

“So?”

“So I need to get a good night’s sleep. And Hunter needs to bring me if my mom doesn’t get back in time.” Even though her mother had sworn on an actual Bible that she would be back in time. “We can’t have a party.”

“Um… having a party on Friday night is not going to affect your brother’s ability to drive you to an audition on Saturday afternoon. It’s Halloween this week. People need to party.”

“Why can’t we do it at your house?” Kelsey asked.

“Because your house is bigger, more private, and Hunter has more friends.”

These were not points Kelsey could dispute.

“Hunter will never go for it. He doesn’t break the rules.”

Willow scoffed. “I’ll take care of Hunter.”

“Why don’t you just back off him already? He’s my brother,” Kelsey said. “Get your own fucking family.”

Willow glared at her. “Screw you, Walsh.”

Kelsey watched her go, trying to remember why she had ever thought they were friends, and trying to wrap her brain around the fact that she was clearly stuck with her for life.





EMMA


“Toss me that tennis ball, would you?” Lizzie held out a hand.

“Lizzie, you’ve done enough, really,” Emma said. “I can finish this up on my own.”

My husband was sleeping with your daughter. Willow saw him the day he died. It was her. Your Willow is the girl we’ve been looking for all along.

Her stomach flooded with bile. She hadn’t eaten all day.

“Stop trying to get rid of me already,” Lizzie joked, looking over at Emma.

Emma quickly glanced away. She’d barely laid eyes on Lizzie since she arrived to help sort through James’s collection just over an hour ago—instead pretending to be engrossed in the task at hand. James had kept a digital catalog of all the memorabilia he’d acquired over the years, and Emma had kept her eyes busy comparing his list to the list from the lawyers and checking things off as they inventoried everything. Along the way, she and Lizzie had discovered that there were several items missing from the basement collection—items that appeared in James’s catalog but were not displayed where they should have been. But then, it was possible James had brought some of them to work or donated them or given them away as gifts. Emma just kept hoping that none of them would appear on the list the firm’s lawyers had sent over.

Emma had tried to convince Lizzie not to come, but Lizzie insisted that she had nothing else to do anyway and wanted to help Emma in any way she could. There was no dissuading her. So now here she was, working alongside the woman whose daughter her husband had defiled.

She should just tell Lizzie. Just get it out. If she didn’t, it was going to eat her alive. Every time she came to this conclusion, though, she’d think of how she’d feel under the same circumstances—if Kelsey and Darnell… And she’d be right back where she started, biting her tongue until she tasted blood.

“Are you okay?” Lizzie asked, lowering the clipboard she’d been using to make lists. “You’re acting odd.”

“Am I?” Emma’s voice was reedy. “I think I’m just tired. I haven’t been getting much sleep,” she improvised.

Sleep. God. She had a horrible feeling she was never going to sleep again.

“Let’s just finish this last pile and then I’ll make you some lavender tea and you can go to bed early,” Lizzie offered, reaching out to touch Emma’s crooked knee. Emma flinched and Lizzie sighed.

“What’s the matter? Are you mad at me or something?”

“No! Honestly. I’m just out of it.” These vague excuses were going to start getting old soon.

You should hate me, Emma thought. You should want to burn this room to the ground.

Lizzie bent forward at the waist and stretched past Emma for the one lonely tennis ball that had somehow found its way into the basketball section of the room. She noted the date and signature on her list, then placed it with the other tennis things—mostly balls in small jewel cases, with a few signed programs from major tournaments sprinkled in. Then she glanced around, and Emma took the opportunity to do so as well, glad to focus on anything other than Lizzie.

There was something about taking apart the basement—James’s so-called museum—that was akin to plundering an ancient royal’s tomb. All his precious belongings, for years enshrined behind glass and in protective cases, were now strewn about the floor or piled up in corners and labeled. Emma wanted to trash it all, regardless of what the kids wanted or were due, and ignore James’s wishes. Her husband had been a lying, cheating, dishonorable drunk, and having anything he’d cared about anywhere near her made her skin crawl.

She tried to envision what this place could be now that James was gone. She’d have to do something with it, once she’d purged it of all his crap. It was prime square footage. But it had always belonged to her husband. Perhaps she should put his ashes down here and have the whole room hermetically sealed. Clearly, he’d cared about these possessions more than he’d cared about his family. Why not let him spend all eternity with them?

“Thanks again for doing this.” Emma offered a wan smile.