Wish You Were Gone(95)

“We have to call the police,” Kelsey said.

Hunter turned. He looked larger than life to her in that moment. His broad shoulders, his squared jaw, the very strength of him, when she felt so insignificant and worthless. There was a sureness in his eyes as he said, “We don’t call the police.”

“But I killed him.”

“Stop saying that!”

“But… but it was self-defense.”

“Kels, we can’t call the cops. Everyone will know about him. They’ll find out everything. And they’ll arrest you. What if we can’t prove it was self-defense? What then? Do you want to go to jail? Do you know what that will do to Mom?”

It was the word Mom that finally brought Kelsey back to some semblance of consciousness. She reached out and gripped Hunter’s wrist. “Then what?” she said. “What do we do?”

All those nights clutched together while their parents fought. Her brother’s arm around her. Hunter reading her to sleep. Letting her borrow his favorite doll. Curling up in her bed when it was really bad.

“We cover it up,” Hunter said.





EMMA


Her children told her the story together, sitting at the kitchen island. The game-used, Derek Jeter autographed bat—flecked with blood—on the marble surface between them, like a line drawn in the sand. Her kids on one side, their broken, guilt-ridden, horrified mother on the other. They told her how they put the roof down on the car, used a hand truck to put his body back in his seat, and some grabbing tool from the garage wall to place his foot on the gas. They were surprised, they said, by how fast the car sped down the driveway, and when it crashed into the back wall, surprised again that it collapsed the way it did.

So she’d been right all along—someone had been there that night. But that someone had been her daughter, and later, her son.

They had called Willow, who had picked up Kelsey at the corner and taken her back to Lizzie’s, and later convinced Lizzie—who always went to bed early on Fridays—that Kelsey had been there all night. Hunter went inside, changed into clean clothes, and went to his mother’s room, where he pretended he had no idea what had happened.

By the end of the story they were all crying. Emma got up and walked around to her daughter, pulling her off her stool and hugging her as tightly as she’d ever hugged anyone.

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh. It’s my fault,” Emma said. “I should have done something. I should have left him. Or made him get help. I should have—”

Hunter got up and Emma reached for him. He stepped closer and wrapped them both up in his arms.

“He never would’ve gone, Mom,” Hunter said. “He wouldn’t have. He would have had to admit he was wrong… that he was sick. He never would’ve done that.”

“I’m just so sorry,” Emma said into Kelsey’s hair. Her chest felt as if it were being crushed by a vice. She’d turned her daughter into a killer. She’d never stop making this up to them. But for now, she had to start helping them heal. Therapy. Therapy was definitely in their future. Her father would be so proud. And if she’d learned anything from her dad back in the day, it was that all good cleansing rituals began with a symbolic act.

She pulled back and wiped her eyes. “Hunter, get showered and go pick up some bagels.”

“Um… what?” Hunter said, and laughed nervously. He clearly thought she was losing it.

Emma picked up the bat and Kelsey flinched. “Your sister and I are going for a little drive, and we’re going to want breakfast when we get back.”



* * *



THEY DROVE OVER to the cottage first. Kelsey had only been there once. The crew was busy taking down the rickety deck in the backyard, using a bulldozer to knock it down. From the passenger seat, Kelsey seemed transfixed.

“What if we moved in here when it’s done?” Emma suggested.

“Really?” Kelsey said, turning wide eyes on her.

“I feel like a change,” Emma said. “It’s a little bit closer to Daltry, anyway. Cuts fifteen minutes off the drive.”

“If I get in,” Kelsey said. “Are they really going to take someone who looks like this for her audition?”

She flipped down the visor and opened the mirror to inspect the tiny scratches and cuts on her face and neck.

“You’ll get in,” Emma replied. “I’ll call and tell them you have the flu and we’ll get it moved to next week. All of that will be healed up by then.”

“Yeah?” Kelsey’s voice was so hopeful it made Emma melt.

“Yes. I do have one question, though. Why were you and Willow selling those things?”

“I wanted to raise money for my application fee.” Kelsey looked down at her hands. “Since Dad wouldn’t pay for it.”

Emma almost smiled. “Poetic.”

And Kelsey, though she tried not to, did smile. For half a second.

“But then she didn’t want to stop. She’s kind of out of control, Mom. With the stealing thing.” Kelsey looked at her lap. “I think she’s pissed that we have what we have and she… doesn’t. I think she and her mom are having money problems.”

“Not anymore,” Emma said.