Burn Our Bodies Down(36)

“Oh.” I can understand that, even if Tess’s probably gets her out of trouble and mine gets me into it. But still. There’s an odd sort of shyness to her right now, like there’s more she isn’t saying. I nudge her arm. “And to put it another?”

She doesn’t answer right away. When she does, it’s just: “It’s nice. To be part of it.”

I think of her and her friends coming out of Hellman’s yesterday. All of them gathered around her, watching to see what she’d do next. That’s distance, isn’t it? Even if it’s not the kind I know.

“I’m glad you are,” I say. I mean it. Back in Calhoun I never had anyone. Maybe Tess never really had anyone either. Or at least nobody who needed her the way I do.

The memory of this morning’s fight with Gram flickers bright. I check over my shoulder. Gram isn’t listening—she’s busy looking offended as Mrs. Miller hands her a slice of honeydew on a pretty china plate. And maybe I should just let it go, but I can’t. I want this life for my own, but to do that, to protect it, I need to know what the hell is going on.

“Listen,” I say quietly, turning back to Tess. “I saw something. At Fairhaven. I really think the girl from the fire was living there.”

I catch Tess’s frown out of the corner of my eye. “What do you mean?” she asks. But I don’t have time to answer. Mrs. Miller comes over, dusting her hands together and peering over our shoulders at the mess we’ve made of the cereal.

“All right, girls,” she says. “Tess, would you go fetch Eli? I don’t want the pancakes to get cold.”

“Sure,” Tess says. And then, to me, “Later. We’ll talk more.”

She slips up the stairs at the far end of the kitchen and comes back down with Eli just as Mrs. Miller is ushering us all to the table, where a tray of pastries is waiting. He stops when he sees me, and for a second I know exactly what he’s thinking, because I’m thinking it too. That I died yesterday, and he saw my body.

“Eli doesn’t get coffee,” Tess announces, sidling by him to take a seat. She pulls me into the chair next to hers and drags the coffeepot closer. “Punishment for turning up the AC after I fell asleep.”

“You keep it too cold.” He sits down across from her, wearing the frown that I haven’t seen him without yet. “I’m not trying to get frostbite.”

“Whereas I absolutely am.” Tess fills her mug, and mine without asking if I want some, before reaching across and pouring some for Eli, too. I watch, baffled, as she sets the pot back down and pulls a pastry from the bottom of Mrs. Miller’s carefully stacked pile, sending a croissant rolling onto the table. She was joking, with Eli. I know she was. But still. To see a threat made and dropped so easily—it’s nothing short of a miracle.

“Dad coming?” she says through a mouthful of pastry. Terrible manners, but then I don’t imagine she’s ever needed good ones.

Mrs. Miller is in the kitchen again, carefully stirring blueberries into a bowl of yogurt. “In a minute.”

“I’ll go tell him we have company.”

“He’s speaking with the chief,” Mrs. Miller says, glancing sidelong at Gram. “Don’t disturb him.”

“The chief?” I say, and every pair of eyes flicks to me. Tess nudges my elbow, and I bet she means for me to back off, to not look so curious, but I can’t help it. “You mean the police chief?”

“After yesterday,” Mrs. Miller says, coming to the table and setting the yogurt down near the empty chair at the head.

“It didn’t touch your land,” Gram says from her seat at the foot of the table. It’s the first real thing she’s said since we got here, and I’m startled by how sharp it is, by how much else it seems to mean. “There’s no need for Richard to get involved.”

“Well, of course, but I didn’t mean the fire, Vera,” Mrs. Miller says seriously. She sits down next to Eli, adjusting her skirt and folding her hands. “I meant the girl they found.”

My breath catches. How much does Mrs. Miller know, exactly? Did Tess tell her parents what the body looked like? From the reassuring squeeze she gives my hand, I doubt it.

“The girl?” Gram says, after a moment. “Yes, it’s a shame. I heard she was a runaway. Wrong place, wrong time.” I’ve never heard anything so bland, so carefully careless.

And Mrs. Miller jumps at it. “Poor girl,” she says dreamily. Like she’s eager to pretend it happened a million miles away. I recognize that, I think. Anything to keep the peace with Vera Nielsen. “I imagine it must be an inconvenience. Even Theresa was at the station for hours.”

An inconvenience? Someone died. Someone died and nobody will acknowledge how much it matters.

“It was exhausting and terrible,” Tess says over the rim of her coffee mug, “and I’ll never recover.” It earns her a stern look from Mrs. Miller.

“Hours?” I ask, before I can help it. “What did you talk with the police about?”

“Oh, it was all bullshit,” Tess says.

“Theresa.”

“What? It was. It was just all the same stuff they asked you, Margot.”

It’s a show she’s putting on, I can tell. To prove she doesn’t care, to prove it’s no big deal. And I don’t know why she would bother, or who it protects me from, only—