Lies We Bury(51)

Her hands move to cup my face. Her skin is cold against mine, and the shock of her body temperature in this heat steals my words. “Run. You run away from those crime scenes and that case as fast as you can. Do you hear me? Take up a job as a checkout clerk—do whatever you have to, run away. Promise me you’ll stay far from this case. Promise.”

I slowly pull her hands back. I had hoped Rosemary would impart some obscure fact about my upbringing to direct my next steps. Instead, she’s given voice to the same fear that’s been tingling at the back of my mind—that the killer may be setting me up. “I hear you. I’ll . . . I’ll find something else to do at the Post.”

Rosemary exhales, then sinks back into the couch cushions. “Good.”

I sip my lemonade, grateful for something to focus on. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her. She stares straight ahead, as though exhausted.

When I hug her goodbye, she feels limp in my arms. “You’ll come visit again soon?” she asks.

I want to know when was the last time she left the house—whether all her food is delivered by drone or delivery service as I suspect it is—but I can glean the answer by the darty way she peeks through the curtains before unlocking the front door.

The drive is much longer on the way home.

When I was fourteen, I went digging in one of the boxes Rosemary had only begun to accumulate. Photos of a young woman with thick black side-swept bangs were protected in a shoebox; she was sunning herself on the beach while surrounded by friends and admirers.

That woman was kidnapped by Chet. Her carefree spirit died in his basement compound.

The courts said that Bethel was the only one who died there—only one woman, the male defense attorney said, as if that demonstrated care on Chet’s behalf and deserved leniency. But I knew better. Rosemary left whatever shred of herself that remained below when she climbed the eight steps up to the main floor of Chet’s house—with not simply the daughter she birthed but three girls in tow.





Twenty-One





THEN


Mama Rosemary rushes around pulling out books and medicines and forks and spoons I haven’t seen in years and years. She opens all drawers looking through everything again and again. She turns and sees me watching her instead of Arctic Adventures with Twin.

Lily is still lying in bed but she’s not sleeping anymore. She’s humming a song now but I don’t know what it is. “Row Row Row Your Boat”? No more like “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” from The Lion King maybe. That movie is the best. I’m like Simba the leader of the kids. Twin thinks she’s Simba but she’s wrong. She barely does her chores and instead lies around all depressive. Just like Mama Rosemary sometimes.

“Have you girls seen my necklace?” Mama Rosemary looks at us.

I nudge Twin in the elbow and she looks at me all sharp. “Hey!”

“Girls,” Mama says again and her voice is mad. “My necklace?”

Twin picks at the hole in her sock. “Maybe Mama Nora took it with her.”

My eyes are still on the TV. Petey the Penguin slides down a snowy mountain on his belly and I lay down on my belly, too. His friends Sasha the Sea Lion and Heathrow the Husky are missing and he knows it’s his responsibility to find them—even if it’s dangerous. It’s our duty to the people we love. To help. Especially when we’re scared.

“Or Mama Bethel?” Twin asks.

“No, honey, Mama Bethel didn’t take it. Mama Nora, though. There’s a thought.” Mama goes into the bed room and a drawer opens, then closes. Another one opens and closes.

“Dude. You guys!” Her voice is long and whiny like Lily’s when she’s cranky. “Who taped my necklace to the side of the nightstand? Jesus.” Mama makes a frustrated noise—like Auuuughhhhh.

A loud noise from the bed room. Crash! I look to see if Mama needs me if she’s upset and crying again but it’s quiet. Then the mattress squeaks and Mama’s gotten on the bed to check on Lily. Soft voices talk.

I don’t answer Mama because I saw Twin tape the necklace last week after playing in the Before Clothes. She said she wanted to keep it for her own because she has to share everything here. Mama keeps all her Before Clothes in the bottom drawer the biggest one because she says it makes her sad to see them. All our clothes are in the top two drawers and a plastic tub by the kitchen sink and we can go in there and see them all the time if we want. But Mama Rosemary says her Before Clothes we’re not allowed to touch. Twin went in and played while Mama was resting the way she does with her eyes open for hours staring at the wall. Sometimes when I stare at the wall I try to make shapes in the dirt with my mind and see a hidden dog or a cat.

Twin put on the necklace and the stretchy pants that made her legs look even littler. And the stretchy top over her head. And the headphones Mama says play music if you have a battery in the little square plastic player. Twin put Mama’s running shoes on her feet and those were too big, too. Then she danced around like a dummy pretending to be Whitney Houston the woman in the tape inside the plastic player. We both sang without singing out loud. Ohhhhh I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heat with somebod-AY!

Twin asked for a little dog once—another word though—a puppy—and Mama said there was no room. Which I thought was wrong because Mama Nora left already a year ago then.