Open House(54)

“Good evening, Ms. McCullough,” he said. “I need to bring Dean to the station again for more questioning. Is he here?”

Haley swallowed. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“I think it’s best if we question him first,” Rappaport said, shifting his weight, “and then I debrief you.”

Haley’s blood felt hot, whooshing beneath her skin and into her ears until she could barely hear her own voice say, “This is my life, Detective. My sister; my fiancé. That’s practically my whole world.”

Rappaport looked past her. She turned to follow his gaze into the empty living room, hardly believing that Dean hadn’t followed her to the door.

“Please,” Haley said once more, and when Rappaport nodded, it felt genuine, like he could at least partly understand her situation.

“We found correspondence between your fiancé and Josie. They seemed to point to some kind of relationship; it seemed they were meeting in secret, without you or Noah knowing about it.”

Haley thought she might be sick. She put a hand on the doorframe to steady herself.

“Nothing explicit,” Rappaport said quickly, “please don’t misunderstand me. But it’s a hunch we have, given the emails between them.”

Haley had always been the one to communicate with Josie. She didn’t even copy Dean on the emails about houses, about their floor plans, pool sites, new construction versus old-world charm . . .

The lingo flooded her mind, the sheer pretense of it all so completely absurd. “Dean’s in the kitchen,” she said flatly, moving aside so Rappaport could take her fiancé away from this place, from this house that suddenly felt incredibly far from ever being a home. She heard Dean in the kitchen, protesting, but then Rappaport’s voice rose, and Dean acquiesced. Rappaport emerged from the kitchen with Dean looking completely broken. Haley watched her fiancé, willing him to say something to her as he crossed the living room toward the outside world. When he finally paused and looked at her, his eyes held nothing reassuring, only sadness, and Haley watched as the man she loved left the warmth of their house for the cold, snowy night.





FORTY-FIVE

Emma

Ten years ago

What’s most surprising about the party is how many people have shown up while I was at the cliff with Noah. There must be at least a hundred more kids here, and it’s not just Noah’s friends and teammates: there are bunches of people I recognize from campus but have never talked to before. That’s how Yarrow is—too small to be anonymous, too big to know everyone. Kind of perfect in that way, I guess. I breathe in the night air tinged with smoke from the campfire, wanting to get lost in the swarm of kids drinking and laughing, wanting to shake free from Noah and Josie tonight, and maybe talk to someone I’ve never talked to before. It reminds me of the feeling I had when I got to Yarrow, when things were so new, when my life could have gone in any direction. I think back to the day I met Josie and Noah scooping bin candy in the student center, and how different everything would be now if we’d never met. I wonder if anyone can truly start over.

One of Noah’s friends knocks into me, and I pitch forward. “Emma!” he says, slurring the syllables. “Sorry!” He offers me a hit from his joint, but I decline with a smile, and then I use the distraction to break free from Noah and Josie, plunging myself into the fray of warm bodies. Elbows poke my ribs, hips push me sideways. I move faster through the crowd, feeling a smile break on my face as the mob swallows me.

I’ve lost them.

A group of girls I’m pretty sure are on the soccer team talk and laugh, one of them gesticulating with her hands, looking vibrant as she holds her teammates’ attention. There’s a guy named Marcus I see by the keg, and I make my way toward him because he’s always been nice, and plus he’s talking to a girl I don’t know, and I want a new friend, maybe—or at least a new face. But then I see Chris coming toward me, his eyes on me like he wants us to talk. I contemplate pretending I don’t see him, but I don’t want to blow him off and hurt his feelings. You can tell he’s sensitive about stuff like that, about not fitting in with the kids at Yarrow. Josie said he dated some girl in our class for a little while, but then she dumped him as soon as she realized he worked in an auto body shop and never went to college.

“Hey,” he says, his bare hands clutching a beer.

“Aren’t you freezing?” I ask, because his long fingers are white around the beer, and he’s only wearing a fleece.

“I’m good,” he says. The corner of his mouth sags a bit like it always does when he’s drunk. “Have you seen Josie?” he asks me.

I shrug. “I lost her,” I say, like it was an accident. He stares at me, and my throat feels tight all of a sudden, like I might cry.

“You okay?” he asks. His eyes are so pale, just like Josie’s, and in the dark night they glow, appearing almost otherworldly.

“I’m fine,” I say, but he wraps his cold hand around my wrist. He’s just like Josie—he picks up on the spaces between the words, on what I’m actually feeling, even if I don’t say it.

“No, you’re not,” he says. I can’t tell if he really cares about me, or if he’s just hoping we’ll hook up again sometime soon.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m not really okay. I’m scared, actually, about how everything’s about to change.” I pull my arm away, and he starts asking me what I mean, but I just can’t explain myself right now. “I’m sorry, Chris, I gotta get some air,” I say, which is a crazy thing to say because we’re already outside, but it strikes me then that this is how I sometimes feel with Chris and Josie, like I just need some fresh air, like the walls are closing in. I pivot and start walking, turning back once to see the flicker of anger and bewilderment in his eyes, his mouth open, right side still sagging, like he wants to call me back to him. I turn away and cut through the next group of kids. They’re drunker, their warm beer-breath assaulting me, and I put my head down and barrel through them.