Pretty Girls Dancing(55)
“Jesus, that’s harsh.”
Tired of this conversation—of him—she half turned away. “So’s life.” Her attitude didn’t reflect the measure of sympathy she felt for him. He’d had two years to adjust to the loss of a sibling. She’d had seven. She could have told him it didn’t get easier. Time—which was said to heal all wounds—was really a sneaky bitch. Because it also faded recollections that were once so sharp and clear. Until her sister’s face was fuzzy. The sound of her laugh was more difficult to summon. Somehow the memories faded more than the pain ever would.
“Well.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Guess I should go.”
She watched him head toward the doorway. Would never know what made her stop him. “Cole?” He turned to look at her. “Write down your memories of your brother. Every single thing, no matter how small. Later on you’ll remember moments, but you won’t recall the day-to-day stuff. What you both said. Normal stuff you’d do together. Silly stuff you’d laugh at.” She stopped, suddenly tongue-tied again.
“Is that what you did?”
She shook her head. “I was too young.” And her anxiety had only magnified her personal misery until both had taken over her life. “But I wish I had.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. Thanks. I still owe you. Seriously, you ever need a favor . . .” The offer dangled in the air between them. When she didn’t respond, he headed for the door. She doubted very much that he’d apologized to every student impacted by his actions, and she had no illusions about why he’d singled her out. Pity. Similar tragedies. Shared pain.
She waited until she heard the front door close behind him before she headed toward the kitchen. Janie couldn’t imagine what Cole Bogart could ever offer that she’d want.
And she had nothing to offer him, either.
“Did your foster parents lift the ban for you riding in friends’ cars?” Janie stubbed out the cigarette she’d lit after pulling out of her friend’s driveway. It might take more than one to calm the tangle of nerves in her gut after Bogart’s visit.
“As if.” Her friend buckled her seat belt. “Apparently they think that punishment will prevent a repeat of my skipping school. Or getting drunk to begin with. Whatever. They had an early appointment at the family services’ office. Probably to meet the new kid or sign papers or something. Anyway, once I knew they’d be gone, I texted you.” She raised her brows meaningfully. “I’ve got big news.”
“Light me another cigarette, will you?”
Alyvia dug in the dash compartment, unerringly coming up with the Band-Aid box hiding Janie’s pack of cigarettes. Using the lighter on the dash, she lit it and drew deeply from it.
“Nothing beats nicotine in the morning. Unless it’s tequila.” She took another puff before handing it over. “Remember I said I recognized Deedee Bakker on that perv website? And how she was in a foster home with me for a while?”
Janie drew on the cigarette before placing it in the ashtray. “Did you get her contact information from your caseworker?”
“No, that uptight wench lives by the book. But there was another girl living with us at the time, Sarah, and I found her on Facebook. Anyway, she still kept in contact with Deedee, and I got a phone number.”
A drumroll of anticipation started in Janie’s chest. “Did she talk to you about the pictures?”
“Eventually.” The smugness in Alyvia’s expression matched her tone. “It took finesse, for sure. That bitch always hated me. But finally, I said I’d heard she’d had some ‘artistic’ pictures taken and said a friend of mine was interested and could she recommend the photographer, yadda yadda. She shut down real fast when I brought up the photos. I had to make a couple of threats before she gave in.” She shrugged as if it had been no big deal, but Janie could imagine the conversation. Alyvia’s shitty life had resulted in a streak of toughness that she could wield or tuck away, depending on the situation. “And you’re never going to believe who the photographer was. Herb Newman.”
Revulsion skated through her. “Mr. Newman from school?”
Alyvia reached for the cigarette again. “Only you would call the janitor Mister.”
“He worked at the church I used to go to in Saxon Falls when I was a kid.” He’d always been hanging around, sometimes talking to Reverend Mikkelsen, working on the lights, cleaning, or setting up the Christmas decorations. Janie tried to picture Kelsey trusting the pudgy, bearded custodian to take those pictures she’d hidden in Janie’s room. Failed. There’d been $1,000 cash in the envelope. Herb Newman didn’t look like he’d ever had that much money at one time in his life.
“Deedee said something like that, too. That she knew him from church camp or something.”
Janie opened her mouth to ask about the money, then closed it again. It had been a huge leap for her to share the information about Kelsey’s photos, but she hadn’t mentioned the cash. Liv was her best friend, but some things were too raw. Too private. And she hadn’t shared her suspicion that Claire hadn’t given the information to the police. She had protective instincts of her own.
But it made her wonder what other secrets her family might have kept from her.
“What are you going to do?”