Two Truths and a Lie(100)

But nobody was there.

“Hello!” she called. Nobody answered. She screamed: “Katie! Morgan! Alexa! Where is everybody?”

Nobody was home.

Nobody was home.

She could hardly breathe. She pulled her phone out of her bag and texted Katie:

Where R U.



The reply came immediately. Morgan’s house. Out in front w morgan there’s a police man here.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Katie, Alexa, Morgan, a policeman. I found out who you are.

Coming to get u.



She was leaving the house, locking the door behind her, when she saw Miss Josephine peering out of her own front door.

“All this yelling and banging around!” said Miss Josephine.

“I’m sorry,” said Sherri hurriedly. “I thought Katie was here, but she’s not. I’m so sorry to disturb you.”

“And what on earth did you do to your hair?” barked Miss Josephine. “That color doesn’t suit you at all.”

Sherri was at Morgan’s house in under thirty seconds. And yes: There was a police car in the driveway. Its lights were on. Morgan and Katie were sitting on the front steps in pajamas—Katie’s were unfamiliar—the lights from the police car casting an eerie glow on their faces. When Sherri got out of the car, Katie ran up to her and threw herself into Sherri’s arms. “Alexa’s mom’s car was in an accident,” said Katie. “That’s why the police are here. But Alexa’s mom wasn’t driving it.”

“Who was driving it?”

“I don’t know,” said Morgan. “My mom’s in there now, talking to the police.”

“I want to go home,” said Katie. “I don’t like this. Can we take Morgan home with us?”

“Yes,” said Sherri. “Yes, absolutely we can take Morgan home with us.”





85.





The Squad


When Cam Hartwell’s obituary ran in the Daily News of Newburyport, we all looked at the picture for the longest time. In the picture he was smiling and holding a golf club.

The line for the wake at Twomey, LeBlanc & Conte, the funeral home, stretched a full block down High Street. The service,

at Immaculate Conception, was standing room only. We didn’t go; we didn’t know Cam, or his parents. Cam and his brothers hadn’t

been through the public school system, and they were older. But Gina’s ex-sister-in-law, Veronica, had once been in a book

club with Cam’s mom and she told Gina it was the saddest funeral she had ever been to. Ever. And that Alexa was inconsolable.





86.





Rebecca


Rebecca knocked on the door of Alexa’s room the day after the funeral. It was ten thirty in the morning; the day was shaping up to be cruelly, unfairly perfect, with the sun resplendent and the air dry. Rebecca knew that Alexa would have preferred rain.

She expected Alexa to be asleep but she was sitting on her bed, fully dressed, in shorts and a tank. Rebecca was carrying a plate of Ritz crackers slathered with peanut butter. She didn’t think Alexa had eaten since the funeral, and maybe not before. When Alexa was young, this was the snack that could draw her out of a bad temper or disappointment.

Rebecca had a very strict no-eating-in-the-bedrooms rule, and Alexa’s eyes shot up in surprise when she noted the plate.

“I know,” Rebecca said, interpreting the look. “I made an exception. Extenuating circumstances.” She put the plate on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed. Alexa moved over to make room for her.

What to say to her brokenhearted daughter?

By the time Rebecca had gotten back to the house on the night of Brooke’s party (it had been no easy task to find a sober driver who could access a car), she felt like she’d had fourteen separate heart attacks. Esther’s uncle, who worked for the Newburyport Police Department, had been the one to let Esther know a white Acura had been involved in an accident. Until they had more details, naturally Rebecca thought it had been Alexa driving the Acura. Alexa hadn’t answered the phone the first dozen times Rebecca had called, in her mind confirming her very worst fear.

“Listen—” said Rebecca. She found Alexa’s calf under the blankets and laid her palm against it, flat and firm. “Listen,” she said again. “Sweetie.” Her voice was authoritative, but she had nothing to say and no confidence that she’d be able to come up with anything. They sat like that for a moment, mother and daughter, until Alexa spoke.

“It’s my fault,” she said.

Rebecca had anticipated this. She was ready. “It’s not your fault, honey. It was an accident. You weren’t driving. You didn’t give Tyler the keys. It’s not your fault.”

Alexa looked straight ahead, not at her mother. She hardly blinked. “But if Cam hadn’t met me, he’d still be alive.”

“Oh, honey.” Rebecca’s heart twisted for Alexa. “Honey,” she repeated. “You can’t think like that. You can’t let your mind go down those rabbit holes. There is absolutely no point to it.”

“But it’s the only way I can think! I can’t think any other way. I’m just lying up here, thinking and thinking and thinking.” Alexa’s face crumpled and she began to cry—first tentatively, then harder and harder.