How to Disappear(74)

Very softly, Steve says, “Tell me what you did.”

Not the first time I’ve heard this particular instruction.

“I’m really, really, really sorry!” I bend over the hospital bed to hug him. He smells medicinal and unfamiliar. “This was not supposed to happen to you. Please believe me.”

“Tell me what you did. I can’t make it go away if I don’t know what it is.”

I sit back down in the chair. I fold my hands in my lap. “Starting when?”

“That girl in the woods.”

“That was totally Alex Yeager!”

“Nicky, come here.” He holds out his functional arm.

It’s like God is making me stand and look at my own evil handiwork. “I’m so sorry! You weren’t supposed to get shot! I swear!”

Steve says, “How could you think I would harm you?”

“You said I wasn’t even your kid. And you were going to get rid of me. And I was nothing but trouble to you.”

Which, given that I got him shot, might not have been that far off base.

“Sweet girl, I would have lied on my mother’s soul to get those boys away from you. I would have said anything.”

“You said—”

“I know what I said! They bring me a corpse to bury . . . this young girl. They’re in my shed, looking for shovels. I go downstairs to see what’s going on, and they think I work for Karl so that means I’m going to help them.” He starts to shake his head, but winces. “I crunch numbers for Karl. Then you show up on the trail out of nowhere.”

“I’m sorry.”

“When they came back, and you were gone . . . My God. I didn’t know if I would get you back.”

“I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t cry.” He’s patting my shoulder, squeezing my hand, calling me mi’ja. I am so the daughter from hell. “Nicolette, what were that Yeager boy and his lackey doing at my house again?”

Truly, I’m waiting for lightning and the wrath of God to strike me as I sit there and lie. “I don’t know! I’m so sorry!”

“And that Manx boy who found you? What were you doing with that one?”

“Nothing! He was trying to protect me. His mother was going to get killed if he didn’t find me. Don’t do anything to him!”

“Don’t you believe a word he says. Not one word.”

“But, Papa—”

“He stays out of my way, he stays out of your way. Do you understand me?”

“But—”

“No ‘buts,’ Nicolette. No maybe, no nothing, no anything but you being a good girl who stays in the house until this is over.”

“But it is over, right? They found that girl’s body; they know who did it; they know why I ran away; they know Jack was trying to protect me. What’s left?”

“If it’s over, it’s because I’m Karl Yeager’s accountant,” Steve whispers as if someone was manning a stethoscope on the other side of the wall. “I know where Karl Yeager’s money goes. Because Karl doesn’t think like a normal person.” He looks straight into my eyes. “Karl might think you set up his kid.”

All of a sudden, I understand what Jack meant when he said that thing about me making his blood run cold. Only this time it’s my blood. The sensation of ice chips in my veins. My heart trying to beat with an icicle through it.

“Please, you have to make him think it was an accident! Can’t you make him see that?”

Steve shifts position so his face is inches from my face. “An accident? Two people are dead. This isn’t like giggling too loud during assembly. I can’t write you a note. And now it’s a Manx?”

“He didn’t mean it! He’s nice! It was totally my fault! I’m sorry. Can’t you please, please make this go away?”

He sighs and squeezes my hand so hard, it almost hurts.

“You’re a little girl who had a knife coming at her head in her own kitchen. What kind of a boy does that? Karl knows something wasn’t right with that boy. We’ll talk, and we’ll end it.”

“Not just me! I made Jack come with me. None of this was his fault.”

Steve looks over the giant cast on his left arm and shakes his head. “Fine, but he’s out of your life. This happens my way or it doesn’t happen. Understood?”

When he gets like this, all you can say is yes.

I say, “I’ll do whatever you say. I just want my life back.”

He sighs. “All right, Nicolette. Show me your hands so I know you’re not crossing your fingers, and tell me this Manx boy is not in your life.”

“Please.”

“It’s over.”

I tell him, “Whatever you say, Steve,” but I don’t look him in the angry, angry eyes.





82


Jack


I can feel where my fingers were curled around the trigger, my palm against metal. My forearm is caked in dried blood. I lean back in the metal chair, trying to get comfortable, but comfort is out of the question.

This is a shit show. There’s no way around it, just through it.

I wanted to be the guy who pulled out of the swamp, stepped up, and lived with the consequences—but it’s not working out.