The Leaving(46)

Had to trust her.

Had to trust her to trust him.

He said, “I know how to load a gun.”

“What?” she said. “How did you even figure that out?”

“My father has—had—one and when Ryan showed it to me, I just . . .”


CLICK HISS UP AND

CALM.





“I just picked it up and loaded it. Without even thinking about it.”

She turned away from him and stared at or out the windshield, where rivers and streams were cutting their way down. He thought he saw her hand move to the door handle, thought that maybe if it weren’t pouring she might open the door and run.

“Why would I know how to do that?” he asked, trying to lure her back, trying to make her his ally in this.

“I don’t know,” she said, and it got quiet.

He hadn’t actually realized how loud the rain had been until it stopped.

“Do you think we were trying to escape?” she asked. “Plotting it?”

“It seems like with the penny, and my tattoo, it’s like we knew what was happening, like we knew we were forgetting or were going to forget?”




CAROUSEL.

HORSE.

CLICK. HISS.

SHUTTER. TRIGGER. KISS.


He said, “Maybe we were trying to find ways to remember.”

She took the penny in her hands again, and the sun ripped a seam through the clouds. She started the car.





AVERY



“Any problems at school?” Chambers sounded bored, like this was some run-of-the-mill traffic stop. “Anyone who might be messing with you?”

He and her father were looking at her.

“Me?” Avery was surprised to have the conversation turn to her so quickly. She thought she and Emma and Sam had mostly been kidding around.

“Yes, we know kids can be particularly, well, cruel,” Chambers said. “I wonder if there’s someone with some grudge against you.”

“I’m like one of the most popular people in school,” Avery said.

“I’m serious,” Chambers said.

“So am I.” Avery pushed her shoulders back. “Everybody loves me.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way—but you’re smart, pretty, you have a boyfriend, this house. Seriously, look at you.”

She was fully dressed for the wedding now. Makeup. Hair blown out. Nails done. Heels. A tight purple dress that she wished Lucas could see her in.

“No way everyone loves you.”

“So you’ll go to the school?” her father asked. “Investigate?”

“No,” Chambers said. “We don’t have time for that. You’re going to assume it’s a prank, because it is, and you’re going to ignore it. When we wrap this whole thing up, whoever it is will stop.”

“That’s it?” Avery protested.

“That’s it.”

“But—”

Chambers stopped her with a hand held in front of her. “Do you want me to focus on finding Max or focus on finding some girl with a beef with you who’s laughing about this with her friends?”

“Max,” Avery said. “Of course.”

“Of course,” her father said.

“Good.” Chambers headed for the door.

“Anything from the tip line yet?” Avery asked.

“It’s not even been a full day,” Chambers said. “We have to be patient.”

“I do have one question for you,” Chambers said to her father, and they stepped outside and closed the door but not all the way and she moved to try to listen.

“The school shooting,” Chambers said softly, sounding almost confused. “Was Max there that day?”

“With my wife, yes. At an open house.” Her father also sounded confused. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Chambers said. “I’ll be in touch.”

Dad poked his head in the door. “Sam’s here.”

She checked herself in the mirror, blinked away sad eyes, and grabbed her clutch.

“Just have fun tonight, okay?” Dad said, kissing her on the forehead at the threshold. And the way he looked at her made her think about this father-daughter dance they’d gone to when she’d been a Girl Scout, how she’d worn a dress from when she’d been a flower girl in her aunt’s wedding, how she’d had a wrist corsage of glitter-spattered carnations. He still smelled of the same aftershave—the scent of trees she’d never seen and that grew only in rugged mountain terrains.

She almost tripped on the steps on her way out to the car.

Damn heels.





Scarlett


It didn’t seem like the worst place to go to die.

Palms and blooming shrubs. Pathways winding down to a park on the waterfront with benches and still more palm trees and a few small fountains—a kneeling stone woman pouring water onto stone flowers from a jug, a small petrified birdbath replete with immobilized birds.

Scarlett imagined herself old, in an Adirondack chair, listening to the fountains’ trickles, then wondered about where this Adirondack chair obsession of hers had come from.