The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious, #2)(74)

“She went through treatment once,” he finally said, “about ten years ago, because my family staged an intervention. She said she went only because they made her, to keep them happy. She always says she doesn’t have a problem. I think she believes that.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hunter said. “Not for her, but . . . she’s not that hard to deal with. She’s fine to live with, basically. The house smells because she smokes inside and has no sense of smell. But my room is . . . it’s better. I have a giant air filter and a bunch of Febreze up there. I keep the window open a lot. Gets kind of cold.”

“Sounds awesome,” Stevie said.

“Sometimes I stay over with other people,” Hunter said. “My friends on campus. I just crash on the floor. It’s no big deal since I only live a few blocks away anyway.”

“Why do you do it?” she said. “Live here?”

“I get discounted tuition, I have a free place to live while I go to school, and I keep an eye on her and report back to everyone. With me around I think she’s a little more stable. She eats more regular meals. She maybe doesn’t drink as much. Every once in a while she gets kind of . . . agitated. She’s not dangerous or anything. She yells. But that’s it. We have one agreement—she doesn’t drive. I drive or she walks or takes a cab.”

Stevie wondered if Hunter really was as okay with this as he seemed. Living with an alcoholic aunt in a smoke-filled house in return for free room and board and a tuition discount seemed maybe not the best deal in the world, but on some level, she got it. You do what is necessary.

You make deals.

“You haven’t asked me about the crutch,” he said.

“I didn’t think I was supposed to,” she said. “You’re not wearing a cast, so I guess you use it permanently.”

He nodded.

“Juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. I’ve had it since I was fifteen. The cold doesn’t help. I should really live in Florida or something, but here I am, in warm and sunny Vermont.”

“Good pick,” Stevie said.

“It’s a big tuition discount. My friends have futons.”

There was a coffee place coming up on the right and Hunter headed for it, but Stevie lingered.

“The tunnel,” she said.

Hunter turned back.

“What about it?”

“How Ellie died down there. If we had known sooner . . . I don’t know. Maybe we could have gotten to her in time. Your aunt knew it was there. I know it’s not her fault. I’m the one who made Ellie run.”

“If I understand what happened,” Hunter said, “and I’m not saying I do, but, what you said was right. Wasn’t it? About what Ellie had done?”

“Yeah, but . . . I don’t think it was the whole story.”

“What do you mean?”

Stevie shook her head. She didn’t even know what she meant. There was too much information.

“You know what?” he said. “There are some cool swings by the water. Bench swings. Bench swings make everything better. Want to go try them out? Better than coffee!”

A bench swing sounded nice. Being with Hunter was . . . she wasn’t sure. Not terrible. Maybe odd, because he was so friendly. But was that wrong? Was it wrong just to be nice and well-adjusted?

“Sure,” she said. “A swing. I could think of worse things.”

They turned back off Church and headed toward the lake. Stevie pulled out her phone to check the time.

“Wow,” Hunter said. “That guy is getting the shit kicked out of him.”

Stevie looked up. There, down at the end of the street, under the bus shelter by the courthouse, there was a group of skateboarders.

One of them was repeatedly punching David in the face.





21


“OH, HI,” DAVID SAID AS STEVIE APPROACHED. HE SMILED. HIS TEETH were red with blood. Specks of it dotted his white collared dress shirt. He had dressed up again, just like he had on the first night they had both taken the coach to Burlington. On that occasion, David was trying to trick Stevie’s parents into thinking they were dating as a way of convincing them that she should stay at Ellingham after Hayes’s death. This time, there was no such explanation. He was just dressed to the conservative nines, getting his face smashed down the block from the courthouse. He was also wearing the two-thousand-dollar coat, which had grime all over it. There was a gash along his right cheek that was trickling blood. There was another cut above his eye. His shirt had torn down near the hem and some of the buttons were undone, indicating that something had happened in the torso area.

“How’s it going?” he said casually. “Who’s your friend?”

There was a bit of bloody spittle coming out of the side of his mouth.

“Are you okay?” she said. She tried to take him by the arm, but he shrugged it away.

“Fine,” he said. “Just hanging out with some friends.”

He walked unsteadily over to another skateboarder who had been watching the whole thing and recording it with a phone. David reached up and the guy gave him the phone, then the attackers rolled off on their skateboards.

“What just happened?” Stevie said. “Come on. I’m taking you to . . . Is there an urgent care or a hospital or . . .”