One of Us Is Next(54)

“Maybe you should play some more Bounty Wars with Owen and keep jogging your memory,” I tell Knox as I pull into his driveway.

He grins at me and unclips his seat belt. “I have a feeling that’s gonna happen anyway. Your brother might be small, but he’s persistent.”





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN




Knox

Tuesday, March 17

Prom is two months away, Knox!

Who are you going with?

You can’t leave this till the last minute.

Christ, my sisters. I’m tempted to close ChatApp without answering and finish my homework in peace, but they’ll just track me down via text. I’ll probably take a friend, I finally reply.

Kiersten jumps in, lightning-quick. Who? Maeve?

Yeah, right. Kiersten has no clue. I’m closer to her than any of my other sisters, but I didn’t tell her about me and Maeve when it happened, and I sure as hell didn’t let her know that I’d been Bayview High’s favorite erectile dysfunction joke for a while. My thoughts have been in a tug-of-war since yesterday; part of me wants to let Sean’s story stand so that mine doesn’t flare up again, and the other part wants to know what the hell he’s up to.

Probably not Maeve, I respond to Kiersten. I wonder, fleetingly, if Phoebe might go with me. As friends, obviously, because she’s so far out of my league that I’d have to be delusional to expect anything else. But I think we’d have fun.

Maeve and I still aren’t great, or even good. Everything that happened with Brandon was the perfect excuse not to talk about this crap, so we haven’t. And the longer we don’t, the harder it is to start. Maybe that’s okay, though. Maybe staying friends with the ex I failed at losing my virginity with has been a problem all along.

I stretch to look at the digital alarm clock on my bedside table from my seat at my desk. Almost eight. I’m usually in for the night at this point, but I’m restless. I could use a short trip somewhere, and maybe a snack. I think about the alfajores at Café Contigo, and my mouth starts watering. Phoebe is working tonight, and Maeve’s been avoiding that place like the plague for some reason. It’s as good a destination as any, so I head for the stairs.

I’m halfway down when I hear my father’s voice. “It looks like there may have been structural support issues, but it’s hard to be sure given how long the site was untouched.” My parents are in our kitchen; I can hear the faint clatter of ceramic against wood as they empty the dishwasher. “The fact remains, though, that the kids were trespassing. Including ours. So if Lance Weber does decide to sue, he might wind up with a counter lawsuit on his hands.”

I freeze where I am, one hand on the banister. Shit. Am I getting sued?

“Lance has some nerve.” Mom’s voice is tight. “I hope this is just the grief talking. I feel for him, of course, because—my God. To lose your son. It’s a nightmare. But for Lance to bring up the possibility of a lawsuit after the strings he pulled to keep Brandon out of trouble—it’s beyond hypocritical.”

I inch closer, straining my ears. What is she talking about?

“That was a mistake from the start,” Dad says grimly. “The case never should have been settled that way. Not for something like that. All it did was show Brandon that actions don’t have to have consequences, which is a terrible lesson. Especially for a kid like him.”

Mom breathes out a heavy sigh. “I know. I still regret not pushing harder. I think about it all the time. But it was my first year at Jenson and Howard, and I was trying not to make waves. If that came across my desk now, I’d treat it differently.”

I wait for my father’s response, but all I hear is a throaty growl and the sound of dog nails clicking across linoleum. Fritz enters the living room, snuffling loudly until he spots me. His tail starts wagging, and his snuffles turn into an excited whine. “Shh,” I hiss. “Sit.” Instead, he keeps whining and pokes his nose through the staircase railing.

A chair scrapes across the kitchen floor. “Knox?” my mother calls. “Is that you?”

I thud the rest of the way downstairs, Fritz tailing me into the kitchen. My mother is leaning beside the sink, and my father is sitting at the table. “Hey,” I say. “What were you guys talking about?”

Dad gets that closed-off, irritated look he’s had ever since I was released from the hospital. “Nothing that concerns you.”

Mom gives me her best good-cop smile. “Do you need something, sweetie?”

“I’m going out for a while.” Does she look relieved? I think she does. “But I heard you guys talking about Brandon. Was he in some kind of trouble?”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s not important. Just your dad and me talking business.”

“Okay, but…” I’m not sure why I’m not letting this go. Usually one steely glare from my father is enough to shut me up, and he’s already given me two. “Your firm did a case with him? You never told me that. What was it?”

Mom stops smiling. “Knox, my work is confidential and you know that. I wasn’t aware you were listening or I wouldn’t have spoken. I’ll ask you not to repeat anything you heard here, please. So.” She clears her throat, and I can practically see her stuff the entire subject into a Do Not Revisit box. “Where are you going?”