Reputation(101)

I’m about to say no, but then I shrug. I might as well stay awake in case a doctor comes in to explain what the hell is happening with my father. As Sienna leaves, I call out, “Honey, wait.”

Sienna turns. I want to say something to her about the e-mail scheme she concocted—I haven’t forgotten, and we haven’t had a proper talk about it. Yet Sienna looks so guilty right now, almost like she’s readying herself for a blow. Maybe now isn’t the time.

I sigh. “Grab me two stevia packets, okay?”

She nods and disappears. Then I turn to Aurora in the corner. I expect her to be asleep, but her eyes are open and haunted, unblinking. I shift closer to her. “Hey. It’ll be okay.”

Aurora nods like she’s trying to convince herself. But she’s chewing hard on her lip. Her knee is jiggling crazily. Her gaze shifts to her grandfather, then back to her lap again. “I just . . . there’s no chance of you going back to jail, right?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

When I heard about the murder weapon being found in our garage, hidden behind some drop cloths, I thought, Well, maybe I did do it. Maybe it wasn’t Patrick . . . or Ollie . . . or anyone else.

I sat in the filthy holding cell, awaiting my time in front of the magistrate, and decided to come to terms with what I’d done. Crazier things had happened than a woman stabbing her unfaithful husband in the kitchen, right? Maybe Greg had gotten violent with me, or maybe he’d snapped in the same way Patrick did in the woods. I’d felt such revulsion for Patrick, and shame in myself for trusting him implicitly. Coupled with disappointment because I was supposed to be a smart, careful, protective person, and there I was, believing in the wrong person once more. Those feelings were startlingly similar to how I’d felt about Greg when I’d been made aware of those e-mails. Maybe violence isn’t so difficult to imagine.

But then, just as I was beginning to take ownership over my rage, a female officer rapped on the bars. “Your bail hearing has been canceled.”

The officer unlocked the cell door and gestured for me to walk toward her. “Turn of events.” Her expression gave nothing away. “Forensics found a print on the murder weapon—but it’s not yours.”

Ollie’s, I’d presumed—especially after Willa told me what she’d figured out. I should probably be more emotional about the fact that my husband fathered a child with another woman . . . but, well, it’s all too much on top of everything else. I feel like nothing in my world, nothing, is in the place where I left it. I wouldn’t be surprised if I opened up my wallet and found another name on my driver’s license. If I opened my eyes and saw a different man than my father lying in the bed.

An hour ago, another strange turn of events: Detective Reardon called to say that, yes, there was a print on the knife, and yes, it wasn’t mine. But it wasn’t Ollie’s, either. It was a print that isn’t in the system at all. I had them check on Patrick, who’d been fingerprinted for his job—nope. So whose, then?

There’s a murmuring sound from the bed. My dad shifts on the mattress, his eyelids fluttering, his lips making small, fleshy, popping sounds.

“Dad?” I rush over to him. “Dad?”

He squinches up his eyes, smacks his lips, but then drops back into sleep.

I glance at Aurora, who flew to his bedside, too. She looks so shattered. “It’ll be okay,” I say softly, patting her arm. I need to be the strong one for once, even though I’m reeling.

I study my father’s eerily gray skin, the white stubble on his chin, and the tubes running into his veins and nostrils. I’ve barely seen him sick, but hours ago, he’d collapsed to the floor as though made of glass. The paramedics worried he was having a heart incident. They gave him a sedative to bring his heart rate to normal levels. His body gave out because of what Willa did, I’m guessing. Because she’d ruined his school. Or maybe it broke because of what happened to her.

“Kit?”

I whirl around, and my heart flip-flops. And lo and behold, here is Willa in the flesh. She’s wearing the blue sweatshirt and joggers she had on from when she rescued me from Patrick. Her eyes are bloodshot. That ugly mark from where Ollie hit her looks like a lightning bolt across her cheek. But she’s here, unhandcuffed, staring at the group with deep, tortured remorse.

“Hey,” Willa says tentatively. “Can I come in?”





45





WILLA


SATURDAY, MAY 6, 2017


My father’s machines and monitors hiss like snakes, and the mattress seems to swallow him. His eyelids are blue and paper-thin. As I look at him, nausea rises in my gut. Hospitals have always sickened me. The last time I’d been in one was after my mother’s accident, and she’d already been pronounced dead.

I look at Kit. “How is he?”

Kit’s gaze is glued on our father’s monitors, which blink a bunch of unintelligible numbers. “Well, it’s not a problem with his heart. That’s about all I know. But no real doctor has come in with an update yet.”

I nod, uneasy at the distance in her voice. She’s mad. Maybe I deserve it. No matter how you slice it, I’m culpable for the hack. I got the wheels turning. I should have never arranged for Blue to dig into a private university. I wanted information. Maybe even revenge. But I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s life.