When we found Adele, she was dead. She’d fallen down a cliff and hit her head on a boulder. It was awful.
Because of the drugs and drinking or maybe because we were all just awful people, we left her there. No one called the police or an ambulance.
The next morning, I woke up on the couch in Rachel’s apartment. Only Alexa was there. I called everyone, trying to figure out what happened. That’s when Taylor told me, over the phone, that they were “taking care of it.”
Alexa didn’t remember anything about the night before and kept asking where Adele was. I didn’t know what to tell her.
Two hours later, they all returned. Taylor, Kim, Rachel. I realized then that they hadn’t slept at all. They had gone back to find Adele’s body almost immediately. Kim made it clear to everyone that no one could say a word. That we would all be kicked out of school, Rachel would lose her job and be prosecuted, we could go to jail. Our futures would be over. Alexa asked, “But where is Adele?”
That’s when the story changed. Alexa really didn’t remember, and Rachel used that. She said, “She went home last night, don’t you remember?”
And Alexa didn’t remember anything, but she trusted us.
Rachel took me outside. She told me that Adele’s death was an accident and our lives would be ruined if anyone found out the truth.
“It’s better this way,” she told me. I believed her. I am so sorry, but I believed her.
Rachel and Kim came up with a story that was partly true. That Taylor, Adele, and I had lunch with Adele, and she told us she was leaving that evening for home. We were to all go home and if anyone asked us, we didn’t see her after lunch.
Taylor, who’d spent all night with them, had already bought into the story. She had been my best friend, she was scared about getting in trouble, she believed everything Rachel told her—that she would lose her scholarship, her future, her freedom. I was the only one who objected. And...I ended up going along with it.
I let them convince me. For three long years, I let them convince me that we had done the only thing we could have done.
I was wrong. I regret not coming forward three years ago. I hate myself for hurting you, because you didn’t know the truth about your daughter. And if Lucas Vega hadn’t told me how you were suffering, I might never have said a word.
I didn’t know until later that they staged the car accident in New Mexico, or that they had left her body in a mine in Payson. That doesn’t justify anything that we did, but I’m hoping you can find her and give her a proper burial.
I am sorry. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I hope that now you can have some peace.
Candace Swain
Forty-Eight
Tuesday
Regan met Jessie for breakfast Tuesday morning. Regan filled her in on everything that had happened. “But listen to the podcast tonight.”
“You going on it again?”
“No, I’m going to listen with my dad. Lucas is going solo, and I think he has several interviews lined up. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that this is over and Lucas is okay.”
“And the girl? The one in the hospital? Don’t tell me to wait until tonight.”
“She’ll be fine. I heard she’s being released this morning. Everything else? You’ll have to listen.”
“You’re a bitch,” Jessie said with a grin. “Now, important things. Next Saturday, no canceling on me. We hike, rain or shine.”
“Next week we might be able to tackle Humphreys,” Regan said.
“You’re so fucking out of shape I don’t think you can get halfway up the mountain.”
“I am not out of shape.”
Jessie snorted. “Sedona first, then Humphreys next month. We’ll hike to the top, camp overnight.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” Regan would love to get away for a weekend. Camping was just the ticket.
“Are you looking for a place to live?”
“Found one,” she said. “I’m going to remodel the apartment over the barn where my granddad lived when I was a kid. It’s private, plenty big enough. I’m meeting with an architect later this week. I’ll probably gut the place, make it my own. I love Flagstaff, I miss you and my dad, and I’m not far from my brothers and sister. It’ll work.” For now. But that’s all Regan could do: focus on the present.
“And then you can bring home a hot guy to jump on.”
“I’m not looking to jump on any guys right now.”
“Really? Not even Tripp Garza?”
“Oh dear Lord, Jessie, he’s JT’s best friend.”
“Still hot. And I think he’s always had a crush on you.”
“Does not.”
“Then, why does he keep staring at you?”
She glanced over to the counter, and Tripp was there, held up his coffee mug to her, then walked over. “How’d you get that shiner?” He gestured to the bandaged cut above her eye, which had also caused a bruise to form over half her face.
“Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”
He sat down with them. “Jess, good to see you.”
Jessie snorted. “Right.” She finished her coffee. “Gotta go to work to pay the bills. Later, gators.”
She walked away.
“I’ve come in nearly every morning, hoping to see you,” he said.
“Why?”
“I want to take you to dinner.”
“You can come over for dinner anytime. My dad loves you.”
“You can’t possibly be that obtuse, Regan.”
Her stomach fluttered. Jessie was right. She’d always had a crush on Tripp. But she would never act on it.
Never say never.
“You’re JT’s best friend.”
“He’s not going to beat me up because I want to kiss you.”
“Stop.”
“No.”
“Really?”
He smiled. “Come on, you want to go out with me.”
“Arrogant and cocky, just like always.”
He reached out and touched her hair, dropped his hand. “Maybe I just want a friend.”
“Yeah?”
“No. I want to go out with you. How about we start at breakfast tomorrow and work our way up from there?”
“Breakfast?”
“On one condition.”
“I don’t do conditions.”