Caitlin tossed the remote onto the couch between them. “I don’t know if it’s better or worse that we don’t have to go to school this week.”
Suddenly, Ava’s phone buzzed in her pajama pants pocket. She had a text from Alex. Are you okay? What can I do?
She smiled and tapped out a quick response, asking if he’d come over later. She was so glad everything between her and Alex was okay. He made her feel protected and safe.
Then a shadow appeared in the doorway. Ava looked up. It was her father, wearing a rumpled sweater and corduroy pants. Ava shot to her feet. “Dad?” she asked worriedly. “Is everything okay? Is it Leslie?”
Mr. Jalali looked conflicted. “Do you mind if I speak to you alone for a moment, jigar?”
“Sure,” Ava said, shrugging to her friends and disappearing into the hall. Her father leaned against the railing, worrying his hands together. Ava’s heart pounded hard. Maybe there was something wrong with Leslie. Or—and maybe this was worse—maybe her father had found out that Julie had shoved Leslie off that balcony because Ava wished her dead. What if he hated her now? What if he wanted her out of the house? Maybe she deserved that, though. Once people started dying, once they’d gotten an inkling that this might not be a coincidence, she hadn’t done much to keep Leslie safe.
Finally, her dad took a breath and looked up. “Leslie awoke from her coma this morning.”
Ava’s mouth dropped open. “She . . . did?”
He nodded, but strangely, he didn’t look that happy. “Yes. And she started saying immediately that you did this to her.”
Ava’s heart plummeted. “I didn’t,” she squeaked. “You know I never—”
“Ava, why did you never tell me the truth?”
She blinked, silenced. Her father looked so sad. “The truth about what?” she asked in a small voice.
Mr. Jalali shut his eyes. “I installed security cameras in the house a few months ago when Leslie started saying that she thought the cleaning lady was stealing from us. They’re in the living room, dining room, kitchen.”
Ava frowned. “You . . . did?” She hadn’t known about that.
He nodded. “And just now, I watched some of them. Watched how Leslie interacted with you. Always when I was out of the room, out of earshot. But the things she said, jigar. Horrible things. Things that weren’t true. They were the same sorts of things she said when she awoke from the coma this morning. I’d never heard her talk like that—I was so surprised. That’s why I went and looked at the cameras.” He leaned closer to her, plaintive. “Why did you never come to me with any of this?”
Ava blinked, astonished. “B-because I didn’t know if you’d listen.” A look of heartbreak crossed his features. “You started dating Leslie so fast after Mom,” Ava said quickly. “And she came in and just . . . changed everything about you. I just figured she changed how you thought about me, too.” She lowered her eyes. “I thought you wouldn’t believe me.”
Mr. Jalali opened his mouth as if he wanted to protest, but shut it again. Tears silently welled in his eyes. He pulled Ava close and wrapped her in a huge hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered.
Ava started crying, too. And they stood there, the two of them, father and daughter, locked in an embrace for what seemed like forever. Ava didn’t know what the future would hold, but something told her that Leslie might not be in it—or, if she was, that their lives would be very, very different. It felt like her father was back. Truly hers again, truly looking out for her. Which, somehow, just made her cry harder.
Suddenly, she flashed back to Friday night at Nyssa’s party, when Julie had told them that “Parker” had killed all those people. Admit it, you would be thrilled to be free of Leslie, she’d said to Ava. You’d have your father back.
It was a horrible thought, but it was true: Now that they were free of Leslie—or at least, the distrust she’d created in their family—Ava had her father back. But just because she’d wished for it didn’t mean it should have happened that way. Just because someone was a jerk . . . or a child-beater . . . or a bitch . . . that didn’t mean they deserved to die.
She shut her eyes. She wasn’t sure what she deserved these days, but one thing was for sure: She was never, ever taking anything for granted anymore. Not Alex. Not her father. Not her freedom.
And she was never saying anything that she might live to regret.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE