“How did you know?” I demand, skipping the “hellos” and “how are yous” entirely. Tom Petty is singing “Wildflowers” in the background.
He laughs. “Your T-shirt. It was an authentic Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers concert tee from the 1989 Strange Behavior Tour.”
I’m speechless. Almost. I can’t believe he remembered the T-shirt I was wearing. That he recognized the three wolves howling at the moon. “My mom saw him play in Ohio that summer,” I say. “We listened to him nonstop when I was a kid.”
“Well, he didn’t write ‘Wildflowers’ until the early nineties, but I took a chance.”
“I…” I trail off, not really sure what to say next.
But Sullivan saves me. “Just a little nod from one Tom Petty fan to another. See you around, Baker.”
He hangs up, cutting the connection before it has a chance to get weird. I’m not sure what to think, how to react. And in the quiet cab of my car, Tom Petty begins to sing “Free Fallin’.”
CHAPTER 9
WINTER TODAY
It took a couple of days for Willa to relax into life at the bungalow, and when she did, she carried with her a whiff of imminent flight. The air seemed laced with angst and expectation, the stubborn hope that her sojourn with Juniper would be brief. But when two nights turned into three, and Reb told them over video chat that she and Law had moved into a room at the Rainbow House, Willa seemed resigned to her fate.
“What’s the Rainbow House? Can I stay there with you?”
“Oh, hon,” Reb said. “You wouldn’t want that. It’s like a hotel for family members of long-term patients. We’re in a room with a single queen bed.”
“Long-term?” Willa’s voice squeaked.
“Jonathan is doing better every day. ‘Long’ is relative, Willa.”
Reb was quick to reassure, but Willa’s narrow shoulders collapsed all the same. When they hung up, Juniper chanced a touch, and the girl withered into her arms. It was bittersweet—her daughter was finally clinging to her, but for all the wrong reasons—and brief. When Willa realized what she was doing, who she was embracing, she pulled back and crossed her arms over her chest. A signature Willa move. Juniper was getting used to it. And to the way her daughter thrust her hair behind her ears, crinkled up her nose when she was thinking, and hummed unconsciously while she ate. Juniper felt like an anthropologist, a veritable Jane Goodall noting and silently recording the behaviors and mannerisms, likes and dislikes, motivations and ambitions of her young subject. But it wasn’t nearly that clinical. Juniper wanted to smooth the pale freckles across her daughter’s cheeks with a thumb, plant a kiss on her forehead, watch her sleep.
“He’s going to be okay,” Juniper said belatedly, realizing that Willa was about to bolt back to her depressing room. The sentiment rang hollow even in her own ears. There were simply no guarantees. Still, the thrill of Willa momentarily softening in her embrace made her promise: “I’ll make sure of it.”
“How?” Willa sniffed, eyes narrowed. Running the back of her hand beneath her nose, she gave Juniper a doleful look that made her seem much younger than her almost fourteen years. It was unnerving how she could do that: flip-flop between poised young woman and guileless little girl. It was a marked change from last year and the gangly preteen Willa had been. That visit, Juniper had woken her at midnight on her birthday and they drank hot chocolate in the kitchen and giggled like kids. For once, Reb hadn’t caught them and broken it up. Where was the happy girl Willa had been?
“Well,” Juniper said, studying her daughter, “Jonathan and I are virtual twins, you know. When we were kids we used to finish each other’s sentences. We told each other all our secrets and were the very best of friends. I know him.”
“That was a long time ago.”
Willa was right, of course. It was disingenuous for Juniper to lean on a narrative so old and tired. And yet she and Jonathan were connected in so many ways. They still knew things about each other that no one else in the world did. And wasn’t that exactly the problem? If Juniper wanted to resurrect Jonathan, she had to find a way to dig up the past.
“You’re right,” Juniper agreed, “that was a long time ago. But your uncle Jonathan is still my baby brother. I’m going to go see him tomorrow. I’ll tell him it’s time to wake up. That we all need him.” She slipped the tidbit about her trip to Des Moines into the conversation as if it weren’t a bombshell. Reb had warned her that Willa would want to go, that she would complain and fight and make Juniper’s life miserable, but that Juniper was not under any circumstances to give in. Everyone agreed that it was not in Willa’s best interests to see Jonathan clinging to life in the ICU.
But Willa didn’t complain. Instead she seemed to do a bit of mental math. “It’s Saturday. Where will I stay?”
“Well, I’ll be back before it’s late. Mandy has arranged for you to go to her sister’s house after dance practice so that you can spend some time with the boys. Cameron and Hunter are anxious to see you.”
A slight nod and it was settled. Willa went to her room for the rest of the evening and was moody when she woke up in the morning, but Juniper clung to those few moments of connection. Her therapist had admonished her to be calm, stable, and consistent. She’d told Juniper that earning her daughter’s trust after all this time would be no small feat. Juniper was trying. True, she felt like she was attempting to catch a bird with a bit of seed in the palm of her hand, but she was willing to hold still for as long as it took.
* * *
She left Willa at the dance studio for an early morning class and took a shortcut through the outskirts of town on her way to the highway. Just before the neat, orderly lines of Jericho’s only trailer park at the edge of town, she spotted a police cruiser pulling into a driveway. After guiltily checking her odometer (only two miles an hour over the speed limit), she realized that Everett Stokes was climbing out the driver’s side of the car. She recognized the distinct way he walked—shoulders thrown back, head tilted forward as he if couldn’t wait to get wherever he was going. Besides, how many thirty-something police officers could Jericho employ? He was dressed in a navy uniform, billy club clipped to his belt and radio at his shoulder.
Before she could stop to consider what she was doing, Juniper pumped the brakes and pulled into the driveway beside his cruiser.
Officer Stokes turned, shading his eyes from the frosty glow of snow around him, and gave her a wary look. As he caught sight of Juniper, his features shifted just a bit, but she couldn’t read his expression.
“Good morning,” he called when Juniper stepped out of her car. To his credit, he didn’t ask her what in the world she thought she was doing.
“Just driving past,” Juniper explained anyway, already regretting her impulsivity. Too late to back out now. She crossed around her vehicle so they met in front of the garage doors. “This your place?”
He nodded. Now that Juniper had stopped and gotten out of her car, she was less convinced this bold move was the right one. When she had called yesterday, he had kind of blown her off. “My secretary would be happy to take your statement,” he’d told her. But that wasn’t what Juniper wanted at all. She wanted this: a face-to-face with the man who told her they were taking another look at the Murphy murders. She decided to play nice Midwestern girl, remembering her roots: it was perfectly kosher, expected even, to stop and chat if you saw a friend. It was a huge stretch to call Officer Stokes a friend, but she braved a smile anyway.
“Night shift?” she tried awkwardly, and he nodded again. Because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, Juniper ended up blurting out: “I spent some time reading Jericho Unscripted last night.”
Something behind his eyes sparked. He gave a cynical laugh. “You discovered India’s blog?”
“Not just her blog. We met at the library.”