I spot flowers in a small pink vase in front of a tree and I stop. Yellow roses. Savvy’s favorite.
“Her mom comes out here regularly,” Ben explains, noticing my gaze. I nod mutely.
There’s no evidence of where Savvy was found, of course—it’s been too long—but I remember now. The police showed me photos of the body, half-covered in dirt, her dress ripped in several places.
I stared at the torn strap of her dress, hanging on by a thread. I knew how that happened. I knew, but I couldn’t remember.
Or I just wanted to remember so badly that I tried to create a memory. Hard to say now.
“Are you okay?” Ben asks.
“Yeah.”
“Does being out here make you feel any particular way?”
I stare at him. Marvel at the stupid question.
“You’ve seemed out of sorts since we got out of the car. Is it hard for you to be out here, at the spot where she died?”
“Of—of course it’s hard.” I take a breath, but it doesn’t help.
Savvy appears behind him. She’s in a short black dress that she wore often—cotton, casual, clinging to her body in a way that made everyone take a second glance. She grins as she mimes strangling him. I blink and she’s gone.
I need to get out of here. My mind is swimming, and I can’t be Podcast Lucy when I can’t think straight. I might say something awful or dumb or—
This is not how innocent people act.
“Can you talk about why it’s so upsetting for you to be out here? Is it just because it’s the spot where Savvy died, or does it bring up other memories as well?”
A bead of sweat rolls down the side of my face. It’s too hot to breathe. The air is thick and horrible.
The edges of my vision go black. My legs go numb. There’s a loud buzzing in my ear and I don’t know whether it’s all the goddamn bugs or that my brain has given up. I wouldn’t blame my brain cells for peacing out. I’m surprised they made it this long.
“Oh shit.” Ben’s voice sounds far away, but when I sway, I hit him instead of the ground.
He slows my fall but we both still end up in the dirt. I don’t think he’s caught very many swooning ladies. He’s not very good at it.
I don’t want to be down here, so close to where Savvy was, but all I can manage is to sit up, butt in the dirt.
“Hey. Lucy. Look at me.” Ben is on his knees next to me, one hand on my back and the other on my arm, like he’s worried I’m going to fall over.
I mean, I guess that’s fair.
“Are you okay?”
He’s full of stupid questions today.
“Can you … I don’t know what to do. Should I call an ambulance?” He’s already got his phone out. I catch sight of the microphone, on the ground not far away.
I shake my head.
“Do you want some water?”
I shake my head again.
“Jesus. I’m sorry.” He speaks softly, and his hand goes a little firmer on my arm. “I’m so sorry.”
I blink twice. A breeze ruffles his hair, and it provides a tiny moment of relief from the heat.
“For what?” I ask.
He looks startled. “For bringing you out here. For pressing you.”
His expression is soft, like he’s found a wounded puppy to take care of, and I don’t like it. I pull my arm away and slowly get to my feet. He reaches out to make sure I’m steady but doesn’t touch me again.
I turn away. “I’m going back to the car.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
LUCY
Ben doesn’t take me back to the hotel.
I don’t realize where we are until he turns onto the road, and I can see the tiny house up ahead. Grandma steps out as he slows to a stop, hands on her hips.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
He unbuckles his seat belt. “I didn’t want to just leave you alone after that, and your parents are assholes.”
“Wow, tell me how you really feel, Ben.”
He gives me a look like “you know it’s true,” and I almost laugh. I hate how delighted I am that he thinks my parents are assholes.
I need a drink. At least we’ve come to the right place for that.
“I texted Beverly and she said to come over.” He steps out of the car.
I follow him, wondering how often he’s texting my grandma, and how many times he’s been out here. He knows my parents are assholes, and he’s chummy with my grandma. He already knows so much more than I ever wanted him to.
“Murdering your husband can be our secret,” Savvy whispers. “But then you’re stuck with me for life. There’s no dumping a friend once you’ve committed a felony together.”
Grandma waggles a finger at Ben. “I told you.”
He lifts both hands in surrender. “I know.”
I trudge toward her. My legs are heavy. “What’d you tell him?”
“That you’re not as tough as you act.” Her dress today is white with yellow daisies, and there’s a small reddish-brown stain on one boob that is probably red wine, but my first thought is blood. Savvy giggles in my head.
“Hey.” I mean to sound insulted, but it comes out tired.
“Did you eat anything besides sugar today?” Grandma asks, like I’m still ten years old.
I consider. “Not really.”
“Come on. What do you like on your pizza, Ben?”
* * *
An hour later, when I’m full of sausage and mushroom pizza, the world feels steady again. Grandma made me a vodka tonic, and I think the pleasant buzz is the only thing keeping me from feeling the full embarrassment of fainting on Ben earlier.
We’re sitting on her porch in creaky plastic chairs, a fan blowing hot air around us as the sun sets. Grandma emerges from the house with two drinks. She hands one to Ben.
“You getting any writing done in between all this?” She sits down, propping her feet up on the grungy wicker ottoman as she sips her drink.
“Not really. I haven’t felt much like writing happy people in love.”
“But you’re so good at it!” She reaches over and whacks Ben’s shoulder. “Isn’t she?”
“You are.” He glances at me with a half-smile. He’s on his second drink (and Grandma pours them strong), legs stretched out in front of him, fancy microphone forgotten in the car. He looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him, and I wonder again how many times he’s been here.
“I acted dumb when he asked me about your books, by the way,” Grandma says. “But he told me you guys talked about it.”
“I know.” I sigh. “It’s only a matter of time before it comes out.”
“Ben said he’s not telling people!”
“I’m not,” he says quickly.
“Yeah, but if he can figure it out, other people can too. And now everyone is thinking about me again.” I cast an annoyed look in Ben’s direction, which he ignores.
“Maybe not.” She pauses. “I hope people really are having sex like that in their twenties the way they are in your books.”
Ben laughs mid-sip, and then presses the back of his hand to his mouth as he coughs.
“We were all so repressed in our twenties,” Grandma continues. “Just focused on marrying the first jerk who asked.”
“Was Grandpa the first jerk who asked?”
“Yes.”
“Ah.” I barely remember the man—he died when I was a kid—but I’d guessed from the way she never spoke about him that he wasn’t particularly missed.
“The world seemed so dangerous for women back then,” she says.
“We’re sitting here with a man who investigates women’s murders, so I wouldn’t say it’s safe now.”
“Oh sure.” Grandma waves dismissively. “But you know what I mean. I never could have left my husband and moved to Los Angeles by myself, like you did. I was supposed to get married and stay married, so my husband could protect me. I needed to be transferred straight from father to husband, or something terrible might happen to me.”
She takes a long sip of her drink. “My life vastly improved once both those men were gone. Men don’t protect us, not really. They only protect themselves, or each other. The only thing men ever protected me from was happiness.”
“Oh shit,” Ben murmurs under his breath.
“A little too much honesty there for you, Ben?” I ask.
“I would expect nothing less from you, Beverly.” He smiles at Grandma with genuine affection.