“I don’t want to talk about him. I want to talk about you. You had a note that proved that David asked me for help, and you didn’t share it with anyone. Why?”
The answer was obvious to her as soon as she asked the question aloud. Her mother must have had a reason for keeping hidden the fact that David was in danger: because she was part of that danger.
The second thought was like hot iron through her brain. It couldn’t be.
“He was in some kind of trouble,” Jane said. “You found the note he wrote for me. This has always been a story of two notes, two messages. I had that note in my jeans and you got it and you kept it and you didn’t tell anyone.”
“Honey, the suicide note was the trump card. Nothing beat that. David’s note was real vague. What, exactly, was I supposed to do with it?”
“Is that why Cal dropped the lawsuit? This note?” Or that you were kissing him? she thought.
“Water under the bridge, Jane. Go get ready for your party, and I hope you have a lovely time.” End of discussion, her tone said.
Is this what hurt Dad so? she wondered. Because of Cal Hall? You and his best friend, so he took his uncle’s gun…? And then did my accident mess up your planned new life with him? Is that why you blame me, everyone else, for what’s gone wrong with your life? But she could not form the words, give them breath. She didn’t want to believe it. Her father wouldn’t have left her.
“I’ll contact the police about this Shiloh person.”
“And say what?” Jane said. “It could only make me look bad. We point them toward Perri; she blames me.”
“That video has done her no favors.”
“I don’t want them investigating me.”
“Jane?” her mother said. “Are you doing these things?”
Jane stared at her, turned around, and walked upstairs to get ready. She could answer her mother, she heard her asking the question again, but she thought, Let her wonder. Let her not know. Let me have some secrets from her.
At least while I find out hers.
40
JANE SHOWERED. SHE put on makeup. She hadn’t worn mascara or lipstick in a long time, but she remembered how to do it. Her cosmetics were here, where she had left them when she walked away from her shattered life. She looked at herself in the mirror. Too often in the mirrors at St. Mike’s she looked hunted, lost, forlorn—she couldn’t linger, studying herself in the mirror, and there was nothing to see; now she looked like a well-to-do young woman, going to a social gathering.
She looked like who she should have been if the wreck had never happened. For one moment she reached out toward her reflection in the mirror. For the girl that was lost.
But she wasn’t lost. The image of what she could be—hale, whole—was standing right in front of her. She only had to choose to work toward that image.
There could be another school. One far away. If she had the bravery to move, to pull up stakes. Her decisions had put her into limbo; her decisions alone could break her out of it.
Laurel stood in the doorway, watching her, an uncertain smile on her face. She pretended that Jane hadn’t walked away from the question of being Liv Danger. “I think you look very nice. Are you sure this is a good idea?”
She had lied and told her mother that Trevor invited her. “Thanks and no.”
“Then stay home.”
She thought, There’s still one card that I could play. One that might drill a hole in the dam of lies. “Adam told me he came here that night. You and Perri were arguing.”
She shook her head. “No, we weren’t. We were talking but not arguing. About schools, David having troubles with his girlfriend, small things. Adam misunderstood.”
“What did you do that night?”
“I went looking for you when it became clear you had lied to me.”
“Adam said you sent him to look for me.”
“He offered to run by a few places where you all hung out. My gosh, you are making this into a production. Or Adam is. He does like to be the center of your world.”
“And what about Cal Hall and lawsuits? You didn’t answer my question.”
Her mother’s expression didn’t change. “I don’t know what you mean, Jane. If you have something to say, say it.”
She took a step back. There was a look, a hard look, in her mother’s eyes, one she hadn’t seen before. You’ve told her you know about the note. She’s going to wonder what else you know. “Did you ever have an affair with Cal Hall?”
“An affair. With Cal.” And she had a look of abject shock on her face, then laughter. “Why on earth would you think that? I never would.” And she took another step toward her daughter.
“Someone said.” No way was she going to reveal the picture. Not now. She needed a trump card for later. After the Kevin meeting. Or, better yet, during it. When her mother was trying to haul her off for commitment.
“Kamala?” Laurel asked.
Sure, why not. She was an easy target. “Yes. She hinted at it.”
“And how did she think this?”
“I guess maybe David thought there was reason.”
She watched Jane for a long thirty seconds. “I loved your father. I was crushed when he died. I have not been ready to date again and I might never be. So, Jane, the answer is no. I am not nor have I ever had an affair with Cal or with anyone.”
There. The lie, like a blade cutting into her palm, slowly dragged. Finally a lie from the past that she could disprove when she needed to. She wanted to run out of the house and run and run and run. Instead she smiled and said, “OK, Mom, I believe you.”
“That Kamala. Honestly.” She said this with a mild frustration that she didn’t fake well.
“She didn’t say it meanly.”
“She never does.” She stepped forward and smoothed Jane’s hair. “But don’t listen to her. You sure do look nice. You should dress up more often, Jane.”
41
LAUREL DROVE HER and dropped her off. Trevor lived a few miles from her place. There were pockets from Lakehaven’s original development that were all ranch houses from the 1960s and 1970s, and Trevor lived in one of these, at the bottom of a downward-sloping cul-de-sac. Laurel said, “Call me when you want me to pick you up.”
I hope that’s not in five minutes. She had texted Adam to say, I’m crashing. Forgive me, meet me outside if you’re already there. And she saw with a bolt of relief that he was standing at the end of the driveway. Behind that big black truck of Trevor’s.
Laurel waved at Adam; he waved back. Jane got out of the car.
“Wow, you look great,” Adam said. “You look…”
“Don’t act shocked,” she said.
“No, I’m not, it’s just…you haven’t looked like this since the accident.” He swallowed, risked a smile. “You look beautiful, Jane.”
She was sure she wasn’t a beauty like Kamala or Amari, but she made herself smile. “Thanks. Is Trevor going to kick me out?”
“Not with you looking like that.”
“I appreciate the objectification.” She watched Laurel driving off. Adam was trying too hard to lift her spirits with the compliments. Everyone, wanting her to be normal again. It made her uneasy.
“You look nice. That’s all I meant.”