Right. I throw her a grateful look and start the engine. “Where should we go?” I ask as we leave the school behind.
“Will you go by my house?”
She sounds so uncertain that it summons a smile. What’s she so worried about, that I’ll make digs at her house? I’ve already been there twice. “Sure. So should we stop for food and eat at your place?”
“Not my apartment.” She sighs. “My house…my old house.”
“Oh.” I want to slap myself on the forehead for being so dense. “Sure.”
We make the ten-minute drive in silence. I’m itching to ask a thousand and one questions but miraculously manage to keep my mouth shut.
“Watch the curve,” she murmurs as we get close.
“Yeah, I know. I almost ran into my brothers the first time I was here.”
“Lauren lives down the road.” Hartley points off to the distance.
“I figured.”
I go past her driveway and then swing a U-turn, bringing the truck to a stop across the street from the front door. “It’s a good thing I have a pickup instead of a van. Someone might think we’re kidnappers. We aren’t doing that, right?”
I slide a glance toward her, half-teasing, half-serious. She’s not paying a lick of attention to me. Her eyes are glued to the house.
Two cars sit to the left of the house, close to a side door. One’s the Mercedes SUV that was parked in front of the Hungry Spoon Diner. I’m guessing that’s Parker’s wheels. There are filmy curtains drawn closed in the front window, so we can’t make out exactly what’s happening inside.
Out of nowhere, Hartley says, “I’d tell you about what went down in there, but I can’t.”
I frown. “Why not?”
“Because I’m trying to win my way back into my family. I’m hoping I can get my mom to meet me. But if I blab about the past, then I’ll keep being punished.”
Even though I’m dying of curiosity, I don’t push for more details. “Do you want me to go up and check if your dad is home? Maybe he ran out for milk.”
She snorts. “Even if he was dying and needed to drink it to save his life, he’d make Mom do it. But no, he’s not home.” She gestures to the cars. “His Beemer’s not there. Parker’s here, though—”
She breaks off as people start pouring out of the house. I recognize Parker, who’s carrying a dark-haired boy. Next are Joanie Wright and a tall man with shiny black hair. Behind them, a little girl dressed in patent leather shoes and a pretty dress holds hands with a sullen teen wearing ripped skinny jeans and a tight midriff top.
Hartley slaps a hand on the window and whimpers. I swear the brooding teen hears her. The girl stops in her tracks and stares in our direction.
Not wanting Hartley to get caught, I lunge across the console and push her down. Under my chest, I can feel her body shake with silent sobs.
I brush a hand over the side of her face and quietly narrate the scene. “They’re getting into the cars. Dylan and some guy—”
“Parker’s husband.”
“—Parker’s husband and Dylan are getting into Parker’s car. Parker is in the passenger side. The little girl is going with your mother.”
“Macy is my mom’s favorite,” Hartley mumbles.
The car doors slam shut and the red taillights turn on. “Those girls safe in there?”
She hesitates. “I think so.” And then, more forcefully, “Yes. The thing between me and my dad was a one-time deal.”
I didn’t like the moment of indecision, but I don’t say anything. I slide down lower as the cars pull out. The engines rumble and then grow distant as they get farther away.
Now that it’s safe to sit up, I ease off Hartley’s back. “Want me to follow them?”
“No.”
“Okay. So what are we doing?”
Hartley meets my gaze. “How do you feel about breaking and entering?”
I ignore the tear-glistened eyes and grin. “One of my top ten activities.”
“Of course it is.”
We both hop out and run toward the side door that Hartley’s family just exited. She passes it by. I catch up with her at the back of the house.
Every good Southern home has a veranda, and this one is no different. The wide, covered deck runs the length of the house. Two French doors, one leading to a kitchen and another to a family room, are framed by floor-to-ceiling windows.
She tries the first one. It’s locked, but the second one is open. I hear a beep when the door opens and notice a red light above the frame. The security system marks when the doors are open and closed.
“Ignore it,” Hartley tells me. “It’s just for show. Dad had it installed when I was a kid, but he got into a fight with the security company over them not showing up fast enough when he called, so he cancelled the service.”
I nod and examine my surroundings. It’s a nice house as houses go. Smells like cleaner. Looks immaculate.
Hartley passes through the family room and makes for the stairs. I follow her up, stopping at the top as she pauses.
“Which room is yours?”
She points to the last room on the left.
“Do you mind?” I ask, because I’m bursting with curiosity.
She gives me a half smile. “Knock yourself out.”
Strangely, she chooses to go into the second room on the right. I keep going to the end of the hall. Hartley’s bedroom. Damn, I’m excited. I’m finally going to get some insight into her.
Or not.
When I open the door, a big wall of nothingness greets me.
There are a few boxes in the middle of the floor. The walls are a stark white. There’s no bed or furniture.
It’s as if no one has ever slept in this room.
Disheartened, I back out and retrace my steps to the landing. As I pass through the hall a second time, I notice the family pictures on the wall, but it’s as if this family only has two daughters instead of three. It’s like they erased her. Man, that’s brutal.
I wonder if she knows. She must.
I knock on the open door, pushing it wider to see Hartley sitting on the side of the bed, a purple pillow clutched in her arms. The walls are purple, too. The bed is littered with stuffed bears and dogs. The posters on the wall feature boys with hair dyed the color of Easter eggs. This room obviously belongs to her younger sister, the one she hasn’t seen in three years.
I tug on the collar of my shirt. It’s getting hard to breathe in here. “Let’s get out of here,” I say gruffly.
Hartley glances up at me and gives a weak nod.
I don’t wait for her to change her mind. I pull her to her feet and hustle her down the stairs.
* * *
We end up at the pier. The lights are on and twilight is giving way to evening. I park and jog around to Hartley’s side of the truck. She lets me help her down. She lets me take her hand. She lets me lead her over to a food stand where I order a hot chocolate and funnel cake.
After she’s downed the drink and eaten half the cake, her zombielike expression softens. “Thanks for dinner.”
“My pleasure. Want to ride the Ferris wheel?” I suggest. “You haven’t been in one since you were twelve.”
“You remember that?”