The credits are rolling on the movie. The warmth of Mom’s body against my side is solid and real. I don’t want to leave her, but I can feel her tension, see it in her face when she glances at me with a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s probably meant to be reassuring. My insides are churning and I feel like my voice is going to come out all strangled when I try to speak. Jared is sprawled on the floor with Angus. I have to get him to leave with me. I look over at Mom. She’s staring at the TV as if she’s totally interested in finding out the names of all the actors and stunt doubles. She presses her leg against mine. Do it. Do it now.
I yawn slowly and stretch my arms. “I’m tired.”
Jared rolls over, looks up. “You going to bed?”
“Yeah. Come with me for a minute? I want to show you a new drawing.” I hope my voice sounds natural, but it sounds fake to me. Like the worst actress in the world.
“Leave the door open,” Mom says. “Or I’m coming up.” I know she’s only saying it because she wants Marcus to think everything’s normal, but I still have to act annoyed.
“God, Mom. We’re just talking.” I roll my eyes.
“Humor me, please.”
“Fine.” I get up and walk toward the stairs, then slow as I near the kitchen counter, and glance back at Jared, who’s taking forever to get to his feet. I try not to look at Marcus to see if he’s watching. I hated sitting in the living room with him for the last two hours. I kept wanting to stare at him, like somehow his face might look different now that I know the truth. I don’t remember a second of the movie. My head was filled with memories of conversations I’d had with Marcus, how nice he’s always been. I’ve been alone with him so many times. I never knew anything was wrong. I keep seeing the newspaper photos of Elizabeth Sanders, the mangled wreck of her car, the tarp over the side so photographers couldn’t take pictures of the blood.
Jared is finally leaving. I hear the jingle of Angus’s collar as he gets up to follow, then a whine. He wants to go outside. I turn around. Jared is opening the door. Angus darts out.
Jared looks at my mom. “Sorry. He ran down to the lake.”
“It’s okay. I’ll bring him back in.”
She sounds calm, but I know she must be upset. We didn’t want Angus outside—he might bark if he hears me climbing off the roof, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. I’ve reached the bottom of the stairs. Jared is right behind me. I look back at Mom and Marcus. He’s getting up as though he’s going to sit on the couch with her. I feel a lurch in my stomach.
“Get some rest, kids,” Marcus says with a smile. “We’ll go out on the lake tomorrow.”
“Cool.” Everything he’s told us is a lie. Everything. This is just another one. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe he plans to tip the boat or do something horrible out there.
“Good night, honey,” Mom says. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Our eyes hold for a moment, and then I have to turn away.
The roof is slick. Water spills out of the gutters and rushes down over the wood shakes, which are slimy with old leaves and moss. The wind throws rain in my face, tugs at my body. I tread carefully in bare feet, crab-walk down to the edge. I glance up. I can’t see anything in the window. The lights are off. The bedsheet stretches out from my hand.
Once I’m on the ground, I’ll hide in the bushes and wait for Jared. I hope he gets out through his window soon. I wasn’t sure if he was going to believe me when I whispered everything to him upstairs, but he caught on quickly. We grabbed the sheets off my bed, knotted them together with the duvet cover, and tied them to the leg of the iron bedframe. Jared waited until I was on the roof, then went downstairs to distract Marcus in the living room in case I made any noise.
I’m over the edge of the roof, the hard edge scraping against my stomach and breasts, then I’m free and hanging in the air. The wind catches me. I spin around, bumping into the side of the house. I kick off with my legs, lower myself hand over hand. My feet finally feet hit earth.
I run a few feet from the house and crouch in the bushes. My hair is soaked and the water runs down my neck. I couldn’t get my coat from downstairs, so I layered shirts under my hoodie, but they’re already wet. Soaked through to the bone, is what Mom would say. I slide my slippers on—they were stuffed into my hoodie pocket. I figured bare feet would have more traction on the roof, but my toes are freezing. My runners are by the front door. Jared didn’t have any extra clothes with him, so I gave him a pair of my socks and a sweatshirt.