The slamming of the front door jolted them all. Hallie stopped short as she took in the kids in the living room, the adults seated at the table, and her mother furiously wiping at her wet cheeks with her sleeve. The girl’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what this is about,” Natalie said sternly, her composure returning. “Why don’t you join us and fill us in, like the reporter you are.”
Slowly, Hallie crossed the room and slid into a chair, dropping her backpack with a thud. “I thought you’d be proud of me,” she muttered.
“When did you even write this? When did you print it?”
“The kids club at the lodge had a computer room. One of the girls working in there helped me. She seemed to think it was pretty cool.”
Clara and Detective Bryant exchanged a glance. So someone outside the neighborhood had seen it too. Exactly how “cool” had she found it?
“Do you remember her name?” he asked casually.
“Stephanie. I remember perfectly because I used to want my name to be Stephanie when I grew up, but then Mom told me I would always be stuck with Hallie.” The girl glared at her mom, who glared back.
“Hallie,” Clara said firmly, trying to steer her back. “I thought I made it clear that making that recording was wrong. Not to mention sharing it with the neighborhood!”
She expected the girl to concede that she’d disobeyed, but to her surprise, Hallie stood her ground. “Yeah, but you also said that maybe my project could be to print only good news. You said that’s what this world needs more of. I thought about it, and you were right. And this is good news!” Clara stared at her, stunned, and Hallie turned to her mother. “People have Kristin all wrong, thinking she was greedy. This could help clear her name.”
Clara shook her head. “You and I both know that isn’t what I meant. And you promised me you wouldn’t print this!”
“I never promised. You told me to promise but I never actually said anything after that.”
Natalie wheeled on Clara. “I still can’t believe you knew my daughter was over there creeping around that man’s house, playing Nancy Drew or Girl Friday or whatever the hell, and you didn’t tell me. You didn’t want to ruin Jim’s surprise on Thursday? Fine. We got home last night! You should have been banging on my door!”
“The kids have been horribly sick…” She sounded so pathetic, even to herself, that she couldn’t even bother to finish the thought. “I’m sorry,” she said again, stealing another look at Hallie, half expecting her to pipe up and apologize, at the very least for having printed her name. But she remained silent.
“We’re going to do as much damage control as we can on our end,” Detective Bryant said finally. “But you’re both going to have a fair amount to do too. Just assume that everyone has seen it. We’re gathering up as many of these as we can, but it’s out there. We got the initial call alerting us to the matter from the professors down the street.”
“Which one?” Clara asked. There were at least three houses she could think of.
“All of them,” he said.
14
If you really want me to, I can tell you about the first time I realized he was capable of killing me. The story itself is unremarkable. Not much more than a run-of-the-mill argument, really.
The look in his eyes, however, was something else.
I was already in it, deep—he’d made quick work of that—so all I could do was rationalize. Just because he was capable of it didn’t mean he would do it. The circumstances that could drive him that far seemed unlikely. And now that I was learning what they were—the precise buttons to in no event push—surely I could minimize the risk. I could handle this. I could handle him. If anyone could do it, it was me. In fact, I still believe that’s why he chose me. All the more satisfying to triumph over a worthy opponent.
The day I knew that he wasn’t just capable of killing me, but was very likely going to? That all the wrong buttons were stuck in the On position? That nothing could stand in his way?
That’s the better story.
But you won’t hear it from me. I’ve broken enough promises to myself to last a lifetime, and breathing a word of that horrible night would be breaking one more.
The details aren’t important anyway. The point is, there’s a line. Sometimes you can make it out, sometimes not. I guess in that respect you might consider me one of the lucky ones.
15
People are drawn to Yellow Springs for its authenticity …
In Yellow Springs, good vibes bubble up.
—Flyer Izzy pocketed on her first visit to the YS real estate office, on a whim while waiting for Penny to finish browsing boutiques for bridesmaid gifts
The doorbell was ringing.
Not just ringing. Insisting that she answer.
Izzy was cocooned in bed, the blinds drawn against the midday sun, still wearing only the tank top and underwear she’d slept in. Cary Grant was on the TV screen, sexy in black and white. Her popcorn, soda, and half-eaten bag of chocolate chips were in reach on her bedside table. She’d taken more NyQuil, just for the fog of it. She didn’t want to move, had no reason to.
It rang again. Whoever it was was not about to give up. Grudgingly, she surveyed the floor for the yoga pants she’d discarded there last night.
She was supposed to be at work. It was Tuesday, after all. But when her alarm had pulled her crudely from sleep too early that morning, she’d been stunned to discover tears flooding her cheeks in the darkness. It had taken a moment to orient herself. She’d been dreaming that she was standing silently next to Josh high on a balcony, waves crashing onto the beach below them in the moonlight, watching the stars fall one by one from the sky into the sea.
The world, ending. Her world, ending. That was the stuff her dreams were made of.
For a few minutes, she’d lain sniffling into her pillow, suffocating in self-pity and trying to convince herself that her subconscious mind had developed a severely exaggerated penchant for melodrama. When that didn’t work, when she was unable to shake the dream, to quell the panic rising that her life really might be at the point of her own personal apocalypse, she’d decided that for once she couldn’t face it—not today of all days: the day of the damn pregnancy party. Pregnancy party. Since when was that even a thing? Why did Penny seem to get her own custom-made neighboring universe in which to live? She had reached for her phone, groggily called in sick to work, found a bottle of nighttime cold medicine in the bathroom cabinet, drank a double dose, and went back to sleep.