Tyler bristled inwardly. He hated when cops called him son. Like they actually cared.
He quickly unlocked the phone and showed the officer his mother’s text message—which, thank God, said simply: Home soon. Lasagna ok?
“Is your mom’s lasagna good?”
Tyler shrugged. “It depends on if she decides to put spinach in it, sir.”
The cop guffawed, and Tyler smiled tentatively.
The officer patted the side of his car twice. “Get home. This isn’t a good neighborhood.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tyler said “sir” like the police said “son,” usually. He didn’t mean it. But if a cop, for once in his life, was letting him go, he could “sir” all day.
“Have a good night,” he told the officer.
Tyler watched the officer get back into his car. And then he drove back to his house, staying exactly at the speed limit the entire way.
He was done with Jer. And his brother could tell his parents. He didn’t give a shit.
He was just done.
Cade
Sunday, June 21
Dear Cade,
Everything is good here. I’m keeping busy, and I’m working at the restaurant now. Mom visits some. I think she worries, but she doesn’t need to. I’m fine.
I hope you’re having fun with school. I miss school sometimes!
It’s hard being so far away from you. Don’t let Dad get you down. I think he had a lot of do with how everything turned out.
Anyway. Write me back this time.
I love you, Cadey.
Jeni
Cade didn’t cry very often, but his sister could make it happen. Sometimes it just took her name and he felt weird and fogged over.
He folded the letter up and set it on the patio table.
He missed her.
There was no use lying about that.
They’d been best friends. They’d hated each other, in the way that only siblings do, but at the end of the day they’d told each other everything.
Cade would never admit it, but when he was little, his father had taken away his night-light. Jeni had let him sleep in her room so he wouldn’t be alone.
There were a lot of little things like that—like when Cade’s father took the training wheels off Jeni’s bike and told her to “figure it out,” Cade, who had learned early and easily, had helped her.
And they’d sort of bonded over hating their father together.
Cade slipped the letter into his pocket carefully. He didn’t hear from her often, and it was important when he did.
Maybe he’d write her back.
But maybe he wouldn’t.
One thing was certain: he wasn’t going to end up like her. Never. They might have been alike in every other way—something their father loathed—but he wasn’t going to follow in her footsteps. He was going to be okay.
No matter what.
Cade tucked the letter into his pocket, grabbed his phone from the cushion on the patio couch, and dialed a number he’d pulled off of Facebook. This wasn’t a call he could have while people were listening. While the phone rang, he let himself back into the house and jogged up the stairs, toward his room.
“Hello?”
It was Mattie’s voice on the other end.
Mattie. The weak link. The opportunity.
“Hey, Mattie. It’s Cade. I just wanted to chat with you, if you have a minute.” Cade shut the door to his room and locked it. He tried the knob, just to be sure.
His father wasn’t home. One of the maids was probably here, somewhere, but normally at this time they weren’t upstairs. He flipped on some low music to drown out the conversation, just in case someone walked by.
“What’s up?” Mattie asked. Cade could read the suspicion in his voice.
“I need to have a straight conversation with you, man.”
“Okay.”
Cade could hear the dread in Mattie’s voice. He could hear the rising panic.
“That night . . . what did your friend hear?”
Mattie was quiet on the other end of the line. “Nothing . . . I don’t think.”
“How well do you know this guy?” Cade asked. “Is he someone who would keep the secret with us?”
“I don’t know.” Mattie’s voice was quiet and tight. Seeping with bitterness.
Cade recognized the emotion. He knew it well.
“Well, you need to figure it out. I’ve been thinking, Mattie. I’ve been thinking a lot. Because if he figures it out, and he sees this stuff on the news, do you know what’s going to happen?”
“Listen, I don’t think he knows, but—”
“But you’re not sure.” Cade cut him off. “You’re not sure, and he’s going to go to the police. And the cops—know stuff, Mattie. They know how to trace the call. Trace your phone. Trace your exact location, and where you are at all times. Did you know that?”
Mattie stayed quiet.
“Have you talked to him since, Mattie?” Cade asked.
“Yeah.”
“You need to find out what he heard. I’m calling because you need to be careful.”
“What?” Mattie’s voice raised. “What are you talking about?”
“The call was made on your phone, Mattie. He heard your voice more clearly than any of ours, if he heard ours at all. And do you know what that means?”