“Mom? What are you doing? I mean, this is all over the TV. She just called me a criminal. You too, I guess. Are we going to get in trouble for this?”
She looked up from the phone. “No. Not at all. You have nothing to worry about. I promise.”
Her firmness made him feel better. A little.
He guessed there were worse things than being outed for holding alcohol. Maybe it would make other kids at school think he was a wild partier, even if it wasn’t true.
“Who are you calling?” he asked.
But she didn’t answer. He saw the veins standing out in her neck, the whiteness of the knuckles that held the phone.
Ursula.
His mom’s voice went up a little bit on the phone. He heard her say, “Ian.”
He’d expected that. First Ursula pushed Jared to go on TV. Jared could remember, like probing a healing bruise with his index finger, the touch of Ursula’s hand against his knee.
And then she went to the media—to Reena—with the story about his mom’s lie. The lie that covered up for Jared.
Why?
Jared wandered back to his room, giving his mom privacy. It was Friday night, and he had no plans. That wasn’t unusual, since he didn’t always have plans. And even when he did, they consisted of going to Syd’s or Mike’s, or having one or both of them come over to his house.
He wished Natalie could be there. He wished they could go out and do something.
His mom came by his room. Her cheeks were red, and she carried her phone in her hand. “Are you okay if I step out for a minute?”
“Sure.”
“Really, Jared. You’ll be here alone. Maybe I shouldn’t go.”
“What’s going to happen to me?” he asked. “Will I get a ticket for underage drinking?”
She smirked and raised her eyebrows, as if to say, We all know what can happen to people. We know it all too well.
“Are you worried about this Domino guy too?” Jared asked.
“That’s part of it.”
“I’ll lock the door,” he said. “I promise.”
“Do you want me to call Grandma? She can come over and sit with you. Or Sally?”
“Grandma? She’s going to call and chew you out now that she knows I had booze in the house. And I’m not a child. Remember?”
“I’m going to call Detective Poole. She’ll send a patrol car by just to be safe. Okay?”
Jared sighed. “Okay. Hey, Mom? Are you okay?”
His mom let out a sound of throaty frustration. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking. I’m just pissed. Very, very pissed.”
“We’re going to need a new remote.”
She laughed a little. “I guess I’m not always a good example, am I?”
“I kind of thought it was cool. Just like when you cursed on TV that day.”
“I’m teaching you a lot of good lessons.” She started to go, then stopped. “Hey, aren’t you wondering where I’m going?”
“I know where you’re going.”
“Where?”
“You’re going to ask Ian what the hell’s wrong with his daughter.”
She nodded. “Doors locked. You hear?”
“I hear.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
? ? ?
Once she was gone, Jared pulled out his phone. He sent a text to Mike, asking what he was doing.
Nada, he replied.
Are the country clubbers partying tonight?
Probably.
Can u find out where?
Will check my sources.
Jared changed his clothes and pulled on sneakers. He checked his hair in the mirror once, tousled it around with his hands, and decided he looked relatively cool. Certainly not rich, but also not someone who would hang out on the bottom rung of the social ladder. He was somewhere in the middle, which wasn’t a bad place to be most of the time. It might not be enough to get into a rich kids’ party, but he intended to try.
His phone chimed.
You know that asshole Kirk Embry? His house.
We have 2 go.
Can’t. Grounded. Mom caught me w cigs. Take big Syd.
Need you. Get out.
There was a long pause. Jared thought Mike had ended the conversation. Or had his phone snatched away by his mother.
But then one more text came through.
K. Meet u behind school in 15.
He knew the cops might be out there, checking on the house. But they couldn’t watch every door all the time. Not because of a phone call that might be a prank.
Jared grabbed his coat and slipped out the back.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
It felt surreal for Jenna to be back in that house again.
Ian opened the door for her, and as she stepped into the foyer, the light above providing a soft glow, every surface below dusted and polished to perfection, she tried to remember that last time she’d been there. Two days after Celia disappeared. A flurry of activity that day. Cops and volunteers and media. People in the kitchen making signs and brewing coffee, hangers-on milling and gawking at the edge of the property line.