The words are a slap across my face. I drop my gaze, cheeks burning. That can’t be right.
“But he said he did—he said he told you about us last spring, when he was planning to break it off with her.” I remember it so clearly, the mixture of relief and terror I felt upon learning that they knew about us. Is it possible Chace was only appeasing me and didn’t tell them the truth after all? Or are the Porters the ones lying?
“No, he didn’t say a thing. And he didn’t break it off with Lana, either, did he?” the congressman counters.
“There were reasons for that,” I say stiffly. “On both sides.”
I catch Mrs. Porter’s eyes fixating on my scar, and I have the nagging sense that Chace did tell them the truth, that they’re only pretending to be in the dark. But why?
My mom speaks up. “Sir, there’s no reason to question my daughter’s honesty.” I can practically hear her gritting her teeth. “The photos speak for themselves. Our kids cared a great deal about each other.”
Detective Kimble reappears, holding a tray laden with three steaming mugs of coffee. After she sets them down in front of the Porters and my mom, the congressman leans forward, his head bowed.
“I’m asking because there’s a theory out there. I’m hoping it’s not true. It’s that you and my son never had any relationship, that you Photoshopped those pictures. And when he refused you—”
“Stop!” I leap to my feet, incredulous at what I’m hearing. “Whatever you heard, it’s all lies. If you need more proof, there’s plenty of it. Chace kept all the letters we wrote to each other, they’re in his dorm.” I turn to Detective Kimble. “And aren’t you checking phone records or something? It’s all there!”
Detective Kimble eyes me carefully.
“The search of his room hasn’t turned up anything about you yet. And there’s no correspondence between the two of you from this week.”
“This week? It was last spring that we were together.”
Mom stands up, wrapping a protective arm around my shoulder.
“I’m sure the two of you are hurting in ways I can’t possibly understand,” she says quietly. “But that doesn’t give you any right to accuse my daughter.”
“Talk to Chace’s roommate, Ryan,” I burst out, the idea coming to me like a beacon of hope. “He knows everything. He’ll tell you it’s all true, that whatever he had with Lana, Chace loved me.” A tear rolls down my cheek, and I roughly wipe it away. “And I love him.”
Mrs. Porter, who still hasn’t spoken a word, reaches across the space between us and touches my hand. Is she trying to comfort me?
“Can we trust you?” she asks softly.
There’s something about her voice. I can’t seem to place it, but it reminds me of something—a certain feeling of dread.
Or maybe I’m going crazy.
“Of course you can trust me,” I answer. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“Do you need anything else?” Mom asks curtly.
Congressman Porter opens his mouth to say more, but then glances at his wife and shakes his head. “That’s enough for now.”
“Good. Once again, we’re sorry for your loss.”
“I’ll show you out,” Detective Kimble says, her eyes flicking between me and the Porters.
Mom and I follow her to the door. Just before we reach it, I turn around.
“Chace would want me to play at the funeral.” My voice wobbles, but I don’t back down, looking straight into his parents’ eyes. “He loved my music, maybe more than anyone else. I have to give him one last song.”
Without waiting for an answer, I turn and follow my mom and the detective through the door.
I can’t bear to hear a no.
Mom drops me off at my dorm, hugging me good night before departing for her hotel a few miles from campus.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I sleep here tonight?” she asks for the third time.
I force a smile.
“That’s sweet of you, but there’s barely any room for both of us. I’ll just see you tomorrow. I love you.”
She kisses my forehead.
“I love you, too, honey. We’ll get through this together. I promise.”
After she closes the door behind her, I throw open my desk drawer. If Detective Kimble didn’t find the letters in Chace’s room, is there any chance he could have returned them to me, without my knowing—?
A scream rings in my ears, ice flooding my veins.
I’m shivering, shaking. I can’t be seeing this.
It can’t be real.
I hear the footsteps of the security guard from down the hall, and I lunge toward the door, heart in my throat as I turn the lock.
“Everything all right in there, miss?” The guard raps on the door twice. It dawns on me that I must have screamed out loud.
“F-fine!” I call out, my voice shrill with panic. “I just—it was just a spider, but I, um, took care of it.”
I wait until his footsteps retreat, and then I dive back to the desk. Please let it be gone now. Please let it have been just a hallucination, I pray silently.