Rachel has delivered a Cinderella’s-godmother level of fussing and attention to getting me ready for my first prom. She did my hair up with tiny wisps trailing down. No hiding behind the veil of death tonight. Lysa found a delicate pearl headband, which is the perfect touch, and it matches the heart-shaped locket that Rachel gave me about an hour ago.
“Your mother was the prom queen, but she gave this to me to commemorate our first prom. Inside is a photo of the two of us when we were exactly your age,” she said. “I’ve been saving it for the right moment.”
Now, I squint at the dime-sized image and I recognize the familiar slope of her nose and the slightly almond-shaped eyes. “Hey, Mom,” I whisper, touching the photo.
Everything has worked out just the way Rachel always said it would.
A kiss … a boyfriend … the prom. Not to mention a killer caught and a forensics class. There’s even the possibility of a father. My father. In the end, there are only two things missing from this new perfect world: my mom and Miss Peters.
I can’t deny the huge hole they left behind in my life. Losing them not only impacts who I am, but who I will be someday. My only hope is that I’m able to live up to the dreams they had for me. The same person took each of them from me at different times and for different reasons. But at least we caught him.
And he’s not my father.
“Errrriiiinnnn!” Rachel shrieks from below.
“Okay!” Okay. I slip the locket over my head and stand, taking a few tentative steps toward the door. Trying not to wobble in these heels is a challenge. I shuffle onto the landing and peer down at the crowd gathered around the base of our stairs. Flashes explode from cameras and cell phones.
“Whoa. Who let the paparazzi in?” I shield my eyes with one hand and grasp the banister with the other as I try to make a graceful entrance, or at least avoid a face-plant.
Lysa and her date wait by the door. She blows a kiss. She looks amazing in a long, silk coral sheath and four-inch heels.
How does she walk in those things?
Spam rushes toward me, holding up the wide, full skirt of her simple, long white dress. I try to ignore the untied, tongue-out combat boots she’s wearing below, because her dress is so completely normal. Maybe even a little dull, especially by Spam standards.
“Your dress is gorgeous,” I say. “A statement of simplicity.”
“Oh, wait.” She feels around the fitted bodice waist, touching and pinching. “One sec.” Spam pushes something on the waistband of her dress and the skirt lights up like a giant movie screen filled with bold, undulating color. Colorful, round shapes pulse and swirl and rotate to the right, only to be replaced with other colorful round swirls. “Get it?” she asks.
It takes me a minute to recognize the swirls are planets. Mars, Venus, Earth. Spam’s dress is an animated display of our solar system.
She holds her arms out and twirls. “Booyah!”
I give her a hug. “You are the center of the universe.”
Rachel rushes over with her camera. Spam and I put our heads together and offer up cheesy smiles.
Rachel responds with a quick volley of flashes.
Chief Culson steps in and takes the camera, motioning for Rachel and Lysa to get into the shot. “I want one with all the beautiful girls,” he says. Then he pauses. “Erin, you are every bit as stunning as your mother.”
While Spam and Lysa and I squeeze together, Rachel slides up behind us and drapes her arms around all of us, giving us a tight squeeze. “Both of your mothers would be so proud.”
The chief fires off some shots.
“Where’s Journey?” Rachel calls. “We need pictures of him, too.”
I glance into the kitchen. Journey and Victor are standing together. Journey hands Victor a small, brown paper bag. Victor reaches inside and pulls out an old toothbrush. He holds it up and inspects it closely. He lets the toothbrush fall back into the bag and stuffs the whole thing into a FedEx envelope.
Then they spot me standing in the doorway. Journey smiles and moves toward me. But my gaze is beyond him, on Victor. He doesn’t know that I saw him put his own DNA in the envelope along with mine. Our smiles meet and his grows, like a wedge of sunlight breaking through a cloud of despair. I swear I see liquid welling up in his eyes. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers.
While they are clearly happy tears, I’m not sure if Victor—like me—is remembering the past … or imagining the future. Because I know I can’t wait. It’s going to be amazing.