“Nah,” I ask.
“Okay, suit yourself.” She smiles, then notices the portrait. She walks to the mantel and flips it back around, then looks at me, confused.
I finally hear them drive off. I flip the channels and stop at Channel 4, the station out of Birmingham. The news has just started. A house fire on the west side. Scenes from the Galleria Mall, where people are returning or exchanging all their gifts. Then there’s an old lady on-screen, next to an old man. “An exclusive interview you’ll only see here on Channel 4,” the anchor says. “The parents of the murdered child abductor Russell Lee Hunnicutt.” The old woman on-screen has curly gray hair, thick glasses, a jowly face. The old man has on a cap over bushy white hair. They sit on a couch in a room with crummy-looking wood paneling.
A male reporter is interviewing them. “How are you coping?”
The man shakes his head, chews his lip.
The woman speaks first, with a country-sounding voice. “Our son’s in a better place now.”
“I know what he did was wrong,” the father says, his voice gruff. “But that kid . . . he could have left. All them years, he could have left.”
That’s not true! I want to shout at the screen.
The wife looks over at him, nods her head, then looks at the reporter. “They have their son. But our son’s dead.”
I force myself to sit there and keep watching, even though anger swells in me.
“Do you have anything to say to the Walsh family?” the reporter asks.
The old lady is crying, wiping her eyes with a tissue. The old man shakes his head. “I dunno. . . . I just hope that boy and his family . . . That they get some peace now.”
I flip the TV off. I can’t watch anymore. I just sit there in the dark, waiting for Mom and Dad to get back.
Peace. That’s what they hope this death has given Sam and his family. And maybe it has, for Sam’s mom, his stepdad, even Beth. But I know it hasn’t for Sam. Not really.
Still in the dark, I grab my phone and call Sam’s house. His mom answers and a few seconds later she puts Sam on.
“Yeah?” he says.
I don’t say hello. I just say, “I’ll go. I’ll go with you to Anniston.”
CHAPTER 13
January
Beth
In a group text the day before New Year’s Eve, it’s decided that the girls and I will attend the New Year’s Eve party at Brendan Olson’s house. He says it’s going to be small, Ainsley writes.
Mom left that morning for Florida, where she’ll meet up with Aunt Shelley for the cruise. It’s just me, Sam, and Earl for a whole week. Earl says yes, I can go, but that I have to be home at twelve thirty. “Don’t make me stay up late, worrying. I have to work tomorrow,” he says, looking at me all serious-faced before he lets loose a grin.
Sam has invited Josh to stay over. I guess they’re just going to watch movies.
“Can Chita sleep over after? I’m giving her a ride to the party.”
“Of course, if her parents are fine with it.”
I go back to my room and text: Okay, I’m in.
===
Brendan lives in Woodridge, across the river, not too far from where Darla lives. She walks up just as Chita and I park along the street.
“So where are his parents?” Chita asks as we walk up to the door.
“They went to their lake house or something,” Darla says.
So it’s just me and the girls, and Brendan and the twins, Jake and Jackson, and a handful of other seniors on the soccer team. And Donal, who answers the door. “Welcome, lasses,” he says, exaggerating his Irish accent, waving a cup of beer at us. He kind of looks drunk already and it’s just eight.
“Can I get you something?” he asks, looking only at me.
“A water,” I say, the thought of alcohol making my stomach churn.
Through the kitchen window I can see into a large backyard lit with strong floodlights, where some people on the team are playing a pick-up game. This was the idea—soccer, beer, hanging out, pizza, and watching the ball drop in Times Square on TV. Low-key and chill.
Donal hands me a bottle of water from the fridge and cracks open a can of Bud that he pours in cups for himself, Chita, and Darla. Then we head out onto the back deck. It’s only in the fifties or forties, a lot warmer than it had been at Christmas. Chita sets her beer down on the deck floor and joins the soccer players in the yard, and Darla ambles up to some of the other kids milling about on the sidelines. Donal settles next to me, leans against the wooden rail. “It’s nice to see you,” he says.
“It’s nice to see you, too,” I say, feeling embarrassed all of the sudden.
“Christmas was good, with your family?”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking about the presents, the food, the memories. It was good. But hovering off to the side was the news about Russell Hunnicutt. Mostly I could forget it, but at times it was like a physical thing we could spot, briefly, off to the side.
“And your Christmas?” I ask.
“Yeah, just me and the folks. It was good, though my mum misses home this time of year.”
“I bet,” I say. “I mean, it’s such a funny time of year.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, everyone is so happy. But also sad. Like your mom missing home. And I kind of missed my dad. I mean, he called. But we talked a lot about the years past, when we were all together. Before . . . well, before any bad stuff happened.”
For a while, we don’t say much, just watch everyone kicking the ball around.
“I can’t believe this year is almost over,” Donal says. “It’ll be January in a few hours.”
In January, I always thought of Sam. His birthday month. Everyone else always marked it as a new beginning. But for the past few years it was another painful reminder—so soon after Christmas—that Sam wasn’t there to eat birthday cake and open presents. “My brother Sam will be fifteen in a few weeks,” I say.
“How’s he doing?” Donal asks, sounding careful and concerned, knowing that in the past I hardly ever talked about him.
“Fine, I think,” I say. Because what do I know, really? I can’t help thinking back to that night. Make it stop. The way he looked at me, like he was begging for help. But then the way he acted like nothing had happened.
“He’s lucky to have you,” Donal says.
And I smile at him for saying that. But I’m not sure if I believe it.
I set my bottle of water down on the railing. I need to take my mind off of Sam. “I’m gonna go play,” I say, walking down the steps and out into the yard, joining the others so that I can run and sweat and not think about anything.
===
Later, after we gorge on pizza, everyone’s settled in the TV room, watching all the insane people in Times Square. The stereo is blasting, and some people are dancing around a little, acting drunk and silly.