The Girl I Used to Be

  I interpret. “You were one of the people who looked for evidence. After”—I can’t bring myself to say my—“the body was found.”

  “We were out in the woods, the woods, the trees were watching, so I watched, too. And I saw—I saw.”

  “What did you see?” Which we is he talking about? Is he saying he was with my parents when it happened? Or does he mean the search?

  He looks past me with unfocused eyes. “In the daytime, when I go outside, I used to show my friends what they hadn’t seen before. Like the hello, see you later, like the halo, when I was twenty, when I began preaching the truth.” With his free hand, he points above my head. “See, the light which is your halo.” He leans closer, and his sour breath washes over me. “You know, aura. That’s why everyone can’t see that. If you, if you got some of the drugs, maybe you can see, maybe you can’t.” His face twists with anguish. “I know what I saw. Everyone knows what they see. But I don’t know what’s for real or not.”

  “What did you see, Benjy?” My blood chills. “What did you see?”

  “Orange trucks suffer. Snow blood dogs hand in glove”—he looks up from our linked hands to me—“run. They say run!” He lets go, turns, and begins to run again, a broken stagger.

  I watch him go, feeling as if I’ve been underwater, drowning, and now I’ve come back up for air. Come back to reality.

  I realize I should never have left Nora alone. What if she’s fallen while I’ve been gone? Had a heart attack? What if the other homeless guy has come back for her? I break into a run.

  I find her sitting on a bench. It’s a relief to see that her color is better.

  “Sorry I left you.”

  “You took off like your hair was on fire. How do you know Benjy? What did you want to ask him?”

  “He was friends with my parents, and Frank says he talks to my mom’s tombstone. I tried to ask him about it, but he didn’t make much sense. About all I understood was that maybe he saw something in the woods back then. Or thinks he did.”

  “He may not know, himself,” Nora says. “He’s gone in and out of reality for years. At least the reality we understand. To him, it’s always real.”

  Where does the truth lie? Is Benjy terrified by what he saw? By what he imagines he saw?

  Or could it even be by what he did?

  CHAPTER 33

  THE GIRL I USED TO BE

  The day is just beginning to cool off as I head home to get ready for the party at Duncan’s house. After a quick shower, I dress in cutoffs and the white peasant blouse I got at Goodwill and put on Nora’s necklace again. I’ve been wearing it every day. She told me earlier that she doesn’t have the energy to go to the barbecue tonight.

  Since it’s only six blocks away, I decide to walk, and I text Duncan that I’m on my way. Carrying a bowl of grapes, I set off down the hill, past the old cemetery. Soon the mouthwatering smell of grilled meat fills the air. The street is full of cars, and the yard is full of people.

  Duncan steps out on the porch. When he sees me, his face lights up and he waves. I remind myself that we are only pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend. I weave around clumps of people, recognizing some faces from the memorial. Stephen Spaulding, the police chief, is deep in conversation with Sam. His black pants and polo shirt still look like a uniform.

  The house is lived in and comfortable, with hardwood floors, a well-used leather couch, and books everywhere. In the kitchen, Duncan’s mom is digging in the fridge but straightens up when she sees us. She’s dressed in jeans and a sleeveless top. Her feet are bare.

  “Nice to see you again, Olivia.” I feel her eyes measuring me before she turns to her son. “Hey, Duncan, I was sure we had a new bottle of ketchup. Have you seen it?”

  He shakes his head.

  I hold out the bowl of grapes. “Where should I put these? They’re already washed.”

  “That was sweet of you! The food goes in the backyard, which is where all the kids are hanging out.” She turns to Duncan. “Although I guess you guys are a little too old to run through the sprinkler or toss the beanbag.”

  “You’re never too old to cornhole,” says a man holding a spatula as he comes in through the sliding glass door. His dark hair is cut close to his scalp, and his eyes are such a pale gray they’re almost silver. I only need to look from him to Duncan to know it’s his dad.

  He sticks out his hand, which is covered with dozens of tiny cuts in various stages of healing. “Hi. I’m Gregg. With three Gs. Which can be confusing to some people.”

  I hold up my bowl of grapes as an excuse not to shake hands. I need to be careful that neither of his parents notices my scar. “Hi, Gregg with three Gs. I’m Olivia with a bunch of vowels.”

  He grins. “Good thing neither of us is a Scrabble word.”

  “Olivia just moved into the house Terry’s wife used to live in,” Duncan says.

  “You mean Terry’s girlfriend? Naomi Benson?” he asks. “Naomi and Terry were never married.”

  “Yeah, Naomi’s house,” I say. “Hers and her mother’s.” I don’t mention me. “Did you know them well?”

  Gregg takes a second spatula from a crock on the counter. “Audrey knew Naomi better than I did. Terry used to live next door with his dad, so the three of us went hunting together a few times.” He hands the spatula to Duncan. “Can you come help me out at the grill? Everyone’s ready for round two.”

  As they leave, Audrey says, “Naomi and Terry’s little girl used to play with Duncan.”

  I want to keep the focus on my parents, not on the girl I used to be. I steer the conversation back around. “What was Naomi like?”

  “She was pretty. Quiet. Smart.” As she speaks, she opens the refrigerator again and leans in, shuffling containers and bottles. “When she got pregnant, she started knitting all these little booties and sweaters.” Her voice is muffled. “Terry was more a life-of-the-party type guy. When they said he killed her, we didn’t want to believe it, but then again, you never want to believe stuff like that.”

  “The paper said the police had been called out to the house several times and that she actually had a restraining order against him.”

  Audrey looks over her shoulder at me. “That was Naomi’s mom, Sharon. She was mad at Terry for getting Naomi pregnant, and then he got behind on child support. That Thanksgiving, everyone had too much to drink and there was a shoving match. Sharon called the cops and insisted Naomi press charges. Terry told us about it. He was embarrassed and ashamed.”

  I feel a surge of hope, even if it’s based on the idea of my parents having a drunken argument and my grandmother lying. “So they didn’t really fight?”

  “Ah! There it is! I knew I had another one!” Triumphantly brandishing a bottle of ketchup, Audrey emerges from the fridge. She turns to me. “Oh, yeah, they fought. Gregg and I fought all the time back then, too, and we were a few years older. Naomi and Terry were still kids themselves when their baby was born. Gregg and me—we got a chance to grow up. To figure things out. They didn’t.” With the ketchup bottle, she points at the sliding glass door. “Come on, let’s go outside and get you some food.”

  Taking the grapes, I follow her. On one side of the crowded backyard, squealing kids run through a sprinkler. The water sparkles in the long rays of the setting sun. On the other, people are pulling drinks from an ice-filled cooler or circling a picnic table still crowded with food.

  Chicken breasts and hamburger patties sizzle as Duncan and his dad turn them on a huge stainless-steel grill. Hovering over the meat is Richard Lee, dressed in crisp blue Bermudas and a madras plaid short-sleeved shirt. When he catches sight of me, he gives me something between a wave and a salute. He looks so different from the ragged boy in the annual. Had his change in circumstances really started with my parents’ murder?

  I move a nearly empty bag of Doritos to make room for my grapes. Sam is in the backyard now, adding a scoop of potato salad to an already-heaping plate. Where is she going to put it?
You could cut yourself on her shinbones.

  From across the yard, Lauren gives me a little wave, and I walk over to her, relieved to talk to one person who for sure can’t be a suspect.

  “You’re wearing that blouse! And your necklace is beautiful.” She squints. “Are those buttons?”

  “Thanks. They are.” I run my fingers over them. “Nora gave it to me.” Lauren’s wearing shorts and a yellow T-shirt that would look terrible on me. On her, it just sets off her tanned skin and purple hair.

  She scans the crowd. “Is she here? I haven’t seen her yet.”

  “No. She decided not to come. She said she didn’t want to be out too late.”

  “Too late? It’s not even nine o’clock.”

  “I think that’s about when she goes to bed. But she gets up before dawn.” My stomach rumbles. “I’m going to get something to eat. I didn’t have much lunch today.”

  As I circle the table, I try to eavesdrop. I’m pretty sure I catch my parents’ names a few times, but whenever I get closer, people fall silent.

  Jason is saying to Carly, “When you’re out on the open road, and it’s just you and your big, powerful truck, the feeling is amazing.” He labors over his pronunciation, his features bunched together. The beer he’s holding clearly isn’t his first. “Basically, I’m getting paid to cruise along while jamming to my favorite tunes.” I remember him complaining about his job to Heather. Maybe he’s good at presenting only the side he wants people to see.

  But Carly’s not really listening. Instead, she says, “Terry would have loved this party, wouldn’t he?”

  At the sound of my father’s name, Sam lifts her head from her plate. “He would probably be leading us all in a conga line or something.” Her smile is lopsided.

  Jason swears. “Nothing’s been the same since he died.”

  Is Sam’s or Jason’s grief a cover for something darker? And what about Richard? Did his real estate empire start with my father’s money? And did Benjy really see anything in the woods—or is he the victim of his own mind? Despite what Quinn said about revelations, I feel that I’m no closer to the truth than when I started.

  CHAPTER 34

  THINGS HAVE CHANGED

  Sam immediately forks a bratwurst onto her plate when Duncan sets a platter piled high with meat on the table. He comes over to me and leans in.

  “Learning anything?”

  “I’ve been trying to eavesdrop, but people are too good about keeping their conversations private.”

  “I’ve got an idea.” He tugs my wrist. “Come with me.”

  I follow him around the corner until we’re at the base of an oak tree that starts in the side yard and hangs over the backyard. About eight feet up, it forks into two massive trunks. A thin knotted rope dangles down the center, where three warped boards are nailed like a ladder. Bridging the gap between the two trunks is a weathered tree house, maybe six feet long and not quite as tall, with a big open window and a peaked roof.

  “When you’re up there, you can see and hear everything,” he says, “but nobody notices you.”

  I run my thumb over my scar. “Is this the tree I was climbing when I fell?”

  “Yeah. Me and my dad built the tree house the next year.”

  Grabbing the rope, I give it an experimental tug. It holds firm. A few seconds later, I pull myself up onto the open platform that serves as the tree house’s front porch. On hands and knees, I crawl inside. There’s an old pink quilt, a wooden folding chair, a brown cushion, and two unlit votive candles.

  I’m still taking it all in when Duncan scrambles in behind me.

  I turn my head to ask him something. He’s a lot closer than I thought, and my nose grazes his cheek. Suddenly, we’re kissing. I think it surprises him as much as it surprises me.

  My whole body starts to hum. I no longer hear the sounds of the party below us, no longer feel the rough boards under my hands and bare knees. When Duncan lifts his lips from mine, it’s like waking from a dream.

  When I open my eyes, he’s blinking. “Wow!” he says softly, sitting back on his heels and running his thumb over his lips.

  When I start to sway, he grabs my arm above the elbow. Then he freezes. It’s not something he sees. It’s something he hears.

  “I can’t believe it’s been fourteen years,” Carly is saying. “Fourteen years. I’ve missed my brother every single day.”

  “There was no one like him,” Richard says.

  “Every time I got an e-mail message from an address I didn’t know or a call from a number I didn’t recognize, I thought it might be him.” Carly’s voice trembles.

  Someone makes a strangled sound. I think it might be Sam.

  “A lot of things have changed in the last fourteen years,” Jason says. There’s an edge to his tone. “And a lot of people.”

  Duncan and I lean forward until we can see below. No one looks up. They’re too focused on one another.

  “What do you mean?” Audrey asks.

  Jason points an accusing finger at Richard. “Back in the day, you were as raggedy-ass as the rest of us. You used to hang around my house at dinnertime, hoping to be invited to eat. Now you’re Richard”—he gives the full name a sarcastic spin—“and you’ve got your face on billboards, and every time I turn on the TV, there’s your commercial. Look at you, with your plaid shirt and fancy watch. The rest of us are still scraping along, and you look like an actor.”

  Richard lifts his chin. “I worked hard to get where I am.”

  “So are you saying we don’t?” Jason waves one hand at the rest of the group. “Everyone else is working their butts off and has been forever, but right after Naomi and Terry died, things started to change for you. Terry’d been pulling double shifts so he could pay off his back child support. He told me he was going to give the money to Naomi before Christmas. You think no one remembers how your hands were all banged up that Monday after they disappeared? Like you’d been fighting. I think you stole that money—and then you killed them!”

  Duncan and I exchange a wide-eyed look.

  “Please, Jason.” Sam pushes herself to her feet. Her voice is as sharp as a razor. “Richard may be a money-grubber, but he’d never get his hands dirty like that. He’s got a little system going. He finds some old lady who’s behind on her property taxes, who’s maybe not thinking so clearly. Then he makes her a deal: He pays the taxes, and she signs the house over to him. When she dies, he sells the house and keeps the profit, and the heirs get nothing.” She shakes her head in disgust. “And he’ll tell you that it’s all perfectly legal.”

  I remember seeing Frank shake his finger at Richard after the memorial.

  Richard draws himself up to his full height and smooths the front of his shirt. “How I got where I am is all legal. And some of those people have gotten far more out of me than I get in return.” His face contorts into a sneer. “As for my knuckles, Jason, they were bruised because I finally stopped letting my mom’s boyfriend beat me. I was nowhere near the woods that day, and I have no idea what happened to Terry and Naomi. But I never believed Terry did it. Can the rest of you say the same?” He stares at the ring of faces and then stalks off.

  CHAPTER 35

  LOST CAUSE

  I turn around to see what Duncan thinks. At first he looks shocked, but when his gaze shifts to me, his features soften. He’s clearly remembering the kiss we just shared. I need someone who can help me—not kiss me. “I have to go.” My words sound abrupt, even to my own ears.

  I climb down the tree and go inside the house, mentally berating myself. I’m not here to make out. I’ll splash some cold water on my face and then go back and mingle. Observe. Try to slip in questions.

  But the bathroom is occupied, and Carly’s just taking a spot outside the door.

  From behind it I hear a sound. Like choking. Or maybe sobbing.

  “Who’s in there?” I whisper to Carly.

  “Sam.”

  “She must be really upset. It soun
ds like she’s crying.”

  “Really? That’s what you think it sounds like?” Carly raises an eyebrow, not moving from where she leans against the wall. I realize she’s not quite sober. “How do you think she stays so thin?”

  Understanding dawns. “Oh.” Sam’s not sobbing—she’s throwing up. She’s bulimic.

  “My brother was trying to help her. Trying to get her to stop being obsessed with perfection.” Carly rolls her eyes. “A lost cause.”

  The bathroom door opens, and I realize, too late, that the sounds inside ceased a minute ago.

  Sam’s high cheekbones are flushed. “Your brother,” she hisses at Carly, “was the only one who tried to save me. Everyone else knew how bad things were at home, but he was the only one who cared. He even got between me and my dad once. I paid for it later, but still he stuck up for me in a way no one else ever had. But then he fell in love with Naomi, and it was like he didn’t even see me anymore.” Her face drops forward, and her blond hair swings over her eyes like a wing covering a sleeping bird.

  “So are you saying that you hurt him?” Carly puts her hand to her mouth. “Him and Naomi?”

  “Of course not.” Sam raises her chin. “But back then, I thought Terry must have killed her. And you know what? I didn’t care. If he had called and asked me to go away with him, I would have left in a minute. I wouldn’t have hesitated. All these years, I kept my old AOL address just in case. I kept thinking he would come back for me. Terry saved me, and then he just walked out of my life and left me all alone.” Her eyes glitter with unshed tears.

  CHAPTER 36

  I’M NOT ANYONE

  “Oh, Sam.” Carly folds the other woman into a hug. Leaving them to their tears, I go into the bathroom. When I come out, they’re gone, but Jason’s standing just outside the door.

  And he’s staring at me.

  “What’s your game?” he demands. “Why are you following me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even to me, I sound unconvincing.