Makani hoped this was because of the low attendance as opposed to a general distrust of Ollie. It was growing in all the students, not just Darby and Alex. Ollie hadn’t revealed any outward signs of acknowledgment, but it was impossible for Makani to believe that he hadn’t noticed the darted glances and heated murmurs. It had never been so clear that he didn’t fit in—and how much that rankled them.
Zachary Loup, asshole burnout and the other frequently rumored suspect, had been smart. He’d stayed at home.
“I spent the afternoon watching the news with my grandma,” Makani said. She slid her fries toward Ollie and hoped that he’d take some. His apple, Ziploc of Cheetos, and peanut-butter sandwich seemed especially sad today. “It was depressing. All of those parents and siblings and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. All of them being shouted at. ‘How does it feel to know that your son’s killer is still at large?’” She shook her head. “And yet, there we were. Waiting to judge and analyze their responses.”
Ollie dipped a French fry in ketchup. “Thanks.”
She felt an urgent need to engage him in conversation, aware of the eyes that judged them. They needed to look normal. Or, at least as normal as was possible today. Ollie’s usual demeanor might appear suspiciously calm. Though, if he seemed happy, that would look inappropriate, too. Makani hated that she had to worry about what other people thought of him.
“What about you?” she asked. “Were you at the station again?”
“Yeah, but Chris didn’t make me work. He wasn’t even there. He had to drive to Tecumseh, so I hung out with Ken.”
“Ken?”
“The dispatcher.”
“Oh. Is he . . . cool?” The question felt dumb, but Makani wanted to know more about Ollie’s life. Truthfully, she wanted to know everything. They’d exchanged a few texts yesterday, enough for her to know that he’d be coming to school today. Perhaps, if she were still being honest, it was the main reason why she’d wanted to come, too.
Ollie’s mouth twitched with a smile. “He’s a fifty-something, thrice-married divorcé who owns two ATVs. His favorite show is infomercials.”
Makani laughed.
His smile turned into a grin.
“So, what’s in Tecumseh? Was Chris interviewing a suspect?” She paused. “And where’s Tecumseh?”
“About two and a half hours away, past Lincoln. It’s the site of the state’s only maximum-security prison. He was called out for something unrelated. Unexciting.”
“Your whole day sounds—”
“Unexciting,” Ollie repeated.
She laughed again. “You know, the next time we have a day off, you’re welcome to stay at my house instead.” It was both a practical suggestion and a flirtatious offer, but Makani quickly realized what else she’d implied. Why they would have another day off. Her expression collapsed. “I didn’t mean . . . I hope another person doesn’t . . .”
Ollie nodded. He understood.
“Ugh.” Makani thumped her head dramatically against the table. “Everything is the worst.” She turned her head, cheek against tabletop, to look at him.
And then he did the best thing.
He laid his head against the tabletop, too.
They stared at each other—cheeks squashed, noses inhaling the funk of an old cleaning sponge. She wished that she could reach under the table and take his hand, but they’d never shown a public display of affection. That was for boyfriends and girlfriends. She still wasn’t sure what this was, she only hoped it would continue. It would feel good to be close to someone again. It would feel good to be close to him.
Her phone dinged. Makani swore as they lifted their heads, and she checked the screen. “Grandma. Just making sure everything’s okay.”
An odd look appeared on Ollie’s face.
“What is it?”
He shook his head. “Something my brother said.”
She waited for him to elaborate, and he glanced around before lowering his voice. “Chris told me that they worked in silence at Rodrigo’s house, because they were still in shock. The only sound was Rodrigo’s phone. It was blowing up with friends who’d heard the rumors and were trying to check in.” Ollie shuddered. “Chris said that was the worst part, the part that kept them all on edge. The sound of those unanswered calls and texts.”
“Oh, man,” Makani said softly. “That’s bleak.”
“If we could have your attention . . .”
Caleb Greeley and someone else from the religious crowd, a tall, mousy girl that Makani recognized as a junior, were standing on the cafeteria’s modest platform stage. Caleb spoke into a microphone. Makani knew what was coming next.
“. . . we’d like to lead you in a short prayer for Haley, Matt, and Rodrigo.”
Yep. Makani couldn’t think of a single instance of prayer during school back in Hawaii, but it happened all the time here. And everyone was expected to participate. That was the part that bothered her. Makani genuinely hoped that others, including her grandmother, found peace and strength through prayer. But she wasn’t religious herself, and it made her uncomfortable whenever it was forced upon her.
She bowed her head and listened to Caleb and the girl not so much pray as preach. They recited many, many Bible verses. Her annoyance at Caleb rose. First, there was the prayer at the flagpole. Then, the interview on television. Now this. Was he getting something out of the attention? Was he enjoying the spotlight a little too—
Makani stopped herself. She was doing to him what everyone else was doing to Ollie. Anyone could look sinister when viewed through the lens of fear—even an overly zealous, deeply sincere boy like Caleb. She pushed her suspicions aside. But as another minute dragged by, Makani realized that she could appreciate his goodwill while simultaneously wishing that he would also suggest something they could actually do to help support the victims’ families or catch the killer. Prayer alone wasn’t action.
Underneath the table, someone took her right hand from her lap.
Her eyes jolted open.
Ollie stared back. She glanced around, but everyone else, even the cafeteria ladies, had their eyes closed. Ollie laced his fingers through hers. She tightened the grip and leaned in.
They kissed.
Heat and electricity and life spread throughout her body. They opened their mouths and kissed deeper, without sound, surrounded by the prayers of the frightened. When Caleb said, “Amen,” their lips pulled away, and they smiled quietly. No one any wiser to their indiscretion.
Near the end of the last period, Principal Stanton returned to the loudspeakers to thank everyone for coming today, to remind them that the school would still be open tomorrow, and to announce a small piece of good news: Rosemarie Holt won the barrel race last weekend at the Sloane County Championship Rodeo.
Makani didn’t give a damn about the rodeo, and Rosemarie was a junior in none of her classes, but she cheered along with the rest of her Spanish class. Their universal joy was significantly overheightened. They felt grateful for any good news.
“Watch out, Rosemarie,” Ollie said darkly.
The joke rang too true, and the happiness died in Makani’s throat.
“The killer likes them talented,” he said.
“Don’t.”
She hadn’t meant for it to come out so sharply. Ollie looked startled, and the space between them grew awkward. “Sorry,” he said. “I only meant—”
“I know. It’s okay.” Makani shook her head, trying to smile. She’d understood his meaning instantly; she was upset because someone might have overheard him. She attempted to mend the delicate breach. “Is that something the police are looking into?”
He nodded as her phone vibrated, rattling the top of her desk.
The noise rattled her, too. Rodrigo’s phone. Blowing up. Thankfully, it was more good news, this time from her grandmother: Still in Omaha. Doc kept me waiting for over an hour just to tell me that I’ll have to come back for more tests. I won’t be home when school get
s out. Would you please ask Darby to stay with you until I get there?
Makani texted back: sure! no worries.
This time, her grin at Ollie was genuine. “Wanna come over to my place?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
They left behind Ollie’s car at school and walked to her house, in case Grandma Young came home early and he needed to make a sneaky getaway. The irony was not lost on them that this behavior made them look suspicious, but the sun was shining, and the air was crisp with the magic of autumn.
Leaves pinwheeled from the sky and swirled across the sidewalk. Mums brightened the dull landscape with vibrant pops of yellow, lavender, and russet. Cheesecloth ghosts hung from invisible string on tree branches. Tombstones with joke names created temporary graveyards. And pumpkins—orange, white, tall, round, flat, and miniature—decorated every porch and door. Halloween was only three days away.
The afternoon felt like a gift. A respite from the ongoing stress.
Their plan was simple: Makani would encourage her grandmother to text updates regarding her arrival time, and, when she grew close, Ollie would duck out. Makani would say that Darby had just left, because they knew Grandma Young was around the corner, and Darby’s parents were anxious to have him home. And then Grandma Young would get mad, but it wouldn’t be anything an evening couldn’t fix.
Puddles of melted snow still rested beneath the oak-lined portion of Walnut Street. The north-south roads in Osborne’s oldest neighborhood were all named after trees: Cedar, Elm, Hickory, Oak, Pine, Spruce, Walnut, and Willow. They’d been christened in alphabetical order, so that the townspeople could always find their way home. Lately, Makani felt irrationally relieved that she didn’t live on Elm Street.
“What’d you tell your brother?” she asked.
“That I’m going into work early,” Ollie said. A moment of tension arose as they rounded the side of her house, and—
Yep. All clear.
Her grandmother’s gold Taurus wasn’t in the driveway.
They entered through the back door. The house was quiet. The only sound was its heartbeat, the hefty pendulum of the immense grandfather clock.
“It’s such an old-people house,” she whispered.
“I like it,” Ollie whispered back.
They didn’t have to lower their voices, but they did anyway. Energy crackled between them, intense and irrepressible. “I’m pretty sure the only items made in this century are the ones that moved here with me,” she said.
He laughed quietly. She led him out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“She hasn’t finished it yet?” he asked.
Makani stopped, halfway up.
“The puzzle,” he said.
She followed his gaze over the banister and into the living room, where most of the sky pieces—the blues and whites and grays—were still scattered around the coffee table. She shook her head and smiled. “I think she’s been waiting for you.”
“Next time, I’ll visit when she’s home.”
Makani raised an eyebrow. “Sure you don’t want to work on it now?”
Ollie bit his lip. Let the ring slip back out. “Positive.”
As Makani led him into her bedroom, she sensed his eyes on the curves of her body. She felt his hunger, because it was the same hunger that she felt inside herself.
She locked the door behind them. Just in case.
It reminded her to check her phone, and a new text had arrived from Grandma Young. Accident on Route 6. Stuck in West Omaha traffic.
“Traffic sucks. We’re in luck.” Makani sing-songed it as she plugged her phone into a speaker and turned up the volume. The loud music was also just in case, but Ollie hardly seemed to register it. He seemed taken aback by his surroundings.
Uneasy, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What?”
Ollie took a moment to collect his thoughts. “It looks like the rest of the house. Not like you. This looks like . . . you’re a visitor.”
The shrewd observation stung more than expected. “I suppose I am.”
Ollie nodded, and she was surprised that the gesture contained disappointment. Her arms uncrossed as she stepped automatically toward him, but he turned away from her. The emotional barrier slammed back into place. He kneeled beside her bed.
“What are you—”
“You once told me that I’d find something under here.” At her baffled expression, he added, “A picture?”
Her eyes widened as she recalled the old swim team photo.
His smile gleamed with mischief.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Makani threw her body between him and the bed, pinning down his arms as he struggled for something just out of reach. She couldn’t let him see the picture now. Not while she was trying to seduce him. “Next time,” she said, laughing. “I promise I’ll show you next time.”
Their chests touched. They breathed heavily.
Ollie stopped wriggling to give her another tempting smile. “And what good are the promises of someone who lies to her own grandmother?”
She kissed his lips—briefly—and pulled away. “Another day. I mean it.” She kissed him again. “Just not today.”
Ollie leaned forward and kissed her. Makani squirmed to shed her coat and got tangled in its sleeves. They both laughed as he helped her out of it.
“I’m curious—”
“Why I’m wearing a heavy coat? Because it snowed, and I grew up on the beach.”
“I’m curious,” he said, “why you’re a winter Goth.”
She was about to kiss him again, but this made her stop. “What?”
“Your summer clothes are colorful, and your winter clothes are black.” He motioned at her coat and sweater to prove his point and then inclined his head for more kissing, as if he hadn’t just initiated a weird conversation.
Makani pulled back so that he couldn’t reach her mouth.
The summer clothes were her old clothes. In Hawaii, the warmest items she’d needed were jeans and a hoodie. Here, she’d had to ask her grandmother to buy her a coat, hat, scarf, gloves, and sweaters. They’d made a special trip to a mall in Omaha, and she’d selected everything in black. She couldn’t explain why except that when she wore it, she felt a bit more protected. A bit more hardened. But that sounded dumb, and she didn’t want Ollie to think she was copying him or Alex.
She teased him instead. “I like that you pay so much attention to what I’m wearing.”
“I always pay attention to you. I always see you.”
Her skin flushed as she held his gaze. “I see you, too.”
Their bodies connected in a frantic crush. His hoodie disappeared, and then her sweater. And then his shirt. They were on her bed, and her jeans were off, and she was only in her underwear. She reached for his zipper.
Ollie placed a hand over hers. “Is this okay? Are you sure?”
These were the questions that required honesty. “Yes,” she said. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
She kissed him again, gently pushing aside his hand. “Yes,” she repeated.
“Yes,” he repeated.
The boy with the pink hair was asleep, and her grandmother had texted thirty minutes earlier that traffic was moving, but it was still slow. They had at least another hour.
Makani replied: no prob! keep me updated.
Her favorite song blasted through the speaker as she contemplated the rise and fall of Ollie’s bare chest. His stomach was flat, much flatter than hers, and he looked more content in slumber than he did when he was awake. He looked soothed. The sex had been surprising, and not only because it had been quiet. (Just in case.) It had been different from their first time. It had been better. It had been more.
Makani watched Ollie until thirst overpowered her. She redressed, tugged a blanket over him, and went downstairs into the kitchen. The flatware drawer was open.
Her pulse spiked. “Grandma?”
Apart from the tick of the grandfather clock, the house was silent
. Makani closed the drawer with a shaking hand. She can’t be home yet. She rewound an hour to their arrival, trying to remember if the drawer had been open when they’d passed through the room. She didn’t think so, but, admittedly, she’d been distracted.
It must have been open.
Her grandmother must have opened it before leaving for her appointment. It was good that she’d gone to the specialist. Maybe they would finally get some answers.
Makani filled a plastic cup with tap water and chugged it. She refilled it for Ollie but then decided to use the downstairs bathroom, her grandmother’s bathroom, before returning. With the loud music, she didn’t think he’d be able to hear her peeing in the upstairs bathroom, but she was still self-conscious about it.
When she returned to the kitchen, the flatware drawer was open. Her body lurched to a halt. She gaped at it from the threshold.
The tracks must be loose. It’s been rolling itself open this whole time.
But a lump thickened inside her throat.
Makani wasn’t sure why she felt afraid. She glanced at the back door, but it was locked. She glanced behind her, but she was alone. Of course she was alone.
She crept into the kitchen and pushed in the drawer, just a few inches. Testing it. Waiting for it to roll back out.
It didn’t.
She pushed in the drawer, all the way.
Waited.
Still nothing. Maybe Grandma is right. Maybe I really am the one losing my mind. The thought was unsettling, because it could be true. A period of time did exist that was difficult for Makani to remember. Perhaps these recent forgetful occurrences were remnants of her past trauma. Or perhaps, even worse, evidence of a new progression.
Shame poured through her as she stared at the drawer, willing it to open. She pressed her ear against its veneer and listened.
Nothing. The drawer held firm.
“Shit,” she whispered.
Makani shook her head. She went to grab the water, but the cup was empty.
“Shit,” she said again, spinning around. She didn’t know if she was searching for her grandmother or Ollie, but there was still nobody there. With trembling hands, she refilled the plastic cup and carried it toward the stairs, the water threatening to slosh over the sides. And that’s when she noticed the jigsaw puzzle.