“I know you think I’m going overboard with you, but I’m trying to protect you,” he insists. “I wish you’d understand. The security measures, making sure you don’t have contact with filth, the tracking. This is all for your own good. What kind of dad would I be if I didn’t protect my little girl?”
“But, Dad, this isn’t protecting me. This is smothering me. What happened with Rachel was an accident. It could happen to anyone, no matter where they are. You can’t prevent bad things from happening.”
“I can do my best,” he says grimly. “I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the mirror if something happened to you, too. This isn’t about Rachel. This is about you and how much we want you to be safe. Now, go finish your homework.”
With that, he continues chopping. Denial. He’s in total denial.
Gritting my teeth, I go back to the dining room and try to concentrate on my homework. For the next few minutes, the only sound from the kitchen is the tap-tap of Dad’s knife hitting the cutting board, until it’s finally broken by the chirp of his phone.
“Hello?” comes Dad’s brisk response.
I strain to hear what he’s saying but only make out the low murmur of his voice.
A moment later, he walks into the dining room, tucking the phone in his pocket. “Let’s go for a drive,” he suggests.
A drive? “Seriously? I just tried having a real conversation with you and you dismissed me. Now you want to go for a drive?”
“We can have that conversation in the car, then.” He pauses. “We’ll talk about the door.”
I know he’s manipulating me. I know it, but I let it happen anyway.
“Where are we going?” I ask as I buckle into the passenger seat.
“I need to pick up your mother from the office. Her car’s in the shop until tomorrow morning.”
“This isn’t the way to Mom’s office,” I point out.
“We’re making a small detour.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
The cryptic response is a joke, because it doesn’t take long to figure it out. When the road gets wider and the houses grow larger, I immediately know who called.
“Jeff and I are not on good terms,” I inform my dad.
He nods easily, as if he’s heard this before. “He said you two had a falling-out.”
“So why are you taking me to his house?”
“Because he has a box of Rachel’s things and he asked if you’d be willing to come over and go through it with him.”
“He asked you, not me. Don’t you think I should have a say in the matter?” I ask curtly.
“No, because I agree with Jeff. Sharing your memories of Rachel will help repair the rift.”
Jeff is so fucking disgusting. Using my dead sister to gain the sympathy and support of my father? I’m going to punch him when I see him. The box is probably as real as the story he’d told Dad about building an arbor in the backyard.
“Why are you so in love with him? He’s a jerk.”
“He’s a good boy,” Dad disagrees. “He loved your sister with all his heart.”
“Did he? Because he treats Scarlett like she’s a piece of garbage.” I know Dad’s not going to turn the car around, so I might as well use the opportunity to let Jeff know that he can’t go on mistreating my friend like this.
But Dad flat out ignores the accusation. “He told me that you’ve been unhappy with how he’s tried to protect you from that Donnelly boy.”
“Oh, I’m sure. Did he also tell you that he pulled the fire alarm at school and tried to pin it on Chase? Or how he’s constantly nagging Scarlett about what she wears and how she acts?”
“I’m sure you’re exaggerating. He’s looked out for you since he got back. He’s defended your actions to us,” Dad says with a sigh, as if that makes Jeff both an idiot and a saint.
He pulls up to the front of Jeff’s huge house.
I’m tempted to run down the lane and over to Mayor Stanton’s house instead. It’s just a few blocks away—we passed it on our way here, but I’m sure that Jeff would narc on me. He’s probably in his living room, peeking behind some curtain. I don’t even understand why he wants to talk to me.
“Go on now. I’ll be back in an hour.”
With a final mutinous look in Dad’s direction, I force myself to get out of the car. I trudge to the door and ring the bell.
Jeff’s mom answers.
“Lizzie!” She gathers me against her chest in a warm hug.
Awkwardly, I hug her back. I’ve never said more than two words to Jeff’s mom. Hell, I don’t even know her first name.
She draws back, cupping my shoulders. “You’re looking more and more like your sister.”
There’s a faint resemblance between Rachel and me. We have the same dark blond hair and brown eyes, but Rachel was taller and thinner than me. We certainly don’t look enough alike for Jeff’s mom to act like I’m some long-lost daughter arriving home after thirty days at sea.
“Hi, Mrs. Corsen. Apparently, Jeff has a box of stuff to give me?” I say woodenly.
“He’s downstairs in the game room.” She clasps her hands together happily. “I’m so glad that you two are together. I know some people will think it’s odd, but I feel like your shared grief brought you closer. Isn’t that right?”
“Together?” My eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. What the hell is Jeff telling his parents?
“Jeffrey was so lost after Rachel died,” she says, her tone finally losing some of its cheer. “He just lost control. That’s why he had to go to England, you know?”
This is something I didn’t know. Something I feel is important, which is why I act like I know what she’s talking about. “Yeah, he said he found himself,” I lie.
“I hope so. Goodness, I hope so. After the incident with Debbie’s son, I was so worried, but he hasn’t gotten into any fights since he’s been back. And everyone’s been so good to him since he returned.”
“No. No fights.” That’s at least true, but I’ve never heard of this incident with Debbie’s son. Debbie’s their housekeeper.
“I should have been paying more attention after Rachel’s accident, but you know how busy we are.” Jeff’s dad is some big insurance executive and spends most of his time in Chicago, but his mom has no job as far as I know. Maybe she’s busy with charity things or whatever really rich women do with their time.
“Teenagers can be sneaky,” I say, wondering what conversation we’re having.
She buys it. “The pills were the least of our concern,” she admits. “It was the anger that was, well, challenging. Apology gifts only go so far.”
“That’s true,” I agree, but inwardly I’m left wondering. What on earth did Jeff do? What anger issues were so serious that he had to be sent to an entirely different country? When I open my mouth to ask, Jeff’s head appears at the top of the stairs.
“Lizzie,” he says.
“Beth,” I remind him frostily.
“Come on. I have something for you.” He grabs my hand and tugs me down the carpeted stairs.
I don’t believe him. Or, at least, I don’t want to believe him, but my feet follow after his. If he does have something of Rachel’s, I don’t want to leave it here. I remember how unhappy she was in the days leading up to her death, how she withdrew from all of us.
That indistinct thought I had before has morphed into a huge concern. Jeff was the reason for her unhappiness. He was the reason she stopped smiling, stopped talking to us. He doesn’t deserve to have any of her things.
“Why didn’t you tell me about it before? It’s been a whole month.”
“I just found it. I forgot I had it.”
He leads me down the stairs. His basement is as big as my house. There’s a full bar and a room filled with hundreds of bottles of wine. I see a pool table and a wall of windows leading out to Jeff’s pool, which is covered for the winter.
We bypass a large sitting area and go into a paneled room with two heavy leather sofas facing each other. At one end is a green felt table. On the walls are pictures of those silly dogs playing cards.
“Have a seat.” He crosses over to a cabinet and tugs open the door. “Want a drink?” He holds up a bottle of vodka.
“Where’s the box?”
“Do you want to have a drink?” He shakes the bottle lightly.
“No. I want the box.”
“Just one drink.”
“It’s four in the afternoon. I don’t want a drink.” I check my watch. Only ten minutes have passed. I have fifty to go. I take a seat on the sofa. “I’ll have a soda.”
“Fine. When did you get to be so uptight?” he grouses but grabs a Sprite for me.
He drops it into my lap and settles in too close. I inch away and check my watch again. Time is moving slower than a turtle.
“Got someplace to go? Your felon boyfriend waiting?” He lifts the bottle of liquor to his lips.
“My dad said he’d be back soon, so you should give me what you have.”
“You still don’t have your wheels back?” He clucks his tongue. “Be nice and I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“Okay. Take me to my felon boyfriend’s house.”
Jeff raises the bottle and, for a flash, I think he’s going to hit me. But he tips it to his mouth again. I must’ve imagined it.
“You’re a bitch, you know that?” he says, swiping his hand across his mouth.
“Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“What is it with you girls lately? You’re a bitch and Scarlett’s a slut. You two used to be so good.” He slurs the last bit.
I wave a hand in front of my face to get rid of his booze breath. “Maybe it’s not us girls who have changed.”