“Emmie.” Mom sounds breathless and teary. “Answer Sheriff Perry, please.”
My silence says everything and nothing. The sheriff’s lips thin until his mouth is a jagged crack splitting the skin above his chin. My parents stare at me, and I stare at the pores on Perry’s wide nose.
“Mr. and Mrs. May, perhaps I’m not speaking plainly enough for your daughter. This is a very serious situation. There is a warrant out for Deacon Westfield’s arrest.”
He lets that settle in the air. I don’t breathe, don’t flinch. On the inside, I’m coming to pieces, but I don’t let myself react.
Perry takes a breath. “Anyone interfering with the investigation is subject to prosecution to the fullest extent of the law.”
Cold sweat rolls between my shoulder blades, but I keep my chin high. I will not let him do this. This isn’t justice. Not even close.
There’s a knock at the conference room door, and then it bursts open. I see a frazzled-looking Deputy Nelson, who offers me an apologetic look. I try to give him a smile, but it just trembles right off of my lips.
And then I see the tall man standing behind him.
White hair. Blue eyes. Still straightening his tie as he strides inside.
My mom’s sigh is the clearest thank-you I’ve ever heard. My shoulders drop six inches, my chest unbinding. Joel’s never had better timing in his life.
• • •
“I heard you were out of town, Joel.” Perry flashes a smile I don’t buy.
Joel isn’t returning it when he nods. “Sheriff. If you don’t mind, I think my clients could use some legal representation here.”
I can’t quite follow all the legal jargon that flies between them for the next five minutes or so. There’s something from Joel about me being a minor, and then something else from Perry about a conflict of interest. That part I imagine has something to do with Joel representing Mr. Westfield before.
Joel offers to call down another attorney, and even though no one’s raised a voice, it’s clear a gauntlet’s been thrown. If the sheriff’s face is any indicator, he really doesn’t want that to happen.
Maybe Joel is starting to think the sheriff is taking things too far with Deacon. Maybe he learned something about the seasonal guys. If I can get him alone, talk to him, maybe I’ll understand what the hell is going on.
Joel stabs a finger onto the desk and lowers his voice. “Now, unless you’re charging my client, I think we’re done here.”
The sheriff snorts. “Oh, sure, sure. I’d love to give y’all time to get your stories straight before we get our answers.”
The look Joel fires Perry could wither someone’s lawn, but the sheriff raises his hands and gives his best nice-guy impression.
“I’m just trying to get to the bottom of what happened to James Westfield. I’m trying to bring justice to all of this.”
“James Westfield is my best friend. No one wants to know the truth more than me. And I’ll do whatever it takes to find it.” Joel tilts his head at the sheriff, offering an expression that is nowhere close to a smile. “We’ll set up a time to meet again, Sheriff.”
Joel ushers us outside. It’s sunny and bright, only the barest wisps of cloud interrupting the cobalt sky. My hands are still tingling and numb. I shake them hard and breathe in the sweetness of fresh air.
“Mary, Eddie,” Joel says, squeezing Mom’s arm and mine in turn. He leads us to the edge of the parking lot, under a thick-trunked tree. Then he turns to include Dad in the conversation too. “I’d like to set up a meeting to talk about this, but I want you to both know, Emmie is going to be just fine. He’s using scare tactics and nothing more.”
“She took things to that boy, Joel,” Mom says. It’s like I’m not here. And Deacon’s no longer my best friend’s brother; he’s that boy. I open my mouth, but Joel gives me a sideways look, a silent plea to wait.
“Now, Mary, she’s a good girl who wants to help. The important thing to remember is that no judge in the world is going to stand behind flimsy charges being thrown at a girl like Eddie. This will blow over. Now, we’ll meet up tomorrow. I’ve got to get a big client situated, and I’ve got to look into what’s going on with Chelsea, but I’m free in the afternoon.”
Dad nods. “If you think that’s soon enough.”
“It absolutely is. I’ll call the sheriff to set up a meeting.” He smiles at my mom, touching her arm again, sparing a quick smile to a group of teens walking past. “This is all going to be fine.”
Joel looks like he’s going to walk away, but I grab his arm. “Joel, wait. How did you even know I was here?”
“Your mama texted me.” He smiles. “Lucky I was already on my way back. I’ve been at the courthouse trying to find some contact information on Chelsea. Sounds like that aunt of hers had her brought down to Charleston like I feared. And they’ve moved.”
Mom clucks, eyes clouding over. “I just knew that overbearing woman would do something like this. Taking her away from her daddy right now.”
Joel nods, revealing the dark circles under his eyes. “Trouble is, I can’t even reach Chelsea to see if she’s all right. They aren’t releasing their phone number or address. People are being very secretive about the whole thing, so maybe they’ve hired an attorney or a private investigator. I think they’re trying to stir up dirt, maybe keep Chelsea down there for good.”
“Private investigator? Do you think it’s the Children’s Services guy? He said his name was Vaughn.”
“I didn’t get a name, but that’d make a lot of sense. PIs have no boundaries at all. He’d chase down anyone he thought could dig up nasty things on the family. We’d be smart to steer clear of him. I’m hoping to get him run out of town, but it’s been hard to pin down specifics.”
Mom touches her chin. “I sure hate to hear that. He wouldn’t hurt Emmie, would he?”
“Definitely not, but he would dog her around. Swagger and generally intimidate her.”
“Sounds about right,” I say, my mind replaying the sound of his tires behind me. “Is there anything I can do?”
“You just rest up,” Joel says. “I’m going to get Mr. Trumbull settled for his trip and then we’ll meet up tomorrow.”
“He’s here? In town?” I flash back through the investment talk we had. Is there any real chance that will still work out? It seems impossible, the idea of something good coming out of this terrible time.
“He’s on his way down, and I want his trip to go off without a hitch.” He gives me the barest wink, and my spirits lift. “I’ll text you as soon as I’m available. It’s all right as rain, Emmie. Right as rain.”
I smile for the first time since waking up, but my good mood doesn’t last. Joel hops into his car, and I feel the low, familiar ache return. My parents are waiting behind me, stunned. Weary. Broken. I’ve seen them this way once before, and I vowed to do everything in my power to protect them from it ever happening again.
Dad goes to get the car and refuses to let me walk with him. The heat beats down like a punishment, or maybe that’s just the air rolling off my mother. She won’t even look at me. Just tucks at her hair and stares vacantly at the parking lot.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“I warned you to stay away from that boy.” Her voice is cold and clipped.
My eyes burn, and my voice drops. “He’s my friend, Mom. I thought helping friends was the right thing to do.”
“Anything involving Deacon Westfield is wrong, Emmie. Don’t you see that?”
She looks at me then, eyes red-rimmed. And yeah, I see it. She’s my mom. She wants me to have the things she lost. A law degree. A suit-wearing, big-money husband. A big brick house. A life that would have made Grandma proud.
Trouble is, she never asks if I want that life. And I never admit that I don’t.
“I don’t want to make you unhapp
y,” I say.
“Then walk away from this right now. This is…” She takes a shaky breath, clenches her fists. “This is you with your brother all over again.”
Her anguish tears a hole through my middle. “Mom. You don’t have—”
“No, I do. I need to say this, and you need to hear it. You try to save everything, Emmie. Dogs, turtles, people. You want to fix our family and this town and that boy so badly, and it blinds you from it.”
“Blinds me from what?”
“From seeing that some people choose to stay broken.” Her voice cracks then, tears slipping past her carefully lined eyes. “People like Deacon, like your brother. They don’t want to be saved, sugar. They don’t want to be saved at all.”
• • •
We pick up Ralph before Dad drives us home. For a while, we’re all there, the family that we used to be. Then he disappears in a flurry of phone calls about marina things that neither Mom nor I seem to care much about. He presses a bristly kiss to my head before he disappears, leaving us alone.
Mom takes my phone the second he leaves—a standard punishment since I got it freshman year. I don’t fight her on it like I usually do. Her hollow eyes and soft steps scare me. I don’t want to fight her on anything. Not until she comes out of this.
We hover around each other like ghosts in the living room. On the outside, I’m silent as the grave, but just under the skin, I’m screaming. I pluck lint off the couch cushion, pick the split ends out of my hair. Mom leaves the tea I made untouched and stares, glassy-eyed, at the wall until there’s nothing left in the room but guilt and regret. And both are eating me alive.
I push myself off the couch and step over my horse of a dog. The floor is cold under my feet. Cold and dirty. I could almost cry with relief over that.
I start in the kitchen, mopping the floor, scrubbing the baseboards. When every inch is gleaming, I move to the dining room, cleaning every dish in the china cabinet. I save my two favorites for last: the owl mug Landon made me in the fifth grade and Grandma’s silver butter plate. I swiped it from the big house one of the only times we were there. I was too little to remember, but every time I asked about that dish, my mom and dad would laugh.
I put it back beside the mug and close the doors. The silver glints against the kitchen light. Just like Perry’s ridiculous new watch.
I snort. Love to know how he afforded that on a police salary.
My body goes still at once, my grip going slack on the dusting rag. Pieces start clicking neatly together. The new watch. Perry’s insistence on Deacon’s guilt. The new fishing boat. A cold lump forms in the pit of my stomach. I press my hand against it.
Is Perry getting paid off?
My eyes dart around the kitchen, the house phone on the wall tempting me closer. I could call the station to talk to Nelson. He listened to me before, and he looked sorry about Perry. Maybe he was on to something. Maybe the sheriff shut him down because he was actually getting close to the truth.
I could call the state police. The FBI.
Mom shifts on the couch, and reality presses down on my chest. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not calling anyone. Not while my mom’s still awake.
I rub my eyes and check the time. Ten o’clock. Tomorrow, we’ll be meeting with Joel. Maybe he’ll already know the answers to all the questions I’m asking. At the very least, he’ll know what to do.
I put my rags in the laundry room and head through the living room to say good night. I stop, surprised to find her watching me.
“You off to bed?” she asks, her voice startling because it’s normal.
I cross my arms over my middle. “Yes. If that’s all right with you.”
“Why don’t you come sit with me for a bit?”
I edge around the couch, Ralph grumbling when I move his feet out of the way. Everything feels strange. I’m sitting up too straight, smiling too brightly.
Mom is calm, but her eyes are focused and clear now. “Quite the day we’ve had.”
I drop my gaze to my lap. “Mom, I’m sorry. You have every right to be angry.”
“Disappointed,” she corrects.
Definitely worse than angry in my book. I look up. “You have every right to be disappointed. I’m sorry if it seems like I want to save people. Maybe I’m wrong sometimes, but with my brother…I just feel like both of you have given up on him.”
Her eyes flutter, her gaze settling on me. “Oh, sugar, it was the other way around, I can assure you of that.”
“I don’t think so,” I say, because the scab is picked and now I can’t stop the bleeding. “I realized what you’ve been saying for so long. You gave him this opportunity and he walked away, not just from college but from all of us. But he could come back. Maybe if we were less angry. Maybe if you didn’t expect—”
Mom’s voice goes low. “It was bigger than that, baby.”
I pick at the edges of the couch, and she reaches for my hand, smoothing her fingers over mine. “It started with a fake ID,” she says. “He was still in high school then.”
“He went drinking?”
“Gambling actually. On his senior trip. That was when we first met Joel really.”
Joel helped my brother? My lips part in shock. “He never said anything.”
“Lawyers never do.”
I wrinkle my nose, slouching back into the couch. “I didn’t know he was into gambling.”
“Well, Landon likes to win. No matter the game.” Her smile is a flash of teeth before her frown returns. “He didn’t win at college. The studying, the hard sciences. They were difficult. We encouraged tutoring, but he wanted to switch majors. Your father thought we should support the choice and I didn’t, but in the end, they wore me down for a program at Virginia Tech.”
“Wait…I thought he dropped out of Duke. He went to another college?”
“Two others actually,” she says, and this time, her smile doesn’t appear. “Of course, he told us there were five, and we both kept sending out those checks, hoping he was serious this time. Hoping to see that same all-star student he’d always been here in Beaufort.”
I turn sideways on the couch, my eyes and throat hot and thick. “What do you mean he told you there were five?”
“Landon took tuition money that he never intended to use for tuition. Eighteen thousand dollars’ worth to be precise. He stole from us.”
My stomach drops out. “Mom…”
Her smile is back, and it’s almost normal. She tucks my hair behind my ear. Moves a pillow. Fusses. “It’s no matter. I’ve got you. Now you’ve made your mistakes for this boy—”
“Mom—”
She ignores me, pressing on. “—but Joel seems confident we’ll be able to move past that, so it’ll be fine. It will all be fine.”
I flinch, because it won’t be fine. All this time, all these years, I believed my brother was lost, but I was wrong. He was a thief. He used them. I should have pushed harder for the truth, but I missed it.
Just like I missed it with Chelsea and Deacon.
How many times have I fallen for smoke and mirrors like this? How many times have I been so determined to see the best in things that I didn’t face the reality right in front of me?
I swallow hard because it won’t be fine. I won’t forget how wrong I was about Landon, but I also won’t keep living my life to fill the hole he left. I can’t be that person anymore.
And I can’t be the person who walks away from Deacon to make her happy either.
I take a breath and square my shoulders. “Mom, I’m so sorry about Landon. I am. And I promise not to follow in his footsteps… But I stand behind my choice to defend Deacon. Time will tell on this, and it will tell you he is innocent.”
Her face blanches, lips thinning. “How can you sit here and say this to me?”
I lean forward, cl
utching her hands. “Because I know this guy, Mom. I’ve seen him save cats and cook for his sister. I saw him spend three hours picking flowers off of a boat because his mom didn’t like lilies. I’ve seen his temper and his attitude and, yes, Mom, his refusal to live up to his potential, but I still care about him. I can’t change that. I don’t want to change that.”
Mom stands up then, wringing her hands. Shaking her head with a reedy, desperate laugh. “Has it ever occurred to you that he might be lying to you?”
“Yes, it has. But he’s not. I know him, Mom.”
“You’re seventeen years old, Emmie. You don’t know anyone. Not even yourself.” Her face shutters off, but she hands me my phone. “I’m tracking every text and every call. Make better choices.”
I open the phone and see the parent tracker icon on the screen. The same one my parents deactivated on my sixteenth birthday because they said I deserved privacy and they trusted me. And now they don’t.
Mom picks up the remote and the cup of tea that must be stone cold by now, and it’s back to life as usual. That’s what she expects us to pretend at least.
I scratch Ralph’s soft head and slip into my bedroom. I close my eyes and lean my head against the door, Mom’s words ringing in my ears. Make better choices.
I do need to make better choices. But I’m pretty sure Mom won’t be crazy about what better means to me.
Mom turns off the TV, and the stairs creak under her feet. The thump of her bedroom door drifts down from my ceiling, carrying the weight of the ugliness between us with it.
It’s eleven o’clock when I get a text from an unfamiliar number.
Hey, it’s Chelsea. Are you around?
A thrill runs through my chest at her name, but I chew my lip, because I don’t know this number. I don’t even know the area code. I ponder over my text before replying.
Hey, whose phone is this?
Aunt Jane’s. I’m stuck in Charleston and they took my phone.
My pulse is moving a little faster. It sounds like her. So why the paranoia?
I text again. Are you okay?