Page 54 of Look What You Made Me Do

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Wyn

I only haveone class today, but I purposely allowed Lucas to believe I had a full schedule. He probably already knows, honestly. He’s a Sacred Son, which means he has full access to all of my information, including my class schedule.

But whatever.

Once my morning class is out, I head over to Gabriel’s mom’s house. It’s not far from campus, a beautiful little house nestled in the hills of Malibu. Gabriel lived in off-campus housing, but he was at his mom’s place a lot. Mostly to watch the dog, Queenie, while she was away, which was pretty frequent.

I make my way up the long driveway. The house is only one story, and quite small, but elegant with trees that surround the property, and windows that bring in tons of natural light. I park in the driveway, behind a large white truck, and get out, my heart hammering like crazy.

As I approach the front door, I notice several moving boxes lined up along the pavement in front of the house. There’s oneguy in the truck, and a couple others coming out the front door with a desk.

What the…?

The front door is open, but I feel weird about just walking in, so I lean in and call out, “Hello? Ms. Martelle?”

“Just a second,” she calls out from somewhere deep in the house. “Coming!”

A few seconds later, Gabriel’s mom appears with the chihuahua, Queenie, under her arm. She’s tall and thin, and wearing her workout clothes. She looks surprised to see me. Of course, she is. I haven’t seen her since the funeral.

“Oh, hey, honey,” she says, looking me over, and I wonder if she even remembers my name. “Come on in,” she says. “I’m just packing up the dining room.”

I follow her through the empty house to the dining room where a couple of movers are in the middle of packing up a bunch of tea cups from the china cabinet.

“Ah, careful with those,” Mrs. Martelle jumps in. “Those are really delicate. Wrap them twice with the bubble wrap.”

A set of French doors open up into the sunroom, which hasn’t been packed up yet, so I wander in there. “Are you leaving Malibu?” I ask.

That question pulls her attention back to me, and she walks over to the doorway. She tilts her head and frowns at me like she’s just now realizing that she’s forgotten to let me know about the move. “Uh, yeah, baby, I’m sorry. You know that Gabriel was my only child, and after everything that happened—” She pauses to wipe away tears that aren’t there. “I just thought it’d be easier to leave the memories behind.”

I nod slowly, then shrug, focusing my attention on the plant next to me so she doesn’t see the confusion on my face. I mean, damn, moving feels drastic, but then again, I’m not in her shoes. “No, yeah, I totally get it,” I say. “Where are you moving to?”

“I have some family in Brazil,” she says.

“Oh, yeah. Right.” I knew that and it makes sense. Her parents are gone, but she has a couple of siblings there. “Um, well, I’m sorry to bother you about this, but I had a quick question about that day a couple of months ago.”

She knows what day I mean. I don’t want to say it.

“Sure, what’s up?” she replies, her hip pressed against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. She looks open to whatever I’m about to ask like she’s eager to put me at ease.

“The, um, autopsy report mentions a witness to what happened. Do you know who that was?” I ask, plucking at a leaf.

She tilts her head like she’s not sure why I’m asking. “Um, I think the police mentioned a young guy from the area. He just happened to be walking along the tracks and saw Gabriel,” she says.

“ Do you know his name?” I ask pointedly.

She seems a little surprised by my question, and she stumbles over her words. “I don’t know, Pendleton, maybe? I’m sorry, I don’t remember.” She blinks at me, the emotion from a minute ago completely gone. “Why do you ask?”

I take a step back and shake my head. This room smells amazing, I realize randomly. It smells…familiar.“It’s okay. I guess I was just looking for some closure, that’s all,” I say. “It’s dumb.”

“We all miss him, but he’s in a better place,” she says, her tone softening. “Have you thought about talking to a therapist?”

“Um, yeah, actually. I think I will. Anyway, sorry to bother you.” I take another step back and glance more closely at the plant I’d just been molesting. The thick white flowers look familiar. “Good luck with the move…” I say distractedly. “Hey, what kind of plant is this?”

“Gardenia jasminoides,” she chirps proudly.

I drop the leaf so quickly, you’d think it was poison. My heart starts beating faster. “This is gardenia?”

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