Page 64 of Always Murder

“I don’t want you to help!I don’t want you to do anything except be nice to my family, and you can’t even do that.Kassandra was trying to beniceto you, Keme.She was asking you questions.She wanted totalkto you.And you just stared at her.”

“She wasn’t asking questions to be nice.She thinks it’s hilarious I’m in high school, and she wants to make you feel bad, like she always does, like your mom—”

“STOP!”And then, the next words clotted with emotion, Millie said more quietly, “Please stop, okay?”My heartbeat filled the next long moment.“I changed my mind.I think I’m going to go home.”

The front door shut—not quite a slam, but on the hard side ofDon’t you dare follow me.

I slipped out into the hall.I want to say it’s because I’m a good friend and because I love Keme and because he’s this weird combination of my son and brother and bully.But the complete and total truth is that I went because it was easier to think about something else—anything else—than what had happened with Bobby.I was already doing one of my best magic tricks with that: boxing up all the feelings, all the hurt, all the shame and embarrassment, to deal with later.If there was a later.And yes, part of me knew that was melodramatic.But part of me also knew that Bobby never yelled.He never lost his temper.He never—never—would have acted that way with West.

But that was too close to thinking about it, and so I packed up those thoughts too.

Keme was already starting up the stairs.He had pulled up his hoodie to mop his eyes, and when he lowered it, he saw me.Over the last few months, Keme and I had broken a lot of new ground.I’d seen him at his most vulnerable.And he’d let me be there for him.

Right then, though, there was no mistaking the look on his face.The message translated to something likeSay one word, I dare you, only with a lot of those skull emojis that aren’t actually words.

I decided I wanted to live for a few more hours, at least until I could try to apologize to Bobby, so I let Keme stomp upstairs.

That annoyingly observant part of my brain—the one that was always spotting things and grabbing them and holding on to them so I could use them in my writing, kind of like an overgrown toddler—noted that I hadn’t heard an engine or the sound of tires.

When I opened the front door, Millie’s Mazda3 was still there.She was sitting behind the steering wheel, her face in profile to me, staring straight ahead.If she noticed me, she didn’t give any sign of it.

Go back inside, I told myself.Go back to the den and work on your story.Leave her alone—it isn’t any of your business.Better yet, go find Nathaniel Blackwood’s secret bomb shelter and hide out there until all of this blows over.

But I couldn’t.Because like it or not, life in Hastings Rock had changed me.And even though Millie had parents and siblings and probably a really evil great-aunt, she was alsomyfamily.

As I crossed the drive, my steps clicked on the worn pavement.Still nothing from Millie; she looked out the windshield like she was watching a movie.Nothing too happy, to judge by her expression.I was willing to bet it included such memorable scenes asConfrontation in the VestibuleandDon’t Talk about My Mother(a classic, from what I understood, for the straights).I tried the passenger door, and it opened, so I slid into the seat.

Millie sank down and closed her eyes.

I settled into my own seat with a few squirms and squeaks.

And then the car was silent except for the sounds of our breathing.Outside, the day was still that hard, chipped cold.The sky was the color of sunlight through a sheet of paper.The fog had half-eaten the trees.Plus, I was cold—even though the car had only been off for a few minutes, the damp was seeping into it.I was starting to suspect that this, like most things in life, would have gone better with coffee and a serving of Indira’s apple crumble.Or with someone else doing it.Someone who wasn’t literally itching inside their own skin at the thought of having this conversation.

Then Millie said, “Do you ever have dreams where you can’t talk?”

I looked over at her.Her eyes were still closed.

“Yeah,” I said.“I do, actually.”I tried to think of something meaningful to say, but the best I could come up with was “I hate those dreams.”

“Me too,” she said in a small voice.Pushing her hair behind her ears, she made an unhappy sound and opened her eyes.“My mom is so mad.”

“I’m sorry, Millie.”

She shook her head—at the apology, maybe.Or maybe at something else.

“This has been a difficult week for her,” I said.“She’s tired, and she’s upset about Paul being hurt, and even though I will literally never understand why, she seemed to genuinely like Elliott and David—”

“David,” Millie corrected absently.

I let it slide because I honestly.could.not.“—and she’s hurt because Angeline is hurt.And, like she said, I ruined Christmas.”

I meant the last bit to sound light and playful, but Millie didn’t smile.“Do you know what Angeline said when the sheriff told her about Elliott?The first thing she said?She said, ‘You mean he’s not a lawyer?’”Millie shook her head.“My momgasped.They were so excited that he was a lawyer.Gracie Sterling’s boyfriend is a lawyer.And Gracie Sterling went to college.She got a degree in Child Management, and she did it in three years instead of four, and she had scholarships, and she didn’t drop out or anything.Gracie Sterling also didn’t quit dance, and she won Miss Teen Hastings Rock when we were seventeen, andeveryoneused to want her to babysit, and she’s never had a haircut that made her look like a boy, quote ‘and not in a cute way.’”

I couldn’t help myself.“Uh, what is Child Management?”

“That’s why my mom is mad.Not because Elliott was a liar.Not because he was a thief.Not because he hurt Paul really badly, or because he was going to steal all our money, or because he broke Angeline’s heart.Because all her dumb friends are going to find out, and she can’tstandthat.”

We sat there.The wind stirred the trees at the wood line, but where we were, in the lee of the house, there was no wind, no sound.

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