Page 67 of Someone Knows

I really don’t want to get into the issues I’ve been experiencing. So I avert my eyes. “It was a long time ago, and some things are fuzzy. What about Mr. Sawyer’s daughter? Did you know he had a little girl who died while he was supposed to be watching her?”

Ivy blinks. “No. When did that happen?”

I’m relieved it isn’t common knowledge and another thing I’ve somehow blocked out. I’ve been questioning that since I got home from the bayou the other night. Minton Parish is a small town; everyone would’ve been talking about alittle girl dying. But Ivy and I were still in middle school at the time, so I guess we didn’t put it together with Mr. Sawyer the teacher when we got to high school.

“She died four years before him,” I tell her.

“What happened?”

I shrug. “An accident . . . supposedly.”

The bathroom door opens. A woman I vaguely recognize walks in. I think she belongs to my mother’s church. She smiles at me sadly and makes her way into a stall. Her presence effectively brings an end to my private conversation with Ivy. It’s just as well. The less we say out loud, the better.

Ivy pulls me into a hug again and whispers, “I’m here for you, if you need anything, Elizabeth.”

“Thank you.”

She nods toward the door. “Your mom is at peace now. I hope you can find some, too.”

“Thank you for coming.”

Hours later, I think the entire town and part of the neigh-boring one has finally come by. My mind keeps circling back to what Ivy told me today, analyzing whether it changes anything in this game of Clue I keep playing in my head. I don’t think it does. But I’m physically and mentally exhausted, so drained that I might have a shot at sleeping tonight. There’re ten minutes left in the last session, and the number of people in the room is finally starting to dwindle. I’m watching a woman wipe tears and genuflect in front of the casket when a hand on my shoulder startles me. Though I quickly settle. I have no idea how, but I know who it is before I turn.

Noah smiles, flashes a dimple. “Hey.”

I smile back. For the first time today, the gesture isn’t borne from a sense of duty. I actually feel happy to see him. “I didn’t expect you to come.”

“I wanted to pay my respects.” He looks into my eyes. “I also thought maybe you could use a friend.”

I tilt my head. “Is that what we are?Friends, Noah?”

“I can be anything you want me to be.” His eyes drop to my lips. “The night we met was pretty damn great and has me hoping maybe you’ll want me to be a little more than friendly. Though you’ll have to stop running out on me for that to happen.”

My insides flutter like a schoolgirl’s. “I bet not too many women run away from you.”

He winks. “Doesn’t matter. There’s only one I’m trying to catch.”

A man I’ve never met interrupts to offer his condolences, and then a couple swoops in to tell me how lucky I was to have a mom like mine. Noah steps back, makes room for strangers. Because it’s nearing the end of the viewing hours, I wind up getting pulled from one person to the next. But even as a line forms to say goodbye, I never lose sight of Noah. And I know he never takes his eyes off me, because Ifeelthem.

When a lull finally happens, he makes his way back to the front of the room, where I’m standing. “I’m gonna head out. But I’ll be home all night if you want to come by.”

“Come by for . . . ?”

Noah leans in and kisses my cheek, moves his mouth to my ear. “For whatever you want. Ball is always in your court, Elizabeth. Always.”

CHAPTER

32

The drive to my mother’s house is silent. Usually, I turn on a podcast or music to occupy my mind. But tonight, only the slow patter of rain on the windows and the squeak of the windshield wipers keep me company. Today was a lot to digest—too many voices, too many people, and all of them telling me how perfect my mother was, how lovely,such a good mom. I grind my teeth just thinking about it. And then Father Preston, telling me I should tell him mysins. . .

I wish I knew what my mother told him.

When I pull into the driveway and cut the engine, I’m not ready to leave the car. This place hasn’t been my home in a long time, if it ever was at all. It was always hers.

I survey the peeling paint, the door that hangs wonky in the frame, long-dead flowers in cracked terra-cotta pots. I blow out a breath, manage to put the key into the ignition to restart the engine. I don’t want to be here. Not now. I don’t think too hard as I back out of the driveway, pull onto the road, and start driving toward town.

Maybe I’ll go to the bar again. Noah won’t be there. He said he was heading home. Perhaps a drink with a stranger. We don’t even need to exchange names. We could go to a hotel, have meaningless sex to help me clear my mind fora little while. But then I remember the only hotel in town is a place I’m not stepping foot into.

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