“These are serious accusations.” He spoke softly and with a slight lisp. You had to strain to hear him, which made everyone listen very carefully when he spoke. “Is there truth in this?” he said to Taured.

  “Of course not. Dr. Browley can speak to Lorraine’s condition in the last couple years, as he was her physician.”

  “He wasn’t,” Summer said. They all turned to look at her, but she didn’t shrink back.

  “Is there someone here who can corroborate your story?” the man with the lisp asked.

  Any name she gave them would result in the same thing: they’d lie to protect Taured and their standing in the community—young or old, the rules were the same. Also, any person she named might be punished later just because she mentioned them. In her own mind, she’d made the comparison to the Salem witch trials, which she’d read about on Taured’s precious internet. No matter what she said, she’d be punished, or someone else would.

  “Sara,” she said desperately, despite the crushing guilt she felt. She saw the surprise on Dr. Browley’s face, then the anger. Summer knew she had crossed a line, especially after Sara had got her this far. His daughter would now be dragged before these people.

  “Get the person of whom she speaks.”

  He didn’t have a lisp, she realized; it was an accent.

  Taured nodded at the doctor, who left the room to get his daughter. After Sara had risked everything to help her, she would be forced to take a side and the side she’d choose was obvious to Summer: blood ran thicker than water, as her dad used to say.

  “Lorraine was my high school best friend,” Taured said. “She came to me for help when her husband died. Summer was only yea high...”

  She looked over to see Taured measuring her adolescent self below his open palm. “She was nothing but knees and elbows and now she’s our star softball player.” He winked in her direction, like they were sharing an inside joke. Cold pinched down her spine. She was so sure she was going to be sick she swayed on her feet, lifting her palm to her mouth. She knew what he was doing and it was too late. While the men were listening to Taured, the woman’s gaze rested on Summer’s face, watching. She asked for help with her eyes and hoped that her urgency was understood. The more words she said, the deeper she fell into his trap. When Browley returned with Sara, her head was down. Summer recognized her friend’s fear in the curve of her shoulders and felt an uncertainty that made her want to run from the room. This was wrong. She was causing problems for people she cared about.

  “Sara, I’m Mr. Nava. We’re going to ask you a few questions.”

  Her nod was vigorous, but it wasn’t enough, and he asked her to look at him. Sara did so slowly, her eyes darting to Summer and back to Mr. Nava.

  “Summer says that her mother’s death wasn’t an accident. Is that true?”

  “Summer thinks it’s true,” Sara said quickly. She cast another wayward glance at Summer. “Her mom left her here a lot. She wasn’t around, you know?”

  The men in the room nodded; a lot of bobbleheads, Summer thought bitterly. O’Connor didn’t bob her head. She kept looking at Summer while Sara lied.

  “So what you’re saying is that Summer is a very confused young lady?”

  Sara nodded. Summer looked at her feet. The churning inside of her was becoming unbearable, feelings expanding in her chest like a bubble of gas.

  Taured watched, his expression completely content with how things were working out for him.

  “The truth is, Summer,” he said, looking at her, “your mother wanted you to stay here with us. She named me as your legal guardian in her last will and testament.” He looked at the officers. “I will, of course, produce Lorraine’s will for you. Lorraine didn’t want Summer being raised near her parents—she expressed to me that she wanted to protect her daughter from them.” He lowered his voice on the last part, letting the weight of insinuation sink in.

  “He’s a liar!” Her yell made Sara flinch. “My mother would never leave me alone in a room with this pig, never mind leaving me with him for good.”

  The silence that followed lasted only a few thickly awkward seconds, but Summer could see their faces change.

  “That’s quite enough, young lady.” The jowly man pushed himself forward in his seat and then hoisted himself to standing position. “You need to show some respect for yourself and everyone else in this room.”

  Was this happening? Her mother was dead, murdered at the hands of this madman, and the police were telling her to watch her manners?

  “You’re not listening to me,” she tried again. “They locked my mother in a room—both of us—and tortured her. They made it look like she overdosed, but they gave her those drugs against her will.”

  “Oh, my,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You, as well? They locked both of you up and tortured you?”

  Summer’s mouth hung open. Taured sat behind his desk, a pained smile on his face.

  “With all due respect, sir, the girl has just lost her mother.”

  She couldn’t believe he’d defended her. Looking between them in confusion, she finally turned to Sara, her face screwed up, and she started crying before she could get the words out.

  “Sara...tell...them...please.” The tears were flowing freely now, dripping off her chin. She tried to rub them away, but it was too much. Summer clasped her arms around herself, rocking on her heels. She wanted her mother, but there was no one here who would protect her, no one left in the world. A small cry escaped her throat.

  “That’s enough.” Dr. Browley stepped behind Sara, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Clearly this girl is very upset and I’m not letting my daughter get dragged into this mess.”

  It all happened so quickly. She locked eyes with Sara over her shoulder, seeing the remorse that echoed her own, and then her friend was gone. Summer was alone with them, but she wasn’t hearing anymore.

  Her panic was so great that she reached out for something to steady herself and missed, stumbling to the side.

  “Whoa, whoa.” O’Connor was coming toward her as she swayed. The room was dancing around her in odd jerks.

  Summer saw the officer’s face, pale and oval like an egg, swim in front of her. But it was Taured’s hands she felt on her body, grabbing her by the shoulders and leading her to a chair. She wanted to rip herself away from him, but she was afraid and disoriented. With his hands gripped around her upper arms, he lowered her into the chair closest to his desk, and asked Sara’s dad to get her a glass of water.

  Then he knelt on one knee in front of her. Summer froze. There were streaks of gray in his beard and on his temples. She’d never been this close to him—had she?—aside from the night he’d knocked on her door, and she had the same thought then as she did now: behind his eyes, behind the amber of his iris, and the large pupils, was something insatiably hungry, and it wasn’t human.

  She held the words she wanted to say behind her gritted teeth.

  Please let me go.

  “I’m... I—” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

  They were speaking around her, to her sometimes, but she couldn’t focus on what they were saying.

  “Social services will place her in a foster home until then.” Summer looked up to see the female officer speaking to Taured. He was standing next to her chair now, with his hand on her shoulder. She felt the shift in his body, the tightening of his fingers by just a fraction.

  “With all due respect, Officer, this is her home. The child’s mother has just died. To remove her from everything she knows would add to her trauma. Here are the documents.” As if on cue, Taured produced a cream-colored envelope that he handed to the detective. “We have been both forthcoming and compliant in regard to law enforcement and Lorraine’s body, but as you can see, I am the legal guardian of her daughter and you have no right nor reason to remove her from her home.”

  They were speaking again, the men. Summer sought the female officer’s eyes and found them drilling into her. She looked to see if the men noticed, but together, they were examining the papers. Gingerly, she met the woman’s eyes, a strange sensation rising behind her ribs. She was younger than Summer’s mother, maybe in her twenties. She was very blonde and very tan, her hair pulled back severely and knotted at the nape of her neck. She was narrowing her eyes, moving them from Summer to the floor and back again. And then, with a little jerk of her head, O’Connor squeezed her own eyes closed. Summer understood. She stood up rather suddenly and, from the corner of her eye, saw all four men pivot their heads to look at her. Then she let her whole body go limp. It didn’t even hurt when she hit the ground.

  She heard the sound of their feet, the clamor of voices, and then the female officer sternly say, “Step back, all of you, give her some room. Byron, call an ambulance.”

  “No need,” Taured said. “Tom here is a doctor.”

  Summer lay limp and still, breathing in tiny gasps.

  “I want her taken to a hospital to be checked out,” O’Connor said. A second later, Summer heard her speaking, and then the crackling sound of a radio saying an ambulance was on its way.

  “I think you’re overacting.” Taured’s voice sounded strained.

  “She’s a fifteen-year-old girl whose mother has just died. She’s collapsed, she could be severely dehydrated or worse. He said she was a runaway, yet here she is. She’s telling us she’s been abused. She needs to be checked out physically.” O’Connor was addressing one of her male colleagues. Summer’s heart was pounding so hard she wondered if they could hear it.

  “She’s grieving, she’s exhausted,” Taured argued. “We will take very good care of her. Tom here has been her doctor for the last five years. Gentlemen...?”

  Taured did not like when women acted like men, as he called it. He was petitioning to the men in the room: he assumed the men had more power.

  There were several lingering seconds, and then Nava spoke. “It would be best if she were taken to a hospital and checked out thoroughly. The ambulance is on the way.” There was a silence so abrupt and thick Summer had trouble keeping still. And then she heard it: the sound of the siren, so beautiful. It would take her out of this place.

  20

  Now

  After she checked into her room, Rainy FaceTimed with Grant.

  She was jarred when she saw his unshaven face.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, stroking a week’s worth of facial hair. She knew that he shaved every day, but she’d had no idea he could grow a beard that quickly. It made her wonder what else she didn’t know about him.

  “It’s different,” she said. In truth, she hated it. It reminded her of Taured.

  His eyes were laughing as he fingered his chin. “Don’t worry, it’ll be gone by the time I get home. The guys here wanted me to do it because they didn’t believe I could grow a full beard in a week.” And then he showed her the view outside of his hotel and Rainy oohed and aahed. When he sat back down and they settled into their chat, she lost the will to describe the trip. She kept him busy, talking about things on his end, but finally he asked the dreaded question: “So how did it go, huh? Did you have fun or what, party girl?”

  “As much fun as a party girl would have in...the library.”

  She was choosing her words carefully. She’d also chosen to sit against a white wall while she FaceTimed him so he wouldn’t know she wasn’t home. She hoped the news hadn’t reached him yet. She didn’t feel like explaining. She couldn’t even explain to herself what she thought she was still doing here.

  His laugh was infectious, and she missed him fiercely. “Eight more days,” she said.

  “Eight more days,” he repeated in the low drawl that meant intimate things only they understood. They hung up and Rainy wrestled with the guilt of her dishonesty. First, she’d insisted that she didn’t want to go on the trip, and then she’d extended said trip—which reminded her that she hadn’t booked her flight back yet. Now that she was here, somehow the drive to go back to the place where the nightmare had started had felt natural, unavoidable. She’d needed to go, that’s all she knew, and she hadn’t even made it to the compound—just skirted Friendship’s shitty main street. Now she was in a single room at the same hotel she’d shared with the Tiger Mountain girls, curled on top of the covers like a shrimp. What ending was she looking for?

  She must have fallen asleep, because some while later, Rainy woke to the sound of her phone. It wasn’t a regular ring—it was FaceTime again. It was ten o’clock, and it was dark outside her window.

  Tara’s name and photo were on her screen. Ignoring the instant anxiety at seeing Tara’s name, Rainy reset her face into a pleasant smile and hit Accept.

  Tara’s lumpy ponytail told her that some type of shit had hit some type of fan.

  “Is everything okay?” Rainy asked. Tara had never FaceTimed her.

  “It’s Braithe.” The words were out of Tara’s mouth before she could say anything else. She was wearing an oversize Seahawks sweatshirt with a bleach stain on the shoulder.

  “What about her?”

  “She texted me a few hours ago, said she was unhappy with Steve and that...that psychic person told her to—to—leave! She says she’s not coming back.”

  Rainy swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked over to the minifridge. She needed to buy a few seconds and unfold these sentences, which weren’t making sense. Reaching in, she grabbed a water; pausing, she thought better of just the water and took out the vodka and OJ, as well.

  “Rainy, did you hear me? We have to do something. She hasn’t even told Stephen...he’s in Japan, for God’s sake. He doesn’t even know she’s not back.”

  Rainy propped the phone against the coffee machine and made her drink. Tara stared at her from the other side of the screen.

  Finally, Rainy said, “Why is that any of our business?”

  Tara gaped. Her eyes were watery pink. “Are you kidding me? She’s our friend. She’s making the biggest mistake of her life and we... I don’t know...” Tara waved a hand above her head. “We’re partially responsible.”

  “Why?” Rainy said. “Because we happened to be there?”

  “Yes, because we were there! And none of us knew what she was feeling. She’s been miserable all this time and we carried on without asking her how she was. We should have known something was off when she wanted to see a psychic!”

  Rainy took a sip of her warm screwdriver and sat on the love seat.

  “First of all, Tara, you all peddled the psychic thing to me as fun, so why would I think it was Braithe’s cry for help?” She unscrewed the cap on her water and chugged it down. The cold water seared her insides. She closed one eye and said, “Maybe you’re the one feeling guilty. Because she’s your best friend and you didn’t know. That doesn’t mean I want to join you. I’ve only known Braithe for a year.”

  Tara’s mouth fell open again, which Rainy thought was dramatic. If Tara wanted to get involved in whatever drama Braithe was swimming around in, so be it. Rainy didn’t want any part of it.

  “It’s because of you, you know.” Tara’s voice was acidic and slurred. Rainy was pretty sure she’d had her own version of a screwdriver before this call.

  For the last two days, Rainy had agonized over what she had done to upset the women, so this accusation stung even more. The fact that Tara would blame her for anything in regard to Braithe was ridiculous.

  “What the hell, Tara?” she said slowly. “You guys begged me to go on the trip, then pretty much iced me out after the first day, and now you’re trying to blame me for Braithe’s decisions?”

  Tara sighed, ducking her head. Her ponytail fell forward over her shoulder, and when she looked up, her eyes looked like they did in her marathon photos, the ones Rainy had seen online. Fierce, determined. Tara was ready to square off with her.

  “Braithe and Grant used to be a thing. Did you know that?”

  Tara’s words trickled like ice water into her brain. So it was true.

  “She dated him before Stephen, and she chose Stephen...but you know how old love never dies.” Her voice trailed off suggestively.

  “Grant would have told me.” Rainy’s voice was firm, but her mind was bulging with questions. Would Grant have told her if he’d dated Braithe? It had never been implied; no one ever brought it up. But Stephen was his best friend: there was just no way.

  Tara was studying her face. She said, “Stephen knows—he was around when they dated. He sort of felt like he stole the girl and was always grateful to Grant for being so cool about it.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  Tara smiled, knowing she’d hit her target; Rainy was visibly upset now. “What do you think all of this has been? The invites, being the favorite new person she shines her light on—she’s interested in you. Sure, she may even like you, but it’s only because you’re with Grant. Grant being the beginning and end of everything she’s done since she realized she married the wrong guy.”

  “This is nuts, Tara. You have no right to tell me this. These aren’t your stories to tell.”

  “You being with him drove her over the edge,” she pushed on. “She’s not a bad person. She’s just a confused person.”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  Tara’s mouth tightened.

  Suddenly Tara’s dislike of her made sense. All the animosity she’d felt had been on account of Braithe’s feelings for Grant. She almost felt sorry for Tara; framing the past weekend in light of this current information, things were clicking together very quickly. The looks over the weekend, the tense moments and the tidy bitchiness that never quite warranted a callout—Tara had been torn between disapproving of Braithe’s decisions, trying to be loyal to her best friend and feeling angry at the attention she was giving Rainy.