away.
“What the hell was that?” I asked her once we were out of earshot.
“I am so sorry. They cornered me after the test and asked if I knew where you were, and for some reason I told them because I’d just gotten your message, and before I could follow them out, stupid Mrs. Cox came over to talk to me about my English paper.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “They were just being nice.”
At least, I think that’s what it was. If Andie Stokes and Hannah Lindstrom being nice felt like being run over by a steamroller and thinking you should be grateful, then yeah, that was it for sure.
When Mrs. Dill dropped me home, Nana was on the phone with someone. She waved at me as I closed the front door, then turned away. Masher ran in from another room, and I knelt down to bury my fingers in the fur on his back.
“Yes, I understand,” she said in what I knew was her “I was raised to be pleasant to everyone” tone. “Well, we appreciate the update, Lieutenant. If there’s anything we can do to help, just let us know.” She hung up the phone quickly, then turned back around. “Oh! I was hoping to be able to give you a big congratulations hug the second you walked in!”
“Who was that?” I asked. I stood up, and Masher darted from the room, like he knew his job for now was done.
“It was Lieutenant Davis, just filling us in.”
“On what?”
“Can we talk about it later? I want to hear about the tests.”
“After you tell me what he said.”
Nana sighed and looked at the ceiling. “They’re trying to determine an official cause of the accident. They need to do that, you know, for their records.”
“I know about records.”
“Well, they said Mr. Kaufman may have had too much to drink; they tested his blood alcohol level in the hospital that night. It was right on the borderline. But Lieutenant Davis personally thinks there was another car involved. So they’re still hoping someone will step forward.”
I sat down, remembering what I’d overheard at the funeral, and felt almost glad that the blame on Mr. Kaufman was becoming more official. If I could blame him, I couldn’t blame myself. I could hate him, even, and nobody would fault me for it.
Not my dad. I knew he always disliked Mr. Kaufman a little, along with the two or three other dads in our neighborhood who made lots of money and bought lots of big, obvious things with it. My parents didn’t think I knew but they struggled to support us, and sometimes they didn’t quite make it and needed help from Nana.
“But I don’t want you to concern yourself with all this accident stuff,” said Nana now. “It doesn’t affect us.”
“Of course it affects us. How can it not affect us?” I asked, not ready to drop it yet.
Now Nana turned from sad to a little fierce, her eyes narrowing.
“We have our own job with grieving and getting on with our lives. I won’t let them keep you from being able to do that.”
I saw that she had tears in her eyes, and all I wanted was to take them out.
“I’m sorry, Nana,” I said. “You’re right.”
She nodded, then went into the kitchen and came out with a plate of brownies. “I made these to celebrate the SATs.”
And just like that, the conversation was over.
Chapter Five
It rained hard the next day. “Pissing,” as my dad liked to say. It was pissing out, drumming a steady, angry rhythm onto the roof of the Volvo and the slate stones of our front terrace. Nana let me stay in bed, watching TV, eating my special SAT brownies. Masher lay on my left, stretched out alongside my body with one front leg across my arm. Elliot and Selina took turns at the foot of the bed.
Once, toward late afternoon, I heard Nana approach my bedroom door. I quickly dropped my head to the side, closed my eyes, and opened my mouth a bit in expert pretended zzz’s. I knew this made her happy; one more thing to check off on her mental daily list. Make sure Laurel gets enough sleep.
But then someone knocked on the front door.
I heard Nana open it, and a voice I couldn’t place. After a few minutes, curiosity got the better of me, and I wandered out of my room.
David Kaufman was sitting on the bench in our foyer, taking off his boots. He was drenched,