conversation would have gone down differently with Isabel here. She would’ve disagreed. But that was because, with Isabel, cruelty and kindness were sometimes the same thing.
“Anyway,” Sam said. But he didn’t say anything else. He scooped up Grace’s body, all wrapped tightly in the towel so that she couldn’t move even if she found the strength. He started toward the house.
Instead of following him, I walked back to the edge of the sinkhole and looked in. The bins still floated in the thin mud below, so covered in the dirty paste that it was impossible to see their original color. There was no motion on the surface of the water, nothing to betray its depth.
I spit into the hole. The mud was so thick it didn’t even ripple outward where my spit landed. It would’ve been hell to die in. It occurred to me that every single way I’d tried to die had been an easy way. It hadn’t seemed like it at the time, when I lay on the floor and said enoughenoughenoughenoughjustgetmeout to no one. I had never really considered that it was a privilege to die as Cole and not as something else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
• ISABEL •
There was this thing that my parents used to do to me and Jack, before Jack died. They’d pick a time when we were most likely to be doing something that we wanted to be doing, sometimes homework but more often plans with friends — opening night of a movie you were dying to see was always a likely time — and then they would kidnap us.
They would take us to Il Pomodoro. That is “The Tomato” for those of you who, like me, do not speak cornball. Il Pomodoro was an hour and a half away from Mercy Falls in the middle of nowhere, which was saying a lot, because Mercy Falls was also the middle of nowhere. Why travel from one non-destination to another? Because while most people knew my father as a hard-assed trial lawyer who eviscerated his opponents with the ease of a velociraptor on speed, I knew the truth, which was that my father turned into a melting kitten in the hands of Italian men who served him garlic breadsticks while a tenor warbled sweetly in the background.
So, having just powered through a school day, dying to be done so that I could drive over to Beck’s house to see what Sam and Cole were up to, with a million other things on my mind, I should have realized that it was a prime parental kidnapping environment. But it had been over a year. I was unprepared and my defenses were down.
I had no sooner stepped out of the school than my phone rang. Of course it was my father, so I had to pick it up or risk his righteous wrath. Flipping the phone open, I waved Mackenzie on; she wiggled her fingers over her shoulder without looking back at me.
“Yeah, what,” I said, hitting the button on my keys to see how far away I could be and still unlock the car.
“Come right back home when you’re done,” my father said. I heard the hiss of running water behind him and the snap of a makeup case. “We’re going to Il Pomodoro tonight and we’re leaving as soon as you get here.”
“Are you serious?” I asked. “I have homework and I have to be up early tomorrow. You can go without me; it’ll be romantic.”
My father laughed with ruthless mirth: Ha. Ha. Ha. “We’re going with a group, Isabel. A little celebration party, as it were. Everyone wants to visit with you. It’s been a long time.” My mother’s voice murmured in the background. “Your mother says that if you go, she’ll pay for the oil change on your vehicle.”
I jerked open the door on my SUV and scowled at the puddle I was standing in. Everything was soggy this week. Warm air rushed out of the car, a sign that it was spring — it had actually gotten warm enough to heat the inside of the car while it was shut up. “She already promised me that for taking her dry cleaning the other day.”
My father relayed this information to my mother. There was a pause. “She is saying that she will take you to Duluth for something called high/lowlights. Wait, is this about your hair? I’m not really a fan of —”
“I really don’t want to go,” I interrupted him. “I had plans.”