only been about 80 percent sure it was even a miscarriage. Some other mysterious lady issue seemed plausible, too.
“But you’re saying maybe it wasn’t as bad for…?”
“This little sac of cells.” She took another drag. “It sucks it died before it could get out there and do anything, but at least it didn’t know what it was missing. Me, I would be so fucking mad if I didn’t get to stay here and do everything. I mean, not that I thought it was a him-or-me situation or anything, it wasn’t like the doctors were standing around going ‘We can operate to save the child, but it’ll endanger your life.’ The thing just up and died. But I guess I could have died. It could have implanted funny and stayed there building up an infection that’d blow me up from the insides. How much would that have sucked?”
I gave a slow, emphatic nod as I sucked on the end of the cigarette. I still wasn’t sure what she was getting at.
“I want to fucking do shit. I don’t want to live forever, but I want to go balls-to-the-wall until I’m old and can leave contentedly, you know?”
“I hear you. That’s awesome. You should fucking do stuff, Edie. You’re smart as hell.”
“Thanks.” She crushed the cigarette butt and wrapped her arms around her knees, all freckles and bones. And that was that.
It was the only time we ever talked about her miscarriage, ever acknowledged it head-on. She was dead a few days after that, sprawled on our floor amid a beehive of accusations that she’d been depressed, erratic, contemplating taking her own life for days or weeks or months. It was bullshit, such bullshit. Homegirl wasn’t suicidal. Homegirl wasn’t going anywhere. Edie sucked a funnel of smoke into her lungs and felt fucking alive, dizzy with everything she had to get done before she got old enough to exhale, a long, contented sigh, tired but happy with all that she’d pulled off.
Chapter 11
LINDSAY
Damien’s smile melted as he watched me react. “Not the relief I was expecting,” he said.
An urgent command from somewhere deep: Lie. “I am relieved. Oh my god, it’s like a four-hundred-pound sandbag was just lifted off my shoulders. I was just so surprised I…I froze up. I really didn’t think you’d find anything.” I pictured SAKE and swapped in suspects next to Edie like paper dolls: Was Sarah in the room? Anthony? Kevin, somehow? My stomach clenched: Had I seen Edie with Lloyd?
Damien shrugged. “It wasn’t hard,” he said. “I was just excited to find something that would burst your bubble on the whole theory that you or Alex went in alone and picked a fight or whatever. Right?”
“Absolutely.” I pressed my hand on his arm. “Wow, this really changes things. Was there anything else in the video?”
“Not really, no. The footage of you guys at the beginning—you were on a roof, right?—it was about as clear as it was gonna get. There’s a little conversation with your friend, just her deciding to go to a party. But that’s it. You were movin’ around like a ninja.” He swept both hands into a fighting stance, and I giggled for his benefit.
“Thanks so much for doing that, Damien. This is…that’s a game-changer.”
“De rien, de rien.” He grabbed his phone and tapped at it. “There, I just sent you instructions on viewing it. Now please tell me you’re gonna let this go. Tessa is worried you’re getting all OCD about it.” He kept tapping at his phone, so he missed my hurt expression. Then he frowned and leaned in closer to the screen. My chest froze over.
“What is it?”
“You aren’t gonna believe this,” he said, still staring.
“What? Tell me!”
“Son of a bitch,” he said. “The cops found my pornography book.”
I plopped into my chair. “I thought it was erotica?”
“Turns out somebody dropped it in a library return box, of all things. With the plastic wrap still on. Look!”
He turned the screen to show me a washed-out cell-phone photo of a book on a white desk. The cover displayed nothing but four letters—PEEK—and a picture of an erect penis. In grayscale.
He flipped his phone back around and smiled at it lovingly. “Talk about a hardcover, am I right?”
“I’m very happy for you and your penis.” I turned back to my computer.
“I am having a hell of a day,” he said. “I better buy a lotto ticket.”
“When you win, don’t forget us little people!” I called as he headed for his