it now. What was so bad about People? It didn’t say anything new, but suddenly she’s gone apocalyptic on me.”
I had to smile. “Apocalyptic? I don’t think so.”
“Know what my problem is?” he asked and, before I could say the narcissism of being fifteen, answered. “Being fifteen. If I was eighteen, I’d run away, I mean, like, just disappear. I could do it now—there are a bazillion kids who run away from home every day. Only I don’t have the guts. I’m pathetic.”
Taking his shoulders, I gave a shake. “You are not pathetic, Chris. The fact that you say it—the fact that you’ve said all of what you just have, says something about the kind of adult you’ll grow to be.”
“But I’m serious, Maggie,” he warned. His brown eyes were suddenly large. “I am not kidding about this. I need to be in a different place where no one knows me.”
I was shaking my head before he’d finished. “Won’t help.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“How? Your life is sweet. You don’t have psychologists trying to trip you up or government lawyers trying to lock you up or reporters trying to make you into a monster.”
His description so fit! “But I did,” I heard myself say.
He called my bluff. “When?”
I hadn’t thought this through, clearly hadn’t. Or maybe my subconscious had. Maybe my subconscious knew that the truth was out for Nina, possibly for Joyce, certainly for Jay, not to mention for other people who had seen the article on Edward, people who had seen us together at Town Meeting and wondered why I had come to Devon with no past.
Chris Emory, age fifteen and unlikely confessor, wouldn’t be wondering any of that. He was too into himself. If I told him the truth, it would be all on me. If I told him, he would tell his friends, who would tell their friends, who would tell their parents.
I wasn’t ready for that.
But if what I’d made of my life was a tapestry, the unraveling had already begun, and through no fault of my own. Maybe I needed to take control. Maybe I needed it now to be my fault.
Taking responsibility is a step toward redemption—and, okay, my mother had been talking about a serial killer then, but what the hell.
“When?” Chris demanded.
“Five years ago,” I said flatly. “I caused a car crash in which two people died. It was a high-profile case—lots of press, lots of speculation. I didn’t go to prison, but I’ve been on probation. My probation officer monitors everything I do. So I know what you’re feeling, Chris. I had the psychologists and the government lawyers and the reporters crawling all over me, too.”
His jaw had gone slack. It was a minute before he closed his mouth.
“I didn’t know,” he said, finally sounding contrite. “Mom never said.”
“Mom doesn’t know.” I let that sink in for a beat. “No one does—or did until recently. It’s not something I want spreading around.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” he hurried to say, that quickly the innocent boy with whom I’d played hide-and-seek in the woods. “I swear, Maggie, I won’t, I mean”—he scrunched up his face—“who would want to know that about you?”
I could think of a number of people, and, in fairness, it would be more curiosity than malicious intent. Nina was a good example. I don’t care what happened in Boston, she said. The problem was that I did.
I cupped his shoulders again, rubbing gently this time. “The only reason I’m telling you is so you’ll listen to what I say. As bad as life looks right now, it will get better. I know. I’ve been where you are.”
“Not around here,” Chris said, no longer ten years old and now way too smart. “You had to leave wherever you were before it could get better. So that’s what I’m saying. I have to leave.”
“Not now you don’t,” I warned, retrieving my hands and stuffing them in my pockets. “You do not run away, Chris. Once everything’s done in court, you and your mother can decide what you want to do.”
“What if I’m in jail?”
“Then you won’t have to make a decision.”
“You’re supposed to say I’m not going to jail.”
“You’re not going to jail.”
“Were you afraid of jail?”
“Terrified.”
“Did you think of running away?”
“Then? No.”
“Afterward?”
I paused, looking back and up at the beautiful stone structure that was The Devon Inn and Spa. “I did. I came here.”
“Gah,” he sputtered, “that doesn’t help me. What if I skip school until the trial?”