The Girl from Widow Hills - Megan Miranda Page 0,37

rang, it suggested that something had happened to her. I’d realized I couldn’t save her. None of us could. The only people we could save were ourselves.

“You look like you’re feeling at least two hundred percent better,” Bennett said.

“I was starting from a pretty low place.”

I placed the glass on the counter, feeling the cold work its way slowly down my esophagus, like everything had become paralyzed while I’d been sleeping.

“You should keep off the leg when you can,” he said.

We relocated to the living room, where the remotes were lined up on the coffee table. He’d found coasters in some side table drawer, and we used them now for our glasses of juice. They were only ever out when Bennett was over. Bennett lived in a new townhome community closer to the hospital—whenever I stepped inside, it was so clean that I questioned whether he actually lived there.

We could hear the investigators calling to one another from somewhere in the distance, and Bennett turned the television on, volume low, the dull hum of the weather report drowning out their voices.

“So. Want to tell me about last night?” he asked.

“You first,” I said. The steady rhythm of his voice was a comfort, even amid all this chaos. It calmed me, seeped into me. I sometimes thought I was a chameleon, quietly changing shades to blend in with the environment. I didn’t know whether this was an inherent part of myself or a coping mechanism from all the attention. This pull toward camouflage. The need to not draw extra notice.

He grimaced. “You were gone by the time I got back to my seat.”

I remembered Elyse telling me that Bennett had been irritated when I’d left without saying goodbye. Flashes of early in the evening came back to me. Elyse flirting with Trevor. Bennett talking to his ex. It still prickled.

“I wasn’t feeling good, I told you.”

His knee bounced beside me. “Liv, why didn’t you call me? When you got to the hospital? I had a message from Elyse, but I didn’t know whether you were okay until I got to work in the morning.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

His expression darkened, and he looked off to the side. “You should know you can call. Even though my phone was off, leave me a message. Let me know you’re okay. Don’t let me wake up to this again.” He took out his phone and played Elyse’s message, her voice high and tight, cutting through the silence: “Goddammit, Bennett, pick up the goddamn phone. Listen, I just heard there was some incident at Liv’s place. She’s at the hospital now. Thought you’d want to know.”

Then dead air.

“An incident,” Bennett repeated. He shook his head. “That’s the first thing I heard this morning. Nothing else. Nothing from you, nothing about whether you were okay. By the time I got to the hospital, you’d been released. By the time I reached Elyse, you were asleep.”

My stomach sank. The truth is, I didn’t know why I hadn’t called him. Hadn’t even thought to do so. Maybe I just wasn’t used to having that person to depend on. I was unaccustomed to the expectations of longer-term relationships. My friendships in the past had existed by proximity and hadn’t bridged the gap of time from high school to college, from college to grad school, from grad school to here. I maintained a comfortable, casual distance and relied on myself.

“I think I was in shock,” I said. “And then Elyse was there. She said she called you.”

He looked at my cell, which had been placed on the table, from wherever he’d found it during his organization spree. “Did you call Jonah?” There was a cutting tone in his voice.

“No, I didn’t.” I hated that Bennett still brought him up, but the truth was, I had texted Jonah last night after the bar.

“Well, he’s been calling you.”

I sighed, leaning back. “He drunk-texted me a couple of nights ago. I may have texted him back last night in a bad moment. When you were all . . .” I moved my hands around uselessly. “He wanted to see if we could make it work, but I don’t want that, and I told him that.” Or at least I thought I did. I couldn’t remember. He had called when Detective Rigby and I were in the house, and I’d been too shocked to see his name; to realize he wasn’t dead in my yard.

“I see,” he said. Short, to the point. Bennett flipped the channel