unto itself. It feels like it’s built onto other things, so much so that to pull one block out of the tower to which it belongs could make everything come crashing down. It’s the only reason my mother stays with him.
These are the things I think about as I fall asleep with his scent filling my nostrils. Not about Willow or Dakota James or the fact that I am the one who purchased drugs and drank alcohol to fit in. I don’t think about my poor, overworked mother. Or about my glucose-challenged brother or my brain-injured grandfather. I think only of my reckless, irresponsible father, whom I can never stop loving, no matter how bad he treats us.
My phone dings, telling me I have a text message.
I raise my head up in that darkened room and notice that my dad is not there. What time is it? I don’t even know what day it is. A subtle throbbing loops in my brain, as if someone is playing bongo drums on the right and left hemispheres.
Someone has sent me a text message. I open it and read what it says.
Katie, it’s me, Willow. Please, I really need your help! But whatever you do, Do. Not. Call. The. Cops! Or I’ll end up dead! It’s too dangerous for you to contact me right now. I’ll get in touch with you when the time is right.
Wait to hear from me.
Luv,
Willow
ISLA
MYRNA BENSON SLAMMED THE TRAILER DOOR IN HER FACE AFTER their brief, terse discussion. No, Emily would not care to speak to her, even if Myrna did happen to know where Emily was, which she didn’t. Isla didn’t push the matter. Instead, she sped away from the trailer park and headed home.
She drove toward the water, to where the well-to-do lived. Pine trees and pastures passed her on both sides. Driving tended to clear her mind and allow her to think about everything going on in her life. Myrna Benson’s angry demeanor lent credibility to Martha’s claim that Coach Hicks had possibly done something inappropriate to Emily.
She now remembered Emily. She’d been a senior when Katie had first started as a freshman. Both girls had been involved in the school’s musical productions. Although pretty, Emily had always looked frail and vulnerable, as if something bad had happened to her that caused her much anguish. Isla understood that look, because it had once belonged to her. At one time, she had gazed at that same anguished face every day in her bathroom mirror.
The large homes suddenly appeared, and she slowed down as she made her way into the neighborhood. The nearer she got to the water, the bigger the houses became. Unlike her own neighborhood, all the lawns burst with vivid greenery, the landscaping was manicured, and the shrubs were all perfectly trimmed. Sealed driveways had regulation basketball hoops made of the clearest Plexiglas. Every house had luxury cars sitting in the driveway. Then she turned onto the street where the Briggses and the McCallisters lived, and everything appeared even larger and more impressive. Harper’s Point at its finest.
A wedge of ocean appeared between the massive homes. She cruised at low speed while taking everything in. Down a ways, she could see the Briggses’ residence, the biggest one on the block. She passed the McCallisters’ place, close enough to get a peek at the Briggses’ private beach. She slowed down to get a better look.
What she hadn’t noticed at first glance, to her chagrin, was the Briggses standing in their driveway. Were they arguing? Felicia turned, and their eyes briefly met, and Isla felt something resembling shame course through her veins. Did they believe she was spying on them? She had no valid reason to be driving through Harper’s Point. Should she speed off or acknowledge them? Gil looked horrible, as if he’d aged a decade in the past few weeks. Like a fool, she raced away, eager to get out of there.
Just as she arrived home, an anonymous email appeared on her phone. She didn’t recognize the address but bristled at the subject line: Information about Chip Hicks. Had Martha Brooks sent this? She made her way inside and sat at the kitchen table. Then she opened the attached file.
Someone had sent her confidential documents about the accusation of sexual misconduct against Chip Hicks. The student’s name had been blacked out, but she deduced from all that she knew that Emily Benson was the accuser. She read the documents and learned that the charges,