he still had so many questions, like why his father had done what he had, and how much of what the newspapers said was true. Their therapist had said that Kyle needed closure, but Kyle didn’t know what he needed. He felt tangled, his emotions knotted together, inside.
Kyle walked past the houses without really seeing them. His father, Dr. Brian Hammond, wasn’t the kind of guy who would do well in prison. He was a suburban pediatrician, not a badass. The thought of what could happen to him made Kyle sick, even though his father deserved it, no question. He could feel his anger simmering. He was so mad at his father. Sometimes he tried to tell himself that the jury had made a mistake, but his mother swore it was true. She’d even testified against his father. When she’d come home after, she’d cried as hard as Kyle had ever seen her cry. He couldn’t stand the sight, the sound, any of it. She had doubled over at the kitchen table. Her face had turned red. She hadn’t been able to catch her breath. If Kyle could tell mothers anything, it would be that. Never cry in front of your sons.
Kyle reached Pinto, where the houses were so much bigger, all lit up like a stage set. The lamps inside glowed yellow, and the big TVs flickered. He could see people going upstairs and walking around, but he couldn’t hear because everyone had central air. Kyle didn’t miss their old house but he missed their family, or what he thought their family had been. He missed who he was then. He missed himself.
He picked up the pace. He didn’t know if he was walking away from something or toward something else, but he kept going. He thought of the bottle he had hidden near the recycling, but he didn’t want to sneak a drink tonight. He was always worried his mom would smell it on his breath. She was finding them a new therapist, now that her insurance kicked in, but Kyle knew it wouldn’t help. It hadn’t before.
Suddenly he spotted a flash of light in the woods behind the houses, like a flashlight. He watched to see if it came again, but it blinked off. Buddy must have seen it, too, because he started to bark, facing that direction.
“Hello?” Kyle called out, feeling a nervous tingle. It seemed strange. No one was on the street, and the flashlight had come from deep in the woods.
Kyle told himself it was nothing. Maybe somebody was running on the track that encircled the development, which had a parkour course. But Buddy kept barking, like something was hiding in the woods.
“Hush, pal.” Kyle turned back home, having problems of his own.
CHAPTER 12
Allie Garvey
Two Days Later
The white signs were hung on the cyclone fencing: BRANDYWINE HUNT PROPERTY, DO NOT ENTER. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. NO TRESPASSING. CONSTRUCTION SITE. Allie would’ve obeyed every one, even HARD HATS MUST BE WORN, but Julian ignored them. He led the way with Sasha, and David and Allie brought up the rear. The four of them followed the path through the cleared trees on the way to the construction site. Allie had never broken the law, and she was pretty sure that breaking into a construction site qualified, even if Julian’s father owned the site, like he said.
Allie felt hot in the sun, and flies buzzed around her head. It was still warm even at five o’clock, and they had to wait until the construction workers left for the day. Julian had planned it all, digging up the gun, getting the bullets, and deciding on the location because it was in the final phase, on the westernmost part of the property, set off from the other houses. Julian said that if anybody heard gunshots, they would dismiss it as nail guns because the construction workers put in overtime when time was of the essence, which was a term of art in the construction business.
Allie trundled behind them, her sandals sticking in the mud. She’d taken a shower, put on a nice yellow sundress, and blown her hair dry, though it was frizzing. She had dressed up for David, but he had barely said two words to her, and if he shared her nervousness, it didn’t show. He looked handsome in his tennis whites and the wide red bandanna around his forehead. She’d quit running, but she lost a pound riding her bike up and down Palomino Road, hoping to