up to my mom. Mom cried, but I just kept my thoughts focused on all the lies she’d told. Grams had been as hurt as I was, because Mom was her daughter. I might have only been nine during the trial, but I understood a lot more than people thought. I told Grams not to blame herself, that Mom made me live with the consequences of my bad choices, like when I thought the Jacuzzi would make a good bubble bath or when I went over to Jared’s house to play his war games after Mom said I couldn’t play any games rated M. I was grounded for a month.
Mom and Dad made bad choices—it was like that FBI agent said; some bad choices have unforeseen consequences. That doesn’t make it okay to lie.
Grams and I had a tacit agreement that day. We could talk about Mom or Dad or what happened to Rachel, but we’d remember only the fun things, like when Grandpa taught Rachel and me to fish or when Grams taught us to bake.
And then Grams was gone, just like Grandpa and just like Rachel, who I remembered more than I wanted.
It was my second week back living with my mom, the day I started high school, and Mom drove me to the campus. As if being a freshman who was shorter than everyone else as well as notorious wasn’t bad enough, Mom had to pick a fight.
“You need to forgive me.”
“For what?”
“For what happened to Rachel.”
“You didn’t kill her.”
“Don’t talk about it.”
“You started it.”
I’d never have talked to Grams like I spoke to my mom, but I loved and respected Grams.
I looked at my mom. Pilar McMahon. Forty-five. Dyed her hair and wore too much makeup.
“Do you know how sorry I am? Do you know how much I have suffered these five years? Knowing what happened to Rachel, knowing that you never wanted to see me again.”
And if Grams was still alive, I wouldn’t be having this conversation now.
“Peter, please.”
Mom didn’t know what I knew. That in the last week I’d heard the front door close in the middle of the night. That even when she thought she was being quiet her bed hit the wall. I might not have known had I not been raised to the same sounds.
“Are you still a slut?”
She slapped me. I got out of the car and didn’t look back.
The first day of high school wasn’t the worst day of my life, but it was in the top ten.
It was the end of the day, when I went to my locker to get my things, that bad went to worse. I found a note.
I’M WATCHING YOU.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FBI Academy
During her first week on campus, Lucy had discovered the secluded, parklike area behind Hogan’s Alley while exploring the campus with Margo and Reva. She’d come here many times when she needed to be alone. Because of the trees and overhanging branches, the circle was ten degrees cooler in the heat of the day and, better, it afforded privacy.
She sat heavily on a fallen log early Friday morning, after running five miles on the track trying to work out the grief of Tony’s death. The run had left her drained instead of invigorated, her emotions on overdrive.
The sun was still low on the horizon, the air crisp and clean in the clear summer dawn. It would be a beautiful morning before the heat became unbearable. But she wouldn’t enjoy it. Too many feelings, too many questions.
A breaking twig caught her attention, and then a voice: “Lucy, it’s me.”
“Sean?” She jumped up, stunned. “What are you doing here?”
“I know you were close to Tony. I asked Kate to get me in.” He walked over and hugged her. “Your friend Margo told me you’d probably be here.”
“I needed to get away from everyone.”
He sat down and she leaned against him. It was good to have Sean here, even if it was just for a few minutes. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s a long drive.”
“Kate said I could stay for breakfast.” He smiled, then looked at her, worry in his eyes. “You okay?”
Tears blurred her vision and she buried her face in Sean’s shoulder and cried for the first time since she’d heard Tony had died. Sean held her, stroked her hair, didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, and Lucy was grateful that he had come to her. She hadn’t even thought to ask him to, but it made all the difference.