My gaze shifts from Aunt Amy to the uniformed man standing on our porch. "Uh, what's going on?"
"I just asked you a question and I expect an answer, young lady," she says. The look on her face sends waves of panic through me.
"Oh no...is it Spencer? Did something happen to him?"
"Never mind about him." Her icy tone is piercing. "He's fine. The question is, where have you been?"
"I-I just went for a walk. I was on the trails. I don't understand. Why is Sheriff Miller here?"
"Funny you should ask. Maybe you could enlighten me. Why do you think he's here?" She crosses her arms.
Sheriff Miller gestures to a chair. "Why don't you have a seat, please. I just need to ask you a few questions."
"Yeah. Sure." A scattered pile of letters covers one of the tables. The gift bag and the volleyball mom gave me are sitting on another. And my backpack on yet another, with its contents spread everywhere. "You went through all my stuff?"
Her eyes narrow. "Sit. Down."
Melting under her laser glare, I do exactly what she says.
"I'm shutting the door to the main house," she says sternly to Sheriff Miller. "I don't want Spencer hearing any of this,"
Something Spencer can't know? The letters from my stepfather are staring back at me. I swallow hard. Could it be about mom? Only Rob knows enough to trigger the police to reopen the case. But why would he tell? No one's even investigating mom's death anymore. They ruled it accidental. A drunkard who fell down the stairwell and broke her neck. They didn't even find Rob near the house. That was our agreement. It was just me with her dead body all that time before Mrs. Cannon found us. Although appealing, the thought of ending this torment, answering for my crime, telling everyone my mom was defending me when I killed her, now is not the time. What would happen to Spencer? They can't take me away until I know he's safe. And Rob will never stop coming for him.
"Alright, Mackenzie Temple," Sheriff Miller begins, pulling a little pad out of his front panel pocket. He clicks his pen. "So, I need to ask you a few questions. It should only take a minute."
I sit on my trembling hands. "Okay."
"Let's see." He skims over the spiral notebook, slowly flipping the filled pages until he lands on an unmarked page. "Alright. Here we go." He clears his throat. "I need to ask about Chuck Conner. Tell me, have you ever met this young man?"
Caught off guard, not expecting this question at all, I give a vague reply. "Uh, um, met him, like shake hands and meet him formally?" I ask. Where is this going? It couldn't be about him running me over. No one who knows about that would ever tell.
Squirming in his chair, he lets out a long, loud huff. "Okay. That's not exactly what I'm asking. I'll be more specific. Have you ever spent time with him?"
This doesn't appear to be the line of questioning a victim of a hit and run would be given. "Spent time with Chuck Conner? I guess you could call it that. He and his family were here this morning at the café, if that's what you mean." I try to sit up taller to give the false impression that I've nothing to hide.
"Right. No. That's not what I mean," he says, scratching his balding forehead. "This isn't a trick question. I need to know if he has ever taken you anywhere. Maybe over by Charlotte?"
"Charlotte? As in the city?" I say, trying to sound confused.
"Yes. Charlotte, the city," he replies. The sharpness tells me not to push my luck. "Say, last night? Can you tell me where you were last night?"
"Oh yeah. Sure. I was here."
"Mackenzie Temple. Please," says Aunt Amy. It's obvious she knows something. Her pleading eyes hurt to look at. No joy. Lindsey said it's not like she robbed a bank, but why does it feel like something was stolen.
If I lie about this and Aunt Amy finds out, she will have no choice but to tell Counselor Cassie and my social worker she can't handle me. I wouldn't blame her. I promised mom I would always be here for Spencer. And for once, I didn't promise Lindsey and Abigail I'd keep another secret. Our friendship will not survive what I'm about to do. I inhale the cool air, hoping it came with a dose of courage to face the consequences. This time, the words that come out of my mouth will be truth. And I will face whatever fallout that will happen as a result.
"Ms. Temple?" Sheriff Miller prompts.
"Right." I turn from him and face her. "The truth is Aunt Amy. I..I just thought we were going to have a nice night. You know, spend time together doing the same things we always did before...before my mom...and...I didn't know how to tell you."
"Tell her what?" Sheriff Miller asks.
"...tell her that... my friend, Lindsey, well, she snuck out last night. I thought she was really sick and had to go to bed. Abigail checked on her a few times and said she was sleeping. Then we went to bed. But when Mrs. Rinehart showed up this morning, Abigail came into my room freaking out over where Lindsey was. I honestly didn't know what happened until I called them later. And that's when she told me about sneaking out with Chuck Conner. I know I should have told you right away instead of running out of here like I did. I'm so sorry, Aunt Amy." My eyes drip like a leaky faucet. I'm trying hard to keep the dam from breaking.
"So you and Abigail Stewart never went?" Sheriff Miller asks.
"No sir. I didn't go, and I don't think Abigail ever left the house either." I pull my phone out of my back pocket. "Here. You can read through my messages. You have to start from the first message from yesterday and follow it after that."
Sheriff Miller studies my screen. "I almost need a translator, but I get the gist." He hands the phone to Aunt Amy, then proceeds to make some notes in his little book, clicks his pen and tucks them both into his shirt pocket. "Thanks for your cooperation. That just saved me a trip. There's nothing further I need to investigate. Sounds like the Rinehart's need to deal with their own issues. They won't be happy to hear their daughter's story didn't add up. That about does it for me here." He puts his hat back on and makes his way to the door.
Aunt Amy escorts him to the threshold. "Can you tell me what's going to happen next?"
"Well, unfortunately because it did happen while they were under your supervision, I still need to run it by the state attorney. Clearly you didn't help facilitate this meet up, and it doesn't appear Mackenzie was part of the planning. I don't think you have anything to worry about. Now what Mrs. Rinehart wants to do with Chuck Conner is another story."
Aunt Amy exhales loudly. "Thank you, Sheriff Miller. If you need anything else, please don't hesitate to come by. Here, some cookies for your trouble," she says, handing him a small brown bag.
"Thank you, but it was no trouble at all. Tell Mrs. Sheffield I'll be seeing her Wednesday for some of her chicken and waffles," he says, tipping his hat on his way down the stoop. "And I'll be seeing you back at school, young lady. Hope that arm of yours heals up fast. Your aunt told me about that new boy, but said she doesn't want me to step in. You know where to find me if you ladies change your mind."
I stand frozen and watch as his patrol car disappears into the evening haze. Suddenly Aunt Amy swings around, breezes past me and starts to clean and organize the already cleaned and organized condiment cabinet.
"Aunt Amy?" I say softly. "I'm sorry. I know I should have told you."
She moves into the kitchen and starts to take things out of the refrigerator.
"Aunt Amy?" I say a tad louder.
Holding a container of pickles high, she says, "I think this is expired."
I draw closer. She's so furious she can't even stand the sight of me. "I know it was wrong."
"Huh. There's two mustards in here? I'll marry them." Ignoring me, she twists the cap off of one and squeezes the other into the opening.
I draw even closer and catch the side of her face. It's wet. Is she crying? "Aunt Amy? Are you okay?"
She stops moving and stares blankly at the wall. "Am I okay? What a strange question to think about right now." Her head jolts slightly, like she snapped out of a hypnotic trance. "Of course I'm okay. I'm running a successful business that I love. I'm healthy. I can provide a roof over the heads of my best friend's children," she says matter-of-factly, then shakes her head. "But she can't. She can't." Her voice quivers. "What was she thinking, giving you kids to me?"
"Please Aunt Amy. I know we've been such a burden. Especially me. But I promise I'll make this right. I'll work harder in the café. I'll get a second job if you want—"
"What? No. It's not you, Mackenzie. Honey, it's me. Don't you see? I'm not fit to take care of children. Never have been. It took a long time to come to terms with that. And I was getting along just fine knowing I was never going to have a family of my own." She's talking through a windstorm of tears. "But then...then... When your mom....your blasted mother, in all her infinite wisdom....went and opened that door I closed so long ago. She is something else, that mother of yours. Even in death, she's busy pushing me around, forcing me to do things I'm terrible at."
"Terrible at? You mean raising us? Are you kidding? Do you know how much you mean to us, Aunt Amy? My mother knew exactly what she was doing when she made sure we went to you. I can't even imagine living with anyone else." I say desperately.
She gives up on the mustard project and faces me, blotches spread all over her face and neck. I've never seen her like this before and it frightens me. "But I've been making the worse decisions regarding you kids. Look at you with that broken arm. I should have never let you ride your bike home that late. And Spencer being bullied? I had no clue. And what about Lindsey's mom pressing charges against me because she thought I was part of this whole scheme? I should have checked on that girl myself last night. Do you know Lindsey's photograph was all over social media as the underage drunk kid in the Conner's hotel suite? Mrs. Rinehart thought you and Abigail were both out with Lindsey living it up. And to be honest, I questioned it myself. Sheriff Miller said kids get into all kinds of stuff and parents never know until it's too late. Said there's always clues after something terrible happens. I went through all that stuff out there on the table terrified of what I would find. Drugs. Alcohol."
"Oh, Aunt Amy. I promise. I don't do drugs and I've never touched alcohol. I can't believe this. Listen. I'm the one who did this to my arm—not you. And I'm the one with the lying, manipulating friends. And I'm the one who didn't tell you about the party she went to after I found out about it. None of this is your fault."
She slides into the chair at the small kitchen table and stares at the floor. "I just wish I knew what your mom wanted me to do. That's all I want. How can I raise you guys the way she wanted me to?"
"Well, to be completely honest. I'm not sure mom would have done anything differently. She probably would have done exactly what you are doing right now. Just talk to me. And listen to me. At least that's what she tried to do." I think back to the months before she died. How hard I made things for her. The dam is starting to break. "I didn't always make that easy for her. Looks like I'm treating you the same way. I'm so sorry Aunt Amy."
Putting her hand over mine, she forces a smile. "Aren't we a pair."
I giggle through the tears. "But I don't think she would have known what to do with that Mrs. Rinehart. Was she trying to get you in trouble?"
She nods. "Wanted to press charges against me."
"Mom got into it with her during one of their book club parties. They were barely talking after that," I say.
"I remember. That was the day your mom confronted her. She told Mrs. Rinehart in confidence about being a recovering alcoholic and that woman told everyone they knew. She's on practically every committee and board known to man. Your mom was so humiliated. Had no use for her after that. Tolerated her so you and Lindsey could still be friends."
"I had no idea," I say. We sit in silence and I stare at the phone in my hands, thinking of Lindsey lying about me to her mother. The string of messages hauntingly waiting for me to respond.
"Are you sure those texts were about you and not a mistake?"
"Oh, no. I'm sure they're about me. I feel so stupid. I kind of knew something was up. Why pretend like we're the best of friends when you can't stand me?" My eyes fill with water. Again.
With her blotchy face, she leans in and says, "Listen. No one ever tells you this, but I'm going let you in on a little known fact. Best friend breakups hurt worse than any other kind. Hits you like a semi. You never see it coming."
"That's exactly how I feel," I mumble. "Exactly how I feel."
My phone's alarm sounds with another message.
"Is it them again?" she asks, her expression hardens.
I let out another little laugh. "No." When I see the name appear, millions of cells erupt like a cheering crowd in a football stadium. I read aloud, "Hope you made it home safe, Lefty."
She offers a muddled look. "Lefty?"
"Yeah. I ran into Tag on the trails. I guess he's making sure I got home without any problems." Now I can't look at her. "He was actually really nice when I talked to him. And his sister is—"
"Adorable," she interrupts, face melting. "I met her when I dropped him off the other day. Her name's Felicia."
"Yes it is." We sit in silence. When she said her name, something happened to the energy between us, in the space we share. "I really am sorry, Aunt Amy." I say. "I know things haven't been easy since we moved in. I don't know how to thank you for all you've done for us. And instead I make it even harder."
"We'll get through this. So long as you and Spencer are wanting to stay with me, I will figure out how to deal with anything that comes our way. I want us to stay together."
I don't understand why, but she's not going to kick me out. "That sound good to me."
She stands and opens her arms. "So are you good, then?"
"Yes. So very good." The pangs of abandonment diminish the moment I feel her embrace.
"Good, because I think I'm supposed to ground you now."
"Darn, I should have seen that coming." Our giggles revitalize the somber room.
"Hey. Before I forget, Vincent stopped by while you were out. Don't tell me he messaged hateful things about you, too?" She starts putting the letters from Rob back in the bottom of the volleyball gift bag.
I repack my backpack. "No. Gosh, no. I can't imagine."
"Oh, good. Because I would have marched right down to his father and given him an earful."
"I appreciate the gesture, but no need. He does enough to get himself into trouble. Did he say why he came by?"
"No. Just that he wanted you to call him." She hands me the gift bag. "And I think I saw a note from that sweet young lady, Christina. She left it on top of your journal on the front porch. I was surprised to see it there. You never leave it out."
"I didn't mean to. I sort of left in a daze when I got those texts."
"Look Mackenzie. I know it's between you and those girls, what they did to you. And if you try to reconcile, I will try to support you as much as my conscience will let me. But a note of caution. Don't be shocked if you learn you're not the first one they've done that to. And you certainly won't be the last. In my experience, sometimes it's best not to walk away from those kinds of people."
My brow crunches from the unexpected advice. "Don't walk away?" I repeat.
"Yep. Don't walk. Run."
"Yes, ma'am."
When I find my journal on the front porch, it's open to the same page I had been working on when I left it. Christina had placed a note on top of it that says "Love this. Took pic. Hope okay?" I can't imagine what she means to do with the gibberish.
I text Vincent.
Me: Sorry I missed you. All OK?"
Almost immediately, he responds back.
Vincent: Ethan parents divorcing. He is a wreck.
Me: WHAT?! I'll call you tomorrow.
That was Ethan's problem. Not his unrequited love for Lindsey. Some friend I am. Some friend. When my head hits the pillow, my heart feels weathered, as if hit by a Cat 5 hurricane. By now, Sheriff Miller might have informed the Rineharts that I was in the clear. Lindsey and Abigail are going to know I was the one who delivered the proof. But I don't think I could care less. I power my phone down because tonight, I'm turning them off. Come tomorrow, I will vow to never make the same mistakes I made with them again.