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  Her face smoothed out suddenly, and she took a step back from me. I understood why when Spencer broke through the crowd, walking toward us. Annabelle smiled sweetly as his gaze narrowed at her just before landing on me.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “We’re fine,” Annabelle answered. “We were just talking. Right, Sarah?” She looked to me for confirmation.

  I wasn’t about to give it to her. “You were talking,” I replied flatly.

  Spencer tensed, causing Annabelle to huff out an irritated breath. His shoulders fell as his hand swept through his hair. “Come on, Annabelle. Cut this shit out.”

  She glanced at me before stepping closer to him. “Cut what out? What’s going on with you?” Her voice softened. “Talk to me.”

  His lips flattened as his eyes fell closed. When they opened again, he bristled with annoyance. “Fine. Meet me out front and we’ll talk.”

  Annabelle’s back was to me so I couldn’t see her expression, but her hand came up to his cheek and stayed there for a moment before she lowered it and walked away.

  I had a feeling the result of their talk would not make her happy, but I couldn’t be sure because Spencer had schooled his face into calmness. After a pause, he smiled. “You got to change. I had to drip dry.”

  I wanted to ignore what just happened the way he was trying to, but I couldn’t quite manage it. “You led her on for a long time. You shouldn’t be surprised that she’s angry.”

  He looked down. “I didn’t lead her on. I told her the truth. She just likes to pretend I didn’t.”

  “You must know she hoped you didn’t mean it.”

  He seemed uneasy and maybe a little irritated that I was bringing it up.

  “Why her?” I asked, knowing he could be with any girl he wanted. “You look like you can barely stand her.”

  His hand rubbed over his rough cheek. “I don’t want to talk about her, Sarah.”

  “Why not?” It was none of my business, but I couldn’t seem to stop asking.

  “Because I’m not exactly proud of any of this.” Spencer’s expression became exasperated and then embarrassed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he said, “I was with her because I knew I’d never care about her. Because I’m fucked up. That shouldn’t be news to you.”

  My eyes widened. I hated hearing him talk about himself that way, but I also understood because I was doing the same thing with Nate. “You’re no more fucked up than I am.”

  His eyes stopped dancing around mine and found them instead. Regret pooled in their depths.

  Riley stalked over to us then, interrupting. “Annabelle is still here. She’s standing outside. She says she’s waiting for you, Spencer. Can you believe that?”

  Spencer didn’t move. His attention stayed on me.

  “Calm down,” Colby said, and I noticed his presence beside her for the first time. He looked at Spencer. “You have to get Annabelle out of here. Riley’s all worked up because Annabelle said the decorations reminded her of a Sweet Sixteen party. Apparently that’s a dig.”

  I broke from Spencer’s gaze to look at Riley. She was undoubtedly pissed.

  Spencer wanted to roll his eyes, I could tell. But he restrained himself and said, “I’ll take care of it.”

  Riley suddenly looked stricken. “But you can’t leave yet. The party just started.”

  Spencer looked to Colby for help.

  “He’ll come back after. Right, Spence?”

  Once Spencer nodded, Riley relaxed. After that, everyone scattered. Spencer gave me a reluctant nod good-bye, like he was going to the gallows, while Colby grabbed Riley and pulled her toward an area where people had started dancing.

  When they were all gone, I felt stranded, standing still in the middle of a party where I knew no one. As I looked around at everyone laughing, drinking, and eating, I thought that this could have been my life, my hangout, my hometown, my good friends, if Jackson Pierce hadn’t taken it all away. Instead of feeling out of place, I could have been throwing this party with Riley, and maybe I’d be the girl on Spencer’s arm. Or maybe not.

  It was a long-ago fantasy that I’d stopped indulging in, my favorite daydream as a kid, the idea that Spencer would wake up one day and realize he loved me. But he couldn’t love me. He’d just told me that he didn’t want to care about anyone. That was why he was with Annabelle in the first place. It was the same reason I was with Nate, although I’d never admitted as much before.

  I thought I couldn’t really love anyone until I saw Spencer again. Then I realized the problem wasn’t that I couldn’t love—it was that I couldn’t love anyone but him.

  Keeping up with Riley was wearing me out. I was exhausted when I fell into bed that night, but my thoughts wouldn’t stop firing. First I thought of the party, and my sore feet reminded me of all the dancing Riley eventually coaxed me into. Then I saw Spencer’s eyes just the way they’d looked tonight, glinting with humor as we splashed in the ocean, and then dark and stormy as he told me why he was with Annabelle.

  His eyes had always held my attention, so blank and lifeless when I first met him, and then so full of pain later on. They were more expressive now, but that haunted look was still there. I’d caught a glimpse of it tonight, and it hurt to see it again.

  Rolling over, I nearly groaned out loud. I didn’t want my head to be so filled with thoughts of Spencer. My father was the reason I came here. He was the one I wanted to be thinking of. I’d tried not to think of him for so long that it wasn’t natural to remember back to those times. The memories didn’t come easily. But I wondered if I could block out that terrible night, maybe I could think of my father and not be overwhelmed by the grief that had darkened all my thoughts of him.

  Curled up in Riley’s bed, despite the way my stomach pitched and rolled, I closed my eyes and tried to recall one specific thing about my dad. Picturing his face, I started with his smile and the way one of his front teeth slightly overlapped the other. Then I tried to hear his voice with its deep, rumbling tone. I thought of the way his skin crinkled around his green eyes when he laughed, and I rolled over restlessly, letting myself go back there.

  I thought of how Dad liked to watch buddy-cop shows, especially old black-and-white reruns of Dragnet. Even though I made fun of everything about that show—bad acting, bad clothes, bad dialogue—I’d sit beside him and watch it anyway because I wanted to spend time with him.

  Dad had a sweet tooth. I remembered that too. Every Halloween, he’d inspect the candy we collected from the neighborhood to make sure no one had tampered with it. Before he approved it, he’d eat a piece and say, “Dad tax.” At night, before he went to bed, he’d walk around the house, checking all the windows and doors to make sure they were locked. He was watching out for us, keeping his family safe.

  Those were the kinds of memories that got lost in the devastation, but now I wanted to remember. I wanted to feel his loss. Dad deserved to be remembered. That was the worst part of it all— that I’d buried my memories along with him. Even the good ones had a sharpness to them. They were tainted by his death, and I didn’t know how to remember without getting cut by the horror of his ending. I didn’t want to think of the night he died. So for far too long, I didn’t think of him at all, not when I was awake at least, and not if I could help it.

  Hours later, as the sun began to bleed through the darkness, I felt overwhelmed. I needed to stop. But after thinking of my father all night, I felt closer to him, and I missed him so much, it felt like a physical ache inside me. I sank back down under the covers, but I never went to sleep.

  By seven I had already showered and was making coffee when Riley stumbled into the kitchen and slumped down on a barstool. “Hey,” she muttered.

  “You’re up early.”

  She scowled. “I can’t help it. No matter how late I stay out, I always wake up with the sun. Like a bird. A hungover and seriously cranky bird.”

  Smiling, I took out two mugs and poure
d us both some coffee. After taking a tentative sip and sighing, she asked, “What are your plans for today?”

  She’d forgotten. Fingering the handle on my cup, I said, “I’m going to my old house.”

  “Crap.” She put her mug down and looked at me. “I’m sorry. What time did you want to go?”

  “When do you have to be at work?”

  Muttering, she glanced at the clock over the stove. “Eleven again. They keep putting me on the lunch shift. I’d better get moving. But first, did you have fun last night?”

  I sipped my coffee and held the warm mug in my hands. “I did, but more to the point, Colby loved it. That was obvious.”

  She beamed at me, then she frowned. “What I said yesterday, that stuff about how I wasn’t sure I was good for Colby, I was being stupid. I was stressed about the party and feeling insecure. I guess I wonder what he’s doing with me sometimes.” She glanced at me from beneath lowered lids.

  “Riley? Are you serious?” My hands were on my hips.

  “See? Insecure, but nothing our fiftieth anniversary won’t cure.” She gave me a half smile. “Spencer never came back last night, did he? That weasel.”

  “I think he had his hands full.”

  Riley chuckled. “He probably drove Annabelle all the way back to Boston.”

  We finished our coffee and Riley went to get dressed. I was finishing off some sugary cereal I’d found in the cabinet, vowing to replace it before I left, when she emerged in her uniform of a white button-down shirt and khaki shorts.

  “I’ll wash the shirt I borrowed last night,” I said.

  She waved a hand at me, signaling it was no big deal. Then she grabbed her keys off the counter. “Are you ready for this?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” After polishing off my coffee, needing every drop, I placed my mug in the sink and followed her out the door.

  I was quiet, watching out the window as we drove toward South Seaport and our old neighborhood. Streets started looking familiar, and when we got to the intersection that would take us toward the beach or toward the service road that ran alongside Route 6, I told Riley to turn left instead of right.

  She glanced at me curiously.

  It was a spontaneous decision. I wanted to go to the service road first. A part of me felt like I’d never left that place.

  “I don’t want to see the house right now. I want to see where it happened.”

  Her unease was clear. “Sarah, I don’t think . . .”

  “Please. It’ll be okay.”

  Her mouth tightened in disapproval as she took a left turn. After a tense mile, she said, “Are you sure about this?”

  I nodded, but my teeth were clenched and my hands gripped my knees. I wasn’t sure, but I was doing it anyway. Something changed last night. Opening myself to all the memories of my father that I’d blocked out for so long made me want to keep him close today. At one point, when I first got out of bed, I thought I smelled his cologne in the room. I craved him, right down to my bones, and I wanted more than anything to go to the place where he drew his last breath.

  “I know the general location,” she said, “but you’ll have to show me where exactly.”

  Watching out the window, I pictured it. “It’s at the intersection of High Street. Right at the traffic light.”

  There were no houses or buildings along the service road, only scrappy-looking trees that weren’t thick enough to block my view of the two-lane highway below. There were no markers to take note of as we approached, only the uneasy shifting of Riley beside me.

  “It’s just up ahead,” she said, giving me a warning. As the car slowed, I felt her gaze on me. “Sarah, I’ve tried so hard not to ask you about it again. But now that we’re here . . . What really happened to your father?”

  I released a shallow breath, thinking how patient Riley had been up to now, and not sure why the words were so hard to say. It was time to tell her, and time to stop keeping secrets.

  “The rumors were true.” I’d been looking out the window, but now I turned to her. “Jackson was more than just involved, though. He shot my father. He killed him.”

  Her eyes flicked between me and the road. I could feel her absorbing it, the shock settling over her.

  “Then the police covered it up,” I added. There, I said it and the world didn’t end. At least, I didn’t think it was ending.

  “Jesus.” She breathed the word more than spoke it. “I mean I knew, but I didn’t really know. Why did the police cover it up, and why did you have to leave so fast without telling anyone you were going?”

  I gnawed on my bottom lip. That was the crux of it. We didn’t run from this town because the police covered up for Jackson. It was the part I played in it that forced us to go. “I was there, Riley. I saw Jackson’s truck. I knew it was him.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  “But he didn’t see me,” I continued, “and everyone was afraid of what he might do to me if he found out.”

  “Sarah,” she whispered in a strained voice. “Why didn’t they put him in jail? If they locked him up, he couldn’t have done anything to you.”

  I nodded. “I know. And they had no intention of doing that.”

  “Why not? That’s crazy.”

  Shrugging, I looked out the windshield. “Because I didn’t actually see him, only his truck. At least, that’s what they implied. But even if I had seen him, I don’t think they would have done anything. Right there,” I said, pointing to the traffic light up ahead.

  “Why? Because he was Jackson Pierce?” She grimaced at his name. “I never understood how he got away with so much. My dad used to joke that he had mafia connections or something, and that’s why no one wanted to mess with him. But for the police to do nothing? That’s such bullshit.”

  To say the least. I ground my teeth together, biting back my emotions. I couldn’t get into a discussion about that now. Already my attention was shifting from Riley to a spot I could see clearly through the windshield now. I could feel how torn she was. After what I just told her, she liked the idea of bringing me here even less.

  “The scar,” she said, glancing at my cheek. “Is that how you got it?”

  I nodded. “From the glass that was shattered by the bullet.”

  She bit her lip and glanced back at the road. “I’ll just pull over out of the way. Okay?”

  I didn’t respond as I looked around. It was day instead of night, but other than that, nothing was different. There were no other cars in sight. This road was only used when Route 6 became jammed with traffic, but if you weren’t going far, this was the most direct way to get from the beach side of town to the west side.

  My gaze traveled from the traffic light, which was red, to the street below it. That was where the cruiser was. The empty lane beside it. That was where the red truck was with its unmistakable silver stripe.

  Riley said something, my name maybe, but this place was drawing me in, calling to me as I opened the door and stepped out of the car. Today was warm, hot even, but I was shivering, my bare arms and legs covered in goose bumps. I looked at the road again as I wandered onto it, and this time I saw the cruiser more clearly. I also saw the truck. It was all laid out before me. The cruiser, the red truck, and me, huddled on the road in the aftermath.

  Walking slowly, I went to the exact same spot I’d sat in that night. Lowering myself down onto the yellow lines, I closed my eyes and let myself remember it all, every second of it. I heard the explosive sound of the gunshot and the stinging sensation of glass cutting my skin. I could smell the acrid smoke mixed with the metallic odor of blood. I could see the truck speed away as a sudden heavy silence descended.

  It was then that I’d peered over the seat and saw my father. The image of him slumped over the center console flashed in my mind. That image was the final piece, the horror I’d buried so deep inside. The pain was sharp. I couldn’t breathe for a minute. It felt like it was happening all over again, but this time I wasn’t frozen in fear
or denying what was right in front of me. I was facing it. I was accepting it.

  Hands were on me then. Some part of my brain knew they belonged to Riley. I heard her voice just before a car horn sounded and the air beside me warmed and shifted. But I wasn’t moving, I was remembering, and it wasn’t a crippling nightmare. It was a real memory. These were my last moments with my father and his last moments on this planet.

  He was the kindest person I knew, and he deserved so much more than what he got at the end. He got silence, cowardice, and guilt. What he deserved was honesty and respect for who he was and how he’d wanted to help people right up until his last breath. He deserved the truth. I realized that telling it again was what I needed to do, as many times as I had to, until someone finally heard it.

  Tears slipped down my cheeks. That was why I was here. Deep down, I’d known it all along. I was here to get justice for my father. There could be no closure without it.

  I felt pressure on my arms again and more car horns. When I looked up, it wasn’t Riley standing there. It was Spencer. His eyes were tight with worry. For a moment, I was confused, not knowing if it was then or now. I looked around for the cruiser, but only saw Riley’s car and a white van parked behind it.

  Spencer’s warm hands moved to my cheeks as his face hovered before me. “Sarah, I’m going to pick you up now,” he said.

  “My father,” I whispered.

  “I know,” he replied, looking so terribly sad as one of his arms wound beneath my knees and the other came around my back. Then he lifted me up, cradling me against his chest. His lips lightly brushed the top of my head as he walked me out of the road.

  Spencer was holding me close. This was what I’d wanted when I found him on the beach the day my mother told me we were leaving. This was what I’d needed. For a moment, I imagined it was then as my cheek rested against the soft material of his shirt. I pretended that he hadn’t turned his back on me all those years ago.

  Behind us I heard Riley arguing with him to put me in her car, but instead he brought me to the passenger side of the van. He released my legs to pull the door open and then coaxed me inside with a gentle voice as if he were talking to a child. I listened, slipping onto the seat as his hand rubbed over my shoulder before he closed the door behind me.