“I skipped practice because this asshole reporter was hanging around.”
I wrinkle my brow. “What reporter?”
“I don’t know. A journalist from some big magazine. There’s always someone new showing up to ask questions and stick their nose into things.” He makes a derisive sound. “She’s writing a ten-year anniversary feature and wants to interview everyone connected to the case. Ambushed me after school.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize journalists were hounding you at school.”
“They always are. Same with all those true-crime fanatics. They used to show up at the house too until Nikki sicced the dogs on them one time.” He snorts. “Now they know not to trespass.”
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t even think about how awful it would be for the James family.
“Those vultures have no shame,” Everett says, shaking hishead. “Looking for the bodies. Treating it like it’s some goddamn sport instead of people’s lives.”
I nod. I don’t tell him that’s exactly how I feel.
“They keep digging and digging, bringing everything back up again. Meanwhile I just want to forget it. My mother’s dead. Nothing will bring her back.”
He veers off the grass toward the mouth of the trail that disappears into the trees. I follow him despite myself. I should go home and not engage in this. My father is the reason Everett deals with these nosy people on a constant basis. But I can’t help myself.
We approach a clearing with a few trees and a wrought iron bench that faces a small well. And not a fake decorative gingerbread well like the one outside the Shipley house. This one is ancient stone, with a rusting bucket, the real thing.
Everett slumps down onto the bench, hands on the tops of his thighs. “This was my mom and sister’s favorite place,” he reveals, nodding at the well. “They used to sit out here and do their nails. Mom’s favorite shade was this obnoxious, superbright red. She painted Nikki’s nails too, and some of the kindergarten moms complained to the teacher that their daughters kept coming home begging for manicures.”
I laugh, picturing tiny terror Nikki showing off her little red fingernails at school.
“The three of us came here to make wishes. We’d throw coins in, although this one time”—he chuckles under his breath—“when Nikki was four or five, Mom didn’t have any spare change, so Nikki was likeI have an idea. She ran into the house and grabbeda few twenties from Dad’s wallet. She had no concept of dollar amounts, just thought we needed money to throw in. Sixty dollars, down the well, all so Nikki could wish for a new Barbie.”
“That’s an expensive Barbie.”
“Sometimes I come here to feel close to her.” He sighs. “To forget about the shit show that is my life.”
I want to reach for his hand, but I’m afraid it will send the wrong message. I can be Everett’s friend, but nothing more. Not when this secret hangs between us.
“Is it really that bad?” I ask quietly.
He snorts. “Bad is an understatement. My mother’s dead. My father cares more about showering affection on his dogs than his kids. Nikki’s a mess. I just found out she’s sleeping with some loser from Brice to score drugs. So, yes,shit showis the accurate term.”
“Has your sister always acted out this way, or did it start recently?”
“Always. Or at least once she entered puberty. Dad says it’s because she doesn’t have a maternal figure.” He pauses, absently reaching down to rub Bella’s head. She sits at his feet, her eyes sleepy. “Sometimes I hear Nikki talking to her. To Mom, I mean. When she thinks no one is around. I talk to her too.”
I think of the photograph I saw of the two of them at their mother’s funeral. Just little kids, no more than seven years old.
A short silence falls.
Then he breaks it. “So, what, you’re really just friend-zoning me?” He sounds a bit amazed, as if it’s unheard of that someone might actually do that.
I hesitate before dipping my head in a nod. “Yeah.”
“For now or forever?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know what?” His voice takes on a determined note. “I’m going to take you at your word. You said it was moving too fast, right? That’s why you ended it?”
Whydid I have to give that excuse?
Because the truth wasn’t an option.
