“Yeah. She’ll call after she’s done over at Zach’s parents.”
I nodded. They’d called and insisted she come. Said they needed to talk.
“Is Lacey asleep?”
“If you want to call it that,” Brian said, flat. “Staring at the ceiling is more like it.”
“She needs rest,” I said, annoyed. “Call it what you want.”
Brian never had much tolerance for stress. And when he was stressed, he got rude. Sarcastic.
Dylan walked in. His hair stuck up in the back. Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
“Lila crawled into Mom’s bed again,” he said. “I let her stay this time. Ethan’s sleeping in his crib.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” I flipped the channel to the local news.
“Oh my fucking God,” Brian breathed, right as we realized what we were looking at.
It was the front of our house. On live TV …live!
A blond woman stood out front, overly styled, holding a microphone to her mouth. People walked by behind her. Reporters moved like ants, setting up cameras. Flashbulbs burst. Our house was the backdrop. Our home. And we were standing inside it. Watching.
“Why don’t they just take a few shots and leave?” Dylan groused.
The volume was still on mute, but we didn’t need to hear it. The reporter pointed at our front door.
“Dylan,” Brian said in a stiff voice, “why don’t you go upstairs and play the new video game Amanda got you? You shouldn’t be seeing this.”
“Dad,” Dylan said calmly, “I’m a teenager with a phone. I can Google all of this shit.”
“Language,” I scolded him.
Brian glared at him. Then looked at me.
I said nothing. Just reached for the remote and turned on the volume.
The three of us stood there, shoulder to shoulder, the cold TV light glowing on our faces.
“… the murder weapon has still not been found,” the anchorwoman said, “but when we inquired about the DNA results, Police Chief Henderson did confirm that the blood found on the female survivor was, in fact, not hers but that of the male victim. Making her one of the prime—”
I clicked off the TV. We’d heard enough.
The room went dark.
No one moved.
“What …” Brian mumbled. “What is she talking about?”
He sounded like someone sitting on a train headed straight for derailment.
Inside, a tornado raged. My brain was spinning. Questions. Fear. Every thought knotted with panic. But then I remembered Dylan was standing right beside me. So I faked a calm I didn’t feel.
I placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
“What does this mean?” Brian yelled, dropping his head into his hands. “Are they saying she killed—”
“It means we need to remain calm. And call a lawyer,” I said.
