Page 37 of You Know Why

From the look on Brooklyn’s face when I told her about Chloe, I’m sure she didn’t know the truth. Either Brooklyn Locke is an Oscar-worthy actress, or she was truly blindsided by the news that Andrew is a murderer.

Now, I just have to find him again. Shouldn’t be too hard, not with his new face ready to hit the airwaves. Plus, with his wife hurt, injured, dead, surely he will reappear.

And I have his children. Maybe he’ll come to me. Maybe, for once, I will be the spider, and he will be the fly.

If he doesn’t? I will find him and end this.

Because, contrary to the romantics, love does not conquer all. No, love makes people do the worst possible things.

Ask me how I know.

“Eden, the children,” Theresa says, pulling me back to reality. They have stopped crying, shock setting in for them, as well. Or maybe hypothermia. It’s cold as hell out here, and they’re not wearing jackets. Neve is trembling; Four is trying to be a man, his shoulders back, lip firmly bitten between his teeth. He’s holding his sister’s hand, watching me for cues on how he should act. Should he fall apart? Should he be brave? Should he run screaming?

Maybe the last, but he doesn’t know it yet.

I pop down to my knees and gather them to me in a wide hug. “Oh, babies. You must be so scared.” They collapse against me, shivering; it is so cold out here. This is my chance to shine. To show these children what sort of life they should have had. To be the aunt I was always meant to be.

I am coming to life now. Look at them. Blood of my blood and bone of my bone.

I’ve been alone for many years now. I have no one left—no sister, no parents. Our extended family never stayed in touch. I see them occasionally online, but that’s it. I don’t even have phone numbers or email addresses for most of them. I hardly have any real friends anymore; I’m on the road too much to fit into their schedules. Even my roommates are gone.

I have no one but these two children. Andrew’s fledglings.

I pitch my voice low and soothing. “Let’s go inside. Get you warmed up, get you some tea, some soup. Then we’ll go to the hospital so you can see your mom. Okay?”

They nod, silenced by the fear.

A quick glance at Theresa shows consternation on the older woman’s face, but she doesn’t argue.

In we go. Into the lair I’ve built, a place that is the opposite of their home in Nashville. It is not warm, comfortable, or cozy. It’s utilitarian and empty. Lifeless. Not at all appropriate for children.

I will fix this. I will soften all the edges and redo the entire house to be gentle and sweet. I’ll inform my boss that I won’t be able to travel for work anymore. He’ll allow me to deliver my presentations virtually. He might even be relieved; the budget will take much less of a hit if I’m not on the road all the time, trying to escape my lonely life.

I will learn to cook all their favorite foods and sing them their favorite songs and read them their favorite stories. I will homeschool them, teach them myself. I’ll take them back to Malogen so they can meet their grandparents.

They might lose a mother, but they will have the next best thing. I will give them the life they should have had, and it will be joyous for us all.

Chloe would do the same if she were here. I know she would.

Lips Like Sugar

Chloe

Twenty-One Years Ago

The bass was pumping, the Killers were singing about Mr. Brightside, and the basement of Gerry Lang’s house smelled like teenagers and weed. Chloe Barrow had a very pleasant contact high, but she worried that her clothes were going to smell. Her mom would kill her if she came home stoned. She glanced at her watch, happy to realize she didn’t have to be home for another hour; her curfew was midnight, and her house was only a three-minute walk from Gerry’s. Sweet. She’d air out along the way.

She was a fourteen-year-old freshman at the party of the semester, a little bit high, and Andrew Locke had been following her around for the past thirty minutes.

Talk about a dream come true. Andrew was a junior, the quarterback of the football team in the fall and baseball captain in the spring. He was handsome, wealthy, and a serious catch. That he would pay her any attention at all was maybe . . . only on a dare? They were playing truth or dare earlier; she saw him in his knot of friends, being jostled about and hooted at. He was sweaty and blushing, and she was burning inside. She’d never wanted anything more in her young life than to talk to him.

She watched him dipping in and out of conversations, entirely at ease with his place in the world, tossing her glances. She bit her lip. She had precisely zero ideas of how to seduce and attract a man outside of being bookish and clever, like the girls in the shows she watched and books she read. That she could do; bookish described her to a T. And if given the right situation, she could be clever. She’d managed to hold her own at this party without falling flat on her face. Despite her lack of gymnastic ability, she was going to try out for cheerleading next week, which would put her squarely in Andrew’s sights at all times.

Everyone knew the jocks didn’t date anyone but cheerleaders. And she could yell really loud. Her friends thought she was a shoo-in. Crazy, but she could get the spot.

Andrew met her eyes and started toward her. This was it. He was really about to talk to her. Up close, he was even bigger than she realized. She barely came up to his collarbone. He smelled like pot, and sweat, and beer, and boy. His eyes were the most fabulous color, a clear light brown. Like honey. He might as well have been honey, and she a desperate bee.

“Hey,” he said.