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“Oh, you know,” she answers. “Just another thrilling Saturday night of being single.”
I chuckle, bending forward to hug my knees, protecting my bare skin from the elements. “It’s barely been a month since you and Kevin broke up. It’s okay to still be single. It’s probably good.”
“Yeah. I know.” She sounds very disgruntled, but her tone changes quickly as she asks, “How are you?”
Oh, God. I wish I could answer that. Really answer it.
Hunter knows my mom got arrested for murder, which she thinks is insane. She falls firmly into the “Penelope Thomas could never do that” camp, which I’m grateful for.
But that’s all Hunter knows.
She doesn’t know about the night the guys and I saw Iris get killed.
She doesn’t know that someone—probably the same man who murdered Iris—framed my mom.
She doesn’t know that the man in the black mask might be the same man hosting the party in the mansion behind me.
And she can’t know.
So I don’t know quite what to say to her.
“Hey, Low?” Her voice is softer, concern creeping into her tone. “You there?”
“Yeah.” My eyes burn, and I squeeze them shut, but a few tears slip out anyway. “I miss my mom,” I whisper. “I miss her so fucking much I can’t breathe sometimes.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line for several beats. But it’s a nice kind of silence. The kind that means Hunter would be hugging the shit out of me if she were here right now.
“I’m sorry,” she says finally. “That sucks so much.”
“Yeah.” I drag in a deep breath and release it, forcing my body to relax. “But it’ll be okay. It has to be.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it will.”
We talk for a while longer, and I tell her about how my mom thinks maybe Judge Hollowell could help her, but that I don’t know if I should say anything to him. At least that’s one little thing I can share with Hunter, and it feels good to talk openly and get her advice. Then we move on to lighter topics, and I can tell she’s trying to distract me and cheer me up as she fills me in on the stupid shit my old classmates have been up to.
It helps.
Hunter’s always been good at that—at knowing when I need to talk about something and when I need to talk about anything but that thing.
The phone is still pressed to my ear, but my fingers and legs are starting to get cold. I’m about to stand up to head back inside when I hear a noise behind me and look up sharply.
Lincoln stands near the door to the house, his face cast in shadows. The last hints of daylight were fading when I stepped out here, and it grew fully dark while I was talking to Hunter.
The striking boy in the tuxedo crooks a finger, beckoning me, and my body is moving before I even think.
“Hey, dummy? I gotta go.”
“Okay.” She sighs into the phone. “I hope you feel better.”
“I do. Thanks. You’re the best.”
“Love you, Low.”
“Love you back.”
I press the button to end the call just as I reach Lincoln, who’s been watching and listening silently. When
I stop in front of him, he drops his head to kiss me once on the lips, not touching any other part of me. Then he jerks his chin back toward the house before turning and walking inside.
