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Celeste
I watchDaisy as she tidies the kitchen. She’s just going through the motions. She washes one plate twice and places another straight into the drying rack, dirty. As she works, I put cookies into a yellowed Tupperware box. When she finishes, I hand her the box.
“For Tom,” I say.
She hesitates, and her eyes cloud with confusion as she says, “Didn’t I give him some?” as if she honestly doesn’t remember.
“You did,” I say. “But these are for the two of you.” I force a smile. “Breakfast.”
She’s frozen in place, dishcloth in hand, suds dripping onto the linoleum, like a maid-android with her power cut. By the time she answers, there’s a pool around her left foot, seeping into her ankle sock.
“I... We’re not...” She moves then, easing back as awkwardly as that robot-maid trying to look human. “Tom and I are just friends, and even if we were going to change that, tonight wouldn’t be...” She trails off.
I try to brighten my smile. “Tonight seems like a perfect night. You’re upset, and believe me, he’s eager to be your knight in shining armor. He saw the police cars and veered in here so fast he tore a strip out of my yard.”
“Okay. Sure, I’ll take him more cookies. I was going up there tonight. But I won’t be staying.”
“I think you should.”
Daisy flinches so hard her entire body convulses, and when she lifts her eyes to mine, I want to smack the whipped puppy out of them. No, damn it, that’s not true. I might want to smack the whipped puppy out, to harden my heart and inwardly sneer at her weakness. Yet that look isn’t weak or timid or even accusing. It says, “I didn’t piddle on the carpet, but I understand why you think I did.”
Damn it, Daisy. Don’t do this. Just... leave, okay? Leave Fort Exile. Leave Tom. Guys like him are a high-risk, low-return investment. Find some average-looking, decent man who’ll think he’s the luckiest guy alive for winning you. Get married and build your own damn house and fill it with cute Daisy babies.
Just run. That’s all I’m asking. Get spooked and run. Let the cops chase until they lose you and close the case.
“I didn’t kill Liam,” she says. “That’s my gun, but I didn’t put it in my room.”
“Imagine yourself in my place, Daisy,” I say, leaning on a scarred chair. “Imagine Tom is dead from a gunshot, and the police find a gun in my room, a gun I never told you about. Would you want to spend the night alone in a house with me?”
Before she can answer, I push on, “I have two choices here. Be tough and stupid, or weak and smart. I’m very fond of tough, but I’m even fonder of smart, and I can’t pretend I’m okay sharing a house with you tonight.”
“You’re right.”
Part of me wants her to fight. She didn’t kill Liam, damn it. But she sees my point, and she concedes it, and that’s what I need, isn’t it? Drive her out and hope she hits the road to avoid arrest. If she doesn’t, I’ll work on it again tomorrow. I hate to do this to her. I really do. But one way or another, she must run with the police in half-assed pursuit. It’s the only way we both get out of this.
I push the box of cookies at her. She takes it, nods and murmurs that she’ll get her things and leave right away.
Daisy
A string of profanities snakes out from Tom’s workshop, leading me in to find him cursing over an engine. I open my mouth to say something light and funny, but no words come, and I stand there until he senses me. Then he strides over, stopping a couple feet away.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m... not sure.”
He reaches out and then hesitates, and I move closer, and his arms wrap around me as I fall against his chest. I don’t cry. I can’t. Everything jams up inside me, begging for release that won’t come. Instead, I lay my cheek against his chest and breathe as he rubs my shoulders.
When I step back, I say, “The police searched my room.”
“I know. She told me someone called in an anonymous tip about seeing you with Liam. When I find out who it was, I’m going to string them up alive. We don’t do that shit here. No one’s expected to lie to the cops, but you don’t volunteer information.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. This is a goddamn community. Maeve was part of it, and I might have left, but I’ve done my damnedest to make up for that. No one who’s short on cash leaves without the loaf of bread they came for. No one needs their car towed home because I won’t fix it on credit. I see shit. You know how it is. I don’t judge, and I sure as hell don’t talk. Folks might not know who you really are, but I’ve made it clear you’re with me, and they pull this shit...”
He shakes his head. “Sorry for the rant. I’m just pissed off. First, that tip. Then, Celeste blocking me from talking to you. Then, that deputy sending me on my way like I’m twelve.”
A deep breath, and his fingers rest on my arm, thumb stroking it.
