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So instead of playing along, I do the only other thing I can if I want to save face and get rid of the burning lump of betrayal his message lodged in my throat. I turn the phone off and toss it onto my desk before returning to my reading.
Though something tells me it’s going to take a long time to plow through these chapters now that I have so much on my mind.
CHAPTER 37
James Alistair wife
I hit enter, and immediately the Google screen populates with search engine results. Unfortunately, all I find are little bits from the wedding announcement my mother made a point of sending out to the local papers. Everything I’m finding has to do with her, but she’s not the one I’m interested in.
I can’t forget about that picture. I can’t forget the way Nix and Colt reacted to it the day I found it in James’s desk. I need to find something I can use against this man, and she’s what I keep coming back to. There’s something very wrong, but I can’t figure out what it is. I hoped a little digging around on the internet would help, but I keep hitting dead end after dead end.
I stare at the ceiling, pursing my lips. I wish I could remember her first name, but there were so many coaches over the years. It’s all a blur. I only remember her face and how kind she seemed. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around that part. How somebody so kind, so warm and maternal, birthed two monsters like her sons.
Even thinking that to myself makes me frown and shake my head. I doubt they were born that way. James must have somehow found a way to twist them up.
Instead of putting James’s name in there, I type Alistair gymnastics death. I mean, there’s got to be something about her team mourning her, her accomplishments with them, something. The woman could not have disappeared off the face of the earth.
Still, I don’t get anything worthwhile. Nothing that mentions her. Was her name even Alistair, or did she keep her maiden name? This time, I type in gymnastics coach dead.
Nothing. I mean, there are lots of articles and blog posts about various gymnastics coaches who died, but when I pull up images related to the links, none of them are her.
“Hey. Class let out early. You wanna go get some dinner?” Piper hasn’t fully entered the room, only poking her head in from the hallway.
I turn to her, tapping my nails against the desk with one hand. “Question. Did Colt or Nix ever tell you anything about their mom?”
She comes in and closes the door, then leans against it. “It’s funny, but now that you mention it, no. I really don’t think so.” I can tell she’s thinking about it, too, frowning, staring toward the windows. After a few moments, she shakes her head with a shrug.
“That’s really weird, isn’t it? She was supposed to have died, right?”
“I think that’s what I heard back when they first came to town, yeah.”
“I heard it was a car accident.”
She nods. “Yeah. Now that you mention it, I remember hearing the same thing.”
“So why can’t I find anything about her online? No obituary. No anything. It’s like she never existed.”
“That’s really weird. What do you think it means?”
“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“I doubt it.”
“I think James did something bad and covered it up. I really think that.” It would explain why he freaked out when I mentioned her at dinner that one night. Why the guys are so guarded when it comes to her, telling me I could never mention her. If he did something to his wife, he wouldn’t want me bringing her up, even in casual conversation, would he? I’m sure he would rather pretend she doesn’t exist, just gloss over the whole thing. As if such a thing could be forgotten.
And if that’s true? No wonder his sons are the way they are. They never had a chance.
“Come on,” Piper urges. “Let’s get something to eat. You need to let this go for a little while. Be around people.”
I lift my eyebrows. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”
“Why?”
“Because I was invited to a party. One of the girls in my lit class lives off campus and is having a little casual thing. She must have repeated that part like a million times. They’ll order some sandwiches and some pizza, and we’re just going to hang out. I was thinking of going, and it would be really cool if you’d come, too.”
“You’re the one who was invited.”
“So what? I don’t think they’ll check a guest list at the door. It sounds pretty chill, but I would feel a lot better if you were there with me. No pressure,” I add at the last second. “I’m not trying to guilt you or anything, I promise.”
