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I thank Mrs. Taylor when they drop me off and tell Colin I’ll see him later. We’re planning on doing geometry exercises together. We’ll be working in his library where no one ever disturbs us, and I’ll be able tell him about last night.
The canteen at summer school is horrible. I didn’t eat much of the lukewarm fish pie, and I’m starving. I let myself in through the gate and slow down when I notice the cars in the driveway. Dad’s Rolls Royce and Ryan’s BMW are there. My dad never comes home this early. And what is Ryan doing here? He’s not keen on traveling far from home since Celeste developed complications with the pregnancy.
I push the front door open and close it quietly behind me. My dad’s heated voice booms from his study. Ryan says something, his tone placating. I drop my bag and pad down the hallway. Sniffling comes from the lounge. I stop in the doorframe. My mom is perched on the sofa, crying into a tissue. Mattie sits next to her, rubbing her shoulder.
Shit.
What happened?
Coldness invades my body.
Mattie looks up. Her expression is grave when she meets my gaze. She gets to her feet and crosses the floor, her steps quiet on the marble tiles like in the way people walk at funerals as if they’re afraid of making noise.
Putting an arm around my shoulder, she leads me to the kitchen. Doris stands at the counter, rolling out dough. For once, she doesn’t shoo us away and tell us not to get under her feet. She dusts her hands on her apron and disappears into the scullery.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my heart beating in my throat. “Has someone died?” Aunt Judith or Uncle Fred?
Mattie leans on the counter and crosses her arms. “There’s been an incident.”
My voice comes out hoarse. “What incident?”
She’s calm, taking after Ryan in that sense, but I don’t miss the tension in her face. “Someone stole Dad’s notebook.”
I battle to make sense of it. “What?”
“Someone broke into the house and stole Dad’s book, the little black one he kept in his desk drawer.”
“But…” Shaking my head, I open and close my mouth, finally only managing, “Why?”
“The book is important.”
“I don’t understand. Why is Ryan here? And why is Mom crying about it?”
She lowers her voice. “Dad’s been involved in some bribing.”
“Bribing?” My breath catches. “What do you mean?”
She waves a hand. “He paid some people under the table.”
I go colder still. “I don’t believe it. Dad would never do that.”
“It’s how business is done here. Everyone does it. The thing is not to get caught.”
“What does that mean?” I lean my hand on the table to steady myself. “What does that mean for Dad?”
“Dad and Ryan are dealing with it.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” I ask, panic constricting my chest.
“Nothing,” she says, her voice stern. “What’s important right now is to figure out how it happened because it can never happen again.” She glances at the scullery and continues in a quieter tone. “Someone cut the alarm and the cameras last night.”
Her words hit me like bullets. Blood pumps through my body and rushes to my head.
She straightens. “Naturally, we can’t involve the police.”
I hear her through the gushing in my ears, her words distant and distorted. I look at her, see her lips move, but I don’t register what she’s saying any longer.
Someone cut the alarm and the cameras.
And I know.
I know who took the book.
I don’t know what’s worse, the betrayal that burns like acid in my stomach and pushes up with bile in my throat or the shame that cripples me. The shame, I think. Of being stupid and naïve. Of being an accomplice. Of being selfish and hurting my family.
I draw back my hand, noticing how much it’s shaking, noticing the flour stuck to my palm.
“…just have to give them a moment. Dad isn’t himself.”
Mattie. I stare at her. She’s still talking.
I nod, the movement mechanical.
She grips my shoulder on her way to the door, a rare show of affection. No, not affection. Support.
My thoughts are scrambled, my body shaking with the devastating blow of deception. Blazing red-hot in the wake of that deceit is nauseating fear. It’s my first taste of the ugly sentiments, and I don’t care for them.
What have I done?
I glance over my shoulder at the straight set of Mattie’s back, how strong she is when she needs to be.
“I’m going to Colin’s,” I say, making a rash decision.
Mattie turns to me. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”
“I know.”
She sighs. “Maybe it’s not a bad idea to hang out at Colin’s for a while, at least until the worst of it has blown over. I suppose Dad will want to speak to us before dinner. Make sure you’re home by then.”
Her heels click down the hallway, her steps that strange funeral march again, cautious and subdued.
