“Taylor is the only boy I like. If you just took the time to get to know him, I wouldn’t have to sneak out at night,” Julia retorted.
Sensing the conversation was just getting started, Grant cleared his throat. “I’m going to leave.”
“Thank you, Grant,” Ellie said.
“You’re welcome. I’ll let myself out.” Grant left the house, feeling old and crappy. He remembered what it was like to get into trouble, though he hadn’t experienced much teenage wildness, not with his father disabled. But this wasn’t Grant’s first disciplinary action. As an officer, he had plenty of young recruits who couldn’t resist the occasional lure of stupidity. But none of them were a fifteen-year-old girl making a sad, you-ruined-my-whole-life face at him.
But Ellie was exactly right. Julia had to understand the risk she was going to take that night. The thought of her out there, alone, with a boy Ellie didn’t know, going who knew where, gave Grant a cramp in the center of his gut. Considering everything that was going on in the neighborhood, he didn’t blame Ellie for keeping her daughter close. And, after spending these past few days with full-time care of Carson and Faith, Grant could imagine far too clearly the soul-clenching terror a parent felt when a child went missing—and the despair when she didn’t come home.
As he crossed the lawn, snowflakes drifted from the clouded sky. Heat enveloped him as he went into the house. Carson’s and Hannah’s voices, along with Faith’s cries, poured down the hall. Everyone was up. Again. Grant shook his head. These kids never slept. A few white flakes fell from his hair onto the doormat. He toed off his wet shoes.
Chaos. Total chaos. Life in Afghanistan was less insane.
He trudged toward the kitchen. It was going to be a long night.
Family responsibilities and Julia’s behavior brought his return to the military to mind. How was he going to make sure the kids were all right when he returned to Afghanistan?
Chapter Fourteen
Lindsay
December
I push the brown bag with my lunch in it away. I’m not hungry. Fear is a great appetite suppressant. I’m tired of this.
I stare down at my open notebook, but I’m only pretending to work on my calc problems. I used to love school. In California, I got straight As. Now I can barely think.
Maybe they’re right. I am ugly. I am not worth the air I breathe. They say so every day, enough that I think it must be true.
I have no one to talk to. I’ve made zero friends since we moved here. Everyone is afraid of becoming the next target. I don’t blame them. I’m not worth it.
My phone buzzes. I don’t want to look at it. Technically, I’m not supposed to use my phone at school, but what can they do to me? Expel me, please. A phone number comes up on the display. I don’t recognize it. I shouldn’t open it. I know it’s from them. But I can’t help myself. It’s almost like I want the punishment.
I look down at the screen: You should die.
My eyes fill. A tear slides down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. I shouldn’t cry in front of them. They get off on it. But I really don’t care anymore.
I don’t care about anything.
They aren’t even in this lunch period, but they have minions that follow their orders. At this very minute, someone is probably taking a video of me crying.
My phone vibrates again. This time it says Drinking bleach should do it.
I power the phone down. I’ll check for any messages from Jose later. I can’t handle any more right now.
I just want to crawl in a hole and die. It would be a lot easier to do what they want. I can’t win. I can’t go on like this. I don’t want to go on like this.
The bell rings. I pack up my stuff and join the flow of bodies toward the exit. Near the door, I toss my lunch in the garbage. A hand shoves me in the middle of my back, and I fall forward toward the trash can. I catch my balance at the last second, but my books flop into the can. Half-chewed fries and ketchup splatter over everything.
I reach down to pull my books out of the mess. Tears pour freely down my cheeks now. I don’t even bother to wipe them away. My stomach flip-flops as I shake a glob of macaroni and cheese off my notebook. A second later, a teacher is beside me, helping. But she is too late—as always.
I am tempted to leave. My house is only a mile away if I cut through the woods. My parents don’t think it’s safe for a young girl to walk alone, as if I’m safe anywhere.
The rest of the day is quiet, though I can’t focus on my classes. I keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next strike. By the time I get home, I’m a mess. Forget homework. Needing a mindless distraction, I opt for TV. I settle on the couch and slip a disc of CSI into the DVD player.
Later that night, my mom asks, “Why are you so quiet lately?”
So I finally tell her about Regan and Autumn.
“Stand up to them,” she says.
I don’t think she gets it. I just shake my head. Words will not form. My throat feels like it’s packed with cotton balls.
“I’ll call the school,” she says.
“No,” I say. “That’ll just make it worse.”
I know without a single doubt that getting Regan and Autumn in trouble is a very bad idea. They are hostile now, when their only motivation for tormenting me is amusement. I can’t imagine being the subject of their revenge.
Chapter Fifteen
“I can’t believe it.” In the crowded home office, Grant bumped elbows with Mac, sitting on an ottoman they’d dragged in from the living room. Grant had the schoolhouse chair, and Hannah sat at the desk. In front of her, Lee and Kate’s records were organized into neat piles on the blotter. Hannah twisted sideways to face her brothers.
On the corner of the desk was the box of legal files Grant had brought in from the car. Lee had handled a variety of cases. The files that had been in Lee’s office were boring, mundane legal issues: he was representing a local businessman in a DWI, drafting wills for a married couple, and drawing up a partnership agreement for a trio of doctors. Grant had scanned every page. There wasn’t even a hint of controversy.
“Lee was broke,” Hannah said.
“Are you sure?” Grant leaned toward the office door, left open a few inches so he could hear the kids, who were taking a miraculous and simultaneous morning nap. No one had slept much last night. “That doesn’t sound possible.”
Hannah skimmed through a pile of papers. “I’ve double-checked all their financial records. Lee and Kate were beyond broke. Their debt was crushing them.”
“How can that happen?” Mac shook his shaggy hair out of his face. “I know Kate didn’t make much money, but Lee was an attorney.”
“Lee was a good lawyer, but he made terrible financial decisions.” Hannah lifted a bank statement. “Lee’s law school debt totaled six figures. He deferred payments for years, and he hasn’t paid much of the principal off. I know law practices have been hit hard by the economy, but his salary was a lot lower than I expected. He wasn’t willing to move to chase a higher-paying job.” She thumbed to another page. “They couldn’t afford this house or the BMW.”
“Why do you make so much money?” Mac asked Hannah.
“I speak three languages. I work eighty-hour weeks for a large private firm, and I’m willing to live in hotels. Small-town firms can’t pay hefty salaries.” Hannah dropped the paper on the blotter. “I didn’t borrow as much money as Lee either. I had scholarships and a work-study program. Basically, I’ve had no personal life for the last ten years.”
Grant knew all about having no life outside of work. “Why would he keep borrowing if he was already underwater?”
“You know Lee, the perennial optimist.” Hannah rubbed her neck. “Remember when we were kids. Lee was always the one to say things would work out.”
“So what will happen to the house now?” Grant asked. “I’d hate for the kids to be forced from their familiar surroundings.”
“Lee’s student loans go away with a death certificate. We’re lucky there. They don’t always. Actually, both Lee and Kate had decent life insurance. It should be enough to bring everything current, with a bit left over. If they hadn’t died, they would have lost the house in six months.” Hannah set the paper down.
“Did they have any money in the bank?” Grant couldn’t believe Lee was broke. What the hell was going on with his brother?
“No.” Hannah shook her head. Her short, straight hair fell back into its precise cut. “Their savings ran dry months ago. They used every dime for the down payment on this house.” She paused, sucking a deep breath in through her nose.
“What is it?” Grant asked.
“I don’t know how to say this. I feel guilty for even thinking it.” Hannah stared at the desktop. “In the last few weeks, Lee’s account shows two inexplicable cash deposits of nine thousand, five hundred dollars each, just small enough to avoid federal reporting requirements.”
Shock silenced them.
“There has to be an explanation.” Grant’s mind scrambled. “Could he have closed an account somewhere?”
“I’m still looking.” Hannah’s eyes reflected Grant’s disbelief. “But so far, the money seems to come from nowhere.”