Page 117

With my heart beating in my throat, I jump off the bed and change, then grab my keys, needing to get to them as quickly as possible.

It’s a four-hour drive from here to Shadyside, but I refuse to turn on the radio, for fear I might hear what they’re saying about my family. Regardless, the miles pass quickly with my worry for company.

I grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. My mind races faster than the car and when the navigation system announces my arrival in ten minutes, I already know every turn by heart. The sprawling mansions grow more imposing with each passing block, until finally, the wrought iron gates of my parents’ estate come into view.

Several news stations are parked across the street, and the second they see me, journalists rush toward my car. With shaking fingers, I enter the keycode to get inside before they can reach me, sighing in relief when the heavy metal plates close not a second too soon, shutting them out.

I hurry down the driveway, parking haphazardly in the circular drive, and not bothering to turn off the ignition as I get out and slam the door.

The grand limestone facade of my childhood home towers above me, windows like vacant eyes staring down. For a moment, I’m frozen, unable to move forward or retreat.

With a deep breath, I force myself up the steps. My key slides into the lock, but my hand hesitates on the doorknob. What will I say to them? How can I possibly explain?

The door swings open, and the marble foyer gleams in the sunlight spilling from the tall windows, everything in its perfect place: the crystal vase filled with fresh flowers, the antique console table polished to a shine, the family portrait hanging above it with our practiced smiles. The house is eerily quiet, almost as if it’s holding its breath.

I take a few tentative steps inside, my shoes clicking against the marble. “Mom? Katie?”

The soft whir of Katie’s wheelchair reaches me first, followed by the measured click of my mother’s heels. They appear from the hallway leading to the east wing, my mother’s hands gripping the handles of Katie’s chair as they enter the foyer.

The moment my mother’s eyes meet mine, her carefully composed expression shatters. Her face crumples like tissue paper, eyes flooding with tears, lips trembling as she tries and fails to maintain her dignity.

“Where’s Dad?”

“I don’t know,” she says on a sob. “After they came and searched the house, he flew out of here. His only command was to go see our lawyers. He hasn’t come home since.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I—” I swallow, the words lodged in my throat.

Closing my eyes, I pray for courage as I blink my eyes open again and step further inside.

“Avery, can you get me another blanket? I’m cold.”

I turn to Katie, her thin frame huddled in the wheelchair by the window. Her big brown eyes which are so much like Dad’s are rimmed with red, her usually bright smile nowhere to be found. The news has been playing on repeat for hours, each broadcast more sensational than the last.

“Of course,” I say softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. I grab the chenille throw from the sofa and drape it carefully over her legs, making sure it covers her feet. “Better?”

She nods, her fingers working nervously at the fringe. “If Dad goes to jail, do you think they’ll let us see him?”

My chest tightens. At eleven, Katie understands more than Mom gives her credit for. The cerebral palsy affects her body, not her mind, and right now, that brilliant mind is processing that our father might go to prison for a very long time.

“Of course they will. But let’s not think about that now, at least not yet.” I kneel beside her chair, taking her trembling hands in mine. “And I promise, no matter what happens, we’re going to be okay. You, me, and Mom, we’ll get through this.”

“Promise?” She glances up at me, eyes shining with unshed tears.

I swallow, my throat thick. I did this.Me.

“I promise.”

She nods, taking me at my word as she turns back to the TV.

The news anchor’s voice drones on in the background as I notice Mom slipping away from the living room.

Rising to my feet, I tell Katie I’ll be back and give her a kiss on the head before I turn to follow legs leaden as I note the sound of cabinet doors opening and closing.

I find Mom in the kitchen, staring blankly into an open cabinet. Her fingers grip the counter’s edge so tightly her knuckles have gone white. Her shoulders slump forward, the weight of everything pressing down on her like a physical force I feel responsible for.

“Mom?” My voice comes out small, uncertain.

She doesn’t turn around. “Not now, Avery.Please.”