Page 20 of Always Murder (The Last Picks #9)

I honestly don’t know what I would have done if, at that moment, the front door hadn’t crashed open.

“Because you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Millie said, her voice frayed. “So stop talking about it.”

“I’m your boyfriend,” Keme said. “I’m trying to help—”

“I don’t want you to help! I don’t want you to do anything except be nice to my family, and you can’t even do that. Kassandra was trying to be nice to you, Keme. She was asking you questions. She wanted to talk to you. And you just stared at her.”

“She wasn’t asking questions to be nice. She thinks it’s hilarious I’m in high school, and she wants to make you feel bad, like she always does, like your mom—”

“STOP!” And then, the next words clotted with emotion, Millie said more quietly, “Please stop, okay?” My heartbeat filled the next long moment. “I changed my mind. I think I’m going to go home.”

The front door shut—not quite a slam, but on the hard side of Don’t you dare follow me .

I slipped out into the hall. I want to say it’s because I’m a good friend and because I love Keme and because he’s this weird combination of my son and brother and bully. But the complete and total truth is that I went because it was easier to think about something else—anything else—than what had happened with Bobby. I was already doing one of my best magic tricks with that: boxing up all the feelings, all the hurt, all the shame and embarrassment, to deal with later. If there was a later. And yes, part of me knew that was melodramatic. But part of me also knew that Bobby never yelled. He never lost his temper. He never— never —would have acted that way with West.

But that was too close to thinking about it, and so I packed up those thoughts too.

Keme was already starting up the stairs. He had pulled up his hoodie to mop his eyes, and when he lowered it, he saw me. Over the last few months, Keme and I had broken a lot of new ground. I’d seen him at his most vulnerable. And he’d let me be there for him.

Right then, though, there was no mistaking the look on his face. The message translated to something like Say one word, I dare you , only with a lot of those skull emojis that aren’t actually words.

I decided I wanted to live for a few more hours, at least until I could try to apologize to Bobby, so I let Keme stomp upstairs.

That annoyingly observant part of my brain—the one that was always spotting things and grabbing them and holding on to them so I could use them in my writing, kind of like an overgrown toddler—noted that I hadn’t heard an engine or the sound of tires.

When I opened the front door, Millie’s Mazda3 was still there. She was sitting behind the steering wheel, her face in profile to me, staring straight ahead. If she noticed me, she didn’t give any sign of it.

Go back inside, I told myself. Go back to the den and work on your story. Leave her alone—it isn’t any of your business. Better yet, go find Nathaniel Blackwood’s secret bomb shelter and hide out there until all of this blows over.

But I couldn’t. Because like it or not, life in Hastings Rock had changed me. And even though Millie had parents and siblings and probably a really evil great-aunt, she was also my family.

As I crossed the drive, my steps clicked on the worn pavement. Still nothing from Millie; she looked out the windshield like she was watching a movie. Nothing too happy, to judge by her expression. I was willing to bet it included such memorable scenes as Confrontation in the Vestibule and Don’t Talk about My Mother (a classic, from what I understood, for the straights). I tried the passenger door, and it opened, so I slid into the seat.

Millie sank down and closed her eyes.

I settled into my own seat with a few squirms and squeaks.

And then the car was silent except for the sounds of our breathing. Outside, the day was still that hard, chipped cold. The sky was the color of sunlight through a sheet of paper. The fog had half-eaten the trees. Plus, I was cold—even though the car had only been off for a few minutes, the damp was seeping into it. I was starting to suspect that this, like most things in life, would have gone better with coffee and a serving of Indira’s apple crumble. Or with someone else doing it. Someone who wasn’t literally itching inside their own skin at the thought of having this conversation.

Then Millie said, “Do you ever have dreams where you can’t talk?”

I looked over at her. Her eyes were still closed.

“Yeah,” I said. “I do, actually.” I tried to think of something meaningful to say, but the best I could come up with was “I hate those dreams.”

“Me too,” she said in a small voice. Pushing her hair behind her ears, she made an unhappy sound and opened her eyes. “My mom is so mad.”

“I’m sorry, Millie.”

She shook her head—at the apology, maybe. Or maybe at something else.

“This has been a difficult week for her,” I said. “She’s tired, and she’s upset about Paul being hurt, and even though I will literally never understand why, she seemed to genuinely like Elliott and David—”

“David,” Millie corrected absently.

I let it slide because I honestly. could. not. “—and she’s hurt because Angeline is hurt. And, like she said, I ruined Christmas.”

I meant the last bit to sound light and playful, but Millie didn’t smile. “Do you know what Angeline said when the sheriff told her about Elliott? The first thing she said? She said, ‘You mean he’s not a lawyer?’” Millie shook her head. “My mom gasped . They were so excited that he was a lawyer. Gracie Sterling’s boyfriend is a lawyer. And Gracie Sterling went to college. She got a degree in Child Management, and she did it in three years instead of four, and she had scholarships, and she didn’t drop out or anything. Gracie Sterling also didn’t quit dance, and she won Miss Teen Hastings Rock when we were seventeen, and everyone used to want her to babysit, and she’s never had a haircut that made her look like a boy, quote ‘and not in a cute way.’”

I couldn’t help myself. “Uh, what is Child Management?”

“That’s why my mom is mad. Not because Elliott was a liar. Not because he was a thief. Not because he hurt Paul really badly, or because he was going to steal all our money, or because he broke Angeline’s heart. Because all her dumb friends are going to find out, and she can’t stand that.”

We sat there. The wind stirred the trees at the wood line, but where we were, in the lee of the house, there was no wind, no sound.

“Gracie Sterling sounds like she’s the absolute worst,” I said.

Millie laughed. “No, she’s super sweet. That’s what makes it so awful. I am so…tired of it. ‘Did you see the top Gracie was wearing? It looks much better on her.’ Or, ‘I was at book club, and Gracie said the smartest thing.’ Or, ‘I bet Gracie’s mom doesn’t have to clean up sand every time her daughter comes home.’ Or, ‘Gracie never would have quit the jump-rope team.’ No, Mom, she wouldn’t have, because she was BOINKING THE COACH!”

I couldn’t help myself; I burst out laughing. Millie’s eyes got huge. She covered her mouth as red rushed into her cheeks. When she glanced over at me, somehow her eyes got even bigger. And then she started to giggle. After a few seconds, it turned into tears, but Millie wiped them away and pulled herself back together, shaking her head again.

“I’m sorry, Millie,” I said. “My relationship with my parents isn’t exactly the same, but I know it’s not easy to have parents who find a million different ways to tell you they wish you were someone else.”

“It’s fine. Most of the time, she’s too busy fussing about Angeline and Kassandra to worry about me. Paul and Ryan are practically grown-ups now, or as close as they’re going to get. For a long time, they needed me. But I guess Keme’s right: there’s no reason for me to put up with it anymore.”

I nodded. But I said, “Except, they’re your family.”

She let out an unhappy laugh and nodded.

“Would it help if you blamed me?” I asked. “Tell her the whole thing was my idea?”

“I already did. It didn’t work; she said you had a smart mouth, and your mom should have spanked you more.” In a surprisingly morose tone, she added, “I’ll never get to be Mary. Gracie Sterling is going to be Mary. She’ll probably be Mary every year for the rest of my life, until she’s a hundred years old.”

“Okay, first of all, wow about the spanking comment—”

“She also said she always knew you were a troublemaker, and you were never invited to dinner again unless you do something really interesting and she wants to brag that she knows you.” With a tiny slant to her mouth, Millie said, “I added the last part.”

“And I don’t have a smart mouth. I’m witty. I’m urbane. I’m a conversationalist.”

Millie didn’t seem to hear me, though. Her gaze dropped, and she ran a hand over her leggings. “You, uh, heard me and Keme?”

“It’s a big house,” I said. “But it’s not that big.”

She picked at some lint. Then she stopped, closed her eyes again, and leaned her head against the window. “I thought it was going to be so easy. We’ve been friends for so long. I love him so much. But every time I open my mouth, I start yelling at him. And he—” She cut herself off, and she sounded close to tears when she said, “How do you and Bobby make it look so easy?”

“Trust me, we’re not perfect—”

“I know. That’s why I said ‘make it look.’”

“Excuse me?”

“And we already know Bobby’s super patient, so I’m asking more, like, how do you manage not to mess it up all the time?”

The question was a flagrant violation of my, uh, dignity. But since—in this one particular instance—Millie happened to be right, I managed to swallow a series of phrases that began how dare you . When I trusted myself not to throw a hissy fit, I said, “For your information, I happen to be in the middle of messing up the best relationship of my life.”

Millie opened her eyes and said—with an unmistakable implication—“WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

And then I told her what I’d done.

The first thing she said was “DASHIELL!”

“I know!” I snapped. “And just so we’re clear, that’s not a helpful response!”

“You have to—” Then she stopped. “He doesn’t want to be a detective?”

Because I was temporarily wordless, I managed a few flailing hand gestures to convey an overall sense of See? and That’s exactly what I’m talking about . Finally I managed to say, “Thank you!”

“But that doesn’t make any sense. Bobby’s so good at being a deputy.”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell him that or he’ll charge you with publicly complimenting an officer.”

Millie gave me another, longer look. “Dash.”

“It’s going to be okay. I’ll apologize. And, like you said, Bobby’s super patient. He’s probably got a few ounces of forgiveness left.”

“He does.”

“We’ll work through it.”

“You will.”

It sounded even less convincing when I said it all out loud.

“He forgave you when you hugged him and got all that powdered sugar on him.”

“That was kind of both our faults.”

“And he forgave you when you went for a run and you pretended a bear came charging out of the woods and knocked you down and that’s why you had to sit on that bench.”

“In the first place, a bear did knock me down—”

“And he forgave you that time he came home and you and Keme were trying on all his expensive sneakers.”

“ Keme was trying them on. Keme . I didn’t do anything! I put one on for, like, five seconds to show Keme a dope way to tie the laces, and of course that’s when Bobby walked in—”

“Dash, he loves you so much. And you love him so much. You’ll figure things out.”

“Yes,” I said. “We will. But this isn’t supposed to be a conversation about me. This is a conversation about you and Keme. I believe someone used the phrase ‘messing it up.’”

Some of the light went out of Millie’s face. She gave a limp shrug.

“Not good enough,” I said. But when Millie didn’t say anything, I said, “I’m going to go out on a limb here: Keme doesn’t like how your family treats you, and he’s trying to tell you what to do.”

Millie’s jaw dropped. (It was not flattering.) “YES! And no matter how many times I tell him it’s none of his business, he won’t stop!”

“Okay, well, here’s the first part: you’re in a relationship with Keme now, so to some degree, it is his business. When you tell him it’s not, you’re telling him there’s a part of your life that doesn’t include him. Is that what you want?”

“No, that’s the opposite of—”

“Then stop telling him it’s none of his business. You need to tell him what he can and can’t do. He can listen and be supportive when you need to vent. He can’t criticize your mom under the thinly veiled excuse of helping you or protecting you or whatever he claims he’s doing.”

Millie was giving me a slightly goggling look, which was even less flattering than the jaw-drop. “How are you so good at this when you’re so bad—”

“Because I’m a writer,” I snapped. “And you can’t keep bossing Keme around like he’s your little brother. He’s a grown man. He’s an adorable little gremlin-wolf hybrid of a grown man who would actually look super cute if you dressed him up in adult clothing and pretended he was, like, a dentist.”

Millie’s look was slightly less impressed now. “I’m not going to tell him you said that.”

“But it’s so good! And I came up with it right on the spot!”

“I know Keme is a grown man,” Millie said.

Her tone was defensive.

And then she blushed.

I mean, my God. If you’re like me, and you’re basically still thirteen years old and the kissy bits still make you squirmy, then you understand why my spirit vacated my body in that exact moment.

Somehow, Millie soldiered on. “I know he’s an adult. But somehow, every time I open my mouth, I start talking to him like—like he’s Ryan or Paul, and I can hear myself, how I sound—” She stopped. And then she groaned. “—like my mom.”

I couldn’t help laughing. Millie, though, didn’t join in. She gave me what Will Gower would have called a gimlet eye. “I’m not laughing at you,” I said. “I’m laughing at the comparison. You don’t sound like your mom, Millie. Well, not exactly.”

“Oh my God,” she moaned.

“Come on, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. Have you met my mom and dad? One time, the pastor came over and he thought my dad was a coat rack.”

“Millie, you’re not your mom. And Keme’s not your dad. On the other hand—”

She made one of those whimpering sounds again.

“On the other hand,” I said a little more firmly, “everybody inherits relationship patterns from their parents.”

Millie’s suspicious, sidelong look at me was simultaneously un-Millie-like and, well, rude.

Mostly, though, it made me laugh again. I raised my hands in surrender and said, “Writer. Well, and years of therapy unpacking the current hot mess in front of you.”

“I can hear myself,” Millie said. “I sound exactly like my mom sometimes. I never wanted to sound like my mom. Growing up, it was like—it was like nobody else was even there . It’s still like that. Like she can’t see me. Like she can’t hear me. Even when she’s looking right at me, telling me Gracie Sterling learned to play the flute—”

“On the jump-rope coach,” I murmured.

“DASHIELL!”

“You said it, not me!”

Millie’s grin was surprisingly real. But it faded as she said, “It’s like she’s talking past me or through me, and nothing I say gets in. I don’t want to do that with Keme, but sometimes, it’s like he’s not listening to me either.”

You’d have to be a pretty lousy armchair psychologist not to make the connection, but I let that pass without comment. Instead, I said, “Someone once told me that all love is a kind of homesickness. Well, actually Nora Ephron said that. And she didn’t tell me so much as, um, write it in a book.”

It sounded like Millie was barely holding back a lot of vexation.

“My point,” I hurried to add, “is that the stuff from our past doesn’t all have to be bad. There are things we go back to because we love them.”

“So, what? I want Keme to ignore me like my mom does?”

“Good luck with that. Keme couldn’t ignore you if he tried.”

Millie sat up. She ran her hand through her hair, her fingers curling along her nape. When she spoke, her voice was thoughtful, distant. “My house was so loud growing up. It still is so loud. And I know I’m loud. I’m always getting excited about stuff. And I like that about myself. But sometimes it’s like there’s so… much . And then I’m with Keme, and he’s like this quiet place I can drop into and be calm and centered and—and with him. Like I’m this kite that would blow away if he didn’t keep hold of me.” Her cheeks reddened. “I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does, actually. And it’s lovely.”

“God, he must be so mad at me.”

“He loves you, Millie. He wants this to work out with you. But you both have to recognize that you’re in a new phase, and things are different. That means making some changes. He can’t keep being a lone wolf; he’s part of something bigger than himself now, and that means talking and making decisions together. It means compromising. And you need to find a way to communicate that isn’t big-sister mode. Part of being in a relationship with someone is learning to see them differently. And that means learning to love them differently too, because you know more of them now, and you know them in a new way.”

Millie was quiet for several long moments. Then she sat up a little straighter, her shoulders square, and said, “I can do that.”

“I know you can.”

“I’m going to talk to Keme.”

“Good.”

“We’re going to figure this out.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Her voice took on a grim resolve. “And I’m not going to let my mom treat me like that anymore.”

“Right, well, that’s kind of beyond the scope of this conversation—”

“And I’m going to be Mary this year.”

“Not really the point, I think, but—”

Millie’s head swiveled, and I realized I was caught in her sights. In that same take-no-prisoners tone, Millie added, “And you’re going to write me the best book ever about Jinx St. James.”

My brain told me to say no, but you should have heard her—the determination in her voice was two degrees shy of terrifying, which was probably why my mouth said, “Well, um, we can talk about that—”

She pulled me into a hug. It was of the usual Millie-rib-cracking variety, but a little tremor ran through her, and I surprised myself by squeezing her closer.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Anytime. Oh, but not really anytime, because if Keme ever found out we had this talk, he would chop me up and mail pieces of me around the world.”

She laughed, but when she pulled back, her eyes shimmered. “You must think I’m so messed up.”

“Millie, here’s one of the basic facts of life: everybody is messed up. So, don’t worry, you’re not the only one. I’m sure if I ever have kids, I’ll start trying to plan their lives and decide what’s best for them and have this singular vision for who they are and who they’re supposed to be, and everything I do will be directed toward making them into that person, just like my parents did with me, and—”

When the realization hit, I actually felt the blood whoosh out of my head and toward my sneakers.

I could hear my own broken-off sentence like an echo.

I could feel Millie watching me.

It didn’t matter. I had fallen into the abyss of cosmic horror.

“Oh my God,” I said, only barely aware I was speaking out loud. “I’ve become my mother.”

“Oh,” Millie said. “Yay?”

Somehow, I managed to shake my head and whisper scratchily, “No yay. Not yay.”

In my head, I played back everything from the last few days. Everything from the moment I’d heard the sheriff’s office had an opening for a detective.

Time must have passed because Millie said, “Uh, Dash?”

“I have to go now,” I said numbly.

“Are you okay?”

I mustered up something that might pass for a smile. “Uh huh. Just need to lie down and grapple with a fresh bout of horrifying self-awareness.”

“Oh. Okay.” She leaned in, quick as a bird, and kissed my cheek. And then she said, “I love you.”

It was enough, thank God, to startle me out of my waking nightmare. My next smile felt more real, and I said, “I love you too, Millie. Now go talk to Keme.”

“Are you going to be all right?”

My phone buzzed.

The message was from Bobby, and it was short and sweet—which was standard fare for Deputy Mai. I’m very unhappy about how I talked to you. I’m so sorry, and I want to apologize. Can we please talk when I get home?

Somehow, I managed to say through the lump in my throat, “Yeah, everything’s all right.”