Page 51

AVERY

My body aches as I sit up, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, the memory of last night’s grueling interviews with detectives washing over me. The questions had been relentless, their voices growing grim as they reviewed the files I’d handed over.

By the time they’d finished with me, exhaustion had hollowed me out completely, and I fell into a fitful sleep.

I tap the notification and press the phone to my ear. “Mom?”

“Avery.” Her voice is brittle, barely controlled. “The police are at the house. They have . . . they’re searching it. Your father’s office. Everything.”

My stomach drops. It’s happening. It’s actually happening.

Shots have been fired, and Vinny Huhn may have held the gun, but I pulled the trigger.

“Where are you now?”

“On our way home from the attorney’s office.”

“And Katie?” I ask, my voice frantic as I imagine the toll this will take on her.

“Here with me. She’s okay, but—”

“Listen, Mom, everything is going to be okay,” I say, even though I’m not sure it’s the truth. “Just stay put, I’m leaving now. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Without waiting for her response, I hang up, trading my phone for the remote and I turn on the TV, quickly flicking to the news.

The local morning show gives way to a special report, the words brEAKING NEWS flashing across the bottom of the screen. Search warrant issued for hotelier Reginald Astor involving the Astor walkway collapse that killed six people.

My heart jumps in my throat as I watch in horror while my mother and little sister struggle to make their way from their attorney’s office into their car.

Mom’s face is partially hidden beneath large sunglasses, but I can see her jaw clenched tight, her shoulders hunched as she pushes Katie’s wheelchair.

My eleven-year-old sister looks small and delicate; her blonde hair, the same shade as mine, is pulled back in a messy ponytail.

She ducks her head as they inch toward the waiting car while reporters shove microphones in her face.

“Mrs. Astor! How does it feel knowing your husband might go to prison?”

“Do you have anything to say to the victims and their families?”

Another reporter steps directly in their path, while Mom shields Katie with her body before their driver scoops her into his arms, pushing through the swarm of people, which only continues to press in from all sides.

“What have I done?” I whisper, my fingers digging into my thighs.

On screen, Mom finally reaches the black SUV at the same time our driver finishes buckling Katie into her chair. She ducks inside, closing the door and shielding them from view of the reporters.

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 .”

I take a deep breath, gathering courage I don’t feel. I’ve yet to tell my mother that I’m the one who turned our father in, yet she blames me anyway—for my refusal to listen, for running back to Damon instead of staying away. “I have to tell you something,” I say.

The kitchen light casts harsh shadows across her face as she finally turns. Her eyes are hollow, rimmed with exhaustion. “What is it?”

“It was me.” The words tumble out, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I went to the police about Dad.”

Her expression doesn’t change at first, as if the words haven’t penetrated. Then her eyes widen, and her lips part in silent shock. “You . . . what?”

“I’m the one who gave them the evidence, the manipulated plans, and falsified inspection reports.”

“Why . . .?” Mom sways slightly, gripping the edge of the counter. “Why would you do this to us? To your sister?”

“I didn’t do this to you or Katie. Dad did,” I say, my resolve strengthening.

My mother glances away, as if unable to look at me, her face contorted with emotion.

“Vinny Huhn came to me a few days ago. It was just like you said. He had evidence about Dad’s involvement in the collapse and told me that if I didn’t break up with Damon, he’d expose everything, and I just couldn’t do it.

I promised myself that if Damon gave me another chance, I’d never hurt him again, no matter the cost.”

“So why did you—”

“It was time I did the right thing, even if it hurt. What Dad did was wrong. It killed people, hurt families, destroyed lives. He’ll always be my father, and I’ll always love him, but I’m done covering for him and keeping his secrets.

I’m done sacrificing my own happiness for his.

I’m sorry, and I just hope someday you can understand. ”

Mom’s face crumbles, her shoulders slumping as she slides down against the cabinet to the floor. “You could have warned us,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Given us time to prepare Katie, at least.”

I sink down beside her, drawing my knees to my chest as the cold tile seeps through my jeans.

“I didn’t know they’d issue a warrant this fast. Or that it would make breaking headlines.

” My voice catches. “I just . . . I couldn’t live with it anymore.

All this time, knowing what he did and doing nothing, letting it control our lives. ”

Mom’s eyes close, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Your father made a terrible mistake. But he’s still your father.”

“I know,” I whisper. “And Katie’s father. And your husband. But those people who died had families, too.”

The silence between us stretches, punctuated only by the distant sound of the television from the living room.

“What happens now?” Mom finally asks, her voice hollow.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I’ll be here. I’ll help with Katie if you need it. We’ll figure it out.”

My mother nods, and I reach out, taking her hand in mine.