Page 18

Eleven Years Ago, July

Rosa tilted the blender to her lips and swallowed, passing it to me. “I think it needs more tequila,” she said.

“You always think it needs more tequila,” I teased as I took a sip. My eyes popped and I gave a shudder so dramatic my towel slipped off my shoulders, leaving me in my bikini. “Definitely doesn’t need more tequila.”

She laughed as I scooped my towel off the sticky marble floor of Tyson’s parents’ kitchen and wrapped it around my waist. I held out my red Solo cup and she filled it, peering out the window above the sink. “Who are all these people?” she asked.

Tyson’s Fourth of July party was in full swing, the patio full of revelers in red, white, and blue splashing into the pool in the golden afternoon light.

Smoke rose from the grill where Cody was cooking hamburgers and hot dogs, while Tyson held court on the top step in the shallow end, his Coors Light splashing into the pool as he gesticulated wildly with his arms, causing two girls in matching American flag bikinis to giggle.

“I don’t know half of them,” I said, joining her at the window.

“You’re too good for him,” she said, focusing on Tyson.

“We’re twenty-one and it’s summer,” I said, shrugging off her concern just as I had my mom’s. “I can make mature decisions when I’m older.”

“Yas, bitch,” Rosa said, raising her Solo cup to mine.

I wished I were having as much fun as I was pretending to right now.

But my mom had recently gone in for her four-week evaluation and been told she needed another round of the wildly expensive experimental treatment as soon as possible.

I’d been surprised; she’d seemed to be doing so well.

Her energy had been better, she was gaining weight.

We’d been gardening again, and had even gone snorkeling and kayaking a couple of times.

Mom had been hesitant about doing the treatment again, preferring that I use the money to complete my education rather than to extend her life by probably only another couple of months.

In the end I’d convinced her to try another round, but she felt compelled to at least call my grandparents and thank them.

I persuaded her to write a note instead, which, rather than mailing, I tucked into a shoebox in my closet.

I was lying to her for her own good, I told myself again as I restarted the sales deflation program. But I never felt good about it.

My dad, however, hadn’t so much as inquired about my mom since he told me he couldn’t help, so there was no need to lie to him.

“I’m gonna run up to the restroom,” I said. “I’ll meet you out by the pool.”

I padded across the reflective marble floor and mounted the stairs, shivering in the blasting air conditioning as I paused on the landing, considering the cracked door of Tyson’s dad’s office. I was certain I’d left it closed. I froze in place.

Tyson’s parents weren’t coming back until the end of the summer and their computer wasn’t used for anything else, so I’d left the SADEP running on it.

It was hidden behind the desktop, but wouldn’t be terribly difficult for anyone with minimal computer skills to locate. Which would be very, very bad.

As I pushed open the door, my heart leaped to my throat.

Ian was seated in the desk chair, the SADEP open on the screens before him, a Bud Light sweating next to the keyboard, his phone in his hand. He swiveled to face me, a grin spreading across his face when he spied me frozen in the doorway. His eyes were bloodshot, his pale skin pink from the sun.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“I was just admiring your work.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

“It is yours, isn’t it?” he asked, spinning back to look at the computer. “Tyson couldn’t have designed anything this elegant, and I doubt Cody could, either. Though he must have keyed you into the system.”

“Please,” I said, shaking. “Leave.”

“Audrey,” he whined, drawing back. “I’m hurt. I thought we were friends.”

“You shouldn’t be in here,” I said, my voice strangled.

“But I am.”

“Please go. For both our sakes.”

“Hold on now,” he said, taking a swig of his beer. “It doesn’t seem fair you’re making roughly two thousand dollars an hour without lifting a finger while I risk my life to make half that in a week.”

I shut the door behind me and pulled out my phone to text Tyson and Cody:

911 office now

I turned back to Ian, whispering urgently. “I have to pay for my mom’s cancer treatment.”

“I don’t give a shit what you use the money for,” he returned. “Just that you give me my cut.”

“What?” I gaped at him, shaken. “No.”

“I get a cut weekly, and I keep my mouth shut.”

Life in prison flashed before my eyes as we stared at each other, my panic escalating with every passing second. “Ian, please—”

At that moment, the door flew open, and Tyson and Cody burst into the room. Tyson was dripping wet, a towel around his waist, and Cody still had a steel spatula in his hand.

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Tyson demanded, pulling Ian out of the chair by his shirt collar and pinning him against the mostly empty bookshelves.

Cody kicked the door shut as Ian squirmed.

“I found him snooping on the computer,” I said.

Cody dropped the spatula to the desk as he sat in the chair vacated by Ian and rolled it to the computer, scanning the program open on the screen.

“I want a cut,” Ian growled.

“Fuck you,” Tyson spat in his face, grabbing the spatula Cody had deposited on the desk. He jabbed the sharp end into Ian’s neck.

“Are you gonna kill me?” Ian choked out.

“I’m thinking about it,” Tyson said, pushing the spatula so deep into his neck he drew blood.

“Tyson,” I warned.

“I have video,” Ian threatened, wincing.

“Give me your phone,” Tyson demanded.

“Do what you want, it’s already in the cloud,” Ian spat as Tyson wrenched Ian’s phone from his hand, tossing it to Cody.

“Password,” Cody said.

“No,” Ian said.

Tyson tightened his grip on the spatula, and Ian choked. “Twenty percent,” Ian said.

“Fuck you,” Tyson whispered in his ear, slamming his head into the shelves.

Ian kicked at Tyson as Cody pulled the protective covering off Ian’s phone and whacked it against the corner of the desk, cracking the screen.

When he was satisfied, I took it from him and opened the window, tossing it onto the driveway below, where it splintered.

A group of people I didn’t know looked up briefly from where they were seated on the tailgate of someone’s pickup truck, then continued their conversation as though nothing had happened.

I slammed the window shut as Ian scrabbled to get hold of Tyson, who was bigger and stronger. “Twenty percent,” Ian repeated. “Or I send Cody’s company the video I shot.”

Tyson slammed his fist into Ian’s face and he groaned.

“Five,” Cody said, pulling his brother back.

Ian spat blood on the beige carpet. “Fifteen.”

“Why are you fucking negotiating with him?” Tyson demanded of his brother.

“It’s my job on the line,” Cody said gruffly. “Not yours.” He turned to Ian. “Ten. For the length of the summer only. When Tyson goes back to school, this is over.”

“Deal,” Ian said.

“Let him go,” Cody said to Tyson.

Tyson swiped the blade of the spatula along Ian’s neck as he released him, leaving a line of blood across his pale skin. Ian covered it with his hand, glaring at him.

“Now get the fuck out,” Cody said, pointing at the door.

“And if you ever step foot inside this house again, I will kill you,” Tyson added.

In that moment, I believed him.