I even almost forgot that June wasn’t there. That she should have been there.
Almost.
60
MAEVE
I chattedwith my dad about his work at Oak & Reed while we finished dinner. My mom joined in here and there, but I knew she was upset and I didn’t blame her.
A lot of things changed when you suffered the kind of tragedy we’d suffered. There were things other people took for granted that you couldn’t take for granted anymore: that everyone was safe, that there would be another Christmas together, another birthday, that there would be plenty of time to spend laughing and goofing off, plenty more hugs.
We’d become closer because of what had happened to June. There was the obvious stuff, like texting each other regularly so no one worried, but there was less obvious stuff too, like spending a lot of time together and never assuming there would be more.
It wasn’t an easy way to live — like trying to live your life with a giant scythe hanging over your neck — but the alternative was to tempt fate by not caring, and none of us were willing to do that.
Not after what had happened to June.
I’d never gone as long without seeing my parents as I’d gone during the last two months. There had always been reasons to get together, first because there was new information about the investigation into June’s murder, details about her upcoming trial, and then Chris’ sentencing, where we’d all been able to read victim statements out loud to Chris and the court.
Then, after Chris had gone to jail, there had always been a family dinner or brunch, a birthday or holiday. I’d been there to help my dad cook, had helped my mom plant bulbs in the garden in spring, something June had always done when she’d been alive (June had never been interested in cooking).
So I got why my mom felt some kind of way about my absence.
She warmed up as we put dinner on the table, and the conversation was lively as I piled my plate high with spaghetti and meatballs — a childhood birthday favorite I’d never outgrown — and garlic bread.
We caught up and I learned that Simon had made the varsity soccer team at Forest Day while Olivia was enrolled in the occupational culinary program I’d taken when I’d gone to the school.
Just a year before Chris had been sentenced to prison. I’d sobbed in the courtroom when Olivia and Simon had read their victim statements and had wondered if their lives would be irreversibly damaged by what Chris had done to June.
Now they both seemed happy and well adjusted, which was a relief given everything that had happened.
My dad had won an award for one of his desserts at Oak & Reed, and he’d been approached by a publisher about a cookbook, but my mom was struggling. She’d taken a sabbatical from her professorship during Chris’ trial and had never gone back to work, and I had a hard time pulling anything out of her about how she spent her time.
Simon and Olivia cut me meaningful glances while my mom dodged my questions, and I made a mental note to ask them for more detail later.
After dinner my dad brought out dessert, a lemon-meringue angel food cake that was my dad’s own recipe and my favorite cake of all time. My mom lit the candles and everybody sang and I wished that a year from now Ethan Todd would be dead.
You’re a real ball of sunshine, M.
June’s voice came to me as I was blowing out the candles, and I was glad she was there, even if it was only in my head.
We were lingering over coffee and cake when Olivia spoke. “I heard Ethan Todd’s moving to Blackwell Falls.”
My heart dropped, both because I’d heard the same thing and because I’d hoped Simon and Olivia would be spared my obsession with Ethan Todd.
My dad scowled, a warning sign that Olivia should keep quiet.
“What?” Olivia said. “I’m just saying.”
“Where did you hear that?” Simon asked her.
“Maren Burbank told me she saw it somewhere online.”
“Not everything online is true,” I said.
I didn’t want Simon and Olivia falling down the Ethan Todd rabbit hole. They were just kids, and they’d had enough of their innocence stolen by Chris and Ethan Todd.
“Duh,” Olivia said. “But some things are.”
