I took a sip of my wine. “She must be in love with the lifestyle.”
—
Exhausted, I burymy head in my hands. Normally, I’d be curled against Nate at night once Dani had gone to bed, reading a book while he watchedThe Daily Showor readThe Atlantic.But going through our normal routine feels wrong after my sister’s funeral only a few hours earlier. Nate sets down his phone and stands. “It’s been a long day. I’ll put Dani to bed.”
I give him a grateful smile.
He looks tired too, stubble covering his jaw, the lines around his eyes and forehead deeper than usual. When was the last time I’d looked at Nate? When was the last time we’d kissed? Or worse, had sex? Weeks? Months? God. I’d been so busy with the gallery and Dani’s summer activities before Naomi died, and now I barely have the energy to feed and bathe myself.
—
While Nate helpsDani get ready for bed, I pour myself a glass of wine, hoping it and a bath will numb some of this sharp pain.
In the upstairs bathroom, as eucalyptus-scented steam fills the space, I peel off my clothes: the black sweater that was itching my arms, my too-tight black pants. I unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor. Turning toward the mirror, I catch a glimpse of myself—deep bags under my eyes, lopsided mess of curls, body soft and hollowed out—before the steam fogs up the mirror.
Sighing, I sink into the hot water, inhaling the scent of eucalyptus as the heat seeps into my muscles. Closing my eyes, I sink down lower until my face dips under the surface. If only the water could swallow me whole.One two three,I count, holding my breath, sinking deeper, deeper, until my head rests at the bottom of the tub. I stay there until my lungs burn and instinct sends me lurching to the surface, gasping for air.
After catching my breath, I place an Advil on my tongue and chase it with a sip of wine. Steeling myself, I open Naomi’s notebook and begin to read.
—
My fingers arenumb and pruned by the time I finally pull my face back from the page. I have no idea how much time has passed. An hour? Two? Despite the lukewarm water, I feel cold.
Naomi seemed to have been investigating something related to Greystone. She was working with a reporter she callsAL—it couldn’t be Amy, her last name doesn’t start with anL—and she must have been providing them information. There were notes about Greystone alumni, a list of questions for Lila Jones’s brother…and on the last page:
- TREVOR JONES
- NEED HARD EVIDENCE
- SHOW AL WHAT WE FOUND!!
And underlined at the bottom, the most terrifying of all:DONE
Chapter Thirty-Four
Maya
January 2012
A couple of weeks afterwinter formal, I was studying in my room when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Maya, this is Professor DuPont. I have an opportunity I’d like to talk to you about,” he said.
“What kind of opportunity…”
Since Winter Formal, when I saw Lila in his office and he’d expressed his disappointment in my grades, I’d avoided his weekly office hours. His criticism especially hurt because I’d come to see him as a sort of mentor. Apart from the past couple of weeks, I would spend every Thursday evening at his office hours, and after we finished talking about class, he’d sometimes pour us a glass of wine and go off on a tangent about his upbringing.
It turned out, as different as we were, our upbringing was quite similar—he came from a middle-class background and was deeply affected by the loss of his mother too. From these conversations, I began to form a connection with him deeper than that of a professor and student—not in an inappropriate way, though I did find him attractive, but like a mentor and advocate. I began to see a future for myself where, if I worked hard and met the right people, I could someday be as successful as he was.
“You need a job,” he said. “I have some friends who could use your help.”
—
The address ProfessorDuPont gave me sent me to a nice house a few blocks from campus. He’d offered me forty dollars an hour, triple what I normally made at the restaurant.
But something felt off…why did he wantmefor this job?
