But even as my mind is registering that Jess would never be calmly shuffling around in her kitchen if Sam weren’t there, I see him, too, through the main room’s larger windows. He’s in the living room on the couch, his head bowed, looking at something.
I close my eyes and sag back into the seat. The fact that they’re both safe washes over me like a wave. I squeeze my eyes tighter to keep away threatening tears.
A memory from when Jess and I were little pops into my mind. We were playing unattended with some miniature toy cars Les had provided us from his office at the back of his grimy auto shop, the thick smell of oil and gasoline around us.
We pushed the little models around on the pavement beside his shop, real cars surrounding us like giant, ticking beasts. We made little zoom sounds as we laid tracks in the gravel. Road dust covered our fingers and clothes as we crashed the little models into one another, pretending we were bad drivers.
But eventually, I got bored and wanted to push mine farther away, to venture out on my own, away from Jess.
“Wait,” she called. “Where are you going?”
I didn’t answer her. I was sick of her copying everything I did.
I shoved my little Mustang along, away from her, toward some gravel off to the side of the lot.
Suddenly, our stepdad’s voice roared.
I turned to see him snatch Jess up by the arm as an old Ford pickup backed up to the spot she played. He held her tight against him.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” He glared at me over her shoulder. He squeezed her arm so furiously that he left welts on her pale skin. “You’re both so pathetic. You,” he said to Jess, “always letting yourself get hurt. And you ...” He pinned me with his glare while Jess wailed by his side, her arms tiny and thin in his clenched, oil-stained hands. Tears smeared her cheeks. “You should protect your little sister, not get her hurt.”
Those words—straight from that dusty lot—seem to have followed me down every turn in my life. And still, I’m doing a poor job of it.
When I open my eyes, I notice a car parked across the street in front of the Johnstons’ house. Behind Jess’s car is an unmarked sedan. The same police detail that showed up earlier today with Alderson and Greene.
I walk over, tap on the window. “When did they get in?”
“About thirty minutes ago.”
I ask her if there’s been anything strange going on. She shakes her head, bored as they come.
When I walk in, Sam launches himself at me from across the living room and wraps my waist in a big hug. “Aunt Crosbie,” he says to my belly, still pronouncing itCwasbie. He’s in his green-and-black dinosaur pajamas, his little belly popping out.
Tears leap to my eyes. I’m still staggered by my relief that he’s okay. And yes, his mom, too, though I have a bone to pick with her. Why didn’t she call me back when I was panicking on the drive over after getting that call?
When he tries to release me, I don’t let him go and take one more whiff. He smells like a combination of lavender and something fruity, like bottled innocence and sunshine. When I finally let him go, I drop to my knees, tousle his hair, and ask him about school. He tells me it’s been good and wonders if I’ll come read his Creature Cards with him.
“I will if it’s not that scary one about the Japanese girl,” I say, pulling my face into a mask of terror.
“That’s the best one!”
“Well, maybe.” It’s all I can do not to haul him into another embrace, but I don’t want to scare the poor kid.
But the pressure that’s been building like megatons of water against an unstable dam creates a fissure in me. Taking risks, like letting Jeremy into my house and meeting him in a semiremote place, is one thing. But if I’m endangering Jess and Sam, too, by my unwillingness to confess and bear the consequences, that’s quite another. As I look at my nephew’s innocent, sweet face, I decide that I need to start somewhere. And that’s with Jess.
“Give me a sec to talk to your mom. You go pick out the cards, okay?”
He agrees and is gone like a shot.
I find Jess in the kitchen, washing dishes. “I tried calling you. Why didn’t you pick up?”
“I just saw,” she says, flashing me an unfocused glance and refocusing on the plate she’s sponging off. “I’ve been making dinner for Sam, and I had to get him in the bath.”
“I left messages to call me. Immediately.”
“Yeah, I just saw.”
“Jess, the school called.”
