Chapter 12: Thanksgiving

"Who gave you this number?" I asked.

"Raegan. I asked around the music building until somebody pointed at her."

"She called me a lot of names first."

"Good."

"Em. Please."

I looked out at the black lake.

The night she drove drunk and killed someone.

The note was dated five years out. This was year one.

But I knew my family, and I knew Thanksgiving, and I knew Dad kept the demo SUV keys on the hook by the garage door.

"One night," I said. "I'll be there Thursday."

Bo didn't argue when I told him.

He went very quiet, and then he asked what the plan was.

I liked him so much for asking that.

"I bring my own water," I said. "Sealed. I don't drink anything anybody pours. Not juice, not coffee, nothing."

"And?"

"And you're in my ear the whole time. I keep the call open. You record it on your end."

"And if something goes wrong?"

"Then you hear it."

He was quiet a long moment.

"I hate this," he said.

"I know."

"I'm still going to do it."

"I know that too."

The cook gave me a six-pack of water with the factory seals on.

"Anybody tries to feed you, hit them with one," she said.

On the train south I read the note one more time, and made the same decision I'd made on move-in day.

Whatever happened in that house, I would not be the girl in the driver's seat.

Dillon picked me up at the station in his old hatchback.

He'd lost weight. There were circles under his eyes.

He hugged me in the parking lot, hard and clumsy, and I didn't hug him back.

"Thanks for coming," he said into my hair.

"I'm here for one night."

The house looked the same.

The gravel driveway. The porch where Grandma had made us stand for the photo.

The gold demo SUV from Dad's lot, parked at the top of the drive, washed for the holiday.

I put my earbud in on the porch.

"I'm here," I said quietly.

"I'm here," Bo said in my ear. I could hear the fuel dock radio behind him. "Recording."

Mom opened the door before I knocked.

She was thinner. Her hair was done anyway.

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