His tone. She remembered that tone so well. He just couldn’t pull off sincerity. It had spurred her to bluntly give him the news about Mom, which he had somehow already heard, but when she’d explained that they were spreading her ashes in lieu of a memorial service, he’d been eager to drop the whole thing.
“We’re doing it this Sunday,” Jamie had decided that moment. She didn’t really care if he was there or not, but it had pissed her off how relieved he’d sounded that he couldn’t make the event.
Apparently picking up on her anger, he’d finally said, “Well, maybe Debra and I can come. What time?”
She almost asked him not to bring Debra. Nobody liked her. Nobody wanted her there. But Debra had been with her father for so many years that it seemed churlish and pointless to say no.
Now, Harley said, “I don’t even know what he looks like.”
“You’re not alone. None of us have seen him in years.”
“Has . . . uh, Marissa texted yet?” Harley tried to disguise the hopeful tone in her voice, but wasn’t completely successful. Jamie found herself praying Marissa was as nice as everyone was saying. She hoped to God Harley wasn’t left in the lurch on her first day of school.
“Not yet.”
Her cell gave off its incoming text tone at that moment. Harley jumped up and demanded, “Where’s your cell?”
“I’ve got it right here.” Jamie plucked it from her purse and placed it on the counter. She gave her daughter a look that said, Hold your horses.
“Is it Marissa?”
“No, it’s Ick . . . it’s the lady I was talking with at the school . . . Tyler’s mom.” She fished Vicky’s card out of the side pocket of her purse. “Vicky Barnes, uh, Stapleton.”
“Wha’d she say?”
“Well, I’m going out with her tonight, while you’re at the mixer.”
Harley frowned. “Really? Why? What about Emma?”
“She can stay by herself. My mom worked nights, pretty much always.”
“You don’t want to take care of her, do you?”
Jamie drew a breath. “It’s all a change. For you, too. And I’m glad, and surprised, that you’re so okay with the move.”
Harley physically pulled back, as if Jamie had trod into her space. “You’re not both coming to the mixer, right?”
“Not on your life.”
Twenty minutes later, Marissa texted: will pick Harley up at 6, k?
Harley practically yanked the phone out of Jamie’s hands and sent back a thumb’s-up emoji. “When am I getting a phone?” she demanded for about the billionth time.
“I don’t know,” answered Jamie. Again. “Keep asking and it might not happen at all.”
“So, you are thinking about it?” Harley perked up, hearing what she wanted to hear.
“A day hardly goes by that it’s not brought up about six times.”
Harley narrowed her eyes, as she often did at her mother’s sarcasm, but then she raced upstairs to her room to get ready.
I need to go back, to remember how it started. I need to recall every detail. To think through each piece. It’s important. It keeps the path I walk on straight.
I sit in the full dark. I have been sitting here a long time. Days . . . maybe a week?
I don’t want to hurt anyone, but these women . . .
They shouldn’t do the things they do. They need to back off, or be made to.
The newspaper clippings are on my computer, which sits on the table in front of me. If I open the file I’ll read about what was reported, but not what happened.
I didn’t hurt the babysitter, but she needed to be hurt, needed to be stopped.
For some reason my mind is full of images of dolls. They’re enhanced like Barbie but they’re not her. They’re sluts. Zeroed in on men. Any man. Whether married or not. An army of vicious, self-gratifying females.
I breathe hard, pulling my energy inward, needing to calm myself. Not now, I warn myself. Not ever, if I can help it.
But can I help it?
The doll images slowly coalesce into one face. One I knew all along. The one that started it all . . .
Emma . . .
Chapter Seven
River Glen High’s media room was festooned with autumnal banners made by every class, basically declaring why their class was the best. Lots of stars and exclamation points and #1 signs in green and gold, the school colors, along with pictures of pumpkins, cornstalks, and scarecrows. There was a DJ setup at one end whose playlist was thumping so hard you could feel it in your chest. Harley walked in behind Marissa, who was trying to fight off a deep fury at her mother and doing a half-assed job.
“My dad has to be here. He has to! She made it a prerequisite. So now he’s over there by the door, and I know he hates it. He says he doesn’t, but he’s just being nice. He hates it. He’d rather be home.”
Mr. Haynes, the cop, had picked Harley up, and she and Marissa had taken the back seat, leaving him to be like a butler, driving them to the school. He’d let them out and then gone to park. They’d entered without him, but Marissa had said he always listened to what her mom wanted because, well, she was the real parent.
“It pisses me off,” she said now.
Harley knew how she felt. She hated being blindsided by parents, and they always, always seemed to want to do it. Like they were incapable of not screwing their kids up. She’d said as much to her mom in the heat of an argument once, and her mom had thought about it for a moment and said, “I guess you’re right,” which had annoyed Harley, probably way more than Marissa was annoyed, because she’d really kind of wanted Mom to go ballistic and have a parent fit, but Mom generally just looked faintly amused, like Harley was reacting just the way she expected.
It sucked.
“Let’s go over by the DJ.” Marissa was
