The Hiding Place

he closed or pulling open curtains he’d yanked shut. Ashleigh liked windows and air and light. The house on Park Street had had all of those things.

She stopped in the kitchen for a quick glass of water, then planned on slipping up to her room. She hoped her mother wasn’t home, that she wouldn’t have to face the usual interrogation. Her mother’s questions were the bane of her existence. Where were you? Who were you with? Why did you go there? She knew her mom was still a little freaked by her uncle’s death, but come on. I’m fifteen. Fifteen.

Ashleigh could just imagine her mom’s response to where she’d just been. First I tried to find the creepy guy from the porch. And then I saw the guy who killed your brother-at the crime scene.

“Ash?”

Ashleigh froze, the glass of water halfway to her mouth. Her mother must have been upstairs, maybe even napping. Ashleigh wanted to slip away, but knew she couldn’t.

“I’m here,” Ashleigh said, giving in. As much as her mom annoyed her, Ashleigh found it hard to be outright mean to her. Or ignore her. If they were all her grandpa had, Ashleigh knew she was all her mom had.

Her mom came into the kitchen. She was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants and looked tired. Maybe she had been asleep. Her hair looked flat, her face without makeup.

“Where were you all day?” her mom asked.

“I was with Kevin.”

“Where?”

Ashleigh sighed. She took a long drink of water, then filled the glass again.

“Don’t sigh,” her mom said. “Where were you?”

“We went to see a friend, but he wasn’t home. So then Kevin had to go to work, and I came home.”

“You’ve been gone since before I went to work.”

“Mom, please? It’s summer. You said as long as I kept my grades up-”

“Do you know why I’m mad at you?”

“Mad at me?”

Her mom’s brow was furrowed, the lines at the corners of her mouth deepened and exaggerated. She looked ugly when she was like this. She looked like life was chiseling its marks onto her face.

“You were supposed to be here today,” her mom said. “That reporter came by.”

Shit. The reporter.

“I forgot.”

The words sounded hollow even to her own ears. Her voice came from far away, its sound tiny, like a little kid’s. Shit, she thought. I really forgot.

“I don’t think you appreciate what this means to me,” her mother said. “To have this reporter come here and to have to talk about those things. Your grandpa doesn’t want to talk about them, so I count on you.”

“I said I was sorry, Mom.”

Ashleigh saw the tears forming in her mother’s eyes, little pools of water that threatened to spill. Her mother rarely cried. And whenever she cried, Ashleigh felt the same way. She’d do anything on earth to stop it from happening.

But the tears didn’t spill. Instead, her mom seemed angry, ready to lash out.

“I swear, Ashleigh, I’m the only one here who really cares about this family. The only one who cares about what happened in the past and who cares to do anything about it now. Do you know how frustrating that is for me?”

The only one who cares about what happened in the past? The only one who cares to do anything about it now?

Ashleigh felt her own anger rise. She slammed the glass on the counter, creating a mini geyser of water. It drenched her hand and the counter.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve saying that to me,” Ashleigh said.

“Don’t act that way.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“You can’t talk to me that way.”

“You’re the one stuck in Dove Point, living in the same house you grew up in,” Ashleigh said.

Ashleigh regretted the words as she said them, but she couldn’t stop. And when they came out, her mother lifted her hand to her own mouth, reacting as though she’d been slapped.

“Ashleigh,” she said. All she managed, her voice just above a whisper.

“Mom, I’m sorry-”

Then the tears really did come. Her mother turned away, went up the stairs and back to her room, leaving Ashleigh behind.

And as soon as she was gone, Ashleigh knew what she wanted to say to her mom. What she should have said:

If you really knew what I was doing today…And if only you knew I was doing it all for you. Only for you.

Chapter Eleven

The call came just after nine in the evening. Janet was in her bed, the TV playing low. They were all in their rooms in the house, each of them isolated and locked in their own worlds. Janet let the phone ring. She figured it was a call for Ashleigh. No one ever called Janet or her dad.

But the phone kept ringing. Either Ashleigh was wearing her headphones in her room and couldn’t hear it, or else she was letting it ring as a protest in response to the fight.

Janet answered.

“Hey,” the still familiar voice said. “It’s me.”

“Michael?”

Her heart started to thump. She felt almost breathless.

“What are you doing?”

“Watching TV.” She regretted the admission. So mundane. “I mean, there’s a movie.”

“I was hoping we could talk more,” he said.

“Sure.” Janet reached over and muted the sound. She sat up. “Do you want to come over? We could sit on the porch.”

Michael laughed a little. “I’m guessing your dad is home, right?”

“He is.”

Janet understood. Her dad wasn’t a fan of Michael. He still thought of Michael as the shaggy-haired, partying wild man from high school. And Ashleigh’s father, Tony Bachus-now married and living in Florida-hung out with Michael all the time back then. Her dad associated the two boys so closely that neither one was allowed on the Manning property after Janet became pregnant.

“I was thinking of neutral territory,” Michael said. “Do you know the coffee shop downtown? It’s open until eleven in the summer.” His voice carried mystery, like he knew things others didn’t know. Even something as trivial as the coffee shop hours. “Can you meet me there?”

Janet didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

But when she stepped outside, into the hot, still night, something felt different. Too calm. Too quiet. Janet stopped in the driveway, halfway between the house and the car, the keys dangling from her hand. She listened.

At first, she heard nothing but typical night sounds. The chirps of the crickets, the soft hum of a neighbor’s air conditioner. She waited and started to tell herself that she was being paranoid, that her stressed-out and emotionally tired mind was playing tricks on her, but then she heard it. Two quick sounds close together, the muffled thump of leather hitting the ground.