“If your book is based on a true story,” Valerie rests her arm on the back of the sofa cushion, “that means some parts of it are fiction, right?”
No matter how soft and sweet her voice sounds, Valerie’s choice of words isn’t lost on me. But it’s only a natural question from a rational person who has never been in a life and death situation. These things should be black and white, shouldn’t they? At what point do facts bleed into fiction and where does the grey area turn murky? Words are important…
I shrug nonchalantly, “The names are fiction.”
We’re talking about my book, at least right now, but I can tell there’s something else going on, that she wants to ask questions that she doesn’t know how to ask. She wants the answers, but she’s afraid to divulge too much about the private details of her life.
Asking for a friend…
“Some of it is just so…” Valerie pauses, looking down at her lap as she shakes her head, “insane.”
I shift my eyes away as I rock my head from side to side, “Refuse to talk about it, it never happened…say too much, and you’re not traumatized enough for it to be true…”
“No, no,” Valerie starts shaking her head vehemently, “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant at all.”
“Oh, I know,” I say, flashing her a reassuring smile, “but real life is sometimes insane.”
She’s not like most people who have read about my book, people who pick their favorite characters, choose sides, and fight valiantly for them until it’s time to step back into real life. It’s as though she’s hoping to God that there’s not a shred of truth to it, like she’s praying for a different ending.
“But did he really…” Valerie shudders, “with the gun?” She can’t even repeat it even though she’s clearly read about it in excruciating detail.
“Yes,” I say flatly. “Jealous?”
Valerie opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Instead, she looks at me like I just reached down her throat and stole the breath out of her lungs. But before she can respond, I change the subject.
“By the way,” I motion to her hand, “that’s a beautiful ring. Are you engaged?”
Valerie hesitates for a moment before her eyes dart to the gem situated on her left ring finger, “Yes,” she grins with relief, “just a couple weeks ago, actually.”
“Wow!” I exclaim, “That’s really exciting. So, where did you all meet?”
Valerie twists the ring back and forth as she speaks, “I’ve actually known his sister since high school.”
Jesus Christ, these people…
I reach out to her and she instinctively lays her hand in mine so I can ogle her ring, “And how did he propose?”
“He actually did it when we went camping,” she smiles at the memory.
“That’s fun,” I tip her hand back and forth, admiring each facet of the stone, “there are some really beautiful places out there.”
“I’d never been there before,” Valerie shrugs, “I didn’t even know it existed.”
My chest practically caves with excitement as she glosses over my words, overshadowed by a much more enjoyable topic that doesn’t have anything to do with sexual assault with a deadly weapon.
“Did he take you up the Laurel Ridge trail?” I ask. “There are some really beautiful waterfalls up there and Bowen knows where the best views are.”
“No,” she glances up in thought, “I think it was the Birch Creek Loop.”
“Good thing you didn’t go in August during the family camping trip,” I snicker, “then you’d have the entire clan breathing down your neck.”
“Yeah,” she laughs, “I told Bowen…” Valerie trails off into silence and, after a few seconds, the only sound is the whir of the ceiling fan.
I glance up from her finger, adorned with the cushion teal sapphire and pave set diamonds, and slowly release her hand. I lay one arm over the back of the sofa cushion, waiting with baited breath to see how she’ll manage to explain away the fact that her fiancé’s name is Bowen, he took her camping at a state park a thousand miles away, proposed with the same ring he gave me, and now she’s sitting in the living room of the woman he’s hunting…
My Glock still rests between my hip and the sofa cushion, but I know Valerie won't actually try anything. This isn't her fight. She didn't come for the Queen. That’s his job, as delusional as it is. When she doesn’t respond, I take the liberty of doing it for her.
“You’ve been sitting here trying to convince yourself that I’m a liar and Bowen isn’t who I say he is. So, tell me, baby girl,” I raise my chin and peer over at her, “did he send you back here or did you come on your own?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Colson
High School
MOM (3:38PM): Meet us in Canaan right now. Evie’s missing.
When I get the text, I’m standing in line at Speedway about to pay for a Mountain Dew. 90 seconds later, I’m rocketing off the on-ramp south toward Evie’s house with a really bad feeling. All the same, I fire off a text to Evie while I weave in and out of traffic, just in case.
ME (3:46PM): where r u? mom said ur missing
But all I get is silence, not even a read. Just like the texts I sent her last night.
I had a feeling. I had a fucking feeling. I had it when I talked to her before she left yesterday, and I had it again last night when I texted her and told her I’d come all the way down to Canaan to pick her up from the skate park.
To make sure she got home…
When I get to her house, Evie’s dad Scott’s green Silverado is parked in front along with two Canaan Police Explorers lining the curve of the cul-de-sac. I bring the Civic to a screeching halt halfway across the driveway.
