Students were traveling between classes, and Trina let her eyes fall on a group of girls walking arm in arm towards the science building. The middle girl had a bright pink coat, flanked by her two friends in black. It reminded Trina of being that young and carefree, before her shoulders started to hunch from burden instead of adolescent angst.
What she wouldn’t give to go back to that time in her life.
Trina caught sight of two other figures walking, the couple not seeming to fit with the rest of the campus traffic. They wore dark coats, but carried none of the sloppiness of students or, alternatively, pert professionalism of professors and staff. White shirts, dark pants, and trim hair for both the man and woman, although Trina could tell the woman had hers pulled back into a tight bun. Nobody wore their hair like that anymore, not even librarians or gymnasts.
She stood up and started walking away, because Trina was certain these two were police officers and they’d trained their eyes on her. Simon was right—it was getting close to the anniversary. Perhaps they were opening the case again, or they had a lead. She’d always felt it was more than a freak accident.
Maybe that was why these police officers were here.
But why ambush her on campus? Why not set up an appointment? Trina’s phone was drying out at her apartment, but she could still get notifications on her laptop, which she’d just closed down in her classroom a few minutes ago. Something roiled in Trina’s gut. She wasn’t about to stick around and find out. After everything with Tom had come to nothing, she’d lost her trust in the police’s ability to do anything besides bring further misery into her life.
Trina’s heels clicked along the sidewalk, making a tattoo that echoed along the path leading out of the elms. But she was too late.
“Professor Dell,” the female officer called out. “Wait a moment, would you?”
Trina clutched at her bag and walked faster for a few seconds before turning and facing them.
“Are you lost?” she asked them. She tried to push for an open expression but felt her mouth pucker unattractively instead.
“I’m Officer Kirkpatrick and this is Officer Bechdel, Summitville PD. Do you have a few minutes?” The male officer’s eyes were a vibrant green.
“I was just heading back to my office,” she lied.
“We can talk there,” Bechdel said.
“I’d rather not.” Trina took a sip of her coffee. Her hand no longer shook.
“Where were you Sunday night?” Kirkpatrick had taken out a notebook and flipped it to a clean page, pen poised like a Boy Scout.
“I was at a wedding. And a few other places.” Her heart scudded inside her ribs.
A few people drifted by, casting longer glances at the trio. Trina caught the eye of one woman, who quickly turned her head and walked on.
“Did you meet a man named Dermot Carine?”
“I don’t know that name.”
Bechdel pulled out her phone. “Do you recognize him?”
Staring back at Trina was the man from Sunday night, smiling in a bright orange T-shirt with a waterfall in the background. It was a standard profile picture, all sunshine and big smiles.
“What’s happened?” Trina asked.
“Do you know this man?”
“He was at the wedding. We danced a little.” Trina shifted her bag to her other shoulder. “It’s hard to remember.”
“Had you been drinking?” Bechdel asked.
“It was a wedding.” Trina forced herself to breathe. “What is this all about?”
“Maybe it’d be better if we talked at the station?” Kirkpatrick gestured with his arm vaguely towards somewhere behind him, and Trina’s mind skittered along to wondering where they’d parked. Would they need to ride the bus in from the commuter lot too?
“No, that’s not necessary. What happened to him? Why does it matter that I danced with him on Sunday?”
“Do you go to a lot of weddings?” Bechdel asked.
A dark pit formed in her stomach. Two cops wouldn’t come to find her and ask questions about the last man she slept with just because he had outstanding parking tickets. Something was terribly wrong.
“This conversation is over.” Trina started to walk off in the direction of her office, craving the quiet dark of her own space.
“Don’t you want to know if he’s all right?” Bechdel’s voice came white hot across the sidewalk.
Trina kept moving, at first swallowing the response that rose in her throat.
“You wouldn’t be here if he was,” she blurted out over her shoulder, the wind chafing her voice on its edges.
Tom had always loved her spark. It was the reason he’d left with Trina at the party all those years ago, even though he had a girlfriend (one who he quickly broke up with to be with Trina). A bunch of high-school friends had come back together on a break from college for the party, and Trina couldn’t stand the fact that the nastiest guys in high school were still making anyone they didn’t like feel small. When they tried to pull the pants down of one guy who was back from his full scholarship at Carnegie Mellon for engineering but was still painfully shy—Trina wasn’t sure why he’d come that night—she couldn’t stand it. She shoved one of the offenders into the pool and emptied the slew of half-empty Solo cups on the counter over the other three. Tom had loved it. Meanwhile, his girlfriend was a girl Trina knew from high school who stood by and defended the popular guys, saying they were just having fun.
It might be why Trina sought out frat-boy bros now for one-night stands. Like somehow being around them might conjure Tom back.
But her “spark” also translated into Trina having trouble controlling her impulses.
Which was the reason the police were looking for her in the first place.
CHAPTER FIVE JOYCE
She’d take the car home. Simon didn’t need it, didn’t deserve it.
