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Haley liked to listen in on the kids’ conversations about their lives, their love interests, and what they wanted to do with their futures. They were still so full of hope, something she’d grown terribly short on.
It had been nine days since Tiffany had disappeared and not a single clue had turned up, at least none that the detective or sheriff shared with the public.
Tiffany’s black Ford Mustang had been returned to her family, and was now secured in the garage. Everyone who had known her had been questioned at least twice; some, like Charles and Haley, several times, the detective asking mostly the same questions again and again.
She had no faith in the detective or his abilities. And she had lost all hope of ever seeing her friend again. The tears had been shed until there were none left, and the possibilities seemed so limited, so dark, that she refused to think about them.
She had visited Mrs. Perron twice since Tiffany disappeared. The woman hadn’t worn any makeup since the first Sunday after Tiffany’s disappearance. And like her mother, Mrs. Perron seemed to have aged overnight. During the visits, they’d sit sipping tea in silence. Haley would sit quietly while Mrs. Perron, in her bathrobe, talked about how good of a girl Tiffany is.
Haley would just nod. No, Tiffany isn’t. . . hadn’t been. . . a good girl, not really. But it didn’t mean she didn’t miss her, because she did.
The AC unit in Becky’s room had also died. It started with a peculiar noise, metal on metal, every few minutes, like a small animal shrieking, its flesh caught in the fan. Haley had been lying in bed in a Nyquil daze, staring at the walls, when a blood-curdling noise rang through the house, and the fan stopped spi
Becky and Seacrest had taken to sprawling out in the living room, keeping cool with the big GE wall fan humming behind them, old copies of Teen Cosmo, People and Glamour magazines stacked on top of the coffee table. MTV blaring on the television.
***
WHEN HALEY’S SHIFT ended on Monday, she walked out the front door of Luke’s to find Mac leaning against her family’s station wagon.
Her heart sped up. It was the first they’d seen each other in two days. She had decided not to call him. And he hadn’t bothered to call her.
He shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun and smiled uncomfortably. But she couldn’t bring herself to smile back.
He grabbed something from the car’s hood. Roses encased in a transparent wrapping. “These are for you,” he said, when they were face to face. He handed her the roses, looking more ill at ease than she ever remembered seeing him look. He usually looked so confident, but now he looked extremely uncomfortable in his own skin.
“Thanks,” she muttered, and accepted them.
He took a cigarette out of its pack and eyed it. “Look, I’m sorry. I know it’s not right for me to lie to you. I don’t usually. . . I don’t usually look at those types of magazines, but sometimes I want to, you know?”
“No, I don’t know.”
Mac swallowed, and studied the unlit cigarette. “I’m a guy, Hale. Do I like my women wholesome? Abso-fuckin-lutely. Do I look at pornography from time to time? Well, yeah, I guess I do. I don’t know if that’s good or bad or maybe neither, but I do know I shouldn’t have lied about it.”
“I guess I said what I said because that’s what I thought you’d want to hear. I know girls don’t like it much.” He pushed some dirt around with his boot, then his eyes met hers, the sun glinting off of them. They were still and seemed sincere. “But I want to be straight with you about everythin’ from here on out and tell you that it’s somethin’ I like to look at from time to time.”
He reached out and touched her cheek with one of his strong hands. “Look, I don’t want to lose you, Hale. There aren’t many women like you out there. I’m a very lucky man and I know it. I won’t let you down again by lyin’. Cross my heart.”
***
HALEY HAD THE nightmare again. The same dream that had haunted her over the last several months. She thought it had gone away, but it hadn’t.
Many times, she had wanted to ask her mother how much of it was true. The dream that played out like a film, created by her subconscious amidst snippets of details she’d overheard about her father’s death. If not accurate, it was surprisingly detailed, from the expressions on their faces, even down to the clothes her mother and father wore that night.
Her mother and father were in the car driving down Coontz Road, a windy road on the edge of Grand Trespass. The night was dark, oily.
There was a jarring thump. They’d just hit something with the car.
Her mother brought a hand to her mouth. “Omigod, was that a deer?”
Her father calmly reached across the front seat, checking to see if her mother was alright. “You okay, Mary?”
“Yes. Are you?”
He nodded, and opened the car door.
“Was that a deer?” she repeated.
“No. . . I think it was a big dog.”
Her hand covered her mouth again. “Oh no.”
He stepped out of the car and let the door close. She watched him walk behind the car and toward the lump that lay still in the road. Then she saw it shift.
“It’s still alive,” she whispered to herself.
He knelt next to the animal, then stood and took off his coat. He knelt again.
She noticed a light from behind the trees as he picked up the animal. Stepping out of the car, she called out to him. “Someone’s coming!”
He nodded and moved to the side of the road. His shoulders pitched forward, cradling the wounded animal in his arms.
She shielded her eyes and watched.
The headlights curved quickly around the bend.
“Mary!” he called. “See if there’s a towel or something in the—”
The truck was hugging the shoulder.
Her mouth opened wide.
“Move Daddy! Move!!!” Haley shouted in her dream. “Get out of the way!” But of course, he couldn’t hear her. It was just a nightmare.
The truck bounded around the corner, then there was the sickening squeal of brakes. But it was too late. The truck smashed into her father, then into a tree behind him.
Her mother screamed, standing only a couple of yards away. She ran toward her husband. But he was pi
Tyler, A blond-headed local whom the Landry family had known since birth, and who Haley had once had a crush on, opened his door and stumbled from the truck. He took a few shaky steps toward the tree, bent, and wretched.
“You okay, Hale?” someone whispered. Mac.
She slowly opened her eyes. A layer of sweat had formed on her skin and pooled into the crevice between her breasts. It was nighttime and she was in her bed with Mac. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she whispered, even though she wasn’t. “Go back to sleep.”
She scooted closer to him and pressed her body against his until her heart calmed down. His skin had always been warm and soft, stable and secure. And he smelled strongly of both soap and beer. She’d always found the combination sexy and comforting.
Although she told him she forgave him for his lie, tonight she didn’t feel particularly comforted. Or safe, for that matter. It was as though the lie had been more significant for her than it should have been. As though it had changed the dynamics of their relationship somehow.
She gazed at his bare back until he began to snore.
A couple of minutes later, she rose. She was going to wake her mother. The two needed to talk.
***
BUT SHE DIDN’T need to wake her mother. Because she wasn’t sleeping. And she wasn’t just laying around in her old nightgown like she had been since the accident.
When Haley walked in, her mother’s eyes were shining, and she was very awake. And of all things, she was smoking a cigarette.
She had on a pair of jeans, a wrinkled t-shirt, and sat Indian-style on the bed with an ashtray and photos scattered all around her. Beneath the odor of cigarette smoke, was the scent of perfume. She was even wearing eye makeup and lipstick.