Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Trust me,” he says, holding out a hand. “I’ve got a plan.”
It turns out the plan involves us moving the board and sneaking through the hole in the back fence. Through his house and into the garage where his motorcycle waits. He has a spare helmet for me to wear and it hides my face just fine. How the engine comes to life beneath me is a thrill. And molding myself against his back and wrapping my arms around his middle is even better. I want to hold on tight and never let go. He’s officially made me a stage-ten clinger and doesn’t even have the good sense to be worried.
Up goes the garage door and off we go. It’s the same wondrous sense of freedom as standing on the lake shore beneath a sky full of stars. The world races past in a myriad of colors and nothing can touch us. We head north with the Green Mountains on one side and the Adirondacks on our other. The beauty of it all is breathtaking. A reminder of all the good things out there. This is exactly what I needed—him and this perfect moment.
And by the time we return, Grace’s body has been found.
“My son has been a model prisoner. His therapist says he’s made wonderful progress with the rehabilitation program and is earnest and engaged. He’s accepted his culpability and made peace with the part he played in the tragic events that took place ten years ago.” Ryan’s mom stands tall and proud on the TV. A small crowd of people are gathered behind her holding candles. They’re in one of the parks by the lake.
My cell sits on the coffee table. We decided a group call on speakerphone was the safest option. Though my small front yard is currently unoccupied care of what’s happening on screen. The media have been lured away for the moment.
A cop car cruises past every hour or so. No idea if they’re keeping an eye on me or what. It would be nice to think they’re warning away any assholes wanting to try some vigilante shit. Abuse my already broken letterbox or something. But who knows what their agenda is.
Noah had things to do at his place. I doubt he’ll leave me alone for long, however. As much as he likes to play it cool, he tends to worry.
“Making this speech at what was supposed to be a vigil for Grace is some bullshit,” says Hana.
Muriel snorts. “Ballsy, bold, brazen. I can think of lots of b words that describe her.”
“You can just say bitch. No one will mind.” I chase two Advil with a mouthful of water. The headache from crying needs to go away. Tears don’t help, but sometimes they happen. Such is life. And death, apparently.
“I object,” says Hana. “I’ve met some banging bitches over the years. But this woman sure isn’t one of them.”
“I don’t care what the police say,” continues Dianne. “That the true perpetrator of these crimes is right now sitting at home in her living room is an outrage.”
I raise my brows. “She’s wrong about the crimes part. But right that I am in fact sitting in my living room.”
“Her psychic probably told her you were,” says Hana.
“We should ask for the lotto numbers.”
“That woman should be rotting in a prison cell.” Dianne all but trembles with emotion. “Not my sweet boy.”
Muriel makes a noise. One indicating deep thoughts. “Notice she’s not mentioning your name. Think she’s worried you’ll go after her for slander?”
“She has more money than me. You should see the house Ryan grew up in,” I say. “Just getting legal advice last time cost a small fortune. Facing off with her and her team of lawyers doesn’t seem particularly smart. But I also worry about giving her any more of a platform. Like publicly paying attention to her might legitimize her more in some way.”
“It’s complicated,” agrees Hana.
Meanwhile, Dianne goes into detail about her darling homicidal son’s most admirable qualities. How he played football in high school and volunteered for a local charity fundraiser. The way he would mow an elderly neighbor’s yard when he was younger. And hasn’t he been assisting with the prison literacy program for the last year?
My favorite stalker, Laura, stands beside her future mother-in-law with her hands clasped tight and a beatific smile on her face. She’s just that sweet and sincere, apparently. The white sweater dress and silent stoic pose is a great aesthetic. This shit is probably going viral on social media. Seems my cousin’s death is just adding fire to the #justiceforryan movement.
How low do you have to be to hijack a woman’s death for your own agenda? Assholes.
“Smart of them to let her do the talking,” I say. “Dianne has a background in local politics and knows how to spin.”