20. Beth

Nicole hasn't said a word to me the whole ride home. She's mad that I thought she was trying to score drugs. Can she blame me? A memory from a year ago comes to mind: Nicole banging on my front door, demanding money. I stood still on the other side listening to her scream and cry and thrash. A car idled in my driveway. Someone, not a friend, maybe another junkie had driven her to my house. When I didn't answer, she kicked the door repeatedly, calling me every name in the book, even threatening my life if I didn't give in to her demands. I ignored her because it wasn't her. It was her addiction. Then she picked up one of my flowerpots and threw it across the porch. She tossed another one into my front yard. She smashed the wooden rocking chair, a gift Mom had gotten me from a rummage sale, one of the last presents she ever gave me. The minutes stretched on until she finally tired herself out and left in the car she'd arrived in. I didn't see her again until the day our mom died.

I blink several times, leaving the memory in the past, and look over at her. She stares out the passenger-side window. I would wonder what she's thinking about, but I already know. The case file rests in her lap. I'm surprised she hasn't started reading through it. I figured she'd be anxious to, but maybe she's scared of what she'll find.

We enter the Grove, and I turn slowly onto our road. Up ahead, Michael's car is veering into our driveway. Perfect timing. He's already parked and stepping out of his vehicle when we pull in. Michael delivers a small wave and a smaller smile when he spots us. He swings his messenger bag over his shoulder and grabs a Walmart shopping bag from his back seat. I park my old car next to his, and we exit.

"Where were you two?" he asks, putting a hand up to his brow to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Treatment," Nicole says. "And you?"

"Oh..." he pauses and appraises her, like he's checking her over. "You good?"

She tells him yeah. He doesn't ask about the manila envelope clutched in her hand, and she doesn't offer an explanation for it.

He extends the Walmart bag to me. "I picked up a new headlight for you while I was in town. I can install it later, if you'd like."

"Thanks," I say, taking it from him. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know but I wanted to."

It's hard to see Michael as a full-grown man, when he's always been my little brother. I don't know what I was expecting when I saw him again. I wanted to hate him, still do. But he's making it hard. So maybe the only person I actually hate is myself.

"Well," I say, gesturing to the house. "Shall we get back to work?" My brother and sister nod and follow behind, their shoes shuffling against the concrete. I pull open the screen door; the hinges squeak, but then I stop. Something's not right.

"What the hell," I say, noticing the busted doorjamb and splintered wood near the handle. The door is ajar, just an inch or so.

"What? What is it?" Michael asks.

"Beth," Nicole says.

"Someone broke in."

"Move." Michael shuffles me aside so he can enter first. He doesn't say it in a rude way. He's being protective.

He pushes the door open slowly, peeks his head in, and pauses to listen before entering.

"Should we call the police?" I ask.

Neither Nicole nor Michael responds. I creep in behind Michael, despite him motioning for us to stay back. The cupboards and drawers in the kitchen have been pulled open. Items are strewn everywhere like someone was looking for something. The living room is a bigger mess. All the boxes have been emptied, even the ones we had already sorted through. Michael grabs the broom and wields it like a sword while he moves through the house, room by room. Nicole tiptoes into the living room, letting out a heavy sigh when she sees the mess.

"Who would do this?" I ask. "And why?"

My eyes flick to the VCR. The tape with the deadly secret is still sitting on top of it, seemingly untouched, unlike all the others. They're scattered across the floor, mixed in with all of our parents' other belongings.

The ladder to the attic creaks as it's pulled open. Then there are footsteps up the ladder and on the floor above. My shoulders tense as I glance at the ceiling.

"All clear," Michael yells.

I exhale. The ceiling creaks and moans as he makes his way through the attic and back down the ladder. It closes, smacking back into place with a thud.

"What about the other rooms?" I ask as Michael enters the living room. He lets out a heavy sigh, then leans the broom against the wall.

"They were ransacked too."

"Is anything missing?" I ask.

"I don't know. I can't tell because they tore this place apart, and I'm not even sure what's all in here."

Nicole is frozen in place, picking at the plaster on her cast and staring off at nothing.

"Should we call the police?" I ask again.

"Yeah, probably. Just in case anything was taken," Michael says with a shrug.

I shake my head. "I don't understand who would do this."

"What if someone knows?" Nicole asks, still staring off. She snaps out of it, the gravity of the situation pulling her back to us. She looks to me and then Michael. "About Emma and what Mom and Dad did."

"Why would they ransack the house? Wouldn't they just go to the police?" I furrow my brow.

Michael nods in agreement.

"Maybe they were looking for evidence, or maybe... this was a warning."

My eyes dart to the tape placed on top of the VCR. If that was the case, the evidence was right there, and they missed it. Then again, we would have too if we hadn't randomly picked that particular tape and watched it.

"But how would anyone know?" Michael squints.

"What if Mom had something set up? A fail-safe for when she passed, like someone would be alerted as to what she and Dad did. The pages in her journal from that time are missing. Maybe she tore them out and sent them to someone. Told them to wait to open it until after she died," Nicole says. The words come slowly like she's trying to piece together a theory as she speaks.

"You really think Mom is capable of that? A grand fail-safe plan in the event of her death?" Michael asks.

"She hired a lawyer and put together a will without me even knowing," I say, clinging to Nicole's theory.

"And she hid the money you wired to her, Michael. Beth had no idea she had another checking account," Nicole adds.

Michael rubs his forehead. "But who would she tell?"

"Susan," Nicole offers.

"She's too feeble to do something like this," he says, gesturing to the ransacked room.

"Lucas?" Nicole looks to me.

"He would never do this," I say.

Michael raises a brow. "Even if he found out Mom and Dad were involved in his sister's disappearance?"

I close my eyes for a second. I can't say he wouldn't. Because I don't know what he would do if he knew the truth. They say the truth will set you free, but they don't tell you it can set you free in the same way death does.

"Okay, who else is there?" Nicole asks.

Mom's final words echo in my head. Your father. He didn't disappear. Don't trust...

I swallow hard, pushing them down again. Maybe she wasn't trying to tell me what happened. Maybe she was trying to warn me because she had already told someone or had plans to, and she knew they'd come looking for answers.

"Maybe someone from the Grove?"

"Like who?" Michael tilts his head.

"I don't know. But whoever it is, do you think they'll come back?" I ask.

"If they didn't find what they were looking for, I'm sure they will," he says.

"What do we do then?" The color from Nicole's face has drained, and I'm not sure if it's from the methadone or fear.

"I've got Dad's pistol," Michael says with a serious look. "It was in one of the boxes Mom left to me. Luckily, I had already stowed it away for safekeeping, so whoever broke in didn't find it. And if they come back, well, they'll wish they hadn't."

"You're not actually going to shoot someone, Michael," I scoff.

"I would if I had to."

I don't question him again, because I believe him. I hope it doesn't come to that. I'd like to say this was just a random burglary. But that doesn't happen in a town this size. Everything that happens here happens for a reason.

The sound of something thudding against the hardwood floor steals our attention. Nicole bends down to pick up the fat manila envelope that slipped from her hand.

"What's that?" Michael asks.

She holds it against her chest. A guilty look slithers across her face. I know he's not going to like what she's about to tell him. I didn't like it either. Her actions were careless and messy, even more so now, with the break-in.

"Emma Harper's case file," she says.

Michael blows out his cheeks. "Where'd you get it?"

"From a friend." She shrugs, trying to act nonchalant.

"Why?" he asks.

"You said if we didn't find anything then we wouldn't tell anyone, but we can't find anything if we don't look," Nicole argues.

She was fine leaving the past in the past yesterday, so it wouldn't "tarnish" her reputation. I'm not sure where the change of heart came from. Perhaps it finally sank in that there wasn't anything left to tarnish.

"I meant find something here." He gestures to our parents' belongings scattered across the floor. "Not playing Nancy Drew and stealing files from the police station."

"I didn't steal anything."

"Did your ‘friend' steal it?" Michael makes air quotes around the word friend.

"He borrowed it," she says, raising her chin.

"Oh, I didn't realize the police had a library system for their unsolved case files." He rolls his eyes and starts off toward the kitchen.

The fridge opens, glass clinks against glass, and a moment later he returns with a bottle of Miller Lite perched to his lips. He swigs nearly half of it. Michael's been gone a long time and isn't used to dealing with someone like Nicole. She does things the way she wants. Sometimes you gotta give her an inch, but make sure to reel her back in before she takes a mile.

"Since we already have the case file, it doesn't hurt to look it over," I offer, knowing that it'll keep Nicole occupied.

"And what if someone notices it's missing?" Michael asks.

"They won't," Nicole says.

"But if they do?"

"Case files go missing all the time," she says.

Michael furrows his brow. "How would you know that?"

"I've seen a lot of police procedural shows."

"This isn't an episode of NCIS, Nicole. This is real life, and it has real consequences," he lectures.

"I know that. I'm not stupid."

"Well, you're acting like it." He shakes his head.

"Oh, piss off, Michael. Just because you went to some fancy college and work at some fancy tech firm doesn't mean you're smarter than me. So, stop pretending like you are." She narrows her eyes at him.

"I don't have to pretend, Nicole." He drinks his beer and turns his back to her, walking farther into the living room, careful not to step on anything.

Nicole's face is flushed and her hand makes a fist. My phone dings and I retrieve it from my back pocket to check the notification.

When Nicole can't contain her anger anymore, she marches toward him. "You know what, Michael? I'm so sick of your?—"

"Oh my God," I cry out.

Nicole stops midrant and snaps her head in my direction. "What? What is it?"

"Beth," Michael says, drawing his brows together.

"It's Dad," I say. "He's alive."

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

SUBJECT: LONG OVERDUE

Beth,

I'm sorry I haven't written you in so long. Trust me. It was for the best that I stayed away. There are things I've done that I'm not proud of. Unspeakable things. But know that not a day has gone by that I don't think about you, Nicole, Michael, and my Laura. I can't believe she's gone, and I'm so sorry I can't be there for you all right now. I wish I could have been a better father, grandfather, and husband. But sometimes we're not the people we want to be. We just are. I know you worry about me. But don't. I am safe. I am well. And I'm closer than you think I am. Give Michael and Nicole my love. And please forget about me because I am not a man worth remembering.

Love,

Dad