26. Michael

On the way home, we stopped at the clinic for Nicole to get her methadone treatment. She's apparently supposed to go every day, but she's been going every other day or every two days, trying to get clean faster. It clearly isn't working, because there are no shortcuts in life. Nicole hasn't learned that yet, and I'm not so sure she ever will.

"You promise you won't tell Beth?" she says again as I park the car in front of the garage.

"Yeah," I say, but I don't know if that's true or not. Maybe I should tell Beth, though arguably it's none of my business and it's not Beth's either.

"Thanks," she says, sliding out of the car.

"Wait, why don't you want Beth to know?" I ask.

"Because she'd probably kill me."

I almost crack a smile but stop myself when I realize she's being serious. Nicole slams the car door behind her and stands there waiting for me to get out. It's like she's scared to go inside the house alone.

My knuckles are an angry red. Two of them are split open, but the blood has dried and the skin has begun to bruise. They throb, so I flex my fingers and shake them out.

I get out of the vehicle and go in through the front door with Nicole trailing behind me. Beth kept herself busy while we were gone because the kitchen looks like it did before the break-in. Nicole grabs a stack of journals from the table and tells me she'll be in her room before disappearing down the hall. She's probably trying to avoid Beth until she's more composed and capable of covering up her lies.

I make my way into the living room, which also shows no evidence of the break-in. Beth sits on the floor, surrounded by neat stacks of boxes, carefully going through each one. She spends time with every object as though they're an extension of our parents. I don't see the point. They're just things.

She pauses her sorting. "I'm guessing it didn't go well."

"What gave it away?"

"Nicole darting to her room."

"She didn't dart," I say, taking a seat on the couch. "She just needs a little time to herself."

Beth raises a brow, but quickly lowers it and goes back to sorting. She unravels an item wrapped in old newspaper. It's an empty can of AW root beer from the seventies. It doesn't have the curvature that soda cans have these days. The shape is more like a soup can. I don't remember much from my childhood, but I remember the story behind that root beer can because Mom told it to us many times. Dad bought it for her on their very first date. The two of them had gone for a walk, and they stopped at the corner store that used to sit directly across from the park. The soda was ten cents, but it meant the world to Mom, and she saved it all these years later. Most people would look at it and see a piece of garbage, but for her, it represented a new beginning. Beth looks at the can fondly. I know she remembers the story too. She places it off to the side, as though she's unable to determine whether she should keep it or toss it. If it were up to me, it'd be in the trash like most everything in this house. I think it's important to get rid of things from the past because they hold us back from going forward, and that's the only way to live.

"So, what happened?" she asks.

I shrug. "Nothing really. It was an abandoned house. Maybe he was there and left, or maybe he'd never been there. He could have used a VPN or something like that to change his IP address."

She rummages through a box and pulls out more items. "Is Nicole okay?"

I pause and consider telling Beth what happened earlier at the motel, but Nicole's words linger in my mind. Because she'd probably kill me.

"Yeah, she's fine," I land on.

Beth looks to the entrance of the hallway and back at me. "We should probably keep a close eye on her. I'm scared she's going to relapse again."

I'm not scared because I know that she most likely will. It's hard to be scared of something you can see coming. Nicole would have relapsed today if it weren't for me, but I can't watch her all the time and neither can Beth.

I nod and tilt my head. "Have you thought any more about what you're going to do with the house?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"I was just thinking, since Nicole doesn't have a place to stay. Maybe it would be a good idea to keep the house and let her live in it."

"She can't afford this place."

"It's paid off, so it's just upkeep, property taxes, and utilities, which I could cover until she gets back on her feet."

Beth lifts a brow. It's almost accusatory, and I don't know where it's coming from.

"I was thinking of selling."

"You'd told us you weren't sure yet," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I'm not, but the money I'd get for it would be life-changing."

I raise my brow, matching hers. I'd estimate the place is worth three hundred grand or so, not life-changing by any means. But she doesn't know that because it's more money than she's ever seen. It's enough to make you comfortable for a time, not enough to change your life.

"What about Nicole?" I ask.

"Don't," she says, shaking her head.

"Don't what?"

She grits her teeth and speaks in a low voice. "Don't come here and lecture me about Nicole. You aren't the one who's had to deal with her over the years. You aren't the one she stole from, called every name in the book, threatened, nor the one she's been violent with. So, I don't wanna hear it from you."

"She's sick, Beth."

"I know, but you can't help someone that won't help themself." She unravels a porcelain horse from a spool of rolled-up newspaper. Two of the legs are broken, but she sets it in the keep pile anyway.

"Very cliché, Beth."

"It's cliché because it's true," she argues.

I let out a sigh and survey the room, taking note of everything we have left to do. We may share the same DNA, the same last name, the same parents, but that's all. I rub the bridge of my nose with my pointer finger and thumb, pressing on the sides.

"Just because you weren't able to help Nicole, doesn't mean I can't," I say.

Her eyes narrow. "You're a real piece of work, Michael."

"How so?"

"You've been gone seven years, and the only person you've helped is yourself. I'm the one that took care of Mom and Nicole."

"Yeah, well, Mom's dead and Nicole's in the process. So, who have you really helped?"

"Screw you. You show up here in your fancy car, wearing your expensive clothes and designer watch, and have the nerve to look down on me. You may have money, but that's all you have." She gets to her feet and aggressively tosses items into a garbage bag.

"And you hate me for it. Don't you, Beth?" I stare at her.

"No, I hate you because you got everything."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask. "We all had the same beginnings."

"No, we didn't. You got the computer summer camps, private coding lessons, expensive tech equipment, trips for academic competitions. So, of course you're better off than Nicole and me. Mom and Dad set you up for success." She spews out the words she's clearly been holding in for a long time. A green-eyed monster, trying to rationalize her own failures and shortcomings.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Beth. Mom and Dad supported your interest in running and track. It's not their fault you blew out your knee. They supported Nicole and her writing, and it's not their fault she became an addict. So, stop blaming everyone else for why your lives turned out the way they did."

"You're an entitled asshole." Her voice cracks because she knows what I'm saying is true.

"And you're a miserable bitch. But at least I don't hold it against you."

Footsteps explode down the hallway, pulling our attention from the hatred we feel for one another at this moment.

"You guys!" Nicole yells in a panic.

She bursts into the living room, carrying a journal and a stack of papers.

"What is it?" I ask, half standing from my seat.

Her eyes are wild, showing the whites around her green irises.

"I don't think Emma Harper was the only body Mom and Dad got rid of."