This Secret Thing, стр. 65
“Do you think he really did do something to her?” Polly asked. Bess could hear the fear in her voice, that her granddaughter could be in harm’s way.
Bess pondered this for the briefest of moments. She’d heard Casey rail against Micah all last spring, blaming him for her friend’s death with no real evidence to go on. But Bess had also bumped into a sad, bewildered Jane in the grocery store this past summer. Jane Berg had had dark circles under her eyes, and she had looked remarkably thinner. Bess had coaxed the story out of her neighbor next to a display of Campbell’s soup. Jane had explained what they understood to have happened, not absolving her son, yet not vilifying him, either. Bess had gone home and told Casey that perhaps Micah had a legitimate side, one that deserved to be heard. Bess sympathized with the Bergs in a way that she could not readily explain.
“I think he’s a good kid,” she said to Polly now, believing it as she said it. “A kid who did something stupid, to be sure, but not malicious. He wouldn’t hurt someone on purpose.” She almost added, I don’t think, but decided not to. It would only plant doubt in Polly’s head. The poor woman had enough to worry about without adding to it.
“Why don’t I bring the dinner over about six thirty?” Bess said, to change the subject. “We could talk more about it then. Think you’ll be back by six thirty?”
“Sure,” Polly said. “They’re only giving us thirty minutes with her, and you’d think they gave her the damn crown jewels when they allowed that.” Polly paused. “But if we hit traffic . . . maybe you could let yourself in? Do you know the code for the door?”
Bess pressed her lips together as tears pricked her eyes, surprising her. There had been a time when she’d just walk into Norah’s house and call out “It’s me!” without a second thought. She’d had that, then she’d lost it. She’d grieved it when it was gone. She’d thought she was way past grieving, but she wasn’t sure that was ever the case with grief. It was always lurking.
She ran the code she knew from way back when by Polly, and sure enough, it was the same. “So if you get there before me, just let yourself in. And then you can get on with your evening.”
“How about I bring a bottle of wine over and wait for you? Sounds like you might need it,” Bess said, on impulse. But as she said it, it felt like the right thing to do.
She could hear Polly smile in response. “That sounds perfect. I’ll see you when I get home.”
“I like the sound of that,” Bess said. Because she did.
Violet
Violet no longer needed Barney as an excuse to go over to Micah’s. She just walked across the street when she saw him outside, yelled his name over the sound of the basketball drumming against the cement. He looked up, saw her, and stilled the ball. When she got close, he put it down, using his foot to keep it from rolling away.
“Hey,” he said, and smiled. Even though they hadn’t found the list, he still seemed glad to see her. She told herself it was just because he was lonely, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. They were united in their outcast status, and it was as simple as that. Boys like him didn’t like girls like her. She thought again of what her grandmother had said, about the family legacy, about what it meant to be a Beaucatcher. The beau she most wanted to catch stood right in front of her.
She intended to ask her mother about the legacy as soon as she could. She wanted to know why Norah had never told her something so important. It was a family legacy, after all.
“I’m going to see my mom today,” she said to Micah. Though this didn’t really involve him, she needed to tell him. She found herself often thinking of things she wanted to tell him. Needed to tell him. It was amazing how fast it had become that way. Sometimes she thought his willingness to talk to her might not last. At any moment his friends could decide to forgive him, and he could be right back in the fold, forgetting all about her. If she revealed what she knew, it would happen for sure. So to care about him meant telling the truth, but to tell the truth was to lose someone she cared about. She didn’t like to think about this dilemma too long. It made her brain—and her heart—hurt.
His eyebrows shot up toward the brim of his ball cap. “Really?”
“Yeah,” she said. “It just got approved. So my grandmother said we should go before they change their minds.”
“How long’s it been since you’ve seen her?” Micah asked.
She acted like she had to think about the answer, but really she knew to the day, almost to the minute: eighteen days. For some reason she didn’t want to say that. “Almost three weeks,” she said.
“One summer I spent a month away from my parents, but that’s as long as I’ve ever gone,” he said. He looked at her sympathetically. She didn’t want his pity, so she changed the subject.
“I’m going to ask her, if I can. About the list.” She knew he was thinking about the list but would never ask. She was starting to be able to tell what he was thinking, which was nice, but also scary. She didn’t want to know him like that if she couldn’t keep him.
“You don’t have to do that,” he started to argue. He’d told her several times they should just drop it. But she couldn’t. Not if there was a chance she could help him. And not if