This Secret Thing, стр. 81

scary man—Polly’s husband, she knew now—lying in the backyard, stopped by the bearded stranger who’d chased him down after he had shot Bess. Polly wringing her hands and pacing, mumbling to herself about how it was all her fault. Casey shrieking over her unconscious mother, begging her to wake up. But not now. Now she had one thing she needed to do—and fast—before that detective showed up, because surely he would. She clicked the lock on her door and went back to get the doll.

She fished around under the doll’s dress, recalling, as she did, the confused look on Casey’s face when she’d walked in on Violet. She knew that Casey had wondered what she’d been doing to that doll. She grinned to herself as she once again found the lacy slip under the dress, the little inner pocket, meant to hold a brooch or handkerchief for a real bride, something blue or borrowed, nestled close to the heart.

Instead, hidden in the tiny pocket, there among the folds of lace and fabric, was the rectangular piece of plastic, the jump drive she’d been searching for. Violet carried it reverently over to her desk, fired up her laptop, and inserted it. She waited for the answers it would hold while at the same time wondering what her mother had intended her to do with the drive. She had cued Violet with the three taps on the table in the jail. It had been their code. When they were around someone else and she wanted Violet to listen, her mother needed only to tap three times to say This is important, to make sure that Violet was paying attention.

But paying attention to what? Had she meant for Violet to hand the drive over to the authorities? Or had she meant for Violet to just know that, even though she wouldn’t give it to anyone else, she’d trust her with it? Violet didn’t know. And she couldn’t ask her mother. So she decided to look at what was on the drive first, then make up her mind. If she found Micah’s father’s name on the list, her decision would be even harder.

She watched as the list loaded onto the screen, leaned forward to decipher it. In this document, she thought, I’ll find the names of men who’ve done despicable and dishonest things, powerful men and ordinary men alike, who don’t want anyone to know what they’ve done. This document, she thought, could ruin lives, whole families. She thought about Micah’s face that night they’d talked in his kitchen. He’d wanted to protect his family. But she wanted to protect her mom.

She knew her mom had done something wrong, something illegal, but she was still her mom, the same mom who watched 13 Going on 30 again and again with Violet even though she had to be sick of it; the same mom who ate pepperoni on her pizza even though she didn’t really like it but knew that Violet did; the same mom who let Violet crawl into bed with her anytime she didn’t feel well or had a bad dream. It was just the two of them, they used to say, against the world. Violet didn’t like facing the world without her. She thought about the scene in her backyard right now, the emergency personnel and police scurrying around. The world was a scary place.

The names were arranged alphabetically, most of which she’d never heard of. News articles surmised that there would be athletes and politicians, CEOs, and local celebrities on the list—men for whom exposure like this could mean the end of their careers, their marriages, their good reputations. She understood why they wanted to protect themselves; she knew what happened to a family when something like that came out. She’d lived through it herself. But she’d lived. It had changed her, sure. But she would go on from here; she’d take what she’d learned and apply it in the future, the good and the bad. And so could these men.

She didn’t find Micah’s father’s name on the list. She double-checked, just to make sure, and, once confirmed, she ejected the drive with a sigh of relief. She stood up and pocketed the drive, humming to herself as she walked out of her room. The humming distracted her from the bloody scene downstairs, the weight of the tiny thing in her pocket. As far as she knew, she held the only copy of her mother’s client list in the world. She could take a hammer to it and throw it away, and no one would ever know what she’d done. But if she did that, her mother would stay in jail.

She walked down the back stairs, prepared to tell anyone who stopped her that she’d simply gone up to use the restroom. But no one noticed her. She was invisible in her own house. She wondered what her mother would think of the scene: the blood tracked through the house, the flashing lights reflected in the front windows, her poor exploded pumpkin, another casualty of the evening. Violet wondered if her mother would think this was all her fault, if she would blame herself like Polly did. Really it was Polly’s husband’s fault. But she could see how one thing had led to another. If Bess hadn’t been at their house, she wouldn’t have gotten shot. If Polly hadn’t been at their house, he wouldn’t have shown up with his gun. If Norah hadn’t been in jail, Polly wouldn’t have come to stay with Violet.

Violet saw the series of events like dominoes falling. She felt herself growing angry with her mother and decided not to think about that, either. Later, after Norah was home, she would tell her how she felt; she would demand an apology. And she knew Norah would give her one, every day for the rest of her life if necessary. It would take a while, but eventually Violet would forgive her.

She went outside and stood at the