Authors: Pamela Callow
No. Not more.
Kate pushed Tim aside and shouldered her way onto the porch.
“Imogen!” She grabbed her sister’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”
Imogen shook herself out of Kate’s grasp, giving Kate a defiant look. “Go away, Kate.”
“You’re coming with me,” Kate said. She glared at Kenzie. “I can’t believe you let my sister have this stuff!”
“It was easy. She wanted it.” Kenzie’s gaze was cool. “Time for you to leave, big sis.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder.
“Gennie, it’s time to go home.” Imogen’s eyes had a terrifyingly manic expression.
Don’t let Gennie see your fear. Make her come.
Gennie’s face flushed bright red. “I’m not leaving.”
Kenzie patted the empty space next to her. “Come here, Immy.”
Immy. Kate hated that nickname.
Imogen grinned and edged toward Kenzie.
Kate grabbed her sister’s wrist. “You are coming with me. Now.”
Anger beat the blood in Kate’s head so hard, so fast, that she couldn’t hear what was being said, couldn’t see the faces of the kids around her. All she could focus on was the fact that Gennie, her best friend, confidante and little sister, was deserting her for something so seductive, so destructive that it terrified Kate more than anything had terrified her before.
She had to get her away from it.
And from the girl who supplied it to her.
Kate snatched the phone from a side table, waving it in front of the group. “If you don’t come with me right now, Gennie, I’m calling the police!” She shook the receiver at her sister. “Now, Gennie!”
That threat—unlike all the others—got under Kenzie’s skin. She flushed. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Kate shook her head. “Just watch.”
“Don’t, Kate. Please.” Imogen shot a terrified look at Kenzie.
Kenzie’s lips curled. “Tell me, Kate. Why do you think the police would believe the spawn of a con?”
Spawn of a con.
The words hung in the air. Crystal Burton snickered.
Imogen’s eyes widened.
But she didn’t leave Kenzie’s side.
Pain grabbed Kate’s heart, squeezing and twisting it.
She put the receiver to her ear, her index finger hovering over the number nine. “Tell my sister to leave, Kenzie.”
Imogen’s gaze was expectant, but uncertainty lurked beneath the bravado.
Kenzie’s gaze flickered past Kate’s shoulder to a group of guys huddled outside. Her jaw tightened. “No. We have plans for tonight, right, Immy? And they don’t include your sister.”
Kate punched the numbers 9-1-1.
Kenzie shot her a look of such hate and anger that it took all of Kate’s will not to shrivel.
She pressed the receiver against her cheek.
“Wait!” Kenzie half rose from the bench.
“911. What is your emergency?” the emergency response operator asked.
Kate’s gaze locked with Kenzie’s. Finally—thank God—Kate saw fear in her terrible sky-blue gaze.
Kenzie pushed Imogen’s shoulder. She winced. “Go home. Tell your sister to stop.” Then she lowered her voice and whispered something in Imogen’s ear, but Kate couldn’t hear because at that moment the emergency service operator repeated her question, her voice urgent: “911. What is your emergency?”
Kate cleared her voice. “I’m sorry. Wrong number.” She hung up the phone. “Bet the police will come out to check, anyway.”
Imogen threw her an anguished look. “I can’t believe you did that!”
“We’re going now. And we are never coming back.”
“I am, Kenzie,” Imogen said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t,” Kate said, her voice grim.
The shocked silence in the room spoke volumes. She had crossed a line that sent her straight to pariah-ville. “Mom is going to ground you ’til the cows come home. And besides, Kenzie’s going to be sitting in jail unless she gets smart and flushes all that coke down the toilet.”
Kenzie’s face had drained of color. “You bitch,” she hissed. “You are going to rot in hell for this.”
“See you there,” Kate said. “Come on, Gennie.”
Kate pasted a smile on her face, shaken by Kenzie’s vituperation, the crowd parting before her as news of the phone call spread.
Someone spat on her sneaker.
She held her head high, cheeks flaming, ignoring the sobs of frustration coming from her sister. The night air cooled her flushed cheeks and she hurried across the lawn to her car. People had begun to trickle out behind her, spooked that the police might come.
As soon as Imogen flung herself in the front seat, Kate swung the car around and hit the gas.
Spawn of a con.
She clenched the wheel, her jaw tight.
“You are going to be in big trouble, Gennie,” she said, her voice hoarse with anger. “Mom’s going to ground you for weeks.”
The tires squealed as she made the turn onto the highway. It was dark.
Black.
She peered into the night. She couldn’t see a thing.
She’d forgotten to turn on the headlights.
She switched them on.
“I can’t believe you humiliated me like that in front of my friends!” Gennie shouted, her face contorted with rage.
“Friends! What kind of friends are those?”
“Better friends than you are.”
“Because they give you free coke?”
Imogen flushed. “So what?”
“You are fifteen years old, Gennie! Fifteen! You are throwing your life away!”
“But it makes me happy.”
Happy.
When had they been happy?
Maybe before the summer she turned twelve. Before her father was charged with fraud and sentenced to prison.
Yes, they had been happy then.
“Lying makes you happy?” Kate said, her voice bitter. Yes, she could see now, with the painful, gut-wrenching clarity of hindsight, that her sister had lied to her, over and over these past few months. And Kate, not ready to read the writing on the wall, had believed her.
“Lay off me, Kate. I wouldn’t have lied if you weren’t breathing down my neck all the time.”
“Ha! That’s a joke.”
“No. The joke is you. Who do you think you are? You act like you’re in charge of me, but you aren’t. You’re not Mom!”
“I was trying to help you—”
“Help me? You are going to be a laughingstock on Monday at school. And so will I. Because of you!”
Imogen’s eyes were wild. Her face had contorted. Kate had never seen her like that. Rage leapt the few feet separating them as if it were a wildfire, gobbling the oxygen of their hurt.
Her sister’s eyes filled with tears. “I hate you, Kate—”
The headlights caught the reflectors on the guardrail.
Kate gasped, jerking the steering wheel.
The tires hit the curve too fast, too wide, too everything.
Kate slammed on the brakes.
But it was too late.
Kate shook her head to rid her mind of the image of Gennie’s expression just before life left it.
God. Stop.
Tears were perilously close. She lowered her head, aware of Frances’ sharp gaze on her face.
Phyllis brought in a tray of tea holding a pot, and one cup. Frances could no longer safely swallow, but Phyllis poured a little into her feeding tube. “Ahh,” Frances said. “Caffeine.” Phyllis adjusted Frances’ headrest and wiped the saliva that had pooled onto the collar of her blouse.
The doorbell rang.
It was Nat.
Get a grip, Kate. It’s over, it’s in the past, you’ve had your moment to wallow in it. Time to move on.
She exhaled and rose to her feet. Her silk blouse clung to her back. She was cold and hot at the same time. “I’ll go let them in.”
She exited the cavernous room, her heels clicking on the wooden floors, and opened the front door. Nat took one look at Kate and said, “Jeez, didn’t you get any sleep last night?”
“Obviously not enough.” She closed the door behind Nat and the cameraman.
Nat rooted around in her purse, and handed her a compact. “Here, put this on. All over your face. Otherwise, the audience will think you are the one with the incurable disease.”
Then she threw Kate a stricken look. “Shit.”
“Que sera, sera.”
Kate took the compact and flipped it open. Nat was right. She looked awful. The powder was dark, but when Nat saw Kate’s skeptical look, she said, “Trust me. The light will wash you out.”
It took Nat only a few minutes to hook them up to mics, and then they began the interview.
It had been a year since Kate had done a television interview—she had refused all requests after Randall Barrett’s acquittal as she “wasn’t authorized to speak on behalf of her client”—and she was initially tense.
Nat sensed Kate’s anxiety and whispered, “I promise the audience will respect you in the morning.” Then the camcorder light focused on them, and the interview began. Nat was relaxed, warm, empathetic. Kate was impressed with her questions about the disease, Frances’ desire to die with dignity, and Kate’s role in Frances’ cause.