Confessions: The Private School Murders (24 page)

Jacob spoke to the cabdriver in Arabic, and the cabbie drove us around to the back entrance. My doorman friend, Sal, opened the back door and locked it behind us. He tousled Hugo’s hair as we huddled inside the hallway. Hugo cracked a half smile, which made me feel a million times better.

Once inside our apartment, we peered out the windows at the shifting crowd on Seventy-Second Street. Soon whooping sirens came from two directions and cops piled out and dispersed the throng.

Relief at last.

Harry turned on the lights in the apartment and took Hugo to their rooms to get ready for dinner while Jacob and I went to the kitchen. Jacob had thrown something into the slow cooker before we left for court that morning,
and he stirred our hot dinner as I set the table. Jacob poured a glass of wine for himself, then poured a smaller glass for me.

“To surviving the day,” I said.

“L’chaim,”
he said. “Do you know what that means?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course. It’s Hebrew for ‘to life.’ ”

My brothers appeared wearing pajamas and white terry-cloth robes, their faces pink from hot showers.

Fittingly, they looked like angels.

My eyes welled with tears as I sat with our stripped-down little family. Our mother, father, and big sister were in the ground, our big brother was locked up, our uncle was God knows where. But we were in the capable charge of a mysterious man we’d met less than a week ago.

Jacob had made a tasty pot of chicken, rice, and beans, and soon we started to loosen up and chat—not about Matthew, but about easy things, like school, and movies, and Harry’s next concert. Jacob’s meal was exactly what we needed—comfort food.

I thought he might just be the best friend we’d ever had.

51

As we cleared the table,
Harry signaled that he wanted a private word with me. We went around to the alcove where the absolutely lifelike, museum-quality sculpture known as Robert sat in his recliner, watching the staticky TV, beer can in hand. I tasted bile in the back of my throat, remembering that awful woman Uncle Pig had brought in here to put a price on Robert’s head, like she had a right to all our stuff.

“What’s up?” I asked Harry.

“I want to give this to Hugo.”

Harry held a small statue in his hand: a crystal seal perched on a marble stand, clapping its front flippers. The Seal of Approval had been awarded to Harry by my
parents for a piano recital in which he’d performed best in class. I knew it was one of his most prized possessions—one of the few signs of their approval Malcolm and Maud had ever shown him—and it meant a lot for him to give it up.

“Wow, Harry,” I said, squeezing his shoulder. “Excellent idea.”

We returned to the table as Jacob dished up ice cream in huge, deep bowls.

“Let’s have a family meeting,” he suggested.

We took our dessert into the living room, and when we were all comfortable, Jacob said, “I’m so proud of the three of you. And you know what? Your gram Hilda would be proud of you, too.

“I knew her, you know, and I know people who knew her. Let me tell you about your grandmother.”

Hugo, Harry, and I exchanged an intrigued look. Jacob had actually known the grande dame of our psychotic little family? This was exactly what we needed. We kicked back with our ice cream, our feet up on the coffee table.

“Ready!” Hugo announced, shoveling a huge spoonful of chocolate-chip ice cream into his mouth.

“She was quite a character,” Jacob told us. “She was sparkling and witty and, as you kids would say, fierce. Hilda dressed beautifully and journeyed far and wide, by
herself, long before it was considered proper for women to travel alone.

“I heard once that she had been imprisoned in Egypt. She was found guilty of some infraction. Perhaps she’d had the audacity to smoke a cigarette, who knows? That part of the story has been lost.

“At any rate, the family legend is that when her jailer came to bring her something to eat, she advanced on him and hit him with her shoe. And he was so taken aback—or
afraid
—that he just let her out.”

“Nice,” I said with a laugh.

“Go, Gram!” Hugo said, impressed.

“She had what some would call a secret life,” Jacob continued. “For instance, although she lived in New York, she had a house in Paris, and she used to go there in the spring without telling anyone when or how long she’d be away. She was a very romantic woman, and she didn’t talk about her time abroad. At the same time, she had high ideals. I know your gram Hilda would be very proud of every one of you.”

I could see my grandmother in my mind, her hair upswept, wearing pearls and a long pale dress with a tiny belted waist. She was going up a stone walk. In my imagination, she looked determined and joyful, elegant and strong.

“Really?” Hugo said hopefully. “Even after today?”

“Especially after today,” Jacob said.

Hugo smiled and sat back with his ice cream while Harry ruffled his hair.

“Hugo, Tandy and I want to give you something,” Harry said. “Something we both think you deserve to have.”

Harry took the glass-and-marble statue out of his pocket and handed it to Hugo.

“I won this when I was your age,” he said with a smile.

“The Seal of Approval? For me?” Hugo said, sitting up so fast his ice cream bowl almost slid off his lap. Luckily, Harry caught it just in time.

Hugo turned the little trophy in his hands and looked at it reverently from all angles. Then, holding it tightly, he said to us, “Thank you. This is awesome. I swear I’ll keep it safe.”

Hugo beamed, and the rest of us beamed right back. Earlier today I’d been worried that he might go into a depression or something, like Matthew used to, but I could tell he was feeling better now, and I felt a lot lighter, just knowing he’d be okay.

Whatever was waiting on the other side of this moment—and I stopped myself from enumerating the dozen bad things that could be lining up right outside our
door—I knew I would never forget this precious evening at home, the four of us, together.

I held on to that thought as I put Hugo to bed, pried the trophy out of his hands, and turned off his light. That was when my mind lurched and I thought of Matthew.

How could I even consider being happy when my brother was in lockup, facing a lifetime in prison?

52

The following evening,
Hugo was running a cutting-edge train simulator on his computer, showing Jacob how fast he could go in the system he’d designed, while I watched over their shoulders. On the screen, the virtual locomotive barreled through tunnels and towns, and suddenly I was shocked by a powerful memory. So shocked that I turned around and sat down on Hugo’s mattress on the floor, my head in my hands.

Luckily, neither Hugo nor Jacob noticed. If they had, they might have rushed me right to a hospital, because suddenly I was shaking and sweating, and I was sure my skin had gone waxy pale.

My memory had been coming back in fits and starts
since I’d gone off the drugs, but this was different. This was like a crack had opened up inside my mind out of nowhere and real memories, sharp and true and pure, were spilling out everywhere.

Take
that
, Dr. Keyes.

I remembered walking out of school one sunny afternoon; I saw my favorite brown brogues against the stone steps as I jogged toward the sidewalk. My phone beeped, and I pulled it from my jacket pocket. My heart leapt. It was a text from James.

Corner of 74th and West End. Meet me!

I grinned, biting down on my bottom lip to keep from being too obvious. James and I had only been hanging out for about a month and were determined to keep our relationship private from the gossip girls at my school.

I found James staring out at traffic, hands in his pockets, looking gorgeous in a Yankees T-shirt, denim jacket, and jeans. Everything bluer than blue, including his eyes.

I was wearing a short, flippy brown skirt, a white cotton pullover, and a cut-velvet scarf. I’d used a new shampoo that morning, and my hair smelled like coconuts and rain.

The memory was so vivid I could practically smell it, even sitting there in Hugo’s messy, sweat-sock-scented bedroom.

I called out to James, and he spun around. He grinned when he saw me, and my heart began to beat against my rib cage like a spoon on a steel drum. I wanted to run, but I held myself to a cooler pace and walked casually across the street. He stretched his slim but strong arm around me and pulled me close.

I swear every girl in a five-block radius turned green.

“How was your day? Hope you didn’t daydream about me
too
much,” he said, giving me a quick kiss. “Actually, I take that back. I hope you did.”

“You’re lucky I’m such a great multitasker. I can daydream about us together in Paris someday
and
take excellent notes,” I replied lightly. “So? What’re we doing?”

“Wanna go for a walk?” he suggested.

He glanced around us, as if checking to see whether anyone was watching. I realized for the first time that he was tense. His jaw was set, his eyes narrowed, and as I studied him, his cheek twitched.

“Is everything okay?” I asked him tentatively.

“Yeah. I just want to get moving,” he said, clasping my hand firmly. “Let’s go.”

He tugged me across Seventy-Fourth Street, swinging our hands between us, but there was something forced about it. Rehearsed.

And I started to feel—not scared exactly, because back then I didn’t feel fear—but curious. Concerned.

I hoped he wasn’t doubting the concept of us. Because he was the best thing in my life by far. Maybe
ever
.

As we hit the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, I swallowed back my own potentially dangerous secret. I had made a mistake. A big one. The day before, I had told Maud about James—how amazing he was, how perfect we were together, and that I’d never been as blissfully happy as I was when I was with him.

I’d even gone so far as to hope that my mother would be happy for me—excited that her only living daughter had fallen in love.

But as it turned out, when I’m wrong, I’m really, really wrong.