And as for the case the defense had on Ali? All the prosecution had to do was bring up that damn journal the cops found in the woods. She’s a different person on these pages, the lawyer said. Alison isn’t the girl we think she is.
The doors to the courtroom slammed again, and Spencer watched as Hanna, flanked by her mom and Mike, emerged onto the steps. She felt a pang. All day, Hanna had sat stiffly and stoically as the lawyer went through the various things she’d done in the past two years. But Spencer could tell by the way she spun the yellow lacrosse bracelet around and around her wrist how much the accusations got to her. A huge part of her wanted just to take Hanna’s hand, but there was never an appropriate moment—whenever there was a break, Mike rushed to Hanna’s side immediately, whisking her away. Spencer wondered if they were really getting married, like the reporters had said. Would Hanna actually do such a thing?
“Spencer?”
A man in a white jacket and blue scrub pants hurried toward her. Spencer’s mouth dropped open. It was Wren.
“Hi,” Wren said breathlessly when he approached. “How are you feeling?”
Spencer’s whole body tensed. “Were you in the courtroom?” she squeaked. She hated the idea of him hearing all those horrible things about her.
“No, no. I just got off work. I thought I’d pop down here and see how you’re doing—I haven’t heard from you. Are you sleeping better? How are your wounds?”
Wren had driven all the way here just to give her a checkup? “Um, I’m fine,” Spencer said softly. “Healing nicely.”
“Good.” Wren’s smile was twitchy. “Well, okay then. Unless . . .” He licked his lips nervously. “Unless you’d like to get coffee with me?”
“What, like now?” Spencer blurted.
Wren raised one shoulder. “I have the afternoon off. Unless you have other plans?”
Spencer lowered her shoulders. “I already told you this isn’t a good idea.”
“Listen, I spoke to your sister,” Wren said.
“You did what?” Spencer shrieked. “You had no right!” Had Wren implied something happened between them? Did Melissa hate her now? Spencer glanced at her phone, wanting to call her sister that instant.
Wren held up his hand. “I just said that I’d like to take you out for coffee as a friend and I wanted to know if it was okay with her. She said it was fine. Honest.”
Spencer blinked slowly. That didn’t sound so extreme. All of a sudden, she felt exhausted. She didn’t want to argue with Wren anymore. And honestly, it would be kind of nice if someone took her out for coffee after such a horrendous day. It would certainly beat another stiflingly silent dinner at her house, Mr. Pennythistle and Amelia staring at her like she was an alien and her own mother acting like she didn’t exist.
But then she looked at the ankle bracelet. Technically, she wasn’t allowed to go anywhere except for home, the courthouse, and the doctor unless she had her parents’ permission. Spencer’s dad would probably say yes, but he was in a work meeting all day. Spencer’s mom probably wouldn’t even pick up her phone.
“Would you mind coming to my house?” she asked shyly, showing him her ankle bracelet. “It would be a lot easier.”
Wren didn’t bat an eye. “Of course. Want me to drive you?”
Spencer shaded her eyes and watched as her car service pulled into the lot. “I’ll meet you there,” she said, figuring her mom would get mad if she didn’t use it.
The house was empty when Spencer arrived, a good thing. Talking to Wren would be easier without her mom nosing around. Minutes later, Wren pulled up to the curb and got out. Spencer stood on the lawn, smiling at him goofily. “Want to, um, sit out back?” she asked.
“Sure,” Wren answered.
She led him around the side yard to the patio, then pulled out a chair at the table for him to sit. “Um, do you want something to drink?” she fumbled. “Lemonade, maybe? Coke?”
“Whatever you have is fine.” He looked at her bemusedly, like she was stressing over something unimportant.
“Oh,” Spencer said. “Well, okay.”
She retrieved some Cokes from the fridge and sank down in a chair opposite him. A lawn mower grumbled. The Hastings’s gardener quietly pruned the bushes in the side yard. The pool glistened invitingly, and the hot tub bubbled. Spencer couldn’t help but remember when she and Wren had been in that hot tub together, after hockey practice. Had that really been her life?
Wren must have been thinking the same thing, because he said, “Things are a bit different than when I stayed here, huh?”
Spencer gazed out at the property. The grass still hadn’t grown in properly where the converted barn apartment had once stood. “I should say so,” she said quietly.
“I heard you were in the barn when that fire happened.”
Spencer nodded, recalling that horrible night. If only someone had caught Ali then. “Let’s not dwell on that,” she said. “I do too much thinking about the past as it is.”
For a while, they talked about Rosewood, and Wren’s residency program, and new music that they both liked. Then Wren folded his hands. “Did I hear you’d gotten into Princeton? And that you’d gotten a book deal?”
Spencer sipped her soda. “Yes on both counts, not that they’re happening now.”
Wren made a face. “Pretend, for a moment, you aren’t going to prison on a false murder charge. What’s your book about?”