Seeing the iPod and stereo made my mind expand. I saw myself in Thayer’s room, listening to an Arcade Fire song on that iPod. Thayer lay next to me on the carpet, grazing his fingertips across my knee. Strands of carpet tickled the backs of my bare legs. I reached forward to toy with the edge of his light green T-shirt, lifting it just a sliver to touch the hard stomach muscles beneath. Thayer cupped my chin with his palms and leaned forward until his mouth was a breath away. His lips covered mine and I felt my entire body spark. And then a door creaked open. We froze for a split second before breaking apart, sneaking down the back staircase, and slipping into the den. Just as Mr. Vega crossed the foyer and stared at us with wide, suspicious eyes, the memory faded away.
Emma circled the room, running her hands under the pillows on Thayer’s bed, peeking into the bureau and desk drawers, and poking her head into the nearly empty closet.
It was as bare and impersonal as a hotel room. Nothing was out of the ordinary. There were no left-behind tubes of lipstick that might have been Sutton’s. No pictures of her on his bulletin board. If Thayer had a relationship with Sutton, he’d kept it a secret.
But then, suddenly, she saw it. There, stacked alongside the crime novels on the bookshelf, was a tattered, pale yellow book. Little House on the Prairie, said the spine. Emma reached for it. If it was random that Sutton had a book from the Little House series, it was downright bizarre that soccer-star-jock-boy Thayer had one.
The book felt light in Emma’s hands. When she turned it over, she realized the pages had been removed and the book was hollow. Shaking, she plunged her hand into the opening and felt her fingers close on a bunch of papers. As she pulled them out, she got a whiff of a flowery fragrance she instantly recognized. It was the same musky smell Emma had spritzed on herself from an expensive-looking bottle with a gold-trimmed label marked ANNICK on Sutton’s dresser.
With trembling fingers, she unfolded the papers.
Sutton’s distinctly rounded handwriting stared back at her.
Dear Thayer, it began. I think about you all the time… I can’t wait until we can meet up again… I am so in love with you …
She turned to the next page, but it said more or less the same thing. So did the six letters after it. Every one was addressed to Thayer and signed with an oversized S.
Sutton had written a date at the top of each page; the letters started in March and continued through June, just before Thayer disappeared.
I looked at the letters, too, trying to make a connection, but nothing came. I had to have written them. A secret tryst with Thayer must have been intoxicating for me. I was a girl who lived on the edge, after all.
Emma stuffed the letters into the front pocket of her hoodie, then slipped back out into the hallway, pulling the door nearly shut after her, the same way she’d found it.
“Sutton?”
Emma flew around with a gasp. Mr. Vega stood right behind her, seemingly nearly twice her size. His dark hair was slicked back with gel, exposing a pointed widow’s peak and making him look like he should be playing cards in a dark, smoke-filled hall. The tanned skin on his forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows met in the center.
He glanced at Emma’s hand on Thayer’s doorknob.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Um, just going to the bathroom, sir,” Emma squeaked.
Mr. Vega stared at her. Sutton’s letters felt bulky in her pocket. She folded her arms in front of her chest, trying to hide the bulge.
Finally, Mr. Vega pointed to another door. “The guest bathroom is on the other side of the hall.”
“Oh, right!” Emma smacked her forehead. “Just got a little turned around. It’s been a long week.” Mr. Vega pursed his lips. “Yes. It’s been a trying time for all of us.” He shuffled his feet, looking uncomfortable.
“Actually, since you’re here, I wanted to apologize for my son’s behavior. I am deeply embarrassed that he broke into your home. Trust me when I say that I’ll make sure he learns his lesson.”
Emma nodded grimly, thinking about the bruises on Madeline’s arm. She could only imagine how Mr. Vega planned to hit that message home to his son. “Well, I should probably get back to the girls,” she mumbled.
She started to inch around Mr. Vega, but he grabbed her arm. Emma inhaled sharply, her heart leaping to her throat. But Mr. Vega let go immediately.
“Please ask Madeline to come talk to me for a minute, will you?” he said in a low voice.
Emma let out a breath. “Oh. Sure.”
She moved toward Madeline’s room, but he caught her once more. “And Sutton?”
Emma turned around, raising her eyebrows.
“You never used to call me ‘sir.’” His lips were pressed in a flat line and he openly studied Emma. “No need to start now.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry.”
Mr. Vega held Emma’s gaze for a moment longer, inspecting her thoroughly and carefully. Emma fought hard to keep her expression neutral. Finally, he turned and smoothly made his way down the stairs. She wilted against the wall and shut her eyes, feeling the lump of papers in her pocket. So close.
Maybe too close, I thought.
13
LOVE, S.
An hour later, Emma sat stiffly next to Laurel in the VW.
Laurel might have abandoned her at school, but there was no way for her to get out of driving her home from Madeline’s. She hadn’t said a word to Emma the whole time, and was wrinkling her nose at Emma as though she smelled like raw sewage.
Spying a strip mall that contained a grocery store, a Big Lots, and a bunch of other random shops on the corner, Emma grabbed the wheel and veered the car into the right lane. Laurel slammed on the brakes. “What the hell are you doing?”