One of Us Is Back (ONE OF US IS LYING)

Addy

Saturday, July 4

There are relaxing Saturdays, there are sociable Saturdays, and then there’s this: the Bayview Mall on the Fourth of July with my pregnant sister and my mother, going head-to-head over the fact that Ashton refuses to spend three thousand dollars on a pod-shaped crib from a trendy baby store called Le Petit Ange.

“But Ashton, look at it,” Mom says, running her hands along the smooth blond wood. “It’s so chic. They didn’t have anything like this when you and Addy were born.”

“It looks like a miniature tanning bed,” Ashton says.

I tap my fingers against the clear acrylic front, patterned with laser-cut stars. “Or a really big salad bowl,” I say, and my sister snorts out a laugh. The Bayview Blade called Le Petit Ange “a one-stop shop for Bayview’s trendiest, most style-conscious parents,” which is pretty much the opposite of Ashton and Eli. Try telling that to my mother, though.

“You two have no vision,” Mom complains. She’s dressed to the nines for this shopping trip, in tight white pants, gold sandals, and a patterned wrap top, and I have to admit that she looks great. So does Ashton, in a pale-blue sundress that shows off her tiny bump. I’m dragging down our style quotient in a Café Contigo tank top and shorts, my purple-streaked hair held back with a flower-shaped clip. Which must be crooked, because Mom reaches out to refasten it before adding, “It even converts into the most darling little toddler bed.”

“Without rails,” Ashton notes, eyeing the glossy photo mounted beside the crib. “The poor kid would fall right out.”

Mom waves a manicured hand. “I’m sure you can buy those separately.”

“For a thousand dollars,” Ashton mutters under her breath.

“At least think about it. I’m going to look at high chairs.”

Ashton watches Mom weave her way through clothing displays as she heads for the back of the store. “I don’t have the heart to tell her we’re getting a hand-me-down crib from Eli’s cousin,” she sighs.

“She knows you’d never drop three grand on a crib. She just wants the experience of being a doting grandmother in a store like this. All you have to do to keep her happy is buy one small thing like…” I gaze at the rack beside us before plucking off a tiny pajama set patterned with white and gray elephants. “These pj’s.”

Ashton’s expression softens as she reaches out a hand. “Those are adorable.” Then her eyes widen as she lifts the price tag. “And three hundred dollars.” I shove the pajamas back onto the rack as she adds, “This store is not meant for the children of freelance graphic designers and nonprofit lawyers.”

“Speaking of…”

“Nothing new,” Ashton says quickly. She knows exactly where I was going, and I hope she appreciates the fact that I waited more than an hour to ask if Eli had any updates about Jake. I haven’t seen him since he was released, mostly because I’ve memorized where he’s allowed to go and made sure I stay far away. The Bayview Mall, for example, is safe territory. “At least, not when it comes to him.”

My sister never says Jake’s name if she can help it. Her tone is a little strained, though, so I ask, “But there’s something?”

Ashton glances behind us, where Mom is absorbed in browsing high chairs that look like tiny, expensive ladders. “Yes. Maybe. Nothing to do with you,” she adds hastily, reading whatever expression must have crossed my face. Panic, probably. “But Eli’s worried because…Do you remember the billboard that popped up about a week ago on Clarendon Street? The one about a new game?”

“Yeah, of course,” I say. My mother is positive that it’s some kind of guerilla marketing tactic for Cooper’s summer baseball league. She refuses to be swayed by my counterargument that baseball is not a new game, and has more than one rule. “Why is Eli worried?”

“Well, a lot of people were upset about that billboard. It felt like a horribly insensitive campaign, given what happened with Brandon and Jared a few months ago. As if some company was trying to capitalize on the notoriety, although you couldn’t even tell who they are or what they were trying to sell. So people complained to the advertising agency that manages the billboard, and it turns out…” Ashton pauses as a harried father pushing a double stroller passes us. “It turns out the billboard was hacked.”

“Hacked?” I repeat.

“Yeah. It’s digital, you know, managed by the company, and somehow, someone got into their system and changed the ad. The agency switched it back, and they’re investigating, but they don’t have any answers yet. Maybe it was just a prank, but…” Ashton reaches out a hand to stroke the soft sleeve of the elephant pajamas. “Eli is worried that it might have been someone from the revenge forum. You know, picking up where Jared left off.”

“Oh my God.” My stomach plummets. Jared was part of a subreddit called Vengeance Is Mine, inspired by Simon and populated by a lot of angry people with grudges. After Emma discovered that Brandon had caused her father’s death, she found her way there and started commiserating with Jared. And the rest, unfortunately, is Bayview history—including the part where my brother-in-law was stalked by a terrorist.

And by extension, so was my sister. I can’t help it; my eyes stray to Ashton’s stomach, and she instinctively covers it with one hand. “Eli hasn’t received any threats,” she says quickly. “There’s no indication that anyone is targeting him directly, but he’s worried enough that there’s a task force at Until Proven looking into it.”

“Looking into it how?” I ask. “Vengeance Is Mine got taken down.”

“Yeah, but you know how these things are. They have nine lives,” Ashton says. “As soon as you get one taken down, it pops up somewhere else in a different form.”

She’s right, of course, but I was hoping we’d go at least a year without having to deal with Simon’s legacy again. “We should get Maeve on the case,” I say. “She has a knack for—”

Ashton holds up a hand, cutting me off. “Eli doesn’t want her involved.”

“Oh, come on,” I say, tugging at my earring anxiously. “He needs to stop thinking like that. If it weren’t for Maeve and Knox, we could all be dead!”

I said that last part a little too loud, and a couple of well-dressed women browsing the onesies rack glance over at us. “Shhh,” Ashton murmurs, strolling toward a quieter corner with me at her heels. “I know,” she says, stopping in front of a blanket display. “But they’re just kids. Still in high school. If there really is something going on with a Simon-Jared copycat, it’s not safe for them to get involved.”

“It’s not safe for you,” I protest. “Ash, you need to go stay with Dad in Chicago.”

I expect her to protest, but she gives me a wry smile. “That’s what Eli said.”

“So go! Go tomorrow.”

“I can’t,” she says. “Well, I could, but I won’t. My life is here, Addy. My husband is here. He’s doing important work that sometimes brings him into contact with desperate people, and if I left every time that happened…”

“You’d be safe. The baby would be safe.” My voice hitches as I think about the envelope in my room that I still haven’t opened: Baby Kleinfelter Prentiss.

“I don’t see you running off to Dad’s,” Ashton says.

I thought about it, briefly. My stepmother, Courtney, reached out to invite me when the news about Jake broke, which was nice of her. But we barely know one another, and I couldn’t imagine being cooped up in a city apartment with Dad, Courtney, and Courtney’s three grade-school-aged kids for a month. “That’s different.”

“How so?”

“I’m not pregnant, for one thing!”

We have a glare-off that Ashton breaks first with a rueful smile. “I’m sorry, Addy. I went about this all wrong,” she says. “I scared you, and I didn’t mean to. Eli’s acting out of an abundance of caution, okay? Everything will be fine.”

“You can’t possibly be sure of that.” I look over at our mother, who’s reached the end of the high chair display. “Does Mom know?”

“Not yet. Not till there’s something more to know.”

“Probably just as well,” I mutter. “It’s not like she’d worry.”

Ashton purses her lips. “You know she feels horrible about Jake, right?”

“What, that he was released? We all do.”

“No. That she encouraged that relationship in the first place.”

I blink. Mom was Jake’s biggest fan a couple of years ago, to the point where she made me feel like I was lucky to be with him and needed to do whatever it took to keep him. My whole life was like that, even before I started dating: Mom always encouraging me to be the prettiest, most desirable, most pleasing possible version of Adelaide Prentiss. I tried so hard to make myself perfect that by the time I was seventeen years old, I had no idea who I really was. I might still not know, if Simon hadn’t forced Jake and me apart. Then, once Jake attacked me and got arrested, Mom flipped a switch and acted as though she’d hated him all along.

“She’s never told me that,” I say. Not that I’ve given her much of a chance. I moved in with Ashton as soon as I could after the whole Jake disaster, and now that I’ve moved back, I’m hardly ever at home.

“You two really need to talk,” Ashton sighs. I make a face, and she adds, “Give her a chance, Addy. Have you told her about Keely?”

“God, no.” I haven’t trusted my mother with my feelings for years, especially when I’m still figuring them out.

“Well, maybe that would be a good place to start. She’s—”

“She’s coming this way,” I mutter as Mom strides toward us brandishing a hanger so tiny, I can’t even tell what’s on it. When she gets closer, I make out a pair of ivory knit booties with satin bows and fake fur along the top. At least, I hope it’s fake.

“I’m getting these for you,” Mom declares, before sweeping toward the cash register. I catch sight of the price tag as she passes: seventy-five dollars. Could be a lot worse.

“Thank you!” Ashton calls after her. Then she turns to me with her patented Time to change the subject smile. “We should probably give Mom some ideas about where to go to lunch before she drags us to that place where all the entrées are named after cocktails.”

“Good idea,” I say, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “After that, I have to pick up chips for Nate’s party tonight.” It’s my contribution on his behalf, since he refuses to contribute anything himself. “Let me check what kind he wants.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you at the register.”

I open my contacts but don’t pull up Nate’s name, because I know perfectly well that he couldn’t care less what kind of chips I buy. In fact, his last text to me was Don’t bother, they don’t deserve it. Instead, I start a new message for Maeve:

I need you to look into something for me.