It was Garrett. It was the guy she loved. It was who she needed.
Hey, Ivy girl! How are you?
She pretended that he had texted her first. She pretended that she had not sat in front of her phone for thirty minutes, deep in indecision, her heart radiating an incredible, thick pain, needing someone who understood everything, before she typed out a pathetic, incredibly needy three-letter text: Hey.
And he’d texted back. She’d been sitting on the couch, channel-surfing through cartoons (her guilty pleasure). Her mom, who was sitting in the corner, was paging through an old issue of Martha Stewart Living, and hadn’t even complained.
Best of all, Garrett texted back in less than ten minutes. With her nickname.
It was almost like he still cared.
I am great, she texted. Taking the summer class. How are you?
She pretended to watch Gravity Falls until he texted back.
Awesome. Just left the pool. Are you recovered?
Ivy winced. Of course the last thing he remembered about her was her body splayed out beneath the vending machine like a half-squashed bug.
Still. It was better than him knowing—
She cut her own thought short. Wait. What was he doing at the pool? The Garrett she knew hated pools. He preferred video games, and for an occasional exercise session, he made a fool of himself at the skate park, pretending to be a punk.
All healed. Thanks for your help.
No prob, he texted back.
She hesitated, biting her lip. Would he see her? Did he want to see her? She took a deep breath and watched the minutes tick by, ever so slowly, until an appropriate amount of time had passed that she wouldn’t seem overeager.
Maybe we could get coffee and catch up.
His reply was almost immediate.
Just let me know when.
And for the first time since everything happened, she smiled. Actually smiled, in a way that reached her eyes and down to her heart.
If Garrett came back to her, if everything just went back to the way it was, then maybe she could pretend that this horrible, sick little section of her summer was just a dream.
She put her phone on the coffee table in time for Daniel to come crashing through the front door into the entryway.
“Mom!” he said. “Hey, Mom!”
“She’s in here,” she called to her brother. It was weird—even though he was almost thirty, she was definitely the more mature one. Whenever he showed up at home, he just wanted SpaghettiOs and his laundry done.
He walked into the living room, beaming. “Hey, Mom. Hey, Ivs.”
Ivy smiled at her brother. “What’s up? You look like you just got laid.”
Daniel grabbed a pillow off the chair and threw it at her, but he was still grinning. “Don’t be nasty, sis.”
“Ivy!” her mother said, appalled.
“Come on, Daniel,” Ivy insisted, muting the TV, “what’s got you all excited?”
“First case.” He made a fist-pumping motion with his arm. “And it’s a big one!”
Her mom jumped up from the chair, and Martha Stewart Living landed on the floor, the pages splayed out. “Oh, honey!” she said. “I’m so proud of you! Sit down and tell us all about it.” She pointed at the couch next to Ivy, and her brother thumped down, rattling the whole living room. She never understood how he got to be so tall—the rest of the family was in the upper half of the five-foot range, but Daniel was almost six-six.
“Well, it’s actually Ivy’s professor,” Daniel said. “Ivy, I’m sure you heard, he disappeared last week. Just poof, and he was gone. No one can find anything. It’s like Keyser Söze shit.” He chuckled.
Ivy’s heart stopped. Just stopped. Her blood was in her ears.
“Keyser who?” her mother asked.
The bottom fell out of Ivy’s stomach. “So you don’t know anything so far?”
He shook his head. “His wife’s batshit and they got in a fight. He might’ve taken off for a few days, but his car never left the driveway. I guess the dude loves walking, so we’re going to search the parks. See if something happened.”
“The parks?” Ivy asked. Did the river run through the park? Oh God, she didn’t know. What if his body washed up in the park?
Daniel turned to her. “Yeah, apparently the dude is into hiking. The fight was a blowout, so I wouldn’t be surprised if we found the dude way up there, just waiting for his wife to cool off. Still, we’re treating it like a real case, and the boss is letting me really take a big role here.” He paused. “So, Ivs—any way I could question you?”
“What?” Ivy asked. “No!”
“Come on, please?” He put his hands together. “You’d be doing me a huge solid here. I could use the experience so when I question someone real I won’t sound like an amateur. Besides, you know Stratford. You can tell me about him.”
“Stratford’s a jerk,” Ivy said. “And no. I don’t want to play cop with you, Daniel. You’re old. Can’t you handle your own job?”
“Ivy!” Mrs. McWhellen said. “Really! Don’t you want to help your brother? He’d do the same for you.”
Daniel gave her his dorky, too-sweet smile, the one he saved for when their mother was around, and she felt like she might throw up. But what was weirder—throwing up during fake questioning, or declining it altogether?
“Fine,” Ivy said. “But not today. I’m super PMS-y.”
Daniel shook his head. “I noticed. Call me. Mom, you can sit in too, if you want. It’ll be fun.”
“Sure, sweetie.”
Their mother smiled, delighted.
Ivy felt her lunch writhe in her stomach.
“Great,” she said. “Can’t wait.”
Daniel snorted. “Cheer up, sis. It’s not like you killed him.”