THERA CHARGED INTO THE room, my coat clutched in her fist. “I told you, he doesn’t know anything about it. Leave him alone!”
“Help you how?” I asked Mary.
But Mary’s attention was focused on her daughter. “Thera, you know I have an obligation to the—”
“Oh, screw the universe and your messages!” Thera shouted at her, her breathing ragged.
“Thera, what’s wrong?” I asked, pulling my hand away from Mary’s.
“Thera, sweetie,” Mary said patiently. “I’m sorry but—”
“You’re not sorry, you’re never sorry.” Thera’s voice was shrill.
I stood and went to Thera. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I pulled her close, but she was stiff and unyielding. “Whatever it is—”
“I tried to stop her, I didn’t want her to say anything to you,” Thera said. “That’s why I took her notebook.”
“His brother wants him to know. He deserves to know,” Mary said.
“Deserves to know what?” I had the feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer when I finally got it.
“Can we just go?” Thera pleaded. “We’ll just leave now and forget it.” She pushed my coat at me.
I took a step back from her. “Why can’t you just tell me?” Dread was gathering in the pit of my stomach.
“Thera,” Mary prompted, but her daughter ignored her.
Please? Thera mouthed at me.
I shook my head. Thera’s shoulders slumped and she moved away from me, folding her arms across her middle.
“The message from Eli is real,” Mary began. “Before the accident, he was trying to—”
“I’ll do it,” Thera said, glaring at her mother. She put my coat carefully on the back of a chair, but she didn’t say anything for a long moment. “What I told you was true,” she said finally. “Eli was my tutor and he did come over here, so I wouldn’t have to spend any more time away from my mom.”
I could hear the “but” hanging in the air between us.
“Even then, I guess he already knew about the first offer from Riverwoods for our house. Probably from your dad, or maybe from the work you guys were doing at the church. I mean, you guys own everything else on the block already anyway.” I blinked, processing that information slowly, too slowly.
The expansion? That’s what this was about? I tried to formulate a thought or a coherent question. “What does that have to do with—”
Then, it clicked. The coffeehouse, parking structure, bookstore, and whatever else depicted on those detailed drawings—they all had to go somewhere.
Apparently, right where I was standing.
How had I missed that?
Honestly, it had never occurred to me to look at the drawings that closely. I’d assumed that they would be building down by the auditorium instead.
“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. I had no idea they were pressuring you guys to sell again.” I frowned. “Wait. Are you saying Eli had something to do with—”
She shook her head. “Eli never brought it up, but after we told Riverwoods no, he was here when we got the first notice from the city council that they would be taking our land for ‘public good.’ ”
“They can’t do that,” I said automatically. But the image of that sign about the public hearing, newly posted in her yard, immediately flipped to the front of my mind.
“They can,” Thera said with weary certainty. “It’s called eminent domain.”
The term sounded familiar, and it took me a second to figure out why: the papers she’d had in the library the other day. She’d been doing research on it.
“They say they need our land to expand the road,” Thera said. “But that also happens to leave plenty of room for a parking garage built and maintained by the city.” Her mouth thinned into a bitter-looking line.
And on the weekends, Riverwoods members would have the parking they were always complaining about, right next to all the new buildings they would have donated money for. Now I could see it. Crap.
“We can’t leave here,” Mary said. “We don’t have anywhere else to go. This house was my parents’. It’s paid for. The money they’re offering is not enough for us to buy anything else.”
And Mary, who was clearly not well and never left the house, would be forced to move.
“Eli was trying to help us,” Thera said. “He thought he had a way to stop the expansion.” She frowned. “He’d found something he thought would make it all go away.”
I stared at her, as if she’d just announced that Eli had decided to shave his head and join a cult. “He would never do that. Riverwoods was his life.” But more than that, he would never go against my dad. Eli was the “good” one.
“He can, he did,” Thera said.
“I don’t believe you,” I said, an unsettled, panicky feeling rising in me. Eli might have tried to help in some way—finding them another place to live or organizing a fund-raiser because he and Leah lived for that crap—but Eli and my dad were the same. Riverwoods always came first.
She flinched, but refused to acknowledge my words. “That last night, he was supposed to bring me whatever he’d found, so we could take it to a lawyer and try to stop the process before it got started. But—”
“He came here for that?” I knew he’d been lying about where he was that night.
Thera nodded. “A couple of hours before the accident.” She paused. “I was with him when he got your call asking for a ride.”
Suddenly that weird conversation—our last—in the Jeep made sense, Eli talking about right and wrong and hurting people.
My head felt loose and disconnected, like it was bobbing above my shoulders on a string. Thera actually might not be lying. But Eli had never said a word to me about any of it, unless you counted a random, hypothetical conversation. I didn’t.
How was that possible? Something so huge and he’d never mentioned it to me? The idea made me feel like I was falling again, being tossed and tumbled in the Jeep, before being thrown free.
I’d told him everything—okay, more than anyone else. I didn’t think we kept secrets of this size. It made him into someone I didn’t know, literally a stranger with my face. And now he was gone, making it impossible to push for answers or explanations.
“If that’s true, then what’s all this about ‘finishing what he started and helping us’?” I asked, waving my hand in Mary’s direction. “You got what you wanted.”
“He changed his mind,” Thera said softly. “He came to tell me in person that he had to hold on to whatever he’d found. He couldn’t give it to me. I was hoping he’d change his mind—”
“But then he died,” I said.
“Yeah.” She dropped into the nearest chair and rested her head in her hands, her fingers tangling in her hair.
“I’m so sorry, Jace,” Mary said. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if Eli hadn’t come through so clearly to me.”
Thera sighed. “Mom.”
But I wasn’t really listening. Because in that moment, a horribly simple idea dawned on me, one that sent a wave of devastation through me. “Is that what all of this was about?”
Thera looked up. “What?”
I cleared my throat. “You, me, the quarry, everything. Was it really about this? Your house, the church.”
“No. Of course not!” Thera shot to her feet.
But she’d hesitated just a fraction of a second before answering. That was an answer, in and of itself. I mean, how could she not have considered it? So many people thought of Eli and me as interchangeable. Make me care, make me trust her, and then ask me for a tiny favor. Or better yet, one day I’d invite her over when my parents weren’t home, and she’d have the chance to look for whatever she thought Eli had.
It was only logical.
I waited silently.
After a moment, Thera shifted her weight from foot to foot, her gaze dropping to the floor. “At the very beginning, okay, yes, I thought about it. I wondered if Eli had told you, if you might know, but when it was clear that you didn’t, I let it go. And then I got to know you.” Her expression softened. “You weren’t what I thought. You were like me, trying to figure stuff out. And what happened between us was real.” She raised her chin defiantly, daring me to contradict her.
“Then why not tell me about all of this?” That was the part that really stuck with me, like a knife between my shoulder blades.
She threw her hands up in frustration. “Because you were so lost! You could barely handle Eli being gone. What do you think would have happened if I’d told you?”
To be fair, she sort of had a point. And yet, it didn’t change a damn thing. I’d spent the last two months trying to pull myself out of a dark hole of guilt and grief and confusion, and I’d finally found a few footholds this week because of her. But now it was like none of that mattered. I couldn’t trust her, so the footholds were gone and I was back at the bottom of that pit again.
“I gotta go.” I grabbed my coat off the chair and turned away from her, shoving my arms through the sleeves.
“Jacob,” Mary began as I walked out of the room.
“Wait, Jace, please.” Thera followed me to the front door. “Your coat is wet. You’ll freeze.”
“I’ll be fine.” I yanked at the front door, but it wouldn’t budge.
Thera moved to stand in front of me. “You can’t walk home from here, it’s too far.” She touched my arm, and I jerked away. “Let me get my keys and I’ll—”
“I can’t deal with this right now,” I said, avoiding her gaze. “Not from you.”
Thera sucked in a sharp, pained breath, and then there was nothing but a heavy silence.
After a moment, she reached out and undid the dead bolt with a loud snap, then moved out of my way.
And I left.