All of the parents were grumbling about the eighth-grade graduation having been moved inside. They had all been robbed of that beautiful mountain backdrop, plus the auditorium had a musty smell and horrible acoustics.
But when the PA system crackled with the low resonance of the opening bars of Pomp and Circumstance, and Laurel and her classmates walked down the aisle in their Kelly-green robes, a satisfied hush settled over the room.
Principal Hamoush approached the podium, and repeated, as she did every year, that this class held a special place in her heart.
It’s only eighth grade, Annie’s brain reasoned. But it felt big, seeing Laurel up there.
Almost big enough to eclipse the fact that Laurel had befriended a psychopath. Annie should have been more alert, asked more questions. And yesterday morning, she’d practically begged Jen Chun-Pagano to come to the party.
If Jen dared to show up, Annie was prepared to have a Difficult Conversation about her abusive son, no matter how uncomfortable things got.
Principal Hamoush started reading the names of the graduates for their walks across the stage, and Mike elbowed Annie in the ribs.
Fifteen years ago, they’d had no clue what they were getting into and it flew by, just like people said, so fast, too fast, and tissue, where was a tissue?
Annie’s hands fumbled fruitlessly in the front pocket of her bag until Lena handed her two, folded and fresh.
“One for you, and one for the proud papa,” Lena whispered. She smiled and pointed her chin in Mike’s direction.
FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER
Annie felt Bryce watch her face as she flipped open her cell phone and read the text.
Meet me inside.
He had been there, right by the house, watching her for who knew how long. He cocked his head slightly toward the door, which was propped open for the caterers and their heavy trays.
Not like this, she wanted to object. She watched helplessly as he slipped inside.
“Excuse me,” she said to Bryce.