of Deon Stillwell. She hung close to Nate and Gwen, who was really being nice, which made Jamie feel kind of bad for thinking she was such a weirdo.
Hours slid by. At one o’clock, Race Stillwell returned alone, his Mustang roaring back up the drive just as Jamie, Gwen, and Nate were getting ready to leave. No Cooper. Jamie had consumed one beer and two glasses of vodka and Sprite, but the slight buzz she’d gotten had already worn off.
Race was wild-eyed as he burst into the room.
“What the fuck?” Deon muttered. He was waaayyy loaded and staggering by then.
“Shit. The cops. Get everybody out. Everybody out!!” His bellow reached to the upper floor. The smart kids, the ones still sober enough and aware, didn’t wait to be asked again. They trampled down the stairs and out of the house, running for their cars. Jamie, Gwen, and Nate did the same. All of them tore down the driveway, nearly rear-ending each other in their haste. Only when he was well away and driving out of town did Nate heave a sigh of relief. “Think we’re okay. If the cops come, they won’t find us.”
“You know where my house is?” Jamie asked. Now she was anxious to be home. Her mom worked graveyard at the hospital, but anything could happen time-wise and she could come home early.
Nate grunted an assent. He dropped Gwen off first at her family’s sprawling ranch with the trees adorned with fake Spanish moss and the birdhouses and the whole crazy garden thing. Jamie’s house was a two-story Craftsman style with a wide porch and a mostly trimmed yard. Mom was death on weeds. After their father’s defection, she’d gotten out the edger and beaten back the crabgrass and dandelions and thistles as if her life depended on it. Gardening seemed to be her way to get out her frustrations and put her life in order, and she spent most afternoons working on their grounds before heading to her job.
Jamie lightly ran down the driveway to the back of the house and jogged to the right in front of the detached garage toward the back steps. She was pretty sure Mom was still out, but she didn’t want to explain herself just in case. She picked up the gnome near the bottom stair, the only whimsical piece to the yard, saved by Emma when Mom had tried to throw it out in her never-ending need to put things right in the yard. She shook the gnome and the key fell into her hand. Quickly, she tiptoed up the outdoor steps, turned the key in the lock, and let herself inside, grimacing at the soft creak the door made. She paused. Nothing but the familiar tick of the clock on the wall.
Hurrying upstairs, she passed her sister’s room. Emma’s clothes were tossed about, some hanging on the chair, others on the bed, a pair of jeans on the floor. Mom’s door was closed, but it always was.
Jamie’s room was next to Emma’s, which was at the end of the hall. She let herself inside, slipped off her shoes, ripped off her clothes, and slid into an oversize T-shirt with a picture of the Hollywood sign on the front before climbing beneath the covers. She was wide awake. Unsettled. She’d given up her babysitting job to find Cooper Haynes and he hadn’t even been at Race Stillwell’s party. She recalled Deon’s hand on her crotch and her blood boiled. She punched the pillow several times, furious with herself and the world as a whole.
Emma was the one who’d scored tonight, which really pissed Jamie off. The Ryersons always stayed out late, which made for good babysitting money, and Emma was reaping the benefits.
Jamie was still awake when she heard the distant sirens.
An auto accident? Her mom was an ER nurse. Saw all kinds of bloody, mangled victims. Ugh.
She covered her head with her pillow.
Brrrinnnggg!
Jamie jumped when the landline down the hall started ringing. Middle of the night. Mom?
Reluctantly, she climbed out of her warm bed and scurried down the hall to her mom’s bedroom and the phone. She opened the door and nearly ran into her mother, who was standing by the side of the bed, nearly right in front of her.
“Oh, God!” Jamie gasped, surprised, as Mom, who was still fully dressed apart from her shoes, was reaching for the phone.
“Hello . . .” she answered, hitching her chin to let her know she was handling things and Jamie could go back to bed.
Jamie, who’d hoped she wouldn’t have to explain why she was home and Emma wasn’t, turned back toward her room.
“Oh, God . . . oh my God!” Mom gasped.
“What? What?” Jamie stopped cold, her hand to her throat.
“Okay, I’m . . . on my way. Right now. Right now!”
Mom slammed down the phone, reeling.
“What is it?” Jamie cried.
“It’s Emma. She’s been hurt. Attacked. The police are there.” She whirled around, staring at the floor, searching for her shoes, grabbing her coat.
“At the Ryersons’?” Jamie’s voice was a squeak, but she was shrieking inside.
“Yes. Emma’s at the hospital.”
Stumbling into her shoes, Mom was heading out, but Jamie said, “I’m going with you,” and ran for her clothes.
“I’m not waiting,” Mom said, halfway down the stairs.
“Wait! Wait! Please!”
“What are you doing here?” Mom suddenly demanded. “You were babysitting them. What happened?”
“I–I’ve got on my jacket and jeans.” She’d thrown the jacket over her sleeping T-shirt and was hopping on one foot, the other inside her jeans. She grabbed her forgotten socks and sneakers and ran into the hall.
Mom led the way downstairs and Jamie stumbled after her. They raced to the car. Jamie shivered in the passenger seat.
“Is she okay?” she asked in a small voice.
“I don’t know. Why weren’t you there?” Mom demanded.
“I . . . we traded.”
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into River Glen General, Glen Gen to the locals. Jamie was told to stay in the ER waiting room while Mom went through the double doors to the inner cubicles. All Jamie could do was shiver. She’d gone to bed without taking off her makeup, and now, after waiting a few minutes, she found the restroom outside the ER and looked at herself in the mirror. Her makeup had turned to dark smudges below her eyes and she was white-faced. She tried to clean herself up a bit with the end of her little finger and water. When she returned to the ER waiting room, Mom was there, pale and stern.
“You were fixing your makeup?” she demanded in a flinty voice.
“Well, just . . .”
“Your sister’s been stabbed in the back and she has a head injury.”
“What?” Jamie whispered. Did she mean literally stabbed in the back? “With like . . . a knife?”
“Yes. Someone came into the house and stabbed her.”
“Oh . . . God . . . Oh my God. She’s gonna be all right, though?” Jamie quavered.
