And at first, she had kept to herself. But Constance Wright’s murder had ignited a fire within her, a blaze of anger and passion that would not be extinguished. She was a part of this community now. That woman she used to be had remained in the home where her husband had been murdered, where her children had experienced terror beyond imagination. But finding Wright’s killer reinvigorated Rachel. After so many years as a mother and widow, she finally had another purpose.
She put on a pair of jeans and a tank top, went downstairs, and made herself a cappuccino. Rachel didn’t have many extravagances in their house, apart from the security systems, but she had splurged on a combination cappuccino/espresso maker. Other than marrying her husband and having children, it may have been the best decision she’d ever made.
At three thirty, Megan burst through the door. She wore a lightweight purple jacket with a neighing horse embroidered on the back. Her long hair had darkened to a sandy blonde and was swept back into a long ponytail. Megan dropped her backpack on the floor, ran up to Rachel, and threw her arms around her. Even though her daughter was growing up, Rachel was glad she hadn’t yet tired of afterschool hugs.
“Hi, Mom,” she said. Rachel lived for these moments, especially since she knew the unashamed affection would dwindle as her daughter grew older and her mother’s cool factor would drop to negative five thousand.
“How was school?”
“Fine. Did you know that Jordan Reese’s family got a dog?”
“I did not know that.”
“She showed me pictures. It’s a bichon frizzy. Soooo cute.”
“You mean bichon frise,” Rachel said.
“Whatever. Can we get a dog?”
Rachel laughed. “Do you have time to train a dog, walk it, feed it, and take care of it?”
“Umm . . . no.”
“Does your brother?”
“Sometimes Eric smells like he doesn’t even have time to shower.”
Rachel laughed. “So what you’re saying is that you want a dog, but you want your mother to be the only one who actually takes care of Fluffy Marin.”
“No, I’d want to take care of the puppy too,” Megan said. “And we would not name it Fluffy.”
“Let me think about it. OK?”
“So that’s not a no?” Megan said, her spirits clearly lifted.
“It’s not a no,” Rachel said.
“I’ll even pay for it! Once I get someone to publish my Sadie Scout books, I’ll save up.”
“It’s not about money; it’s about responsibility. I don’t think you realize how much work dogs are.”
As Megan began to pout, the door opened and Eric entered. Rachel and Megan both turned to look at him. His face was emotionless. Just a few hours ago, he’d learned his teacher had died, and it didn’t appear to bother him any more than if he’d discovered a hole in his sock. It scared Rachel, seeing her son so detached in the face of such horrors.
“Eric,” Rachel said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry about Mr. Linklater. It’s a terrible thing. If you need to talk, I’m always here for you.”
Eric shrugged, like she’d told him they’d run out of cereal.
“It’s OK,” he said. “No big deal.”
Rachel felt a flutter of worry in her chest. “It is a big deal. I don’t expect you’d be able to process what happened so quickly. Did the school offer grief counselors?”
“Yeah. Principal Alvi scheduled a schoolwide assembly tomorrow morning. She was all vague in the announcement. Like, ‘We need to talk about an important development facing the Ashby High community.’ As though everyone doesn’t already know that Mr. Linklater got microwaved.”
“Eric, that’s awful. That’s a person you’re talking about. Someone you know. Have some compassion.”
“Was a person,” he said. “Was.”
“I did not raise you to be cruel,” Rachel said. “I think you need to talk to someone. Whether it’s a grief counselor or a therapist. This isn’t you.”
He shook his head like he was casting off an errant piece of lint. “You don’t get it,” he said. “My dad was killed. Mr. Linklater was killed. The world is cruel and fucked up. I didn’t make it that way.”
He shouldered past her.
“Eric,” she said, softly, but he ignored her and trudged upstairs to his room.
Rachel watched him go, unable to speak and unsure of what she would even say. She had witnessed Eric’s struggles manifest themselves in so many ways since his father died. From terror to sadness to resentment to solitude to anger to cruelty in a heartbreaking, unending cycle. So many times he seemed to be pushing back against the negative thoughts and impulses, but they always came roaring back, stronger than ever, and Rachel worried that if he couldn’t get a handle on the darkness, the poison would seep into his mind and his heart and never, ever leave. The thought of Eric growing up angry and unhappy felt like acid in her stomach.
She did not know how to stem his grief, calm his anger, cool his resentment. Those emotions still roiled in Rachel herself from time to time. But she was older and had two children who depended on her. She had to keep the darkness at bay, for their sakes. She had learned to hide her pain. Eric had not.
Rachel turned back to Megan, the dismay in her face becoming a plastic smile.
“What’s wrong with Eric?” Megan said.
Rachel sighed and placed her hand on her daughter’s cheek.
“Your brother has been through a lot,” she said, softly. “He has memories that, thankfully, you are too young to have. What he’s been through doesn’t just go away. It takes time. A long time. All we can do is be there for him and let him know how much we love him.”
“I do,” Megan pleaded. “I tell him I love him. All the time. He tells me to stop. That he’s not worth it.”
Rachel rocked back on her heels. “He said that?”
Megan nodded.
“That he’s not worth it?”
She nodded again. Rachel felt an ache in her chest, a low heat that rose into her cheeks and settled just below her eyes.
“As long as we both know he’s worth it. He’s worth all the love we have. We just need to keep showing him, and one day he’ll realize it. Can you do that, sweetie?”
Megan smiled. “I can. I do love him.”
“I do too. With all my heart. So, back to happier thoughts. Do you have any homework for tonight?”
“Homework is a happy thought?”
“Comparatively,” Rachel said with a grin.
“Some math, but it’s easy. And then I have to get back to my new Sadie Scout book. When I finished writing yesterday, Sadie was about to cross a dangerous river filled with poisonous snakes and allibators with huge teeth.”
“Alligators,” Rachel corrected. “I can’t wait to read it.”
“When I’m done, I’m going to get it published,” Megan said, confidently.
“I have no doubt you will.”
Megan skipped off to her room. Rachel felt exhausted, a dull ache in her bones. She needed to focus on the murder. She booted up her laptop and began to review the file APD had collected on Matthew Linklater. He had never been married and had no children. He had a sister in Toledo, a married orthopedist, though they seldom communicated via phone or text more than every few months. His mother lived alone in a retirement community in Palm Beach Gardens. Both sister and mother were en route to Ashby for the funeral.