Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Acknowledgments
- P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
- About the Author
- About the Book
- Also by Alison Gaylin
- About the Publisher
Robin smiled. She took her hand. “It was probably just the drugs,” she said.
“No,” she said. “It’s your father.”
“Mom?”
“Him being gone, I mean. He’s been a part of me for all these years. He’s known me longer than anybody and I feel like . . .” Tears streamed down her face. “He was my anchor. He kept me in place.” Her eyes fluttered and closed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me with him gone. I don’t know where I’m going to go . . .”
Robin kissed her cheek, took her hand in hers. “You still have me,” she said.
“Yes,” her mother said as she drifted off to sleep. “Yes, Robbie. And the truth is, you’re all I’ve ever really wanted.”
Robin backed away from her mother’s bed and headed toward the elevators, taking one downstairs to the cafeteria. On her way down, she thought about the weather, about upcoming summer action movies and this week’s column and what she planned on wearing tomorrow or the next day, when she finally returned to work. She thought about nothing important, nothing worth remembering because sometimes, not remembering was best.
Twenty-Five
June 17, 1976
11:30 P.M.
Dear Aurora Grace,
We’re at prom now. Well, not prom. We’re at Pullman Park, where everybody goes after prom. Gabriel and I have kept up with our plan to come here together, but for different reasons now. We are here to get a new car.
After Officer Nelligan, we found a gas station and parked our car behind it. We took turns, Gabriel and I, cleaning up in the restrooms, changing into our prom clothes in order to fit in. We are here now. “Just two prom kids in love, looking for a place to park.” Gabriel says this over and over, trying to hypnotize us both into believing it, as if the two of us believing that we’re “just two prom kids in love” is the important thing. Gabriel is wearing a burgundy sports coat he swiped from JCPenney over a checked plaid shirt and jeans. His bleached blond hair makes him think he can pass for a surfer boy, and maybe he can from a distance, but up close he looks deranged. I am wearing the dress I shoplifted, and I’ve pinned my jagged orange hair behind my ears. I’m wearing mascara and blush and so much Bonne Bell Lip Smacker, the whole car smells of strawberry. But every time I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, I don’t see a prom girl. I see a murderer.