My phone springs to life on my lap, a flurry of texts from Chet. I scroll through the messages.

Sorry I disappeared on you, but you won’t flipping believe who I ran into.

Grant! Sienna’s Twitter friend. And he had a LOT to say. He’s working on a podcast.

Actually maybe I should tell you in person. It’s kinda bad.

Leaving now, call you from the car.

Paul’s been blowing up my phone FYI.

That last one he follows up with an emoji with its mouth zipped shut, and I relax a little against the cushion. Chet is on the way, and Paul still has no idea where I am.

“What about the investigation?” Micah says, dragging my attention away from my phone. “You must have seen the cops coming around. They didn’t question you?”

I give him a rueful smile. “You think the cops came around? How cute.” I wrinkle my nose at his expression, bury it in my tea. “Sorry. I know he’s your dad and all, but that investigation was a joke. Nobody looked very hard for Bobby. They closed the case after only a couple of days. He wasn’t even officially declared dead until they found his skeleton in his car. Ask Jamie. She’s still salty about it.”

“Who’s Jamie?”

“Bobby’s sister. She lived in his trailer for a while, and she was always looking out for me and Chet, feeding us, letting us hang out at her place when our mother would go missing, which was all the time. I just saw her, actually. Somebody’s been buying her stuff, paying for her medical supplies, taking care of her yard service. My first thought was Jax, but where would he get the money?”

“From the bank. He has stacks of it from the trust fund his mother left him.”

“But then why would Paul give Jax all that cash and hand-me-downs? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You don’t remember anything else?”

“Not really.” But even as I say it, I get a flash.

Shut up, Charlie. Get your butt back inside.

I close my eyes, trying to put myself back there, in that grubby trailer park on the ugly side of the lake, in the dirt yard littered with trash and cigarette butts and somebody’s smelly old sofa. I hear my own cries and Chet’s wails, get a whiff of pine tree and dirty diaper. I feel Chet squirming against my chest and the sharp pang of hunger tearing at my belly. The burn of shame, of disgust and self-pity when our mother was wasted again.

Bobby laughed at her. I hear his mean chuckle, those ugly words he used to mock her. He called her a crazy bitch. I hear the words clear as day, and other voices, laughing. There were others, too, and they were laughing.