“Do you know…?” Her voice breaks, and she clears her throat again and again. She’s trying so hard to hold it together, and I want to tell her she doesn’t have to, that she can break, that I’ll help pick up the pieces, but no words come. “There were so many times I wished he didn’t exist. And now that he doesn’t…all I want is to see him one more time.” She puts her hands over her face. “Jesus. I’ve never said that out loud. How fucking awful am I?”

“Hey. Do you know how many times I’ve wished my mom would just disappear?” I ask.

About a trillion. Last year, when she took the case and my life became a living hell, I spent ninety percent of my waking hours wishing I’d been born into a different family, a different life. “It’s normal. I know it’s hard to realize that right now, but it’s normal to think that way. I promise.”

“Yeah. I guess.” She stares blankly into the room, like her mind is a million miles from here. “You know, the weekend before everything, he showed up at this party where I was. At least, that’s the story according to some people.” Her face pales. She rubs her temples like she has a horrible headache.

Whoa. “Jesus. That’s…” I don’t even know how to end that sentence. Goose bumps rise on my arms. I wrinkle my forehead. “What do you mean ‘some people’?”

She shakes her head. “I mean”—her nostrils flare— “my ex-boyfriend. This guy Miles. He told me that. A few days after the shooting. He claimed that he saw David. With me. That we were talking.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “That night, I wasn’t exactly in my right mind. I don’t remember much of anything after the first hour.” Some expression crosses her face, but it’s gone before my brain can register it. “I was drunk. Like, really drunk. Blacked out.” Her eyes meet mine, and they’re narrow, defensive, like she thinks I’m going to judge her. I make sure my expression remains impassive. “It wasn’t a onetime thing either. I had my first drink in ninth grade, and I liked it. Too much, probably. My friend Chim, too. The two of us were at every party, drinking, popping whatever was handed to us. My ex”—she pauses for a moment, then pushes forward—“Miles. He was part of the problem. If you talked to him, he’d try to convince you that he’s this pillar of decency, but I hear things, even now—him at parties, with his fucking friends from the soccer team—it’s like they think they’re going to live forever.” She gives a bitter laugh. “I used to think I would too.”