Page 52 of The Debutantes
I want to argue, scream that he’s wrong, but I can’t. Because he’s hit me with the one thing I can’t ever ignore: logic.
If what Mom said is true, then Lily reallydidrun away. Maybe she just changed her mind about meeting us at the Den. And the Margot stuff… it’s like I told April: we don’t have proof. The Jester threatened us, obviously, but that doesn’t mean it has to do with Margot or Lily or some kind of murder cover-up at all. What if it’s only because we’re three girls someplace we’re not supposed to be, getting our hands dirty with the secrets of powerful men? And maybe those secrets aren’t as dark as they seem. Maybe it’s only what we saw with our own eyes: men with younger women, men behaving badly. They do the same thing in the broad light of day, sometimes, unmasked and unafraid. It doesn’t mean they killed anyone, or that they made a girl disappear.
Does it?
Dad gets up from the couch, pulling me into a tight hug.
“We love you,” he says. “You and Wyatt are what’s most important. And your mom and I, we just want you to be okay.” He lets go, holding me by the shoulders. “So maybe you just give this thing a rest, okay? Try to focus on school, on getting ready for next year.”
I glance at Mom, and I can see it in her eyes, too, even if she doesn’t say it. It’s never been as easy for her, the mushy stuff—it’s where I get it from—but I know she loves me, even if her way of showing it is different: all hard protective edges to Dad’s gooey middle.
And that’s why I have to make them proud.
“Okay,” I say.
Dad smiles. “That’s my girl.”
In spite of everything, a little ember of pride flickers in my chest.
“Now,” he says, with a little clap. “I need my beauty sleep. How about we all get some rest, huh?”
I nod weakly.
He kisses my head. “’Night, peanut.”
He starts toward their bedroom, and Mom follows, smoothing my hair as she passes. Her touch is gentle enough that I want to cry, but I tighten my throat, forcing myself not to fall apart.
“Good night, Pipes,” she says. “Don’t stay up too late.”
With that, they disappear down the hall. I trudge up to my room alone, exhaustion mingling with a quickly growing certainty: Margot’s death was an accident, and anything else is just wishful thinking, a desperate search for answers that don’t exist. And Lily—this whole time, I’ve been thinking she was trying to tell us something important, that she needs us to find her. But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Because Lily would never wantmy help. Not after what happened last time. And especially not if she knew what I’ve really done.
The Jester was right. All we’ll get from digging is a mess we can’t clean up.
Flopping down on my bed, I check my phone. There are a handful of new messages in our group chat, the first from Vivian.
Everyone home safe?
And then April’s response:
Yeah
Piper, you made it?
I press like on the message.
It occurs to me, as I watch the little thumbs-up appear in its bubble, that no one besides my parents ever sent me a “home safe?” text. And then, finally, humiliatingly, I start to cry.
18APRIL
JANUARY 1, 12:00P.M.
We meet on the levee. It’s empty, just like Piper expected: on a nice day like today, most people will be a few blocks away in Audubon Park, starting off their New Year’s resolutions with an optimistic jog or pushing their kids around in expensive European strollers. There, it’s gorgeous, all green trees and Spanish moss.
Here, it’s as ugly as I remember. I haven’t been since Margot was alive, and as we climb, I pick out all the familiar little details. Forgotten beer cans, plastic wrappers, other detritus left behind on the grass. Cars rumbling behind us, the low hum of bugs. I keep my eyes on the trees—a few bursts of scraggly orange leaves, too little and too late for fall—and the Mississippi beyond as Margot’s voice echoes in my memory.
Y’all ever think about how the river could just kill you?
Back then it made me smile—such a classic Margot thing to say, bold and blunt but true. Now, though, it feels like some kind of omen. Because not too far off from here is where they found her car.
