The Children's Secret Read online

  The lieutenant looks down at her notes. “Bryar?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, while the children were in the stable, the adults were in the house—all of them?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “So, no one saw what happened?”

  “No. Only the children.”

  Kaitlin notices that the detectives and police officers have started separating the parents and children into groups to gather more information. One of the police officers goes over to Eva, Lily, and Bryar. Bryar stares down at his sneakers, not saying a word.

  “And you’re sure the children were on their own?” asks the lieutenant. “There wasn’t anyone else?”

  “Yes, that’s what I said.”

  Lieutenant Mesenberg looks around. “This property is wide open—could there have been an intruder?”

  “An intruder? No …” But then she hesitates. How can she know, for sure? How can she know anything any more? “I don’t think so.”

  “When you got to the stable, you didn’t see anyone suspicious? Someone who shouldn’t have been there?”

  Astrid Carver. That’s the first name that comes into Kaitlin’s head. She shouldn’t have been there. But that’s not what the lieutenant’s asking.

  Kaitlin shakes her head. “No.”

  “Tell me about your husband—Mr. Wright.”

  “My husband?”

  “He wasn’t at the party?”

  “He arrived late. He was working. He arrived just as—”

  If only Ben had turned up even a few seconds before, none of this would have happened.

  “Just as?” the lieutenant prompts. “You said he arrived just as what?”

  “He was getting out of his car as we were coming out of the house—when we heard the gunshot.”

  “So, your husband was outside when the gun was fired?” The lieutenant pauses. “You’re sure of that?”

  “I don’t remember. It happened so fast. We were trying to get to the kids. Ben was the first to see that one of them had been injured. He’s trained to notice—to help in situations like this.”

  “So, he was ahead of you?”

  “Yes. I believe so. Why don’t you ask him? He’ll know—”

  “My team is questioning him, Mrs. Wright. I need to hear it from you.” The lieutenant holds Kaitlin’s gaze. “Is it conceivable that your husband could have been in the stable when the pistol was fired?” She speaks slowly and deliberately.

  “No—no. It wasn’t like that.” Kaitlin’s heart hammers. The lieutenant is getting it all wrong.

  The lieutenant closes her notebook and places a hand on Kaitlin’s arm. “I’m just trying to get the facts, Mrs. Wright.”

  Kaitlin swallows again, pushing the fear down her throat.

  “When you first came into the stable, did you see any of the children holding a firearm?”

  “No. Not that I saw.”

  “Were all the children there—in the stable?”

  “Yes.” She thinks back. She has a vague memory of Laila running in after the adults. But maybe she was there already? And Phoenix. It was always hard to locate him. “I think so.”

  Lieutenant Mesenberg takes off her glasses and locks eyes with Kaitlin.

  “Everything was happening so fast. It was confusing. Quite a few of the families had left already. But I believe the children who were meant to be there were all in the stable.” She pauses. “Except—” She doesn’t know whether or not she should say it.

  “Except?” the lieutenant prompts.

  She has to say it.

  “Except Astrid Carver. She wasn’t meant to be there.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  6.40 p.m.

  PRISCILLA RUNS THROUGH the parking lot outside the ER, ignoring the police officers who are calling after her to wait. The ones who drove her here in their car, their sirens ringing out into the darkening sky.

  It’s started raining—thick, heavy drops. She wipes her face with the palms of her hand and pushes through the glass doors. By the time she gets to the nurses at the reception desk, she’s so breathless she can barely get the words out.

  “My daughter—” A sob rises in her throat.

  She cried the whole way here. Hot tears streaming down her cheeks, like she’d been storing them up for years.

  The nurses exchange a look.

  They know. Of course they know.

  She feels a nurse touching her arm.

  “Why don’t you take a seat,” the nurse says, helping Priscilla into a chair. “Could I call someone for you?”

  She thinks about Peter. She should have called him right away when she heard from the lieutenant: before she left the cottage—or from the car. Because no matter what a mess their relationship is in, they’re still Astrid’s parents. But she couldn’t say the words: our daughter’s been shot.

  “No. It’s just me.”

  As the nurse turns away, Priscilla notices a familiar face in the waiting room. The man with the pale blue eyes and the dreadlocked hair turns to look at her.

  “True?” she says.

  For a moment, she doesn’t understand what he’s doing here.

  And then she sees the expression on his face, and suddenly, she does.

  DAY TWO

  Monday, September 2

  Labor Day

  CHAPTER

  12

  2 a.m.

  BRYAR STANDS AT the window of the spare room in Rev Avery’s house. He can’t sleep. He feels like he’s never going to be able to sleep again, not after this.

  You can’t stay in the house, Lieutenant Mesenberg had explained to Mom. We need to gather evidence.

  It was past midnight when they let the kids and the grown-ups go, saying they’d do more interviews tomorrow.

  They’d kept Dad at the police station for more questioning, though. Bryar keeps hoping he’ll hear Dad’s truck pulling into the church parking lot.

  Sheets of rain pour from the sky. There are puddles and rivulets around the church; water rushes along the brook that runs through town. Far off, there’s a rumble of thunder. And then a flash of lightning.

  Bryar wonders whether they’re still there; the police officers with the metal detectors who stayed behind at the stable to search for the gun. And the dog they brought in, the one who was trained to find things. Drugs. Guns.

  Bryar’s eyes drift up the valley. The ambulance would have taken Wynn and Astrid to Colebrook; Middlebrook was too small to have a hospital of its own.

  Sounds and pictures flicker through his mind.

  The gunshot.

  Lucy bucking, knocking Wynn over and then running out of the stable.

  And Astrid—lying in the straw, all that blood coming out of her body.

  His throat goes tight.

  When he saw her walking into the stable, he’d thought that her mom had let her come to the party after all. That maybe they could be friends again.

  But that wasn’t why Astrid Carver came. She came to make him feel small in front of the others. And he wasn’t going to let her do that, not this time.

  * * *

  The Sayed twins lie awake, curled into each other, their brains spinning from all the questions the detectives asked them at the stable. They didn’t want to sleep in separate beds, not tonight.

  There’s a clap of thunder. And a few seconds later, lightning blinks through the gap in their curtains. Their house is the tallest on the street. Whenever there’s a storm, they worry that it will get hit and catch fire.

  They squeeze each other’s hands tighter.

  Their bedroom door is open. Mom left the light on, on the landing, like when they were little and they lived in Lahore.

  Dad went to have a shower while Mom was putting them to bed. He didn’t even say goodnight.

  When Mom phoned Dad to tell him what had happened at the party, he came charging into the police station, still in his fluorescent jacket and his big dusty boots from the construction sit
e. They thought he’d hug them or hug Mom, like Mr. Day had hugged Lily and Mrs. Day when he showed up. But Dad just stood there, in silence, waiting for the police to say that they could go.

  They left Mom’s car at the station so they could drive home together in Dad’s truck. The twins wish that Dad had let them go home with Mom on their own, because for the whole drive he kept asking Mom shouty questions like why she’d put their family in this position and why she’d gone against Dr. Carver’s advice about the party and didn’t she know that the mosque was opening in six days.

  They drove past a bunch of people standing by the side of the road, bunched together with cameras and microphones and vans with satellite dishes and a police car guarding them. Dad thumped the steering wheel and said, Great. That’s all we need.

  And then he went on about how it was bound to get out, the twins being involved in this. And how it was bad timing for the opening of the mosque.

  Mom said sorry, over and over.

  But Dad didn’t listen to her sorrys. He just drove too fast and kept shaking his head.

  After a while, Mom said, The twins are safe, that’s the main thing, Ayaan.

  But that made him madder because he said that wasn’t the point.

  The twins had thought that maybe they should say something to make Dad less angry at Mom. They should tell him that none of this was Mom’s fault. But they were scared of making it worse. So they stayed quiet.

  * * *

  Through the open door, the twins hear Mom pacing around the kitchen downstairs. And then they hear her open the closet where they keep their coats and shoes and after that, the front door clicks shut behind her and they know she’s going out for one of her walks to the woods.

  They think of Mom walking under dripping trees.

  And of Dad, lying asleep alone in their big bed.

  In Lahore, Mom and Dad used to do things together. They’d hold hands. And they’d kiss when they said goodbye and hello. But ever since they moved to America, it’s like they’re always finding excuses to be away from each other.

  The twins have tried to get to sleep, but whenever they close their eyes, the pictures come back: of that pistol being handed round. Of Astrid getting shot. Of the horse screaming. Of Wynn lying against the side of the stall, his arm all twisted. And of Laila running out to Mom’s car just before the grown-ups came out of the house.

  “Laila?” Hanif whispers into his sister’s ear. “What did you do with it?”

  “It’s okay. You don’t need to worry.”

  “But—”

  “It’s best if you don’t know, Hanif. Just trust me, okay?”

  “Okay.” He nods in the dark, and then curls in closer to his sister.

  They thought that one of the detectives might ask questions about why Laila wasn’t in the stable with the others, but so far, no one seems to remember that she wasn’t there the whole time.

  Maybe they’ll ask tomorrow.

  Or maybe, if the twins are lucky, they’ll forget about it.

  Maybe, if they’re really lucky—maybe if they can keep quiet long enough—all this will go away.

  And they’ll stop feeling like this is their fault.

  * * *

  Deep in the Middlebrook woods, Skye lies awake, listening to the rain falling through the tall pines. The cabin has never felt so empty. Dad and Wynn are still at the hospital. It’s only her and Phoenix and Lumen, their dog.

  The cabin is just one big room. At night, Dad pushes together a bunch of mattresses for them to sleep on. He built the cabin when he found out Mom was pregnant with Skye: he said he wanted their family to live as close to nature as possible. And to each other. He said there was no need for walls and doors, not between people who love each other.

  Lily’s parents drove her and Phoenix home from the police station. Mrs. Day offered to make some food and to stay the night with them, but Skye said that they’d be fine on their own. She’d take care of things.

  On the mattress beside her, Phoenix’s limbs twitch under the sheets. He hasn’t said a word since the accident. Not to the police. Not to her. The last time he stopped talking like this was when Mom died.

  Ever since Lily and her parents left the cabin, Skye’s been desperate to ask Phoenix more questions about what happened in the stable while she and Cal were outside.

  Cal had wanted to give her one of his drawings. And then she’d kissed him and the world around them had disappeared. She remembers the feel of his lips against hers. And then, she’d pulled back, jolted by a voice she recognized, shouting in the stable.

  There was only one girl in town who spoke like that: as if she was better than everyone else. As if she was in charge.

  Skye knew that Astrid Carver wasn’t meant to be at the party. And from the raised voices, she knew that she was causing trouble.

  So she jumped up and ran into the stable. She could feel Cal running close behind her, trying to catch her hand, but she pulled away from him.

  And then it all went wrong. Horribly wrong.

  She looks up at the wooden beams of the cabin and thinks of Wynn’s small body, limp against hers. Of how twisted his little arm looked. Where was Phoenix when their brother got hurt? And what had happened while Skye was outside the stable with Cal?

  She’s seen Phoenix around Astrid. How he tries to show off. How he thinks they’re the same just because they don’t like being around other people. She’s worried he did something to try and impress her. Something stupid.

  She wishes she could call Dad to ask about Wynn, but the police took everyone’s cell phones for evidence.

  Her throat goes thick and she knows she’s about to cry but she swallows hard so that the tears stay down. She clenches her fists under the sheet. She doesn’t get to cry, not when she’s the one who messed up.

  She pushes away the bedsheets and stands up.

  Lumen skitters toward her and presses her warm body against Skye’s calves. She follows her out onto the deck.

  They sit on the steps and look out into the dark woods.

  Thick drops of rain fall onto her bare arms. Mist rises from the damp earth.

  Far off, there’s a rumble in the night sky. Rain clouds drift over the pines.

  She thinks she sees something moving between the trees—a wild animal, perhaps; a deer or a bear. Only it looks more upright than an animal would be. Surely no one would be out here in this weather?

  With Lumen beside her, Skye walks down the porch steps toward the stream. The riverbank has been dry for months because of the drought. But with all the rain that’s fallen in the last few hours, it’s filling up fast. For the first time in months, there’s enough of a current to sweep the dark water through the woods into Middlebrook Pond.

  She and Cal had planned to go for a swim here this afternoon, just the two of them; one last stolen moment together in the pond before school kicked in.

  She pulls a scrunched-up piece of paper out of her pocket and smooths it out. He’d wanted to give it to her—that’s why he’d asked her to go out of the stable with him. He’d painted her face. And, for the first time, looking at the picture, she’d seen what people meant when they said she looked like Mom. It had made her so happy, as if somehow Cal knew Mom, even though he’d never met her.

  A lump pushes up her throat.

  If Skye hadn’t been so focused on Cal—if they hadn’t left the stable together—none of this would have happened.

  How stupid she’d been to think that she could have anything for herself. But that’s over now. She’ll let him know that they’re finished. She won’t let anything distract her ever again from taking care of her family.

  She rips up the painting and lets it drop to the wet ground. The colors bleed out of the paper.

  The rain falls more heavily now.

  And there’s a clap of thunder.

  Lumen yowls.

  She looks up too, rain falling on her face.

  “I’m sorry, Mom!” she cries out to the d
ark, thundery sky.

  * * *

  In the rectory, the big house next to the church, Abi walks into Cal’s bedroom. It’s the first time they’ve had rooms of their own—rooms with name plates and nice furniture that matches.

  She sits on the end of the bed.

  “Cal …” she whispers.

  His body is curled up, facing the wall.

  He doesn’t answer.

  Abi reaches over and tries to take Cal’s hand, but he shifts his body away from her.

  Abi’s eleven and Cal’s thirteen. But they’ve never felt it, those two years. They don’t remember a time when they weren’t together.

  It’s the one thing they’d always fought for: that they wouldn’t be separated.

  She looks up at the rain smacking the skylight. Every few minutes, a flash lights up the room.

  In Roxbury, the noises from the city were so loud that they drowned out the rain.

  In Roxbury, everything was different.

  Bad different.

  Which is why they’d promised each other that, this time, they’d make sure they got to stay: they’d be so good that Avery would want to keep them for ever. They weren’t stupid: they knew they’d never find a place as good as this again.

  Cal was going to work on his painting. It’s the one thing that everyone always focused on—how talented he was. How, if he applied himself, he could maybe go to art school one day. As soon as they came to Middlebrook, Avery had introduced him to the art teacher at Brook Middle School.

  And Abi, she’d just work at staying out of trouble. Like not getting wound up if a kid asked about their mom or where they were from or why they didn’t have a proper family like everyone else.

  That girl who came into the barn, she’d tried to wind Abi up once. Her mom took her to church every Sunday and when Rev Avery introduced them, because they were the same age, Astrid had turned round to her mom and said, Roxbury—isn’t that where all the junkies live?

  She’d said it loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Abi had wanted to punch Astrid in the face, but she’d held it together. And after that, she’d made a point of staying out of her way.