Page 88 of The Golden Hour

There’s a beat of silence, then my mom, tears in her voice, whispers, “I know. I’m sorry, too. You’re coming home soon?”

I don’t bother reminding her I’ve never lived in Solstice Bay, because I understand what she’s saying. Home to her. Home to my family after years and years apart.

“Yes. I’m coming home.”

She sniffs. “Good. That’s really good.”

In the background, Molly yells, “Tell him he’s not welcome unless he brings my girl with him!”

“He heard you. And I second that.”

“McCowen women.” I sigh. “So bossy.”

“True enough,” my mom says with a chuckle. “Can’t wait to see you, Finn. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mom.”

I hang up with a strange mix of sadness and lightness. But maybe that’s what making amends feels like—regret is still there, but it’s fading as I shift the direction of my life. Now, instead of moving away from love, I’m moving toward it.

I do the dishes with a goofy smile on my face. Then I grab the spare apartment key and head to the manager’s office to break the lease on this craptastic apartment.

I’ve never been so ready to leave Los Angeles.

45

Fluorescent lights flicker along the walls of the bland hallway. Shoes squeak on faded linoleum as people pass me. All types of people, with passive faces, angry faces, withdrawn faces, brave faces… The children are the worst. After the first few, I can’t look at them anymore.

If my expression reflects what I feel, too, then I look terrified and twitchy. My heart jumps every time the distant door opens, hoping for a familiar face, but time is running out. I have to accept that she might not come.

“Miss? The inmate is ready.”

With a final glance down the hallway, I nod and follow the officer through another door. He leads me down a row of cubicles truncated by thick plexiglass. When we reach the third cubicle from the end, my knees turn to jelly. I half fall onto the chair, my hand instinctively grabbing the phone receiver on the wall.

Lizzie picks up on her end, smiling broadly.

“Oh my gosh, Calli, it’s so good to see you.”

When Wilson told me about the preliminary evaluation of Lizzie’s mental state, I didn’t want to believe her. Undiagnosed adolescent-onset conduct disorder. Antisocial personality disorder. But looking at her now, being confronted with her lack of appropriate emotion, severs the final tentacles of denial. The last time I saw her, she threatened to kill me.

My baby sister is a sociopath.

“Aww, Calli, don’t cry. I’m fine. I’ll be out of here in no time.”

I shake my head mutedly, choking on the debris of my broken heart, until someone removes the phone from my ear. Looking up, I see Ellie beside me. She came. She’s here. Thank you, I tell her with my eyes. She nods, then faces Lizzie and speaks into the phone.

“You’re not getting out.” Her voice has a veneer of calm, but her hand trembles. “You’ve killed innocent people. You slit Enzo’s throat in front of six cops. Even if you’re found guilty by reason of insanity, you’ll be imprisoned in a psychiatric hospital the rest of your life.”

Lizzie isn’t smiling anymore, her eyes hard as they shift between our faces. When she speaks, Ellie holds the receiver out so I can hear her.

“I was coerced,” she says with a shrug. “Brainwashed as a child. Killing Enzo was self-defense, anyway. He was going to shoot me. Call Hugo. He’ll figure it out.”

Ellie shakes her head. “Hugo is in jail.”

“Then hire someone else. It’s not like we’re short on money.”

“You really don’t get it, do you? Mom is going to prison for life. Franco and Enzo are dead. The police dug up Uncle Anthony’s ranch and found seventeen bodies, Lizzie! There isn’t enough money in the world to buy you out of this, and the sooner you realize that, the better.”

Lizzie dissolves into a raucous fit of laughter, the sound so out of place that she earns wary glances from the other inmates. Then she stops, so suddenly the hair on my neck stands up. Ellie shudders and grabs my hand, her fingers clammy.

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