Page 27 of One of Our Own

Except that didn’t matter. He’d still turned out bad. Not cheating on a test or shoplifting bad. This was vile. I always thought of myself as a good mom. Being Hunter’s mom was as natural to me as breathing. It was the thing I was best at. And now he’d turned bad. Or he’d always been bad. I didn’t know. Nothing made sense anymore.

I didn’t notice I was crying until I wiped the tears on the back of my sleeve. I rolled down the window, sticking my head out like a dog. There wasn’t enough air. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“It’ll be okay. You’ll get through this,” Stan assured me, just like I’d assured Chloe. I thought back to that first conversation, which felt like a lifetime ago. Telling her that everything would be okay. I didn’t believe him any more than she’d believed me.

What would happen to Hunter? Would I have to pay for his trial? His lawyers? I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to do any of that. He was dangerous, and if he was found guilty, he deserved to go to jail.

Would I keep him in my house? Even if he did serve time, what would I do when he got out? Would he turn on me, angry for turning him in? What kind of violence was he capable of? How far would he go? My thoughts chased themselves in circles.

“You’re going to get through this,” Stan said again, because what else could he say? I didn’t have a choice to stop beingHunter’s mom. Even though I wanted to. In that moment, I’d never wanted anything more.

Within minutes, we were back at my house, but I couldn’t get out of the car. Stan came around and opened the door for me. He held out his arm. I shook my head, but I had to get up. We both knew that. My legs were lead as he escorted me down the sidewalk and toward the house. Would Hunter run if he saw me with Stan? I couldn’t predict any of his behavior. I didn’t even know him anymore. Had I ever? That was the saddest part. I almost crumpled on the sidewalk.

“I’ve got you,” Stan said. One hand on my elbow. The other on my back.

I turned to look at him right before we stepped inside. “What happens if he doesn’t go?”

“Then I arrest him.”

I gulped and we moved into the house without another word. It was quiet inside, but Hunter’s backpack and shoes were at the door. He was definitely home.

“Hunter?” I called out. My voice weak and wavery. He’d know from the sound of it that something was wrong. “Can you come downstairs for a sec?”

His footsteps thundered above us and then he appeared at the top of the stairs. He froze when he saw me standing in the entryway with Stan. I couldn’t speak.

“Hey, Hunter,” Stan said like he’d just stopped by to visit after work, like it was any other day. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’ve been at the school talking with some of your classmates and friends about the assault on Chloe Danes. We haven’t had a chance to talk to you about the incident, so I’d like it if you’d come down to the station with me and your mom to answer some questions.”

Hunter crossed his arms on his chest defiantly and stared down at us with a huge scowl on his face. “I already told my mom—I don’t remember anything about that night.”

“It’s protocol, since you were at the party. We’re interviewing everyone who was there that night. We can talk about all that down at the station,” Stan said, maintaining a neutral tone and stance.

Hunter shook his head. “I’m not going to the police station with you.” He shook it again. “No, I’m not going down there. I already told you what I know.”

“Hunter, you don’t have a choice,” I said, finally finding my voice.

He glared at me, and turned around like he was going to head back to his room. Stan dashed up the stairs before he could get far and grabbed his arm. He whipped him around.

“You’re coming with me.” Stan’s tone wasn’t neutral this time. He meant business. I’d never heard him sound more like a police officer than in that moment.

Suddenly, Hunter realized what was happening, and his eyes searched mine for understanding. Waiting for me to make it better. To do something to help him, because that’s what I did. That was my job. I was his mother.

I spoke quietly, my voice almost a whisper. “I took all the underwear I found in your closet to the police, and they ran the DNA.”

His mouth hung open as he read the betrayal stamped all over my face. He knew exactly what I had done. What it meant. He slowly closed his mouth. His eyes narrowed to slits. A darkness clouded his features.

And in that moment, something inside of him died. Right in front of my eyes. It was as if Stan had showed up at my door and told me there’d been a terrible accident, and my son hadn’t survived. The person I thought I knew, who I loved so fiercely, was gone.

The only thing left to do was cry.

EPILOGUE

Six months later

I stood in the living room surveying the boxes stacked against the walls. All of them sealed with tape and labeled with black marker by what was inside. The movers would be here in twenty minutes. I’d been so nervous working up to this day. How would I feel when I left the home I raised my son in?

I couldn’t help picturing all that had once been here. The hallway leading from the living room into the family room that proudly displayed Hunter’s artwork and achievements. I started doing it in preschool and never stopped. I thought about the office on the other end of the second floor that had gone through three rounds of remodeling as the house aged right along with us. First an office, then a baby’s room, and back to an office after he’d moved down the hallway into the bedroom across from me. The walls in the family room that we’d painted together. Twice. The fireplace where we’d hung our stockings every Christmas. Hunter leaving milk and cookies out for Santa, no matter how old he was. The refrigerator covered in pictures. Old school photos we still printed out and hung with magnets.

But all that was gone.

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