Page 81 of The One Before

“I told him to stop,” I say, lifting the gun again. “Move away from him.”

“You’re a crazy old woman,” Josephine shouts, while obeying my order. She stands, leaving her son on the floor to cup his wound. “Can’t you move on with your life and leave us to ours?”

“You’re a mother,” I say. “You know the answer to that.”

“You shot my son!” Josephine shouts.

“Your son killed my daughter!” I scream, and now I’m crying, too. “Don’t you have any sympathy for what I’ve been through? For what your family has done to me all these years?”

For a moment, she sobs, but then she recovers. That arrogant attitude is back and there’s nothing but rage reverberating between us. Josephine charges, catching me off guard. Her body pummels into my abdomen, knocking me off my feet and slinging the gun from my hands. I don’t have time to retrieve it. I’m too busy fighting off Josephine’s blows. We both stop when we hear Roman’s voice. He’s standing, holding the gun in his hands.

“Shoot her, Roman,” Josephine yells. “Shoot both of them.”

Madison, her arms still bound in front, moves back. She stares at the gun.

Roman releases a deep breath. Tears snake down his cheek as he looks between his mother and me. “This isn’t right.”

“It’s not about what’s right. It must be done,” Josephine says. “To protect your brother. To protect me.”

“I’m not doing this.” He lowers his hand and places the gun on the floor. Using his foot, he kicks the gun, not in the direction of his mother, but to Madison.

Madison lifts the weapon shakily. It’s hard for her to grip it with her bound hands, but once she has it, she runs into the kitchen. Josephine tries to chase after her, but I grab her leg, pulling her down.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asks her son, equal parts furious and shocked.

“Changing.” He walks to the bar cart by the fireplace and pours a stiff drink. He sits on the sofa. “I’m not going to be an accomplice to this anymore.”

Madison returns from the kitchen. She’s not holding the gun, probably having hidden it somewhere, and she’s unfastened her restraints. She searches the living room, sorting through the mess we’ve made until she finds her phone. We listen as she provides the 911 operator with an address and the names of all the people inside. Every few seconds, Josephine tries to move again, but I pin her down, until she’s finally too tired to move.

“How could you do this?” Josephine whines. “I’m your mother.”

“I’m your son,” Roman says, swallowing the last of his drink. “How could you do this to me?”

Their exchange references more than what has happened tonight. If what Madison says is true, they’d planned on killing her, eliminating the one person who could send Cooper to jail. Roman reaches into his pocket, pulls out a zip-tie and tosses it to Madison.

Madison comes closer, helping me hold Josephine down long enough to fasten the plastic around her wrists. At least now Josephine no longer has the same range of motion, although I think she’s exhausted her will to fight. She turns away from us, her body flat against the floor, and cries.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” I ask Madison. There’s still a lot of fear in the room. Every minute that passes feels dangerous and unsure.

“I’m fine,” she says, still out of breath. Her eyes dance between Roman and Josephine, making sure they’re still docile. She looks back at me with tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”

I squeeze her hand, sensing my own tears are about to break free. “Thank you. It couldn’t have been easy.”

We hug. As she pulls from my embrace, we hear sirens in the distance. The police are coming.

Sixty-Six

Madison

Three Months Later

I’m watching her. Helena.

She stumbles over the small dunes of sand on the uneven beach. There’s a circle of mourners already waiting, each one nodding as she passes. She’s carrying a gilded urn. Laura’s body was found in Whisper Lake.

Helena holds hands with a man, maybe it’s her ex-husband, and they walk to the water. They stand still, the weak waves lapping at their calves. I think they’re praying. After several minutes, they walk back to the sand, joining the other gatherers. Each person takes turns speaking, sharing happy stories about Laura and revealing the impact she had on their lives. Former neighbors and teachers and classmates. She was clearly loved.

The wake ends and people walk their separate ways. As Helena exits the beach, she spots me sitting on my bench at the sidewalk. She pauses, then walks closer. She’s wearing white, her dress damp from the knees down. I stand, and we hug.

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