Page 65 of Good Half Gone

Leo laughs good-naturedly at my comment. “Will I, now?” His eyes are dancing. “Strange thing to say to a psychologist, isn’t it?”

“True. You’re the last person who’d think I’m crazy,” I admit.

He bows his head in thanks.

“Four years ago, I was going through my grandmother’s photo albums. She’d written little captions and dates next to everything.I noticed that some of the photos were missing, and the captions were scratched out…pretty aggressively.”

The bartender comes by and Leo orders for us.

“So,” I continue, “I remember seeing photos when I was going through my sister’s things and seeing photos like the ones missing. I haven’t had the guts to look through that stuff again, but I’m pretty sure there’s a common denominator between the photos that stayed in the album and the ones she took out.”

“Where were the photos taken?”

“Church, church concerts, church picnics, church camping trips. My grandmother never missed a Sunday.”

“So what’s the common denominator?”

Two identical drinks appear in front of us. Leo slides one over. We click glasses before I take a sip, wincing as the bourbon hits the back of my throat.

I look around. There are a handful of drinkers—three men in construction gear with pints in front of them, and an old guy in a fedora staring into a glass of red wine like he’s looking for a fly. Leo is still waiting for my answer. I take another sip and try not to make a face; I am more comfortable making drinks than drinking them.

“He was the youth pastor.”

“You think she took all of the photos of the youth pastor out of the album? Why would she do that?”

“I think they were having sex. The caring youth pastor and the love-starved girl. He groomed Piper, and he had plenty of time to do it. She spent weekends at his house babysitting his kid. I thought it was weird that she wanted to go over there. These people didn’t even have a TV in their house. They were super Christian.”

I’m down to the last sip of my drink and feeling it. Leo is looking at me with a mixture of worry and pity. I don’t like it. I feel the need to defend my case.

“His wife was young—like not pedophile young, but almost.She couldn’t have been more than nineteen at the time—eighteen when she got pregnant with his baby.”

I lick my lips. I think of the notes Piper scribbled to Susannah in the margins of church programs…the way her entire personality changed right before she disappeared. She was my twin, my good half, I knew her better than anyone on the planet. Something happened between that doughy-faced youth pastor and my fifteen-year-old sister. Overwhelmed to tears, I toss back the last of my drink and immediately regret it. My stomach rolls and I break out in a sweat. Leo, who has barely touched his drink, looks at me in concern.

“You okay?”

“I don’t feel great,” I admit. He studies my face and nods. Turning to the bartender, he motions for the check.

“Let’s get out of here.”

He pays the tab while I go to the bathroom. He’s waiting for me near the host stand. Under the dim, warm glow of the lobby’s chandelier.

We leave my car parked on the street, and I give Leo my address. He types the address into his phone and shows me the screen to make sure he got it right. The hospital tries to call him. Surprisingly he sends it to voicemail. He drives me home. It only takes a few minutes to get to Gran’s at this time of day. When I open my eyes, we’re on Gran’s street.

Chapter21

I Tell Leonot to pull into the driveway. He slows on the street and I hop out, lifting my hand in a reluctant wave before I head up. I’m embarrassed. Drinking and oversharing, could I be any more charming? I don’t see it until I’m right in front of the door. Stuck to the black paint with a bit of tape is a white envelope withPiper Walshprinted on a label. Color drains from my vision and my knees feel weak. Spinning around, I put my back to the door, my eyes scanning the small front yard.

Hedges taller than I am run the length of the property, so thick they create a soundproof panel between a bus road and Gran’s rambler. It wasn’t possible that someone squeezed through the hedges, so whoever left the envelope on the door had to walk up the driveway, then around the side of the house to get to the front door. I get chills. The envelope is thin and flat. I’m grappling with opening it now or waiting until I have a moment alone inside. I feel sick, but I have a feeling that whatever is inside of the envelope will make me feel worse.

Cal decides for me, throwing open the front door, and I jump in surprise. The smile drops off his face as he looks at me in question. My heart lifts a little at the sight of him.

“Hi,” I say, stuffing the envelope into the side pocket of my backpack. I can’t have Cal asking questions, not yet.

“Why is your face like that?” His hand is still on the doorknob, blocking my way into the house.

I smile big, big, bigger—and tickle him under the arm to make him let go. He laughs half-heartedly and steps aside, frowning.

“I was in deep thought and you surprised me, that’s all.”

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