Page 7 of Everyone Here Is Lying
“Is that your daughter’s jean jacket?” Bledsoe asks.
She looks at it, as if confused. “Yes.”
“You said she was wearing it when she left for school today,” Bledsoe says.
“I thought she was. Maybe she wasn’t. I’m not sure.”
“What’s your morning routine like?” Gully asks. “Who gets her ready for school, sends her out the door in the morning?”
“We both do,” Erin explains. “It’s a bit chaotic in the morning. Michael and Avery leave for school together. I saw them leaving this morning and I’m pretty sure she was wearing that jacket.” Her face looks sallow beneath the harsh overhead light.
Gully looks at William. He’s frowning. He looks ill. “Dr. Wooler, do you remember?”
“I don’t know. I saw them leave, said goodbye, but”—he turns to his wife and shakes his head—“I don’t think she was wearing it this morning.” He adds, “But I don’t know, I’m not very observant, I’m afraid.” He avoids Gully’s eye, and she wonders why.
She glances toward the kitchen, sees Michael standing behind the police officer, silently watching. “Michael, come here a sec.”
He walks slowly into the hall, glancing nervously at his parents and the detectives.
Gully points at the jacket on the hook and asks him gently, “Was Avery wearing this jacket this morning when she went to school with you?”
He looks confused, wary. She waits for his response.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure,” he says.
He overheard his parents disagreeing about the jacket, she thinks. Is that why he’s afraid to give a proper answer? What is the subtext here in this family?
Erin turns to her son and says, “Think, Michael. Try to remember. It’s important. Was she wearing the jean jacket, or something else?”
Michael swallows and says, “She was wearing the jean jacket this morning.”
Gully glances at Bledsoe and understanding passes between them. Gully says, “Avery must have been back here, in the house, today.”
Bledsoe turns to the parents. “You’ve said they don’t come home for lunch. Does she have her own key?”
“No,” Erin says.
Into the strained silence, Michael speaks up, his voice reluctant, tremulous. “She knows about the key under the mat at the front door. She’s used it before.”
•••
William can feelthe sweat forming in his armpits, and his hands are clammy. He stares at his son. They all realize, now, that Avery was home, in the house, after school today. He should have admitted it before, when he first had the chance. He should have told them he was here earlier, that he saw her. But he hadn’t spoken up when he had the opportunity because he was afraid. Afraid of what they might think, the conclusions they might leap to. He’s lied to the police. He must have been in shock; he hadn’t been thinking clearly. He hadn’t been able to think at all. What if someone saw him, coming or going? He resists the urge to wipe his palms on his trousers. He should have told them he was here, and now it’s too late.
Gully says, “Thank you, Michael.”
Erin asks Michael, anxiety in her voice, “Has she done this before, come home without you?”
Michael looks down at the floor, his face pale, his lower lip quivering. “Just once. I wanted to stay at school with my friends and... I told her about the key.” He starts to cry. “It was just once, I swear.”
William is stricken anew at the sight of his son’s tears. He realizes that Michael might carry this with him for the rest of his life.The knowledge that if he hadn’t sent his sister home alone that one time and told her about the key, she probably wouldn’t have walked home by herself today, and none of this would have happened. Michael’s only twelve years old. William feels sick; he can’t move. But his wife bends down and folds their distraught son into her arms, shushing him, telling him that it’s going to be all right, that it’s not his fault.
William steals a glance at the detectives. Gully is looking thoughtful. She meets his eye, and he quickly averts his gaze. He feels like he’s under a microscope. He moves closer to Michael and puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, champ,” he says, his eyes suddenly filling up. This is unbearable. How will any of them survive it? It’s his fault. He should never have come home today.
The officer slips back into the kitchen and starts searching for coffee mugs. It breaks the tension, and they all move into the kitchen except for Bledsoe, who disappears into the living room, his cell phone already out to make the necessary calls. Gully follows him, but although William strains to hear what they say to each other, he can’t make it out.
Gully soon returns to the kitchen while William prepares coffee for the two detectives and the uniformed officer. He speaks up while his back is turned to the others. “If she came home after school, she must have gone out again,” he says.
Bledsoe appears at the door to the kitchen and announces, “They found her backpack in her locker at school.”
