Page 134 of The Design of Goodbye
I inspected them. A long-sleeve shirt and—“Sweatpants?Liam.”
“You could just wear the shirt,” he joked, and my face heated. I was not ready forthat. Yet. “I think it’ll be okay if I see you in sweatpants for one night,” he said. “They’ll keep you warm.”
While he got ready in his bathroom, I put on my pajamas for the night. The sweatpants were warm. They were Liam’s. And they were the best sweatpants I’d ever worn.
Hedefinitelywasn’t getting them back.
chapter forty-five
On Wednesday, Liam asked if I’d drive him somewhere after he got off work. I’d quickly agreed because he rarely asked me for something. I hadn’t been sure what to expect during the twenty-minute drive, but it hadn’t been Christmas lights. The neighborhood put every one my dad and I’d ever driven through to shame. Bright lights adorned every house and fence. Yards were covered in elaborate Christmas displays, and trees were decorated with ornaments and bright stars.
“Can you park in front of the house at the end of the street?” asked Liam.
With only three days until Christmas, the neighborhood was packed. But we were lucky—a free space was right where he’d requested. The house was cute, with icicle-shaped lights and an elaborate display of Santa sitting in his sleigh with his nine reindeer. Liam rested his forehead against the cold passenger window and stared.
“Liam,” I asked hesitantly after a few minutes of silence lapsed, “why did you want to come here?”
“My mom and I came here a lot last year.” He lowered the passenger window, and I pulled my coat tighter around me at the burst of cold air. “This house was her favorite,” he continued. “See that snowman?” He pointed out the window. It took me a few seconds to find it, but on the porch was a small wooden snowman with button eyes and a carrot nose. He was covered in glitter, making him shine bright against the lights. “Mom loved him. She came up with elaborate plans on how she was going to steal him.”
“You two were close,” I said. “Weren’t you?”
“Yeah.” He paused. “She didn’t know about Dad. She had no idea how bad he gets when it’s me and him.” He met my gaze. While the car was dark, we were surrounded by so many Christmas lights I could see him clearly. “I need you to know that.”
“Why didn’t you tell her?”
“Because,” he started, “living with him isn’t easy. She was as stuck as I am. It would’ve broken her.”
“I understand.”
“After the...”He cleared his throat. “After it happened, all I did was talk. The police, they needed to know everything, and I had to experience it over and over. The whole time I kept wondering, why? What’s the point?” He fumbled nervously with the zipper on his jacket. “He killed my mom. What else mattered?”
A couple walked by. A woman was carrying a baby on her chest and stopped when she saw Liam, concern etched on her face. Liam’s gaze dropped to his lap. I waved her off, attempting a smile.
Once they’d rounded the corner onto the next street, he said, “After, I promised myself I’d never talk about it again.” He stopped messing with his zipper and put his hands in his pockets. “I thought, if I didn’t talk, I’d forget it happened. That’s all that mattered to me. But,” he continued, voice wavering, “it didn’t work. Itisreal. She isn’t here. She’s gone.”
I softly traced my fingers over the back of his neck. “I wish—”
“Can I tell you what happened?”
My breath caught, my fingers falling away from his neck and onto his shoulder in surprise. “Do you want to?”
“I think I need to,” he said. “Other than with the police, I’ve never talked about it.”
“It makes me sad you had no one,” I said. “All those months.”
“Yeah, well...I have you now.”
“I’ll listen,” I said. “If that’s what you need.”
“Okay.” He unbuckled his seatbelt. He adjusted his position a few times, but he couldn’t seem to get comfortable and gave up. “My mom ordered me special watercolors for my birthday,” he began. “Dad never liked her spending money on things he didn’t approve of. During Christmas and birthdays, she would pay cash to get those prepaid credit cards and send gifts to a PO box a town over. It was our little secret.” He leaned his head out the open window. “I had a bad cold that day, but we went to pick my gift up at the post office anyway.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It was a former employee. He’d been recently fired. He had a key and locked the front door—”
He didn’t continue.
“You can stop,” I said, “if this is too hard for you.”
“It’s hard, but I need to do this.” He let out a trembling breath and started, “He took five of us to a back room and shot at the ceiling anytime someone made a noise. The shots showered us in plaster dust. I couldn’t stop coughing. He told me if I didn’t shut up, he was going to kill me. I couldn’t stop. Icouldn’t.”
This time, I didn’t speak when he stopped, only waited.
