Homewrecker

21 - 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻

I wasn't totally sure of what I was expecting to hear from Amy and David when Andi had driven us back to the church after casting a questioning glance over her shoulder to the backseat where I had discarded the mildew-scented hoodie, coffee mug of a painted Floridan sunset, and the piece of yellow ceramic I still clutched in my hand in the passenger seat.

There weren't as many people still in the basement, dirtied plates left on the fold-out tables and crumpled napkins over the disposable tablecloths and the servers were starting to scoop out the leftovers from their tinfoil dishes into plates, wrapped in saranwrap. Amy was still sitting at one of the tables, with her plate in front of her, speaking with a woman who was perched on the seat beside her, one of the women from the church who arranged the flowers.

David was shaking hands with one of the servers, complimenting the grilled chicken recipe. When Amy looked over at me, her lips caught mid-smile, she hesitated for a moment. But then she went back to her conversation after shooting me a quick nod.

That wasn't really what I was expecting from her.

It wasn't until we had left the church and drove back to the lake-house that either her or David acknowledged that I left in the middle of dinner without telling them, despite the voicemail notifications still lit against my lock screen on my phone.

I could hear the undulating waters against the lakeshore when I got out of the Suburban, the distant sound of birds chirping in the nearby pine trees as Danny went running past me, to the front door to change into his swimsuit after Amy told him he could swim until dark. Then I heard a low-toned Amy tell Natalie, "Natalie, go inside please. Bronwyn?"

I paused, turning around to see that Amy and David were standing near the hood of the car, staring at me discontentedly. "Yeah?" I said, slowly.

"Do you know how worried we were when you just took off like that?" Amy asked, her gaze turning from displeasure to incredulousness as she gestured in the air between herself and David, even though he hadn't said anything. Just looked back from her to me. Maybe because he realized how strange it sounded, to hear that they were worried for me after seventeen years of definitely not worrying. "You knew the police thought he might have been there. What if he saw you leave and followed you?"

I crossed my arms around my chest, the fabric of the dress I was wearing still somewhat damp underneath my arms and cold against my skin. "Were you ever going to tell me about what happened to my mom?" I retorted, watching as her stare faltered for just a second, blinking, and the practiced concerned resolve started to slip away from around her eyes.

"We were going to tell you after the funeral," David answered, a placating tone coating his voice as he spoke like his reasons would be understandable, normal, and able to smooth everything over. "We just thought that with everything else going on, it would be best to give you a little time to process things. And we only found out ourselves a few days ago."

"And the police were just okay with that? They didn't want to talk to me or anything?"

Now he looked a little sheepish. "I might have pulled a few strings in the department to . . . put that on hold until after the funeral."

Something tightened in my chest as I scoffed, glancing away from them because I didn't want them to see how much this all bothered me. Her death, her murder, them using their money to keep it from me when they had kept it from her ever since I was born. Money, I was starting to realize, was all about convenience. "Aren't the first days, like, the most important? What if I knew something and now, they'll never catch him because he left the state or something?"

David paused. "Do you know something about your mom's murder?"

"No, because you kept it from me!" I retorted. "Well, since you're such buddies with the police department, then can you at least pull some more strings for me to talk to them? Tomorrow?"