Such a Quiet Place by Megan Miranda
CHAPTER 14
IHADN’T GONE OUT AGAIN. Not since arriving home to realize someone had been inside. I’d remained in my room, behind a secondary locked door, knowing that neither could truly keep me safe.
I stared at Tate’s note on the message board again, then slammed the laptop shut as Ruby appeared, coming down the staircase. Her steps slowed when she saw me, sitting at the kitchen table. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Just tired,” I said, the image from the photo that had been left in the foyer last night seared into the back of my mind. Someone had gotten into my house while I was out, and I hadn’t slept, and now there was this: a collision between a party that no one would cancel and the sudden return of Ruby Fletcher, fear and paranoia commingling at critical levels.
“Well?” she asked, pouring herself a coffee from the pot on the counter. “Was I right?”
I shook my head, not processing.
“About last night,” she continued, taking the seat across from me. “Run into anyone else out there? We can compare your notes to my guesses.”
She felt so close. My eyes drifted to her lips on the edge of the coffee mug as she took her first sip. Trying to remember that day in the courtroom. Thank you. Fuck you.
“No,” I said. “There was nothing to write down. It was quiet.”
She raised an eyebrow, reached a hand for my wrist, and flipped it over, exposing the fragile skin there. I could feel the blood pulsing. “What’s the matter?” she asked, leaning closer.
I felt boneless, my arm limp in her grip, not sure what I could trust—my memories, even; my perception of events. The words she might’ve spoken in the courtroom. The knife she kept under her mattress and the threatening pictures left inside. Whether she was afraid or someone to fear.
The way she’d sneaked in here the first day, barefoot, with no warning. The fact that Chase believed she’d tried to break into his house, the missed calls from her lawyer, and this sudden thought that maybe she had taken my car and gone absolutely nowhere. That she’d been here all along, watching. That she’d had fourteen months to let things fester, and now she was back for a reason.
“Ruby,” I said quietly. “Ruby, you can’t go to that party today.”
You can’t be here at all.
Her eyes narrowed, and her face became impenetrable, nothing but hard angles and flat expression. “You know what no one does around here? Talk to each other face-to-face. Ask questions or demand answers. It’s contagious, the way people act to save face.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “Smile on the surface, and whisper something else to the police. Cut someone out of their lives and pretend she never existed.”
I held my breath, held my expression still, refusing to look away. Not knowing whether she was speaking with generality or specificity.
“I’ve been ignored for a long time, Harper.”
I thought of Charlotte and what she would say. Chase and what he would do. What I was truly afraid of. “You can’t go,” I said. Direct and to the point. “Don’t go.” A plea instead.
She pushed back her chair slightly so the wooden legs cried against the tile floor. “Is this coming from you or them?” she asked.
I swallowed around the dryness in my throat. “It’s coming from me,” I said.
Her eyebrows shot up, like I’d surprised her. But she stood abruptly, turning away. “Don’t worry,” she said as she opened the fridge, pulling out the containers of fruit, placing them beside the bottles of red wine lining the back of the counter. “I won’t show up empty-handed. Wouldn’t want to be a bad guest, would I?”
I WAS GOING TObe sick. The last time I’d felt this ceaseless nausea, this unstoppable force heading my way, was in the days leading up to the trial. When I knew I’d have to face her and everyone else. I was barely able to eat the entire week.
Margo was right—a party was a bad idea. I couldn’t tell whether their insistence on the party was fueled by stubbornness, or animosity, or naïveté, but as the day progressed, the setup began, undaunted.
I had no control over Ruby Fletcher. I was naive to think I ever had.
From my bedroom window in the early afternoon, I saw Javier and Chase carrying the white folding tables from Javier’s garage. I heard the sharp pop of bang snaps being tossed in the street, and someone yelping with delight.
I needed to stop this.
Downstairs, Ruby had the music on too loud, so the entire house seemed to vibrate with the beat. She was mixing a second pitcher of sangria and didn’t seem to notice when I left.
I stepped outside to the sound of laughter, could smell the lingering smoke drifting from Charlotte’s driveway, where her daughters stood barefoot on the edge of the dry grass, tossing bang snaps onto the pavement.
Molly darted across the hot asphalt, and Whitney tossed one at her feet, both of them laughing as she leaped out of the way, smoke rising in her wake.
Music was already carrying from around the corner, probably the pool.
“Hey,” I called, walking across the Truetts’ lawn. “Where’s your mom?” I asked Whitney, who was the closest, standing on the Truett side of the driveway.
“Setting up,” Whitney said, thumb jutting over her shoulder. I could see the outline of her American-flag bikini under her white tank. Behind her, across the driveway, Molly wore a red-and-white-striped cover-up and jean shorts, not coming any closer. I wondered what would happen if she saw Ruby out here. Molly tossed a bang snap close to the spot where Whitney stood, still turned away. Whitney yelped, leaping into the air.
“Nice moves,” Molly deadpanned as Whitney returned fire.
I kept moving, passed the Seaver brothers’ house. The pool came into view. The gates were propped ajar, neighbors filing in and out, setting up. Their movements were rapid, almost frenetic, like they knew what they were doing—taunting fate; taunting her.
Like if they moved as one, they became a force and would be protected.
Chase wheeled a grill to a spot near the front fence where Charlotte stood in a flowing pale blue cover-up, partially sheer and hitting just below her knees.
“Charlotte,” I called, and she turned her head quickly my way.
“Right here, Chase.” She gestured to her spot on the concrete. “Be right back. What’s up?” she called, meeting me at the entrance.
“She’s going to come,” I said, sounding breathless even to myself. “Doesn’t matter what I tell her.”
Molly and Whitney came in right behind me, like they’d been following me, but Charlotte held up a hand as they passed through the gate. “Did either of you remember the sparklers?”
“We can go back when it’s dark,” Whitney said.
Charlotte shook her head once. “Now, please.”
Molly rolled her eyes, but they both turned back for the house, obeying their mother. When they were out of earshot, Charlotte turned to me. “I think it’s best to ignore Ruby, don’t you agree? Seems what she wants is a reaction.”
How calm she seemed, how measured. As if Ruby were a stubborn toddler who would change course when she failed to elicit the desired response.
“Look,” Charlotte continued, gesturing somewhere behind me, “even Margo decided to come.”
Margo was crossing the street, wheeling a large cooler behind her. I stepped to the side as she leveraged it through the gate and under the white tables. She pulled out two large containers of lemonade and placed them on the counter, then used a Sharpie to label the cooler with a piece of tape that declared: ICE.
Charlotte had returned to her to-do list, currently unspooling the wire from a box fan. Tina poured a bag of chips into a purple bowl, then helped Charlotte set up the fan at the edge of the table to keep the bugs away.
I felt caught between worlds. Just like in the days before the trial—on the outskirts, looking in.
Tate and Javier arrived next, and Tate set out her dueling pitcher of lemonade, wrinkling her nose at Margo’s on the other side.
I watched, dumbstruck, as Tina set up at one of the pool tables in the corner with her parents, angling the umbrella for shade. Whitney and Molly returned with the sparklers, dragging lounge chairs out into the sun, stripping down to their swimsuits. Charlotte called, “Don’t forget sunscreen!” I couldn’t decide whether people were being deliberately obtuse or wielding their own sense of power, going on with their lives like nothing was amiss, like nothing could touch them.
Preston barreled through the gates with the shoulder strap of his own cooler slung over his arm, heading straight for the grill. He started pulling apart frozen burgers that Charlotte had stacked on the stand beside him, then scanned the crowd. “Hey, anyone seen Mac? I asked him to bring the gas for the grill. Can’t start without him.” When no one responded, he called my name. “Do you know when Mac is coming?” He said it so loudly, it carried over the crowd, and everyone stopped talking.
I whipped my head toward the entrance, terrified I’d see Ruby there, thankful that she hadn’t arrived. “No,” I said, walking closer so our voices wouldn’t carry. “Why would I?” Like I’d know any better than he did.
Preston cocked his head to the side. Lowered his voice as he closed the distance between us. “Does she not know?” He shook his head, then grinned at my wide-eyed reaction. “She’s got no right to be mad at you. Really, it’s only fair.”
I stared at him, at the twitch of his lip, at his smug expression. Daring me to ask. Needing me to do so. And me, with that pit in the center of my stomach, hating how much I needed to know what he meant. “Fair, how?” I said.
“Well,” he said, “you know.” A wave of his hand, dragging it out, making me wait. His captive audience. Seeing if anyone else would join to listen. Scanning the crowd to check that they were. “After Aidan.”
My head whipped to the closest person listening, to Javier, and I could tell by how fast his eyes darted away that it was true. That the guys, at least, all knew. Tate was staring at her husband with the same intensity—with her own version of surprise.
I closed my eyes and saw it again, the day Aidan told me he was leaving. How he’d stood in the center of the living room, eyes to the windows, pleading with me, like I should understand. My God, Harper. I have to get out of here. His arms stretched wide, and I’d thought he meant this house, this life, with me. But maybe it was something more. A mistake that was following him. A mistake that wouldn’t let him go. And I was the person worth sacrificing for his own fresh start.
Preston was looking at me with an exaggerated grimace. “You really didn’t know?”
The anger seared at the pit of my stomach. At Aidan, at her, at everyone who knew. At fucking Preston Seaver, shit stirrer, who would drag your baggage out in public, just to broadcast your reaction.
“Well, I mean, anyway. Like I said, she can’t really complain.” And then Preston turned toward the entrance. “Hey there,” he called to the young woman walking from a car parked along the street. His date, I guessed by her beaming smile. She looked like an athlete, tall and lean-muscled, with long, sleek hair, blond at the roots, dark at the ends. I thought I recognized her—a student on campus.
Preston beckoned her over, grinning like he had not just upended my entire life thirty seconds earlier. Then he craned his neck, calling out to the entrance, “Look who finally decided to come,” as Mac walked in with the container of propane for the grill.
“Hey,” Mac said, frowning at the state of us, quiet and tense. “I thought this was a party?”
But everyone was looking behind him. At the figure waltzing down the middle of the street, head high, a smile I could see from the distance.
My heart leaped and then hardened.
Ruby was here.