On Thursday after tennis practice she scanned the cars in the parking lot and realized that a certain VW wasn’t in its regular parking space. She let out a long groan.
“Laurel ditch you again?” Madeline appeared behind Emma, carrying a stack of books. Her blue eyes were bright and feather earrings grazed her shoulders.
“Yep,” Emma said, unable to hide her irritation. “She’s being a real bitch this week.”
Madeline let out the first real laugh Emma had heard from her in weeks. “She sure is.” She touched Emma’s elbow. “Don’t worry. She’ll get over it. I did.” Two freshman boys passed behind her, clutching Roller-blades and elbowing each other. One caught Emma’s eye and his face broke into a massive grin. He nodded in her direction and picked up his hand in a slow wave. Emma smiled back in another act of Emma Kindness.
Madeline pulled her car keys out of her leather purse.
“Want a ride home?”
Emma eyed Madeline’s keychain. “Actually I’m just going to the police station. I’m going to finally get my car.” Madeline flinched a little at the words police station, then frowned. “Isn’t it at the impound?”
A dart of nerves shot through Emma’s stomach.
Sutton’s friends thought that her car had been impounded because she racked up too many tickets and she simply hadn’t picked it up yet. They didn’t know Sutton had retrieved her car the day she died. Or used it to pick up Thayer. Or perhaps hit Thayer with it.
“Uh, the impound was full, so they moved it to the lot behind the police station,” Emma fudged, crossing her fingers that Madeline would buy it. She hated lying, but she wasn’t about to say that Sutton’s car was actually in evidence with Madeline’s brother’s blood on it. Luckily, Madeline just shrugged and unlocked her SUV with two loud bleep s.
“Get in. I’ll save you the two-block walk.” Emma climbed in, resting her bag on her lap.
“So, excited for Charlotte’s tomorrow?” Madeline asked as she turned the ignition. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a dinner at the Chamberlains’. I’ve missed Cornelia’s cooking. Wouldn’t it be amazing to have a personal chef?”
Emma made an mm of agreement, remembering that the girls had arranged to spend the evening at Charlotte’s for dinner. She wasn’t surprised the Chamberlains had a personal chef—their house was enormous.
“Of course, I shouldn’t say that.” Madeline made a wry face. “If my dad heard me talking about how much I wanted a personal chef, he’d probably say I was acting spoiled and greedy.” She rolled her eyes and tried to laugh lightly, but her face kind of crumpled.
Emma pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, sensing Madeline’s pain. “You know, if you want to talk more about your dad, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” Madeline said softly. She reached into her hot pink metal ic Not Rational handbag, yanked her sunglasses from their case, and slipped them over her eyes.
“Is everything going okay? Is it getting better?” Emma pressed.
Madeline waited until she left the parking lot before she spoke again. “It’s pretty much the same, I guess. I hate going home. My dad stomps around everywhere and he and my mom aren’t talking right now. I don’t think they’re even sleeping in the same room.” Her glossy lips tightened into a straight line.
“You’re always welcome at my house, you know,” Emma offered.
Madeline looked at her gratefully. “Thank you,” she breathed. Then she touched Emma’s arm. “You’ve never offered that before.”
I felt a zing of annoyance. I would have offered if I would have known Madeline needed it.
A minute later they pulled up to the precinct, and Madeline dropped Emma off at the curb. “Sutton?” she said, leaning out the window. “I’m really glad we made up. I probably don’t say it enough, but you’re my best friend.”
“I’m so glad, too,” Emma said, her heart warming.
When she went inside, the same receptionist who had been there the last time looked up from her tabloid and considered Emma. “You again?” she asked in a bored voice.
How professional. “I’m here to pick up my car from evidence,” Emma said crisply.
The receptionist turned and picked up the receiver of her phone. “One moment.”
Emma pivoted and stared at the bulletin board. The MISSING poster of Thayer had been taken down and replaced with an advertisement for HECTOR, THE HONEST
MECHANIC YOU TELL YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT.
After a moment, the receptionist pointed outside where a squat guard stood in front of a chain-link fence.
“Officer Moriarty will help you,” she said, twisting her tongue to blow a purple bubble. A sugary grape smell wafted through the air of the waiting room.
Emma walked back outside, met up with Officer Moriarty, and signed the paperwork for Sutton’s car. Officer Moriarty unlocked the fence and led her down a dusty row of vehicles. BMWs and Range Rovers sat proudly next to broken-down clunkers that looked like they wouldn’t make it another five miles.
“Here we are,” Officer Moriarty said, gesturing to a green vintage car with brightly polished chrome. Emma took in the car, impressed. It had sleek lines and a retro feel, the kind of car she might have chosen herself if she could’ve afforded one. It was beyond cool.
O f course it was cool. I squealed as I saw my car again. But the feeling was bittersweet. I couldn’t feel the soft leather against my thighs as I sat in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t shift gears and feel the car respond. I couldn’t feel the wind in my hair as I drove down Route 10 with the windows down.