Page 11 of Trust No One

“Jail. No bail. The prosecutors are now chasing maximum prison time.”

“Where was Ken during all this?”

“Surprisingly kind and helpful.” Ken had tried to tighten the fraying tethers between us. “But now I’m here and ready to move forward.”

“Near death. Divorce. Resurrecting a crumbling house. You make it sound easy.”

Easy? Easy is the hardest kind of work. “Hales can keep up appearances.”

“Good to have you back.” His smile didn’t jibe with his hardening eyes.

“Thanks.”

Logically, I understood that our high school relationship was truly over. But my best days had been spent with him.

“Let me know when Gabe arrives,” I said. “I want to talk to him.”

“So do I.”

Chapter Six

Raine

Saturday, October 17, 2026, 6:00 a.m.

I curled into a ball on the waiting room couch. The sharp armrests angled my neck in a painful way. My ribs still ached. But wine—still swirling in my system—dragged me under.

My brain drifted back to Hale House seventeen years ago.

Dad was dead. A stroke had left my mother with a fear of darkness and an aversion to noise or bright lights. The once-lively house had turned cold and silent. Like a tomb.

Mom needed full-time care. And that meant strangers were constantly coming and going during the day.

At night, Mom got really confused. And she couldn’t stand being around anyone but me.

I’d lie in my bed and listen to her footsteps as she paced her room. I eventually asked the afternoon caregiver to sedate her more. That helped a little. But the footsteps never stopped. I needed more help because school was starting, and I had to be out of the house during the day.

My first day in public school was a disaster.

I was late. Mom’s caregiver hadn’t shown up. I’d given Mom her morning meds, knowing they would knock her out until the midday shift arrived. When she’d fallen into a deep sleep, I’d thrown the exterior latch on her door and left.

When I walked into my first period class, the morning bell was ringing. I searched for a seat. The teacher reminded me of timeliness.

I could’ve gone for public school casual, but I opted for vintage distressed jeans, a Coachella T-shirt, and Tory Burch flats. A cheeky, “entitled bitch” vibe that was the norm in the private schools I’d always attended.

I welcomed the stares. Better hated than pitied.

My lunch was at eleven a.m. Too early for Maria, who had a different schedule. No one was waiting to welcome me. And the girls looking my way weren’t smiling.

I grabbed a banana and a soda from the cafeteria line. Most of the shaded sidewalk spaces skimming the outside wall along “the Pit” were taken. No one moved to make room.

That’s where I first saw her. Amy. Sitting alone in the last sliver of shade. Back against the wall. Eating a PB and J, her backpack blocking the space beside her.

She looked up and moved her backpack, and I took the sunny edge beside her. I peeled my banana—grateful to have something to do.

“Times must be tough,” Amy said.

Words. Directed at me. Imagine.