The Kindness of Strangers (36 page)

“Vegas,” Sarah said, sitting on a barstool. “I’m not sure what I thought he was doing all this time, but that just astounds me. Vegas.”

Gwinn sat across from Sarah, stirring her coffee. She took a sip. “Mmm. You always have the best damn coffee.” She gestured with the spoon when she talked. “Mark is totally screwed, right? With all the evidence against him, he doesn’t have a prayer. So he’s got nothing to lose. He could provide some answers, you know? He can tell us how involved Courtney really was.”

“But who would believe what he says? He’s not exactly a reliable witness.”

“Still . . .”

“Now it’s my turn for news,” Sarah said. “Courtney is getting out of jail today. I mean, she
is
out by now.”

“Shit. Who paid her bail?”

Sarah filled her in on what she knew.

“Oh, Sarah,” Gwinn said, putting down her spoon. “Have you seen her since . . . that day at their house?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Have you talked to her?”

She shook her head again. “This has been so hard,” she whispered. She feared she might cry.

“Of course it has,” Gwinn said. She came around the island and hugged Sarah again.

“Are people talking about me?” Sarah asked. “At school?”

Gwinn put her hands on Sarah’s shoulders. “No.”

“For real, Gwinn. I need to know.”

“People ask me how you’re doing,” Gwinn said. “I think they all sympathize.”

“Would you tell me if they did talk about me?”

“You know I would. And then we’d egg their houses together.”

Sarah had to laugh.

Gwinn let Sarah go and returned to her stool. “Seriously, Sarah. People think you’re wonderful for taking in Jordan.”

“Does everyone know he’s here?”

Gwinn thought a minute. “No. There’s never been an official announcement or anything, but the people who know you can put two and two together. I think most everybody in Danny’s class probably knows.”

Sarah nodded. The faculty at school knew, of course. Jordan and Danny’s class had made cards for Jordan, and the teacher had sent them home with Danny.

“Courtney doesn’t know where Jordan is,” Sarah said.

“Well, hell, no one is going to be stupid enough to tell her.”

“People do a lot of stupid things.”

Before Gwinn could answer, Sarah’s cell phone rang again. “Oh, for God’s sake, this has been nonstop this morning.” She answered.

“Sarah, this is Robert Kramble again. This time I have some good news for you.”

“You caught Mark Kendrick.”

His startled silence made Sarah laugh.

“Gwinn Whitacre just told me.”

Kramble laughed, too, and Sarah sensed his true happiness and relief. “This is really great,” he said. His enthusiasm made him sound boyish. “The cleaning lady at his hotel recognized him and called the police.”

“Jordan is going to be so relieved,” Sarah said. She watched Gwinn get a new spoon out of the drawer and dip it in the red pepper sauce.

“Yes, but . . . it’s complicated,” Kramble said. “I know Bryn will help him with it, but . . . the kid was convinced his dad was stalking his every move just waiting to get revenge. And yeah, sure there’s some relief in finding out he wasn’t, but there’s also something else. It’s hard to articulate, but . . . but you have to really care about somebody to seek revenge, right?”

Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes. “And he’s going to realize his father didn’t give a shit?”

“Right.”

“Oh, God.” She sighed. “This poor boy.”

“Hey. This poor boy has proven that he’s pretty strong, all things considered. I just wanted to let you know. I didn’t want to be the bearer of only bad news.”

“Thanks.” Sarah wanted to say something else, to let him know how much she appreciated it, but Kramble said good-bye, and Sarah clicked off the phone.

“This is fabulous,” Gwinn said, licking her spoon.

“It better be. Now I need to marinate this shrimp in that sauce for four hours.” Sarah poured the sauce into a shallow dish.

“Are you okay, Sarah, really?” Gwinn asked. “This whole Courtney thing . . . I’m worried about you.”

Sarah stirred the shrimp into the red pepper mixture. She smiled at her friend. “Thanks. I think I’m okay. I’m confused, I’m angry, I’m depressed, I feel guilty, but—”

“Guilty? Why should you feel guilty?” Gwinn picked up the empty blender container and ran her finger down the side, licking off more of the sauce.

“It wasn’t as if I was just an acquaintance. How could I genuinely like someone who was . . . who was so . . . God, I don’t even know what to call it.”

“Evil?”

“No.” Sarah put a lid on the dish and set it in the fridge. “ ‘Evil’ seems wrong. Mark seems evil to me, but somehow Courtney doesn’t.”

“That’s only because you know Courtney’s story. It’s like Kramble said at that awful school meeting, where Carlotta went insane and starting screaming—knowing that Courtney was a victim makes her seem less evil herself. But where does it end? We think her father was evil for abusing her, but what if her father was abused, too? And whoever abused her father? They’re still doing evil. Once you find out Mark’s story, you’ll probably feel sorry for
him
. You’re too nice, Sarah.”

“Hey,” Sarah said. “You asked if I was okay. I’d be a lot more okay if you weren’t judging me, okay?”

“I’m sorry.” And Sarah could tell Gwinn meant it. “But I worry.”

Sarah sighed. She put the fennel bulbs on her cutting board and began to chop. “I think about her all the time, try to replay the times we were together, try to spot clues I missed, and I can’t find anything. I hate to think I was so gullible.”

“They fooled a lot of people.”

“I think if I saw her, and talked to her, I might figure out what I felt. Does that make sense? One day we’re chatting over coffee, the next day she’s being taken away in handcuffs. I’ve never spoken to her about it.”

“But what would you say to her?”

Sarah paused, the knife angled over a fennel bulb. “I have no idea. But I think I need to see her. I need some answers that only she can give me.”

“But she
won’t
.” Gwinn leaned across the island toward Sarah, her gaze intense. “She’ll just lie. She’s a psychopath, Sarah.”

Sarah resumed chopping. “Well. Maybe she is. Maybe she will lie. But somehow I don’t think I’ll have any peace unless I talk to her myself. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I feel like I’d be able to tell she was lying—not that I could ever tell before—and then I’d know and I’d feel better. I just—There’s a part of me that can’t accept it yet. It’s naive, it’s stupid, it’s all kinds of things, but that’s the truth.” Sarah’s eyes burned.

“Oh, Sarah,” Gwinn said.

Sarah set down her knife, picked up a tissue, and blew her nose. “I guess in answer to your question, I’m not okay. I’m a mess.”

“You’re no mess. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

This statement shocked Sarah. She stared at Gwinn, her rib cage filling with gratitude. Before she could speak, her cell phone rang again.

Gwinn laughed.

Sarah reached for the phone, saying, “This’ll be Jordan’s case manager telling me they caught Mark.” She answered with a chipper, playful, “Hello?”

Silence.

Sarah felt stupid. “Hello?” she asked again.

“Sarah?” the familiar, breathy voice asked.

Sarah heart slid down to her toes.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit.
She looked at Gwinn, but Gwinn was taking another swipe down the blender’s side. Sarah turned her back to Gwinn, knowing that her face would give her away.

“Yes? This is Sarah Laden,” she said, her tone formal.

“It’s . . . it’s Courtney.”

Sarah couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, Sarah.” Courtney sounded like she was crying. “I’m . . . sorry. I’m sorry.”

Sarah’s brain was in a white panic. She didn’t want Gwinn to know who it was.

Courtney went on. “I want to thank you, so, so much. . . .” Her voice cracked. “For taking Jordan to the emergency room. You . . . you saved his life, Sarah. I know you did. . . .”

“Could you hang on for just a moment?” Sarah asked.

Courtney said nothing, but Sarah held the phone to her chest and whispered to Gwinn, “I really need to take this. Frantic bride.”

Gwinn laughed and stood up. “I gotta go anyway. I just wanted to tell you the news.”

“Thanks. You’re wonderful.”

Gwinn kissed Sarah on the cheek. “Hang in there,” she whispered. She pointed to the blender. “And make some of that for me.” She let herself out the back door.

Sarah kept holding the phone to her chest, certain Courtney would hear her racing heartbeat. Sarah went to the door and locked it before bringing the phone back to her ear. She heard the faint sound of Courtney’s breath. Sarah opened her mouth but felt as if she’d never spoken in her life.

“Are you there?” Courtney asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Oh, Sarah.” And Courtney was crying again.

“I . . .” Sarah couldn’t make her lips work. Hadn’t she just received her wish? There was so much she wanted to ask, so much she needed to know, but she only listened to Courtney’s quiet crying.

Sarah held the phone in the crook of her ear. She picked up her knife and immediately felt better, more confident. She sliced the fennel bulbs slowly and deliberately, trying to form words in her brain. “You told me you were an only child,” she finally managed.

Courtney sighed, a ragged sound. “I didn’t know,” she whispered.

Sarah froze, knife poised over a new bulb. She didn’t want to acknowledge what Courtney said.

“I s-suspected, but I didn’t want it to be true. . . . I . . . I didn’t do anything to stop it. . . . I didn’t want to believe it. I hate myself. . . .”

Sarah kept chopping but felt the ache in her own chest harden. How could that be true? How could she not know? She realized she’d been hoping that somehow Courtney would have an explanation, that there be some reason no one else had considered, that exonerated her beyond a shadow of a doubt. Naive, hopelessly naive, but Sarah recognized this desire at the same moment she recognized that the desire would not be fulfilled.

“How could I believe that about a man I loved? If someone I thought I knew so well could do that . . . God, how could I be so stupid? I . . .”

The hairs lifted on the back of Sarah’s neck.

“Jordan,” Courtney whispered. “Sarah, I’m horrible.” Her voice was muffled. “How could I have turned away? He tried so hard to tell me, and I just wouldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be true.”

It couldn’t be true.
Sarah’s own mantra. Until now. Her skin tightened all over her body.
It was true
.

“How?” Courtney wailed. “How can I ever look at him again? I’m so sorry. How will he believe that? How will he trust me? He must hate me, and I deserve it.”

Sarah felt she was observing herself from a great distance. Admiring the excellent performance. Chilled by the fact that Courtney was so convincing. Sarah realized she was chopping the fennel far too finely for this recipe. She scraped it off the cutting board into a bowl.

“I get to see him tomorrow. I want to see him, more than anything, but it terrifies me, too.”

Faint dizziness unsettled Sarah as she looked down at a fennel frond on the floor.

“Have you seen him?”

Sarah’s breath stopped.
Don’t ask me that. Oh, shit, don’t ask me that.

Sarah paused so long she knew she had to tell the truth. “Yes.”

“Oh, God, how is he?” Courtney’s desperation jumped through the phone line.

“I . . . I saw him in the hospital.” That wasn’t a lie. “I went to visit him like you asked me. He seemed . . . okay. He’s going to recover . . . you know, physically.”

“Do you know where he is?”

Sarah held her breath. She hadn’t wanted to lie outright. But fear pounded through her. “No.” Sarah wondered what she was afraid of. What could Courtney do? It wasn’t like she’d come busting down doors. Sarah couldn’t imagine her trying to harm anyone. But still . . . Sarah was afraid. And the uncertainty over
why
was scarier than the fear itself.

Sarah placed a plum tomato in the middle of her cutting board. She tried to picture what Courtney was doing while she talked. What did she look like after weeks in jail? “Where are you?” Sarah asked.

“I . . . I’m not at the house. I can’t be in Oakhaven. We’re at a hotel in Tipp City.”

Good. Sarah wanted her far away. Sarah heard a noise in the drive and panicked that Nate was home already, but it was just Lila watering the hostas on the side of her house. Sarah didn’t want either of them to know she was talking to Courtney.

“You don’t know what this means to me,” Courtney whispered. “That you’d talk to me at all. I felt so alone, so . . . abandoned.”