Safe Keeping. Barbara Taylor Sissel

So what? After Miranda was killed, we hung out together, but really, I hardly knew her. Jessica was Senator Sweet’s daughter. You remember him, U.S. senator, back in the day? She was kind of wild, got into trouble with drugs and stuff. I heard she cost her old man his last campaign—”

      “Tucker! She’s dead!”

      “Yeah, that’s what it says here. I can’t believe it.”

      “She and Miranda were friends. They worked at the same club. You knew her. The police are looking for you. It’s happening all over again....”

      “No, Liss. There’s no history between us, no big soap-opera drama. In case you didn’t notice, I didn’t find her body.”

      Lissa didn’t answer.

      “Come on, you know I had nothing to do with this, right? I mean you’re not stressing because you think I’m, like, guilty, are you? I didn’t even know the chick was missing until this morning when I saw the news.”

      “A second ago, you said you couldn’t believe it, as if you hadn’t heard—”

      “I should have known!” He tossed up his hands. “I should have guessed what you’d think. I bet Pop’s all over it, too. I’m a killer, right? The family lunatic, the psycho. That’s why Pop doesn’t want me home.” He stood up fast enough to rock the chair, grabbing his jacket, shoving his arms into the sleeves.

      “Come on, Tucker. You have to admit it’s weird. Twice? In two years? Jessica was found in almost the exact location where Miranda was. You knew both of them. You must see how it looks.”

      “Yeah. I see how it looks. I just never expected you would believe in how it looks. I thought you would believe in me.”

      “I do, of course I do!” Lissa picked up a towel, wound her hands in it. “It’s just—”

      “I’m only going to say this one time, okay? I didn’t kill Jessica. I didn’t kill Miranda. I’ve never killed anybody.” His gaze was hard on hers.

      She tented her hands over her mouth, said his name, fighting tears, fighting for breath.

      “I’ve got to go.” He shoved the chair under the table. “Thanks for the Coke.”

      “No, wait. Where will you go? The police—”

      “Fuck ’em,” he said, and then he was gone, slamming the back door behind him.

      4

      WHEN LISSA CALLED late that morning to say Tucker was with her and seemed all right, Roy didn’t share Emily’s relief; he acted as if it didn’t matter to him at all. He went out the back door and down the steps, and Emily watched him cross the backyard and disappear into his workshop. She got out the ingredients to bake a chocolate cake, Tucker’s favorite. She wanted to have something special on hand to feed him when he got home, but she was irked at Roy. Suppose he wouldn’t even try and sort things out this time? She creamed the sugar with the butter in the bowl, but all at once, the mood to bake left her, and untying her apron, she walked out of her kitchen and around the corner to Anna Brinker’s house.

      They were lifelong friends, still living in the houses they were raised in and that their mothers had been raised in. Like many of the other historic homes in the neighborhood, Anna’s house, a pale green, turreted Eastlake, was also a Hiram Winter creation. When Emily and Anna were sixteen, a new girl their same age moved with her family into the Winter-built, red-brick, Georgian colonial next door to Anna. Natalie’s closet was crammed with great-looking clothes she was willing to share and she could use her mother’s turquoise-blue Cadillac convertible pretty much whenever she wanted it. She drove Anna and Emily everywhere, top down, radio blasting. They became inseparable and never really lost touch, not even after high school. It was their good fortune when as newlyweds they returned with husbands in tow to the old neighborhood, like migratory birds, to live in the homes of their girlhood.

      They shared nearly everything: pregnancies and diapers, recipes, celebrations. They raised their children together. Emily and Roy had Lissa and Tucker; Anna and her husband, Harvey, had their son, Cory; and Nat and her husband, Benny McPherson, had their daughter, Holly. Lissa was the oldest, Cory was the youngest and Tucker and Holly were the same age, born only weeks apart. It was a good life, filled with good times.

      But like all good things, those times ended. Not easily. Not in any way Emily cared to remember.

      Stirring a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee now, she glanced at Anna. “I probably shouldn’t have come. I’m not fit company in the mood I’m in.”

      “Nonsense.” Anna patted Emily’s arm. “Is Tucker coming home? Did Lissa say?”

      “She didn’t, and it worries me. I have a feeling they got into it, but it’s not as if she’d tell me. You know how those two keep secrets.” She was no different, Emily thought. She was keeping her own secrets. But when tempers were already strained to the max, sometimes keeping what you knew to yourself was for the best. Sometimes, if you just gave a situation a little time, it would resolve itself.

      “We need something to nibble on.” Anna scooted from her chair and went to rummage in the pantry.

      She was biting her tongue, but soon enough, she would speak her mind. She would give Emily her opinion, the benefit of her advice. In times of trouble, that’s what friends did, but Emily didn’t necessarily always want to hear what Anna had to say. As close as they were, and as much as they shared, Emily didn’t feel that Anna understood about Tucker. How could she? His nature was so much more complicated than Cory’s or Lissa’s. Who knew how or why? Emily had used up Tucker’s childhood trying to sort it out, to sort him out. It still mystified her that two children, who shared the same parents, could be so utterly different in almost every way. But it was watching Tucker struggle with those very differences, watching him try so hard to fit in, that made Emily want to defend him, to shield him. She could wish all she liked to have a son like Cory, one who fit the norm, a regular kid, but she didn’t.

      Perfect Cory, Emily thought, and then she was ashamed.

      Anna turned from the pantry, holding out a box of Milanos, her favorite cookie. She smiled.

      “I don’t think those are on our diet, are they?” Emily smiled, too.

      “Think of it this way. We can eat these or take Prozac. I think these are cheaper and better for us. Am I right?” Anna waggled her eyebrows, making a joke.

      Emily laughed outright and then wondered how she could, given the circumstances.

      Anna arranged the cookies on a plate and brought it to the table. “What has Roy said?”

      Her casual tone didn’t fool Emily for a moment. “Oh, you know Roy,” she said just as casually, wanting to avoid contention, while at the same time knowing the impossibility, because she needed to talk this out, and who else was there but Anna? Emily flashed a glance at her and found her looking back.

      “I know what you’re thinking,” Emily said, “but it isn’t as simple as blaming Roy every time Tucker disappears.”

      “Did I say I blamed him?”

      “You don’t have to. I know you think he’s controlling.”

      “I’ve heard you say it yourself.”

      “Yes, and you know why.”

      “Look, I’m as sorry as you that Roy’s parents were tough on him and that he lost his leg in a war few of us wanted any part of, but you aren’t responsible for that. If memory serves, you tried to keep him from going.”

      It was true. Roy had been two weeks into his first spring training camp with the Astros in Kissimmee, and happier, he said, than any man had a right to be, when his draft notice came. The effect was devastating. He was terrified of losing her and his budding baseball career. She was the one who said they should go to Canada. She had often wondered since what