Truly, Madly, Deadly

Chapter Eleven

ELEVEN

Sawyer was pacing on the sidewalk outside Dr. Johnson’s office when her father pulled up. “Can you just take me back to the school to get my car?” she asked him.

Andrew Dodd nodded silently and Sawyer slipped in beside him, her hands gripping the strap of her bag, her heart thumping. “Dad, I—”

Sawyer stopped dead when her father made no indication that he heard—or was willing to listen to—her. His icy silence, his eyes fixed on the street in front of them was answer enough, and Sawyer kept her mouth shut, her hand on the door handle the second Mr. Dodd’s wheels crunched over the gravel in the Hawthorne High parking lot.

“I didn’t do this,” Sawyer said before getting out of the car. “I promise, Dad. I’ll prove it to you.” She snapped the car door shut and Andrew revved the engine, sliding smoothly out of the parking lot without response.

Sawyer was walking to her car when she heard Chloe calling out to her.

“Hey, Sawyer! What happened to you?”

“Therapy.”

“They still think you’re loony tunes, huh?”

Sawyer licked her lips. “Sometimes I think I am too.”

“Join the club.” Chloe offered a small smile. “Anyway, want to hit the mall or grab a bite or something?”

Sawyer shook her head. “Didn’t you hear? I got suspended. I’m pretty sure that translates directly to ‘Sawyer Dodd will be homebound until she’s seventy-five.’”

“Damsel in distress.”

“Yeah. Come throw pebbles—or jelly beans—at my window. Or better yet, throw a prince on a white horse at it.”

Chloe grinned. “I’ll see what I can do. So, see you later?”

“God willing.”

•••

Sawyer walked into the house, sliding off her shoes in the foyer, feeling the need to be silent even though her father’s car wasn’t in the driveway and the entire house stood still and silent. She crept slowly up the stairs, each footfall landing with the heavy thud of her heart, her blood rushing in a deafening torrent as she walked to the baby’s nursery. The door was closed and Sawyer pushed open the door slowly, ice-cold air whooshing over her bare arms, making her hair stand on end.

“Oh, shit.”

The pale green curtains that had once seemed so sweet and dainty with their zoo-animal border looked menacing with their severe shreds as they were sucked and expelled from the window, edges catching and tearing on the broken glass. She had seen the kicked-in slats of the crib in Dr. Johnson’s cell phone picture, but up close the crib looked like a smile with broken teeth that had caved in on itself; the oozing red paint was as viscous as fresh blood and made Sawyer’s stomach lurch. She clapped a hand over her mouth and heaved, relieved when nothing came out.