Chapter 1
Saturday, November 20, 1999
5:40 A.M.
Georgetown University Campus
Washington, D.C.
The shrill ring of the telephone was muffled, but not muffled enough. On the top bunk, Sasha rolled onto her stomach and pressed her pillow down over her head to wait for the ringing to stop.
The ringing continued.
“Sasha, phone,” Allie moaned from the lower bunk.
Sasha ignored the phone and her roommate.
The ringing continued, as did the groaning from the bottom bunk.
“Please. I feel sick.”
Sasha bit back the words that rushed to her lips and pushed off her comforter, untangling it from her feet.
Of course, Allie felt sick. She’d probably spent most of the night drinking grain alcohol punch at some friend of a friend’s house party. At least, Sasha assumed so. She hadn’t shown up at the library for their Friday cram session. So Sasha had sat alone in the carrel they’d reserved, rereading her notes on Beowulf for the eighth time and pretending not to notice the library emptying out as the sun set and the weekend started.
She stumbled down the ladder and walked blindly toward the cordless phone’s base. Empty. As usual. She turned in a slow circle, searching for the source of the high-pitched ring. After a moment, she pinpointed the sound and yanked the handset out from under Allie’s quilted jacket.
“Why is your jacket on the floor?”
“Why is the phone on the floor?” Allie shot back, before flinging her arm over her eyes and rolling toward the wall.
Sasha fumbled with the button. “Hello?”
“Sasha, were you sleeping?”
She squinted at the alarm clock. “Mom, it’s not even six o’clock in the morning. What do you think?”
“I’m sorry, honey.” Her mother’s voice cracked on the words, and Sasha’s irritation turned to worry.
Valentina McCandless never apologized.
“Is something wrong?” Her heart clenched. “Is it Nana?”
In the periphery of her vision, she saw Allie roll slowly toward her and stare out at her with wide, blue eyes.
“No. It’s … your brother.”
Before Sasha could ask which brother, her mom broke into loud, wordless sobbing.
“Mom? Mom?”
Her mother’s cries faded and her dad’s voice sounded in her ear. “Hi, kiddo.” He sounded tired. No, more than tired. Drained, lifeless.
“Dad? What’s going on? Who’s in trouble? Wait, let me guess—Ryan.”
“Patrick’s dead.”
Dead? Patrick?
He couldn’t be. Her heart roared in her ears and she gripped the phone as if it was keeping her upright. Maybe it was.
After a million years, she choked out a jumble of words. “I don’t … no. No. Patrick’s not dead! What are you talking about?”
She felt rather than saw Allie bolt up from the bed and race across the room to hover behind her.
“He is, honey.”
The heaviness in the words landed on her, and she curved herself forward, bending and wrapping her free hand around her waist. Allie rubbed her back while she gulped for air.
“What happened—a car accident?” She finally managed to ask.
A long pause. She heard his breath hitch.
“Dad?”
“He was shot, Sasha.”
“Shot?” She echoed numbly.
“The Atlantic City police called. All we know now is that he was dead on the scene. Mom and I have to leave. We’re driving up there to … to claim his body.”
Nothing he said made sense. For a moment, it was a relief. Maybe Patrick wasn’t dead. Maybe her dad had suffered a stroke. Why would Patrick be in New Jersey? She straightened and turned around to flash Allie a weak ‘I’m okay’ smile. Allie studied her with grave eyes.
Then she remembered. Patrick and his buddies had gone to AC for a guys’ weekend to celebrate his thirtieth birthday. Her heart hit her stomach with a lurch.
“Dad, you know Patrick’s friends. Maybe this is a really sick joke?” She reached for the idea, ridiculous as it was.
“It’s not a joke. I just pray to the Lord that Sean is okay.”
“Sean was with him?”
“Yeah, he tagged along. Ry had to work. So he can pick you up at the train station when you get in. If you call the house and he’s not there, call Nana. You’ll probably get home before we do.”
Logistical concerns started to break through the frozen cloud of disbelief and pain that covered her brain. She already had a ticket home for Thanksgiving break, but it was for Tuesday. Could she change it? Would there be a fee?
She had money on her cafeteria card, but, unfortunately, Amtrak didn’t take Georgetown dining plan credits. Her next work study check wouldn’t come until the end of next week. She glanced at Allie. She hated to ask, but she might have to.
“Okay, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you, too, pumpkin. Be careful, okay? I have to go. Mom’s waiting in the car.”
The line clicked off. She stared down at the phone, suddenly unable to remember what to do with it.
Allie seemed to understand her problem and gently pried the handset out of Sasha’s clenched hand. She powered it off and returned it to the base to charge. Then she turned and searched Sasha’s face. “Your brother’s dead?”
Sasha blinked and nodded.
Allie wrapped her in a hug. Sasha fought back her tears and focused on the smell of Allie’s pear glacé body lotion. The familiar sweet scent was a lifeline.
“What can I do to help?”
“I need to change my train ticket. And pack. And I guess let the TAs know. And …”
Allie cut her off. “One thing at a time. Start with the ticket.”
“Do you know if there’s a change fee?”
Allie shrugged. Right. She didn’t queue up at Union Station like the rest of them. She flew back and forth from school on her dad’s private jet. Why would she know?
“Don’t worry about that.” She rifled through her desk drawer and pulled out a fistful of twenties. Sasha opened her mouth to object, but Allie was already pushing the money into her hand. “I get my allowance next week. Forget the train. Fly.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“I know.”
“Allie—“
“Look, don’t thank me. I’m sure my dad made that money evicting widows and orphans or draining pensioners’ retirement accounts. Just get home to your family.” Her eyes brightened. “I know, I’ll come with you. You shouldn’t be alone.”
Sure, Allie loved the loud, ragtag McCandless clan. She’d stayed with them for almost a month last summer while her parents were in Europe. But, seriously, she’d pass up Thanksgiving in Malibu to go to a funeral in Pittsburgh?
“You’re kidding, right?”
In response, she opened their shared closet and tugged her titanium suitcase and Sasha’s black duffel bag down from the top shelf. Allie’s kindness breached the dam, and the tears Sasha’d been holding at bay spilled over.
“Thank you.” She smiled at her friend through wet eyes. She really didn’t want to have to do this alone. Thank God for Allie.
She sank to her knees on the rough carpet and buried her face in her hands.
Patrick was dead.
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