Don't Cry Now by Joy Fielding Read Free Book Online Page A

disengage his daughter, to tear her away from Bonnie.
    â€œWhat do you mean, you found her?” Lauren cried. “What do you mean, you found her?”
    â€œLauren, please,” Bonnie began, just as Lauren’s left fist connected with her mouth. Bonnie fell back against the stairs, tasting blood for the second time that day, although this time the blood was her own.
    â€œFor God’s sake, Lauren, stop it!” Rod finally managed to secure his daughter around the waist, and drag her, still kicking and screaming, away from Bonnie. “What’s gotten into you?” he shouted, his breath coming in short, angry bursts. “What are you doing?”
    â€œShe killed her!” Lauren was screaming, her hair breaking loose of its green scrunchie and whipping across her face, several strands clinging to her tear-streaked cheeks, as if secured by glue. “She killed my mother!” Lauren made another lunge in Bonnie’s direction.
    â€œShe didn’t kill her, for Christ’s sake!” Rod cried, restraining her.
    â€œShe just happened to find her?” Lauren demanded. “You’re trying to tell me that she just happened to find her?”
    Bonnie’s head was spinning, her eyes closing against the possibility of further attack, afraid to open, her ears buzzing around the awful things Lauren was saying. Her jaw ached. Her lower lip stung where it had been cut. Her arms and legs were no doubt covered with bruises, or would be by the time the police arrived. And wouldn’t that make for an interesting addendum to their notes?
    â€œLauren,” Bonnie said softly, each word an ordeal, “you have to know I had nothing to do with your mother’s death.”
    â€œWhat were you doing at her open house? Are youtrying to tell me it was just a coincidence that you happened to be there, a coincidence that you were the one who found her?”
    â€œYour mother called me,” Bonnie began, then burst into tears, burying her head in her hands. She couldn’t tell it again. She couldn’t go through the awful events of the morning one more time.
    â€œLet’s go into the living room,” Rod said softly. “Maybe if we all sit down and discuss this thing rationally, we can figure something out.”
    â€œI’m going up to my room,” Lauren said instead, breaking away from her father’s arms.
    Instinctively, Bonnie recoiled as Lauren approached, her hands moving to protect her face from further blows. In the next minute, she felt the painful vibrations of Lauren’s heavy black oxfords as they pounded up the gray-carpeted stairs. A second later, a door slammed overhead.
    Rod was instantly at Bonnie’s side, his hands gingerly pushing the hair from her eyes, his lips kissing away the blood at the side of her mouth. “Oh, my poor baby, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
    â€œMy God,” Bonnie muttered. “She really hates me.”
    There was a noise at the front door, scuffling, laughter, the sound of a key turning in the lock. Sam, Bonnie realized, her body tensing automatically.
    Brace yourself for the second round, it said.

5
    T he door opened and Sam Wheeler spilled inside, like a tall glass of water. He was wrapped in a multitude of layers, an open khaki jacket over an army-style camouflage shirt, itself worn over an olive-green T-shirt, all of which hung over the top of a pair of faded and baggy brown pants. On his feet were expensive brand-name high-topped sneakers, their laces undone and twisting around his feet, like snakes. His hair was uncombed and so black it radiated blue, blotting out the natural color of his eyes, so that they looked like two empty sockets, incongruously nestled beneath extraordinarily long lashes. A small gold loop curved around the outside of his left nostril.
    Right behind Sam was another boy, not as tall, a little more muscular, a series of tattoos running up and down his bare