Kesley’s body had been discovered.
“Kesley needs justice ,” I said, my voice sharp with frustration.
“Ava…” My mother’s voice broke. She placed her hand on mine. “I know it’s hard. But we just have to sit tight, okay? The police will find out who did this to Kesley. I promise you.”
But that’s the thing about promises, isn’t it? They can’t always be kept.
No matter how good the intentions behind them are.
My mother continued speaking, but I wasn’t really paying attention at that point. She sighed and slid her chair back. “It’s getting late,” she told me, “and I have some errands to run. Have any plans for today?”
“No,” I said.
“Well.” She pulled her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the front door. “If you do decide to do something, just be careful, okay?”
“Careful?”
“I don’t know how safe it is out there anymore, Ava,” was all she said.
A few moments later, the slam of the door told me she had left. There was a crunch of gravel as she backed out of the driveway, and that was it. Silence. Sweet, terrifying silence. Soon, the memories would come. And then the despair.
And then—
The doorbell rang. I scraped my chair back and went to get the door. Jackson was waiting outside, and he must’ve seen my expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Still nothing new about Kesley,” I whispered.
I sank into his arms, pressing my face into his chest. Everything felt better when he was with me. Not good but bearable.
He pulled back a little to look at me, and sympathy softened his features. “Everything will be fine,” he said so sincerely that I almost believed it. “I know it will. You’ll have your justice.” Another promise, another good intention. My gaze flicked over his pale-green eyes, brown hair, and the slight scruff on his chin.
“I’m not sure that’s possible anymore,” I said. “It’s been two months, Jackson. What if they never find out who did this to her? What if it remains unsolved? I don’t know how I can live with that—”
He cupped my face and pressed a kiss to my lips, cutting off the rest of my words. “You’ll get closure,” he promised me.
“I don’t think I want closure anymore,” I whispered. “I just want my sister back.”
He had no reply to that.
The rest of the day passed quickly now that Jackson was here. He’d brought me flowers too: white lilies that now sit on my bedside table. I wondered if he knew white lilies were symbolic of death. We said nothing more about Kesley and focused instead on school, until he saw the photo by my bed.
“Hey,” Jackson said, breaking through my thoughts of algebraic formulas. “Where was this taken?”
Light spilled onto the photo he was looking at. Sitting on my nightstand was a picture framed with ornate diamond-like jewels.
The light gleaming off them was almost blinding.
The picture had been taken this summer—the last summer Kesley would ever have. She had an arm slung around me, and we both were smiling. In the background was a gleaming lake surrounded by trees. It was obviously windy because our hair trailed out behind us, and Kesley was pulling long blond ribbons of hair from her eyes, throwing the image slightly off-balance. I liked how this picture wasn’t entirely perfect.
A curling blue ribbon was in Kesley’s hand.
The words were stuck in my throat. I had to take several deep breaths before answering. “Lake O’Hara,” I said. Where she was murdered , I didn’t add.
“Oh.” He fell silent. He sat up, running a hand through his hair, his face twisting slightly, deep in thought. “Do you think…?”
“What?” I said quickly.
“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered and looked out the window.
“Do I think that whoever killed my sister knew we went there every summer?” I asked for him.
“Well, yeah.”
“I guess so,” I said, “but everyone knew that. It could be anyone in this town.” Going to Lake O’Hara had become a