I loved my mother with all of my heart and soul.
That’s why it’s hard to tell this part of my story. If there was one moment, beyond my birth, that established my destiny, and my influence on the destiny of those around me, it would be one evening during my senior year in high school, the night I killed my mother.
***
The past—twelve years ago…
The steps leading to the Michaels’ home seem to stretch eternally, but then so do most on this particular strip of houses in McLean, Virginia, where the rich, and sometimes famous, reside. Music radiates from the walls of the massive white mansion that is our destination, the stretch of land owned by the family wide enough that the nearest neighbor sees nothing and hears nothing. They most certainly don’t know that while the Michaels are out of town, their son, Jesse, is throwing a party.
“I can’t believe we’re at Jesse’s house,” Danielle says, linking her arm through mine, something she’s been doing for the past six years, since we met in private school at age eleven. Only then I was the tall one, and now I’m five-foot-four to her five-foot-eight, and that’s when I’m wearing heels and she’s not.
“Considering his father bloodies my father on his news program nightly, I can’t either,” I say. “I shouldn’t be here, Danielle.”
She stops walking and turns to me, her beautiful chestnut hair, which goes with her beautiful, perfect face and body, blowing right smack into my average face. She shoves said beautiful hair behind her ears, and glowers at me. “Hailey—”
“Don’t start,” I say, folding my arms in front of my chest, which is at least respectable, considering my dirty blonde hair and blue eyes are what I call average and others call cute. Like I’m not smart enough to know that means average. “I’m here. You already got me here.”
“Jesse doesn’t care about your father’s run for President
,” she argues. “Or that his father doesn’t support your father.”
“Why did you just say that?” I demand.
“Say what?”
“Now you’ve just reminded me that I’m at the house of a man who doesn’t support my father, whom I happen to love. I need to leave.” I start down the stairs.
Danielle hops in front of me. “Wait. Please. I think I might be in love with Jesse. You can’t just leave.”
“My God, woman, you’re a drama queen. You have never even kissed him. And I have to study for the SAT and so do you.”
“Please. His father isn’t here. His father will never know about the party or us.”
“Danielle, if my father finds out—”
“He’s out of town, too. How is he going to find out?”
“What about your father? He’s an advisor to my father. You can’t date Jesse.”
She draws in a deep breath, her expression tightening before she gushes out, “Hailey,” making my name a plea. “I’m trying so hard to be normal. I know that you deal with things by studying. I do, but I need this. I need to feel normal.”
Normal.
That word punches me with a fist of emotions I reject every time I hear it and feel them. “We will never be normal again and you know it. We weren’t normal to start with. Not when—”
“After that night,” she says. “We were normal enough until then. But since—after what happened, after we—”
“Stop,” I hiss. “We don’t talk about it. We don’t talk about it ever.”
“Ouch,” she says, grabbing my hand that is on her arm, my grip anything but gentle. “You’re hurting me.”
I have to count to three and force myself to breathe again before my fingers ease from her arm. “We agreed that ‘the incident’ was buried.”
“Right,” she says, and now she’s hugging herself. “Because we’re so good at burying things.”
“We have to be,” I bite out, trying to soften my tone and failing. “I know you know that.”
She gives me several choppy nods. “Yes.” Her voice is tiny. “I know.” She turns pragmatic, her tone lifting. “I just need more to clutter up my mind than the SAT exam. That will come and go.”