Adrenaline shoots through him, and he can feel the blood rushing to his ears. He steals a glance at Caren, who gives him a smile.
“Do we just go in?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “And demand she talk to us?”
“Why not?” Caren asks, pushing open the door.
“This is a very Karen thing to do,” he stage-whispers, a feeble attempt at humor to mask his fear.
She looks at him hard, her eyes flashing with an intensity that takes him by surprise. “No, it’s a very middle-aged-mom thing to do. I’m no longer waiting for permission. Now, let’s go get some answers.”
Finn follows her into the office, praying that a little of that confidence might rub off on him.
THIRTY
The first thing Finn notices when they enter are the plants. The waiting room is exploding with greenery—a large ficus tree in the corner, its leaves casting dappled shadows across the worn carpet while spider plants hang from baskets in a grimy window.
The opposite of the sterile Prison House that Tori Price used to live in.
Every surface holds a fern, a succulent, or some small figurine, as if whoever decorated this room was terrified of empty space.
“This is not what I expected,” Caren says.
“Me neither.” Finn eyes the stacks of magazines and books on the coffee table, smiling when he notices the novelStay Gold. He was obsessed with Tobly McSmith’s stories about trans guys back when he was in high school.
“I’m not sure I would trust these people with my mental-health care,” Caren says, her fingertips hovering over a Russian matryoshka doll on the bookshelf without quite touching it. “Onthe other hand, they’re clearly not obsessed with appearances. That’s kind of refreshing for Bethesda.”
Finn leaves the waiting room and walks slowly down the hall. There are four doors, three closed and one open that leads to a bathroom with mint-green tiles visible from the hallway.
At the door with a sign that readsTORI PRICE, he pauses, holding his breath. The sound of voices filters through the thin wood, indistinct murmurs. The hair on his arms stands on end—she’s just on the other side, the woman who might hold the key to everything. He hustles back to the waiting room.
“She’s here, I heard her,” he whispers, the words rushing out between shallow breaths.
“I guess we’ll wait,” Caren replies, her tone calm. She takes a seat.
Finn sits beside her, the ancient chair sighing beneath his weight. He checks his phone and seeing a text from his mom, he responds with practiced efficiency:Yes, I’m fine. Yes, I’m eating. Yes, I’m getting out and having fun.He presses Send, guilt pricking at him for the half-truths.
Although he’s sure his mom wouldn’t think it, staking out Tori Price’s office with Caren is, in its own weird way, kind of fun. The thought ambushes him, and he feels a little guilty thinking that—a traitor to Autumn’s memory. He knows it’s survivor’s guilt. How can he enjoy himself when Autumn is dead? But that logic, which seemed airtight a year ago, has lost its magical hold on him recently. Maybe it’s feeling like he’s not all alone in this—his landlady helping, meeting Caren, even Detective Aziz checking on him. Maybe it’s meeting Ellis, whose smile makes him forget, if only for seconds at a time, why he’s still in Eastbrook. Or maybe it’s just time, that relentlessforce that dulls even the sharpest edges of grief. Being miserable is exhausting, and he’s ready for a new primary emotion.
The minutes seem to stretch like hours. After what feels like an eternity, a woman about Caren’s age enters the room, followed by Tori. He feels a rush of adrenaline as soon as he sees her familiar face, delicate features, dark hair. The client’s sniffling, her makeup smudged at the corners of her eyes.
“I’ll see you next week,” the woman says, her voice thick with emotion, and puts dark glasses on before leaving, never even glancing over at him or Caren, whether it’s out of etiquette or she’s too wrapped in her own pain to notice them, he has no idea.
But Tori notices them. She stands at the entrance to the room, her arms crossed tightly across her chest like armor, her lips pressed together in disapproval.
“Can I help you?” Her tone is glacial.
Caren pops up out of her seat, smoothing her shirt with practiced ease. “Tori Price, right? I’m Caren Costa.” She extends her hand, which Tori pointedly ignores.
Finn stands as well, his legs unsteady beneath him as he introduces himself.
“We live in Eastbrook,” Caren says, dropping her rejected hand casually to her side. “And we were hoping you could spare us a few minutes.”
Tori doesn’t smile. She doesn’t blink. Her face might as well be carved from stone. “That won’t be possible. I’m very busy.”
“Oh, I think you can give us five minutes.” Caren cocks her head and smiles. There’s steel beneath the suburban mom exterior, and it’s showing now.
Finn watches the two women stare at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills, wondering who will back down first.
Finally, Tori turns and walks out of the room, her shoulders tight with resignation. “Let’s make this quick, shall we?” she says over her shoulder, the words clipped and cold.