That was why they walked in while the music was still playing.
Dr. Underhill touched my shoulder.
“Laney, we can call your mother.”
“She’s on shift at Greenfield,” I said. “Don’t call her. I’ll go.”
Jonathan held out a stapled set of pages.
“These are copies. The originals are evidence now.”
I took them without looking at him.
Sasha was already holding the door.
In the hallway, she grabbed my hand.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I said it like I knew he was a jerk. I didn’t know. I saw him at the county clerk’s office in April with two men in gray suits, and I thought it was something dumb. I should have asked.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I’m driving you.”
We left in her mother’s old minivan, still in our prom dresses, the mint-green hem dragging on the wet parking lot.
The whole ride, I held the pages against my chest.
