Four Letter Word, page 26
Her mom, thankfully, would be okay. Physically. Emotionally, it would be a longer road. For aiding and abetting a known criminal, Izzy’s mom was facing jail time, but considering her state, Izzy hoped for an in-patient mental health option.
Jake was still in the conference room giving his statement to the police, his dad standing watch behind him. They’d hardly been able to talk since they arrived at the station, as she’d been whisked off immediately, to answer questions first about her mom from the medical personnel and then about Alberto from Deputy Porter. She’d waived her right to have an adult present for the interview: she didn’t need her dad or one of her brothers to come to her aid. Never again.
She wasn’t even sure where her dad was, though Peyton’s house was a good bet. She assumed he was contacted soon after her arrival at the Coast Guard station, but hours later, he still hadn’t appeared. Like at the hospital. Her mom might have been planning to run away with a serial killer, but at least she’d been there for Izzy. Her dad had completely abandoned her.
“Hey, kiddo.”
Izzy turned her head sharply. Her dad stood behind her, hands shoved into the pockets of his work cargoes.
“Hey.”
He paused, as if waiting for her to run sobbing into his protective arms or some shit, but that wasn’t going to happen. She cocked an eyebrow, signaling that the ball was in his court when it came to opening the conversation. He swallowed, obviously uncomfortable with the shift in the power dynamic, and it was clear to Izzy that he had no idea what to say to her.
A buzz from his pocket saved him from further awkwardness, and he smiled as he pulled out his phone and handed it to Izzy. “Someone wants to talk to you.”
Peyton’s face filled the screen. Her eyes were still red rimmed and bloodshot, and large purple crescents extended down to her cheekbones. Izzy wondered if she’d been up all night as well.
“Hey,” Peyton began. She sounded about as exhausted as Izzy felt. “I’m so sorry, Izz.”
Izzy was about to ask what her friend was sorry for, but Peyton had already anticipated that question.
“About Alberto and Jake and your mom and…and not telling you.”
“It’s okay,” Izzy heard herself say. She was still angry with her friend, a hurt that ran deep and would take time to heal, but an apology was a good start.
“It’s not,” Peyton said. “I should have told you, but…” She dropped her voice. “He and my mom made me swear not to. He promised he’d tell you himself.”
Izzy glanced up at her dad. He’d walked a few paces away to give her some privacy, and suddenly Izzy understood Peyton’s question from before Alberto’s arrival: Hey, have you talked to your dad recently? It wasn’t about Italy, it was about his affair. Not only was her dad cheating on his wife, but he’d made Peyton lie about it for who knows how long. The depths of his selfishness were truly astounding.
“It was not your responsibility, Pey,” Izzy said, marveling at the strength she heard in her own voice. “And I don’t blame you. I’m sorry my dad put you in this position.”
Peyton’s eyes were glassy as fresh tears welled up. “I’ve been a terrible friend,” she sobbed. “And a terrible girlfriend.”
The trauma of Hunter’s murder would linger with Peyton for a long time, as would the trauma of what Alberto had done to both of their families. But at least they could help each other through it.
“You’re not,” Izzy said, smiling sadly. “You’re still my Pey.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Peyton wiped her cheeks. “Let me know when you’re home safe, okay?”
“I will.” Izzy’s smile deepened. “And be gentle with yourself.”
Peyton nodded silently, then ended the call.
Izzy’s dad eyed her sheepishly as she walked the phone back to him. He was probably worried about what Peyton had told her. Good.
“I, uh, just want you to know this isn’t your fault,” he said.
Izzy froze. “What?”
“Your mom’s problems.” He placed an awkward hand on her shoulder, like he didn’t know how to treat her anymore. “They’re not your fault.”
Izzy stared at her dad. Was he kidding? His watery blue eyes reflected concern and stress, but she wasn’t entirely sure if either was related to her, since he’d never even asked how she was doing.
He flashed that boyish little half smile to signify in his cocky, white-man-privileged way that everything would work out. Izzy used to find that unfounded confidence reassuring, but not today. For the first time in her life, she saw her dad’s affably forgetful, happy-go-lucky nature for what it actually was: childish and selfish.
She shook off his hand. “Of course it’s not my fault, Dad,” she said, laying emphasis on the last word to remind him who was the adult in this scenario.
He blinked, and his smile faltered. “Oh. Um, good.” He stepped away, his fatherly duty finished. “I’m glad you—”
Only Izzy wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. “Mom’s mental illness is not my fault. Not anyone’s fault. But leaving me to deal with her alone? That’s on you.”
“What?” He stiffened, instantly on the defensive. “I didn’t leave you.”
Izzy rolled her eyes. Just like Alberto, or Evan, or whatever the fuck his name actually was, Izzy’s dad was a little boy who was unwilling or unable to take responsibility for his actions. “Yeah, you did. You all did. Taylor, Parker, Riley—they physically left. But you checked out years ago.”
“Izzy,” he said, squaring his shoulders and pulling himself up to his full five-foot-nine-inch height. “I have always been there for you.”
“Really, Dad? Were you there when a serial killer tried to hang me in your workshop? Were you there when Mom almost ran off with him? Were you there when she came up with this whole stupid Italy plan in the first place?”
“I—”
“No, you weren’t. You were fucking my best friend’s mom.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s completely fair. You ran right over to their house when you heard about Hunter. But he was my friend too. Did you ever think that I needed comfort? Did you know that I discovered the body?”
“I…”
“You didn’t even come to the hospital, Dad. I’m sure Mom texted you that I almost fucking died, but you couldn’t be bothered.”
His face reddened, and he sputtered out his next words. “I…I thought she was making it up.”
“I wouldn’t have blamed her if she was. You left. You left her alone in a town she hates, in a house she hates, surrounded by clocks she hates. And you don’t care. You never even tried.”
“I did!” He was whining now. Like Riley. “I tried for years.”
“Then snuck off and started banging Jeanine Nowak.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
Did men always try to justify their selfish bullshit? At least Jake had owned up to his ghosting, apologized without being prompted. At seventeen, he was already more mature than her own father.
“You know what, Dad? I don’t care. I don’t care why you cheated on Mom, and I don’t care why you abandoned us.” She shouldered past him, out of the room. She was utterly done. “Just understand, right here and now, that I will never forget this.”
* * *
She waited for Jake outside the conference room where he was giving his statement to Deputy Porter. When he finally emerged, his dad lagged behind to speak to the deputy, which gave them a few moments alone.
He crossed the lobby in three strides and enfolded her in his arms, a gentle but strong embrace that felt like the closest thing to safe Izzy had experienced in a long time. Though she wasn’t going to rely on other people for her happiness ever again, as she pressed her cheek against Jake’s chest and inhaled his sea-salt scent, she thought it might be okay to have a partner by her side while she figured out her life.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m pretty sure I’ll never be okay ever again,” she said. Then she laughed. “But maybe years of therapy will help.”
“It helps me,” he said, passing a hand over her hair. “My relationship with my dad will never be normal, but at least it’s better.”
Izzy nodded. His empathy bolstered her confidence. “I’m down with better.”
“And I’m here to help.” He pulled away, lowering his head to her level. “Whatever you need or…” His eyes faltered. “Or don’t need from me.”
It was such a stark contrast: her father, who had spent his entire life making selfish decisions, doing what he wanted, when he wanted it, without giving much of a thought for the other people in his life. It had blown up his family, alienated his kids, and almost gotten his wife killed. And when faced with the truth of the situation, he’d gotten defensive, offered excuses, retreated. Never once had he taken responsibility for any of his actions.
Meanwhile Jake was standing by her side, despite his own grief after losing his best friend. He offered support in whatever form she needed, even if that meant stepping away from their romantic relationship, putting her needs before his own.
Izzy was pretty sure she’d hit the jackpot.
“I need…” She let her voice trail off, then slipped her hands into his, holding on to them for dear life. “I need you.”
Jake’s eyebrow shot up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
But instead of smiling, Jake’s face clouded. “I know how you feel about this place. About this town. You probably hate it even more after all that’s happened, and I’d be tethering you to that trauma.”
Hate. Izzy had certainly shared how she felt about her hometown with literally anyone who would listen, and she’d spent the better part of the last year plotting an escape. Never running to anything, just from it. But while she still had no idea where her path was leading, Izzy had learned that it wasn’t actually Eureka, California, that she was running from, but herself. And her family. And all of things that she knew weren’t working, and that she felt utterly helpless to fix.
But that was going to change. Izzy was going to change. And maybe New Izzy didn’t hate this town quite as much as Old Izzy thought she did.
“I don’t hate it. Not this place, not my family, not my home. I just need to learn to live my own life despite them.”
“I wouldn’t want you to stay just for me.”
“Oh, I won’t.”
He swallowed, stepping away. “I understand.”
She tugged him back. “Jake…I mean, I can’t leave this place. Not right now. Maybe not ever. Not as long as my mom’s in treatment.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not staying for you. I’m staying for me.”
“But you’re staying?”
She nodded, pressing her body into his. “And I’d really like my life here to include you.”
Izzy felt Jake’s body relax. “I’d like that too.”
She pulled his head down to meet hers. His lips felt so soft against her own, and when he broke away, she could actually feel the warmth radiating from his smile.
“I don’t know what Eureka would do without you,” he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Who’s going to catch all these serial killers?”
“No one, clearly.” She laughed. Then a new thought grabbed her. “Do you think Humboldt State has a criminology program?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Then maybe my mom wasn’t wrong about everything.”
“What do you mean?”
Izzy laced her fingers around the back of his neck. “Fate is also a four-letter word.”
Every time I write a set of acknowledgments, I am reminded of how lucky I am that I get to tell stories for a living, and of how little I could accomplish without the following people:
First, to Kelsey Sullivan, who helped me dig in and find the depth in Izzy’s story. I appreciate her editorial insights every day.
To Ginger Clark, my publishing partner since 2008. Lucky novel number thirteen!
To the marvelous, supportive, ridiculously hardworking crew at Hyperion, who help make all of this look effortless: Marci Senders, who has knocked yet another cover design out of the park; Guy Cunningham, David Jaffe, and the entire copyediting team for putting up with so many commas; Holly Nagel and Danielle DiMartino in marketing; my publicist, Crystal McCoy, who gets it all done like a boss; Dina Sherman, who has been such a stalwart supporter through so many books; and my managing editor, Sara Liebling.
To Nicole Eisenbraun at Ginger Clark Literary, who works so tirelessly on my behalf.
To Mary Pender, who has always believed in me.
To Alessandro Polselli and international operatic soprano superstar Julianna Di Giacomo for fixing my terrible Italian.
To Emily O’Brien for invaluable insight into the foreign exchange student process.
To Cecilia Ortiz and Veronica Rodriguez, without whom I’d get nothing done.
To my mom: pinch babysitter, cheerleader, and a strong, working mom who led by example.
To John and John and Katie, who sacrifice a lot so Mommy can have some writing time.
And to working moms everywhere, because this shit is hard.
GRETCHEN MCNEIL is the author of thirteen young adult novels, including #MURDERTRENDING, the #1 YALSA Teens’ Top Ten pick of 2019; Ten, which was a 2013 YALSA Top Ten Quick Pick for Reluctant Young Adult Readers and was adapted as the Lifetime original movie Ten: Murder Island in 2017; and Get Even and Get Dirty, adapted as the BBC/Netflix series Get Even and Rebel Cheer Squad. You can find her online at www.GretchenMcNeil.com and on Instagram @Gretchen_McNeil.
PRAISE FOR
GRETCHEN MCNEIL
FOUR LETTER WORD
“McNeil is the queen of Hitchcock-influenced YA thrillers. She creates a palpable atmosphere of menace. In her worlds, magnetic evil sucks good people into its orbit, so no one can be trusted. Four Letter Word does all this in a sleepy seaside town where a handsome Italian stranger arrives to stay with a troubled family, and a serial killer is stalking young women. Watch out.”
—E. LOCKHART, author of We Were Liars and Genuine Fraud
THREE DROPS of BLOOD
“Three Drops of Blood is a breathless ride. A brilliantly clever update on Hitchcock’s Rear Window and a scathing takedown of Hollywood’s dark side, Three Drops pulls zero punches. Gretchen McNeil has delivered another knockout thriller with a drop-dead twist.”
—DANA MELE, author of Summer’s Edge
DIG TWO GRAVES
“A delightfully devious two-hander and terribly fun, Neve and Diane’s deadly promise sets in motion a thrilling high-stakes game of chess. No one writes murder like Gretchen McNeil.”
—CHANDLER BAKER, New York Times
best-selling author of The Husbands
Gretchen McNeil, Four Letter Word
