Page 110 of Sunday Morning

I lifted my gaze to hers and smiled. “It was the most romantic thing you've ever seen.”

“Oh my god, Sarah!” She gasped. Eve wasn’t as much of a pleaser. She used the Lord’s name in vain without feeling guilty. “Where were you? You were with him. Where? Youhaveto tell me. If you don’t tell me, I’m telling Mom and Dad.”

I frowned.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I won’t tell them, but just tell me.”

I pressed my lips together.

“Tell me!” She tossed my shoes aside and twisted my swing so when she let go I spun in fast circles.

“Stop.” I tried to laugh, but my heart wasn’t in it. I loved my sister, but I didn’t want to have that conversation with her. I wanted to tell Heather.

But I couldn’t.

I would never tell Heather anything ever again.

Eve’s excitement faded when I failed to engage with her playfulness. “I’m sorry about Heather and Joanna, but I’m glad you were with Isaac. Otherwise, you’d be …”

I nodded slowly.

As Eve gave up and took a few steps past me toward the house, I mumbled, “We went to Nashville.”

“Are you serious? Did you?—”

“That’s it, Eve. That’s all I have in me to give today. I need tobe alone now. Okay?”

For the next two days,my parents continued to give me a reprieve from accountability, but I knew after Joanna’s funeral that I wouldn’t be able to keep my whereabouts a secret any longer. Matt called the house, but I didn’t take his calls.

“Three funerals in one week is too much,” Dad said during breakfast the morning of Joanna’s funeral.

“It is,” Mom murmured, giving him a sad smile while setting the pitcher of orange juice on the table.

“Are we going to Brenda’s funeral too?” Eve asked.

My gaze shot up from my plate. “Brenda?”

Dad wiped his mouth and cleared his throat. “Brenda Swensen. She graduated three or four years before?—”

“I know who she is. She died?”

Everyone else at the table stared at me.

“Yes, honey. Didn’t you know she was the one who hit Heather and Joanna? They think she was intoxicated.”

“What? No.” I shook my head a half dozen times. “Nobody told me.”

That was it. That was the look in Wesley Cory’s eyes at Heather’s funeral. He wasn’t mourning her; he was mourning his mistress.

I thought I hated Brenda before the accident. After all, she was screwing a married man who was old enough to be her father—in his wife’s bed.But I knew I hated her when I found out she killed my friends. And it also made me despise Wesley Cory.

“I hate her,” I mumbled, dropping my chin and stabbing my fork into the pile of pancakes.

“Sarah Elaine Jacobson, we don’t hate anyone because God doesn’t hate people,” Dad said.

“Am I God?” I shot him a scowl.

He drew in a controlled breath.