Anna Pitoniak - Necessary People

She looked just like her daughter.

Thomas’s eyes brimmed with tears as he watched his wife snatch up her purse and car keys. Oliver was staring at the floor. Ginny hovered behind Anne, murmuring softly. But Anne refused to be consoled. The pain hadn’t lessened as the months went by. Now it was springtime. The air softening, the trees shimmering with green. The world was renewing itself, but Stella was still gone. Anne shook her head and said, “This is useless. If you won’t look for her”—she pointed at Fazio, then Thomas, then Oliver—“then I’ll just keep doing it myself.”

In the silence after Anne slammed the front door, Thomas retreated to his study. Ginny hugged Oliver goodbye. “I’m sorry about your mother,” she said quietly. “We’re going to make this right.” She stepped back, then she gave me a cold stare.

After Ginny left, Oliver shook his head. “I knew it was nothing.” He sighed. “What a waste of time. Should we head back to the city?”

But as we were gathering our coats, Fazio appeared in the foyer. He cleared his throat. “Miss Trapp, could I speak to you for a minute?”

Oliver frowned. “We really should get going.”

“This won’t take long,” Fazio said. “I just need a few minutes with you.” He held out an arm, ushering me back into the house.

“I’M GOING TO get more coffee,” Fazio said, waggling his empty cup. “Can I get you anything?”

I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

He smiled. “Back in a minute.”

Fazio disappeared into the kitchen. The living room was eerily lifeless with the leftover remnants of the conversation, half-drunk cups of coffee on the side tables, a crumb-covered plate—Oliver was the only one to partake of the biscotti. His blasé calm was so weird. I could see him on the bench in the foyer, typing on his phone, occasionally glancing at his watch.

But why was it weird? What did he have to worry about? Sometimes I forgot that Oliver was actually innocent. His resentment, his bitterness, his long-held grudges against Stella. He had every motive to want his sister dead. But motive didn’t make you guilty. Actions made you guilty.

This might be the moment when everything came crashing down. My mind scrambled for a justification, a way to spin it. I hadn’t technically killed Stella. But the night itself had long ago become secondary. What was worse, what would cause the most trouble, was the lie. I was a bad person; I had become remarkably comfortable with this. The thing that really scared me, that sent me panicking, was the judgment of others—how fucked up was that?

Fazio came back in. Before he sat down, he closed the pocket doors that separated the living room from the hallway. The last thing I saw, as the doors squeaked on their tracks, was Oliver looking up at the sound in surprise.

“I think we’ll want some privacy,” Fazio said. “So, Miss Trapp. Another call came into the tip line last week. And it concerns you.”

My mouth was dry, my tongue thick and gluey. I nodded.

“It was your parents,” he said. “They saw your name and picture in the news. They said they haven’t seen you, or spoken to you, in years. Is that true?”

I nodded again.

“Well, they had a lot to say. I won’t give you chapter and verse, but the gist is that they insisted that I couldn’t trust you. That you had been deceptive in the past.”

He looked at me, squinting. “Does that sound like your parents?”

I coughed. “Yes,” I said. “Unfortunately.”

“They had no idea you worked at KCN,” he said. “They didn’t know a thing about you. At first, I thought they were like this bartender. Just making it up. But I ran their names through the system and, sure enough, they’re your parents.”

I sat perfectly still, saying nothing.

“You seem shocked,” he said.

“It’s just… I haven’t talked to them in years.”

“Look. They clearly have an agenda. They want to get you in trouble, or maybe they want to get on TV themselves. But they’ve got a long rap sheet between them, and you’re obviously a good kid.” He sighed. “I know how it goes. My father was an alcoholic. My mother left him, but he still managed to make our lives hell. Some people are just bad parents.”

“Bad is an understatement,” I said.

Fazio let out a gruff heh, and I took what felt like my first breath in minutes.

“I’m sure this isn’t pleasant to hear,” he said. “But I thought you should know. If they’re looking for a spotlight, they might contact the media next.”

“Really?”

“People want their fifteen minutes.”

My heartbeat was finally beginning to slow down. “Is that it, though? That’s all they said?”

He nodded. “Can I give you some unsolicited advice, Miss Trapp? Maybe reach out to them. Try mending the fence. It could save you a big headache in the long run.”

As we drove back into the city, I told Oliver about my conversation with Fazio. “Hmm,” he said. “Your parents? Weird.” And that was it. He spent the rest of the drive talking about the new case he was working on. He had to go back into the office that night, which was good, because that night was my dinner with Corey Molina.

After a shower and change of clothes and a double espresso, and a walk through the cold spring air, I arrived at the restaurant feeling better. In fact, almost buoyant with relief. It was a sleek nouveau space in Chelsea, white walls and open kitchen and minimalist menu. Corey was already waiting at the table, a glass of wine at his elbow.

“I thought you didn’t drink,” I said.

He smiled. “Good memory.”

“I guess things might have changed in—how long has it been?”

“Almost eight years. You forget that I was basically a kid back then, too.”

“Yeah, but twenty-six seems so grown up to a seventeen-year-old.”

Corey pinched the stem between his fingers, moving the wineglass in tiny circles so that the liquid formed a whirlpool. “You’re probably that age by now. Do you feel grown up?”

I laughed. “It depends on the day. I feel far away from high school, I can tell you that.”

“The drinking thing,” he said, after I’d ordered my own glass of wine. “That was always Diane’s idea. She was Mormon, you know?”

“I remember.”

“I’d go out to the bar after work most nights. She never guessed. Sometimes I’d come home completely hammered and she was just—she had no idea.” He shrugged. “It seems obvious now, doesn’t it? That marriage was never going to last.”

“When did you break up?”

“Two years ago in June, but we’d already been living apart. I’ve been at the Phoenix affiliate for almost four years now.”

“And now you’re ready for the big leagues.”

“Ah.” He smiled. “I see you’ve been drinking the Kool-Aid.”

“What do you mean?’

“KCN’s ratings aren’t exactly setting any records.”

There was a pause as the waiter brought our appetizers, Corey leaning back in his chair to make room. I squinted at him. “You’re not taking the job, are you?”

“I have a better offer from CNN. They’re putting me on a fast track to becoming a foreign correspondent, which is what I’ve always wanted. I played through with KCN to get leverage on my contract. Don’t tell Ginny.”

He grinned. Rebecca was right. He was handsome. Broad smile, stubbled tan. He raised his glass toward me. “Although I had second thoughts when I saw you.”

My heart was thrumming. “What do you mean?” I said.

“I mean you’re brilliant, Vi. If KCN has managed to hang on to you for this long, they must be doing something right. How great would it have been for us to work together.”