Did I Say You Could Go

by Melanie Gideon

  LoveYouMore: Well Cam’s vanished.

  MsFoxy: He deleted his IG account?

  BearMama: So sketch. I feel bad for Bee.

  WineLuvva: Why? All Cam did was expose the real Bee to her friends. He didn’t make up what she said. i.e. my friends are so shallow they’re not capable of carrying on a conversation.

  OhThePlacesYou’llGo: My friends would stab me in the back in a minute.

  LoveYouMore: My friends are so jealous of me.

  BarkingUpTheWrongTree: Everything revolves around me.

  WhatsUpWomen: Sheesh. Did you ladies memorize everything Bee said?

  TotesAdorb: Everybody’s talking about it.

  WineLuvva: My DD and DS too.

  WhatsUpWomen: My DD says Bee hasn’t been in school.

  WineLuvva: She’s probably afraid to show her face.

  OhThePlacesYou’llGo: Her poor friends. Imagine having your friend say those kinds of things behind your back.

  WhatsUpWomen: Wonder how long it’ll take Bee to come back to school?

  BearMama: I’d switch schools if I was her. There’s no recovering from this.

  WhatsUpWomen: I wonder how Gemma is doing. First Study Right and now this!

  LoveYouMore: She probs doesn’t know. I’ve heard she’s very hands-off with Bee’s socials.

  WineLuvva: I hate to say it, I’m not one of those “blame the mother” kinds of people, but doesn’t she bear some responsibility for this too?

  BEE

  The smell of maple syrup wakes her. Wakes her again? Had she spoken to Dr. Baum? Was that a dream? Her eyes flutter open and she sees her mother sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, her eyes so full of worry they are practically swollen shut.

  “Bee. Honey,” she says.

  Bee wills her limbs to move. She tries to sit up, but falls back onto the pillow. Her neck hurts. Gingerly, she touches it, feels the rough abrasions where the jump rope scraped and dragged at her tender flesh.

  “I tried to take it back,” she says weakly to her mother. “I called for you but you didn’t hear me. I changed my mind.”

  “You changed your mind?” her mother gasps.

  Bee realizes this confession will only add to her mother’s pain. “I’m sorry,” she cries.

  Her mother gathers her up into her arms and rocks her like a child and Bee just sobs and sobs. She’s ugly. She’s hideous. Her lips are parched and cracked. She smells faintly of vomit. It doesn’t matter to her mother. She nestles her, nuzzles her. Leaves no inch of her untouched. Let’s her know over and over again how beloved she is. How dear. And Bee feels herself beginning to stitch back together. Jagged, loose stiches. Not pretty. Not neat. But not dangling anymore.

  “So tell me about Cam,” says her mother, after Bee’s managed a few bites of pancake. Her throat is so sore. She wants icy cold things. A nice nurse named Susan went to the cafeteria to get her a milkshake. Susan called her doll. A sexist term of endearment that Bee would normally reject, but not now. She wants Susan to call her doll forever.

  She’s in a psych ward just for teenagers. The bed next to hers is empty and she’s glad. She’d be too embarrassed to have another kid see her this way. Rings on her throat like a tree.

  How does her mother know about Cam?

  “He’s nobody. He’s a pig,” says Bee.

  “Oh?”

  “He doesn’t even live here.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “San Diego. He’s homeschooled.” Bee’s stomach spasms. You overdo it with the lols. Makes you sound pathetic. Like you’re apologizing all the time.

  “You don’t have to worry about him anymore,” says Gemma. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “What do you mean you’ll take care of it?”

  “I’m going to find him. He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

  “No, Mom! Please just leave it alone. Leave him alone!” Bee can’t stand the thought of dredging it all back up. She wants to bury him forever.

  “Bee, I will find him if it’s the last thing I do. If he did this to you, he’ll do it to another girl. We have to stop him.”

  Bee thinks of all the terrible things she’d said to Cam about her friends. An exaggerated version of the truth. She liked her friends, and yeah, sometimes they were irritating, just as she was irritating to them. But something happened when she and Cam DMed each other. She felt she wasn’t enough. She had to be larger than life in order to impress him. He was so out of her league. She hadn’t really meant all the things she’d said. Everything revolves around me. They don’t make a move without my permission.

  “Can I have my phone?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I have to see if he posted anything else about me,” she pleads.

  “He hasn’t. I checked. He deleted his account.”

  So Cam was gone. The Bee she was with Cam was gone. Everybody must be just laughing their heads off.

  * * *

  She confesses everything to her mother. Every horrible thing she’d said about her friends. Her mother shows no surprise. She just looks at her with the most compassionate face.

  “No matter what you said, you didn’t deserve that,” says her mother.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “No,” her mother says firmly.

  Her mother sweeps the hair from her brow. “And just for the record, so you know this for the rest of your life, so it’s clear. There’s nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you.”

  RUTH

  “I want to come to the hospital,” says Marley.

  “You can’t, you have school.”

  “I think school pales in comparison to your best friend trying to hang herself, don’t you?”

  Bee is not your best friend, Ruth thinks. Bee dumped you a long time ago.

  Ruth holds up two silk scarves, a Pucci and an Hermès. “Which one?”

  Marley scrunches up her brow. “Are you seriously asking me what scarf you should wear to go visit Bee in the psych ward?”

  Ruth puts both scarves in her bag. “Do you have any idea how difficult this is for me? I’m shouldering the entire burden. Gemma’s a wreck. I’m going to have to do everything. Everything. Not that I resent that. I’m happy to be called upon. She called me, not Simon, by the way. From the ER.”

  Marley gives her a stare that Ruth doesn’t have the energy to try and interpret.

  She pulls her shoulders back proudly. “And for your information this scarf is for Bee, not me. To hide her—” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

  Marley physically convulses. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Ruth says, suddenly shaky, surprised to find herself on the verge of tears.

  Marley gives Ruth the arched-eyebrow, worried look that makes Ruth feel like a child.

  “What would you like for dinner tonight? Salmon? Quinoa cakes?” she asks.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be hungry. I don’t want you to go to all that trouble.”

  Ruth’s aware she sounds like a martyr but is powerless to do anything about it. When she found out that Bee had tried to kill herself she had no emotions, and now she seems to have temporarily lost the ability to mask her emotions. She’s a wreck, too.

  “Text me before you leave the hospital. I’ll have something yummy for you when you get home.”

  * * *

  Ruth meets Gemma in the crowded hospital lobby. Gemma must have had a sleepless night; she looks worse than yesterday. She pulls Ruth down into a chair. Ruth would prefer a more private venue. Why aren’t they meeting in the ward? When will she get to see Bee? The sliding doors keep opening and shutting, letting in gusts of cold air. Ruth would like to suggest they at least move away from the door, but Gemma has an urgent look on her face.

  “It wasn’t the Prozac. It was this Instagram—boy. He started messaging her when we were in New Hampshire. They talked, well, they messaged every day. They were very public. All her frien
ds knew. Apparently, I was the only one who didn’t know. They were Instagram Official. Do you know what that is? I didn’t know what it was.” She swipes angrily at her eyes. “Cam. That was his name.”

  Ruth nods. “Yes. Marley told me about him last night.”

  Gemma’s eyes widen. “And you didn’t call and tell me?”

  Ruth glances around the lobby nervously. Are people eavesdropping on their conversation? “Don’t you think we should go somewhere more private?”

  Gemma shakes her head, breathing heavily through her mouth. Ruth’s withheld information from her; she’s furious.

  “Gemma, I was going to tell you this morning. I just wanted you to be able to rest last night. You had such a shock. You were traumatized. I didn’t want to add to the trauma.”

  Gemma’s phone chimes. “She’s here,” she says.

  * * *

  Now they find a more private section of the lobby.

  “Sophie Knoll, I’d like you to meet Ruth Thorne,” says Gemma.

  Why is Gemma so nervous? And who is Sophie Knoll? Late twenties. Very attractive and put together. Glossy brown hair with butterscotch highlights. A rag & bone sweater Ruth recognizes from last year’s fall collection. Paul Green booties—Ruth has the same exact pair.

  “Sophie’s a—cyber forensics specialist?” says Gemma. “Did I get that right?”

  “Yeah. Think of me kind of like a digital PI. I track down online harassers, extortionists, blackmailers. But my specialty is finding assholes who ruin lives and then just disappear without a trace.”

  “Like Cam,” says Gemma.

  “I doubt his name is Cam,” Sophie says.

  “Ruth’s my best friend,” explains Gemma. “I need her to be my eyes and ears. I probably won’t remember anything you say.”

  “No worries,” says Sophie.

  Ruth hates that expression. She forbids Marley to use it. It’s lazy, that’s what it is.

  “So, what do you think?” asks Gemma. “Can you help us find him?”

  Sophie bobs her head from left to right. “I have to be honest. Since he deleted his account it’s not going to be easy.”

  “Are you saying it can’t be done?” asks Gemma.

  “I’m saying I can’t do it. But I have a contact at Instagram. If you give me the go-ahead, I’ll reach out to her. Even though he’s deleted his account, there might still be some record of his IP address in Instagram’s router logs.”

  “And if you had his IP address you’d know who he was?” asks Ruth.

  “We’d know where he is—generally, not specifically. An IP doesn’t reveal names or personal addresses but it will tell you city, zip code, and the internet provider. If we got the IP it would be a great start. I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll try my hardest.”

  “Yes, please go ahead,” says Ruth. “We’ve got to get this son of a bitch so he doesn’t do this to somebody else.”

  Gemma looks deflated; she’s got nothing left.

  “Okay, so I’ll just need a retainer,” says Sophie.

  Ruth whips out her checkbook.

  Sophie looks at Ruth like the dinosaur she is and says, “Can you Venmo me?”

  * * *

  Late that night, Ruth’s phone pings. MY MOTHER MADE ME DO IT.

  HappilyEverAfter: I hate March. It’s been raining for days. I’m so depressed, I want to kill myself.

  TortoiseWinsTheRace: I’ve gained 8 pounds since New Year’s. I can’t stop eating. Any great new diets out there? I want to kill myself too. Well my thighs anyway. I just want to stab the fat off them.

  WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: My DW is doing the Three Diet. Every meal and every snack she eats one portion of protein, carb and fat.

  OneWayAtATime: And that works? There’s got to be more to it than that.

  WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: Well it’s really about moderation. You can eat everything, but it has to be the size of your thumb.

  HappilyEverAfter: Nobody is listening to me! I just told you all I wanted to kill myself. It was a cry for help! Waaaa! What kind of friends are you?

  PennySavedPennyEarned: You shouldn’t kid about wanting to kill yourself.

  HappilyEverAfter: Sorryeeee. Somebody’s sensitive. DH and I are going to Maui next week sans children. Don’t worry ladies, I’ll get my happily ever after on.

  WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: Hey, can we talk about Bee and her Instagram boyfriend?

  OneWayAtATime: I know this isn’t nice to say, but Gemma needed to be taken down a peg. Bee too.

  HappilyEverAfter: Anybody know any details? DYING for information.

  WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: My DD told me the boyfriend looked like a cross between Timothée Chalamet and Ansel Elgort. Who btw both went to the same high school.

  HappilyEverAfter: I don’t care about that. I want to know what’s happening with Bee. She must be mortified. Hiding out.

  It dawns on Ruth that she has an opportunity here. The six-month vetting period is almost over. Something big is required. An offering. A show of loyalty. This is a pod that invited her to roll around in the dirt with them. Roll around with them she must.

  PennySavedPennyEarned: I have some information but you have to all agree it won’t go beyond our pod.

  WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: Ooo, tell us.

  OneWayAtATime: Absolutely!

  HappilyEverAfter: Mais oui!

  PennySavedPennyEarned: Okay. I heard through the grapevine that Bee tried to kill herself.

  WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: What?? Lordy I’m shocked!!!

  OneWayAtATime: Did she take pills?

  HappilyEverAfter: Did she slit her wrists?

  TortoiseWinsTheRace: Oh, this is terrible. I’m so sorry to hear this.

  The details rise from Ruth’s belly to her throat, clawing their way out of her.

  PennySavedPennyEarned: She tried to hang herself from a ceiling fan. With a jump rope.

  HappilyEverAfter: Oh that is sick, very sick.

  TortoiseWinsTheRace: Well how—how did she—how should I put this? How did she fail at it?

  PennySavedPennyEarned: I heard that the jump rope snapped. The doctors said just a few more minutes and she would have died.

  OneWayAtATime: OMG.

  WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: Wow, wow, wow.

  HappilyEverAfter: Gotta say, you’ve got the stuff PennySavedPennyEarned. This is just the kind of insider information we love! Keep it coming!

  Ruth shuts off her phone and feels sick. Why did she sell Gemma and Bee out? She is a despicable person. Simon was right.

  She lays awake most of the night, her stomach churning.

  GEMMA

  Simon is sitting on her doorstep when she pulls in the driveway. Gemma’s come home for a quick shower and to get some clean clothes for Bee. This is the last thing she needs—some sort of confrontation. It’s been raining for a week. The lawn is a brilliant green except for under the magnolia tree, where there’s an oval of dead grass. Strange, Gemma thinks.

  She gets out of the car and strides up the walkway. “I told you I needed some space.”

  “What’s happened?” he asks.

  “Nothing.” Gemma opens her purse and starts searching for her keys.

  “Obviously not nothing.”

  Her purse is the Bermuda Triangle. She puts things in it and they disappear.

  “Just sit down with me for a minute. One minute.” Simon’s tranquil voice soothes her. He’s a human Ativan. The opposite of Ruth, who’s a human Adderall.

  She sits down on the stoop with him huffily, like she’s doing him a favor. Why is she acting this way? Because he wants something from her and she has nothing, nothing left to give. She hasn’t even had the energy to call Scott, and it’s likely she won’t. Two days ago, he’d texted to tell her he’d gotten their father into a clinical trial for a new, promising drug. Scott’s on the front lines of his own health emergency—she doesn’t want to add to his load.

  “I’m so tired. I can barely function.” />
  “Bee?” he guesses.

  Gemma swallows audibly. She does not want to cry in front of him, does not want to need him. She’s too vulnerable for that.

  “Is she okay?”

  “No, she’s not okay. She tried to kill herself.”

  Simon’s face doesn’t betray any emotion and Gemma finds this infuriating. “I said she tried to kill herself. Hang herself, actually.”

  He nods. “I heard you. And is she stable now?” he asks gently.

  “For the moment,” she snaps.

  Why isn’t he shocked? He could at least gasp, for God’s sake. His preternatural calm unnerves her. Is it because he’s an X-ray tech? Used to seeing people in pain? A wave of exhaustion rolls over her.

  “What I don’t understand is why you’re insisting on going through this all alone. I’m excellent in a crisis. Let me help,” he says.

  “I’m not alone. Ruth has been with me. She hasn’t left my side; she’s taking care of everything.”

  “I see,” says Simon.

  Everything unsaid is in his I see. Judgment. Disapproval. Reprobation.

  “What do you see?”

  “I don’t trust her, Gemma. I don’t think she’s got your best interests in mind.”

  Gemma jumps to her feet. “I can’t listen to this.”

  He grabs her hand, tries to pull her back down. She wrenches her hand away from him.

  “Look, there are things you don’t know. Things that have happened that I need to tell you about,” he says.

  Gemma shakes her head. “Not now.”

  “Why? Why won’t you hear me out?”

  “Because you don’t know shit! You have no idea what Ruth has done for us over the years. She’s always been there for us, no matter what. She’s never left me alone.”

  Simon gets up slowly, his hands on his knees. “Exactly my point, Gemma.”

  Gemma finds her keys in the side pocket of her purse. “Please go.”

  He looks at her with an open face, kindness in his eyes. “You can call me anytime. Day or night. I want to help, Gemma. I want to be there for you.”