“Sounds serious.” Aidan makes a fist with his left hand and gently presses it to the bottom of the banister.
“Noah and I are going to go talk to Rachel Larsen. Tomorrow. About what happened. And I’m kind of hoping you’ll come with us.”
“You didn’t seem thrilled with the idea of talking to Rachel when Joey mentioned it.”
“That’s different. Joey wants to accost her and interrogate her about things from Stephen King’s backlist. Things that don’t actually exist.”
“And you want to . . . ?”
“I want to ask her about the medal she was holding when we found her.”
“The one you think was Riley’s?”
“The one I know was Riley’s.”
Aidan stares at me thoughtfully. Stares so long that I have to resist the urge to squirm. “Why do you want me to come if Noah Fraser is already going with you?”
“Because you know Rachel. You’ll be a friendly face.”
“My face is ridiculously friendly. They should use it on tourism ads.” The words are joking, but his gray eyes are dark.
“So you’ll do it? You’ll come?”
“I don’t know, Cat. She’s in the hospital. She’s probably not going to want to see anyone.”
“Just think about it, please? Maybe sleep on it before making up your mind?”
“Will you be upset if the answer is no?”
“No,” I say.
“You’re a horrible liar, Cat Montgomery.” He walks past me and heads for the door. Just before stepping outside, he says, “I’ll think about it. Just go easy on Skylar, okay?”
He doesn’t wait for my response; he doesn’t even bother closing the door. He just crosses the porch, descends the steps, and then takes off into the night at an easy, loping pace. I watch as he jogs past Skylar’s car, and then I shut the door.
I’m not mad at Skylar—if anything, I just feel guilty for not making an effort to be up front about knowing the Frasers.
Instead of heading directly to my room to talk to her right away, though, I swing through Aunt Jet’s bedroom and use it to access the bathroom. I know I’m going to have to explain my connection to Noah—and to Riley—but I really don’t feel like explaining the state of my clothes. Nor do I want to stay in said clothes for a minute longer than absolutely necessary. A deep, deep chill feels like it has settled into my bones, and the water from the river kind of smells like wet dog.
I peel the fabric from my clammy skin and then grab last night’s pajamas from the hook on the back of the bathroom door. Not wanting to take the time to blow-dry my still-damp hair, I run a brush through the tangles and then pull it up into a ponytail.
“Cute,” says Skylar when I open the bathroom door. She nods toward the tiny little record albums that dot my pajama bottoms. She’s sitting on a sleeping bag on the floor. The bag must be Aidan’s. Even though Skylar’s purse seems to defy all laws of physical space, there’s no way she could get camping gear in there.
“Is that my shirt?” I ask. The fabric hangs in folds on her small frame, making it hard to see the design on the front.
“And Aidan’s shorts,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. “Is that okay? If it’s not, I can go . . .” She takes a step toward the door and then stops, looking lost and uncertain.
“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” I say. A crestfallen look sweeps across her face, and I realize how the words must sound. “I thought you’d be too mad at me to want to stay,” I say quickly. “Because of what happened with Joey. And because I didn’t tell you about knowing the Frasers. I mean, you never really told me why those posters by the theater were marked up, but it’s not exactly rocket science to figure out I should have told you I knew Riley and Noah. The shirt is okay. Totally and utterly okay.”
Skylar’s shoulders sag, and she lets out a deep breath. “Joey was being kind of a jerk. And Aidan filled me in about Noah and Riley; he said you knew them when you were a kid.” She hesitates and bites her lip, then says, “That’s why you have that folder, isn’t it? It’s not just some Nancy Drew complex; it’s because you knew Riley.”
I nod. “We were friends.”
“It must have been hard—finding out he was missing.”
I sit on the edge of the bed. I open my mouth to say it’s fine, but Skylar is watching me with a look of such naked concern on her face that I can’t do it. I can’t lie. For years, I’ve told myself that I didn’t care about Riley, that I wasn’t supposed to care about him, that I would be an idiot to care. But I did. I do.
My gaze falls on that stupid Styrofoam mobile, and the room gets blurry around the edges.
Skylar disappears into the bathroom. She comes back, a moment later, with a wad of toilet paper in hand. “I couldn’t find any Kleenex,” she says apologetically as she sits next to me on the bed and passes me the makeshift tissue.
I blow my nose, embarrassed, and then wipe my eyes roughly with the back of my hand.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
It’s strange. Noah asked me the same thing just a little while ago. I don’t remember the last time anyone asked me that when I was upset. Lacey had to have asked, at some point over some thing, but it feels like it must have been a long time ago. And Dad? Well, my father has never been a fan of talking.
I shake my head: I’ve done enough emotional disclosure for one day.
“Okay.” Skylar is quiet for a minute, then says, “I’m really, really sorry about Joey.”
“It’s not your fault.” And it isn’t. “I’m glad you stayed.” The words are a little stiff and awkward, but I mean them.
She smiles. “Me, too.”
Later, when the room is dark, I turn over on my side. I can just barely make out Skylar in the borrowed sleeping bag, but I don’t think she’s asleep. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What happened between you and Riley?” I’m not asking because I think there will be some clue hidden inside her answer. I’m asking because I genuinely want to know. I want to understand, and right now, I don’t. I can’t imagine Skylar slipping off to make out with someone else’s boyfriend, and I definitely don’t understand how she can still want Riley the way she does and be with Joey. And some part of her does want Riley. Even though he’s gone. Even after everything that happened. I saw it that night on the bridge. I felt it.
The sleeping bag rustles as she turns over to face me. “I used to do volunteer work. Before I started working at the theater. Before I started hanging out with Joey and Chase and Aidan. I didn’t have a lot of friends, and my parents thought volunteering would be good for me. That’s how I met Riley. He got assigned to some of the groups I volunteered with. For his community service after the whole thing with the boat. I mean, I’d had classes with him, but I had never really talked to him that much.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. He was popular. I’m not. It seemed like that mattered somehow.” Skylar sighs. A small, tiny sound. “He used to try to make me laugh. He said I had a really great laugh. That my laugh was almost—almost—worth the community service. I started looking forward to his stupid jokes even though they weren’t really all that funny. But the more time we spent together, the fewer jokes he made. Until he almost never made jokes at all. He would tell me about stuff at home. About his dad and his parents’ divorce and how it felt like everyone had all these expectations of him. I started feeling like everyone else saw him one way and I got to see him another. Does that sound stupid?”
“No,” I say softly. “That doesn’t sound stupid at all.”
“I started thinking about him. All of the time. There was this party. I didn’t want to go, but Joey wanted to check it out. We weren’t dating,” she says adamantly. “We just went as friends. Riley was there. He was drinking—which was weird because Riley never drank. We ended up in a room. Talking. He and his girlfriend had split up, and he was really upset. I think maybe that was why . . . with the
alcohol. He told me that he hadn’t been the one to crash the boat. That it had been Amber. His ex.”
“So he took the blame?”
“I guess? He said it was his fault. Because he had gone below deck. Because he hadn’t been paying attention. And he said he deserved to get in trouble, that it was his turn. I think he actually used the word ‘payback,’ though I never figured out what he meant by that.”
Aidan. Maybe Riley felt guilty over what happened the day they snuck into the mill. “What else did he say?”
“Nothing. He started kissing me, and I started kissing him back. I knew it was wrong. I knew he was upset about Amber, but I thought maybe, just maybe, he liked me a little bit, too.”
The memory of what I saw on the bridge comes rushing back. The feeling of my back colliding with a wall, a hand slipping under my skirt—Riley’s hand slipping under my skirt. I feel myself flush in the dark. It hadn’t just been kissing. “What happened? After, I mean?”
“One of Amber’s friends walked in on us. She had her phone. There was a picture. I’m pretty sure everyone in school saw it. Riley told me the two of them had broken up, but Amber told everyone it was a misunderstanding, that it wasn’t true. Amber is popular and really, really well liked. No one believed me.”
I swallow. I know what can happen when you cross someone really popular.
“Is that why you said Rachel hates you? Was it something to do with Amber?”
“She’s one of Amber’s best friends. They all said stuff. They all did stuff. Joey took care of me after. Or at least he tried to. And Chase. They both tried to be buffers.”
“Is that why you’re with Joey? Because he tried to take care of you?”
“No. It’s a point in his favor, but it’s not the reason.”
“What about Riley? Did he stick up for you afterward?” Please say yes, I think. Because if she says no, I don’t think there’s any way of ever reconciling the boy who was my friend with the person Riley became.
“I don’t know.” Skylar’s voice is so soft that I have to strain to hear it in the dark. “He disappeared a few days later.”
Twenty-Two
LIKE THE REST OF MONTGOMERY FALLS, THE HOSPITAL IS not what you would call large; it is, however, big enough to have a gift shop. “Do you think we should get something?” I ask, pausing in front of a dusty window display. “Like flowers or balloons, maybe?” Even though I’ve never officially met Rachel, showing up empty-handed feels weird.
“No idea,” says Noah.
Aidan isn’t any more help. He just shrugs and scans the hospital lobby. He’s barely said two words since Noah picked us up. I keep thinking about what Skylar told me last night and wondering what Aidan would think if he knew Riley took the blame for what happened with the boat out of guilt. If it were me, I think I’d want to know. But it’s not me, and it’s not really my secret to tell.
“You know,” I say, “if you really don’t want to be here, it’s okay.” It’s not like visiting a probably-traumatized girl and asking her about what has to be the most horrible night of her life is on my list of top ten ways to spend an afternoon. To be honest, I was kind of surprised that Aidan agreed to come—especially given how reluctant he had been about the idea.
He turns his gaze to me and gives his head a small, sharp shake. For the first time since leaving the house, it feels like he’s actually paying attention. “Sorry. I kind of have a thing about hospitals.”
“You honestly don’t have to come with us,” I say, a little more gently. “We can talk to her on our own.”
“No. You were right when you said Rachel will probably be more comfortable talking if you’re with someone she knows. She hates the rest of the squad. And your friend”—his lip quirks up just the tiniest fraction of an inch as his gaze darts to Noah—“glowers. Glowerers make people nervous.” He turns toward the gift shop. “Get her a stuffed animal. She’d like that more than flowers or balloons, I think.”
We pick out a teddy bear with a red heart on its fluffy white chest. Noah insists on paying. Bear in tow, we head to reception, where they don’t hesitate to give us Rachel’s room number but do warn us that visiting hours end in fifteen minutes.
We round the corner of the pediatric ward, and all three of us come to a sudden stop.
There’s a cop sitting outside Rachel’s room.
He glances up from a magazine. He can’t be more than a year or two older than Noah; he’s so young that I wonder if he’s really a cop or if he just rented the costume—an impression not helped by his bright red hair and the spray of freckles across his face. Seriously, his hair is even redder than mine.
“Who are you here for?” he asks.
“Rachel Larsen.” I clutch the bear against my stomach as Aidan slips his hands into his pockets.
“No visitors.” The cop starts to turn his attention back to his magazine but pauses as he catches sight of the figure behind me. “Noah?” He stands.
“Buddy.” Noah steps forward to shake the other man’s hand.
Buddy? Red hair and freckles and his name is Buddy?
“What are you doing here, man?”
Noah gestures toward me. “This is Cat. She was friends with my brother.”
Buddy’s grin shifts into something more solemn. He’s still shaking Noah’s hand, though the movement becomes considerably slower. “I’m sorry about your brother. Everyone is. Riley was a good guy. Is,” he corrects, maybe figuring Noah might still be holding on to some shred of hope. “Riley is a good guy.”
“Thanks.” Noah extricates himself from the other man’s grip. “Listen, Buddy, Cat’s the one who found Rachel down at the river. She wanted to see her, to tell her how glad she is that she’s okay.”
A look crosses the other man’s face that seems genuinely apologetic. “Can’t let you guys in. The chief said she isn’t supposed to have visitors.”
That doesn’t make any sense. Jensen had been so adamant that Rachel had just gotten lost in the woods. Why would he make someone guard her hospital room? Then again, maybe it’s like sending Harding out to photograph the riverbank: a way to cover his butt. “Did something happen?” I ask.
Buddy shrugs. “A reporter showed up the day after she was brought in. Her parents were fit to be tied. They threatened to sue the hospital and the city and the police department—pretty much anyone they could think of. I guess that’s why I’m here. To make it look like the chief is taking their complaints seriously.”
“You guess?” says Noah. “You didn’t ask?”
“Oh, I asked. The chief just isn’t big on answers.”
Still hugging the teddy bear, I try to look young and harmless. “I promise: I’m not a reporter.”
Buddy hesitates, and Noah says, “Come on, man. We won’t tell anyone you let her in.” There’s a weight behind the words. Noah looks older suddenly, standing in that hallway. Way older than me. Older than the man in front of us.
Officer Buddy hesitates for a second longer but then nods. “Go on—they’re sending her home in the morning anyway.” His gaze drops to the bear. “Good luck finding a place to set that down. Flowers have been getting dropped off at reception for days. Lucky girl.”
“Yeah,” Aidan drawls, pulling out the word and making it spin sharply at the end. “Winding up half dead and fished out of the river is probably worth it if it means getting a bunch of crap from a hospital gift shop.”
I catch the edge of his shirt and pull him into Rachel’s room, leaving Noah to smooth things over outside. I open my mouth to snap at Aidan—the guy is doing us a favor, after all—but I’m distracted by the riot of color that suddenly surrounds us.
Flowers spill over tables and onto the floor. At least a dozen balloons hover in the air, and there are enough stuffed animals for the mother of all teddy bear picnics. There are so many shapes and colors that it takes me a minute to focus on the slight figure sitting up in the hospital bed.
Rachel Larsen stares at us. Her bandaged arms
hold a stuffed animal: a rabbit with one torn ear and fur that probably started out white but is now dishwater gray. Her face is pale and drawn, but her eyes are sharp. They’re blue, I realize, a light blue the color of thin sea ice. I couldn’t tell that in the dark. And her hair, which I had assumed was brown, is actually a dye job. One of those blacks that has a blue sheen when you see it under the right light.
Rachel sits up a little straighter as her eyes sweep over us.
Aidan’s distaste of hospitals still seems to have him a little off-balance, but mocking the officer in the hall must have helped because he sounds more like himself when he says, “Hey, Rach.”
She bites her lip. “Aidan?” She says his name like a question, like she’s wondering what he’s doing here.
“Cat wanted to meet you.” I step forward as Aidan adds, “Cat Montgomery, she’s—”
“The one who stayed with me.” Rachel’s voice is deep and husky. The kind of voice you hear femmes fatales use in old movies. It doesn’t seem to match the rest of her.
“You remember?”
She shakes her head. “The police told me. They said you stayed with me while Chase Walker went to get help. He’s a good guy, Chase.”
I make a mental note to tell Chase that his trek to the highway that night has apparently canceled out his other transgressions. I want to be fair to Skylar and say that she was there, too, that she went with Chase so that the police and the paramedics could find us, but I hold back.
Bringing up people Rachel dislikes doesn’t seem like the best way to get her to talk to me—even if leaving out the part Skylar played feels disloyal.
I set the teddy bear on the floor next to a crowd of others and then walk to a green chair that someone has pulled next to the bed. I hesitate, uncertain, but Rachel nods. “Sit. Please.”
There isn’t a second chair in the room, so Aidan slips around the bed and perches on the windowsill.
Rachel fidgets. She touches the stuffed animal on her lap, the blanket, her hair—it’s like she can’t quite stay still. “They said you held my hand? They said I spoke to you?”
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