by Kelley York
We begin scouring the pages. Not that we need to look far. Our town is fairly small and the crime rate is low, meaning the occurrence of a local rape is enough to be plastered on the front page. So there I am, with a grainy photograph on the front, bottom right of page one, locking up at Rick’s Convenience Store the night Craig Roberts came to see me.
Autumn reads the first few lines of the article out loud: “A local high school boy is being investigated for the rape of a young classmate. Despite the overwhelming amount of evidence against him and testimony from the victim herself, many are wondering what has the police holding back from taking him into custody.” She looks at me. “What overwhelming amount of evidence? Where is he getting his information? Can they talk about kids like this?”
“Th-they probably can as long as they d-don’t say our names or something,” I point out glumly. Our city has one high school. It wouldn’t be difficult for someone to figure it out, considering one of the photos is of Rick’s and almost everyone has driven by it at some point or another.
“Should you call the cops? Or Mr. Mason?”
“I d-don’t know. Should I? W-will they do anything?”
Autumn sighs. “Maybe not. I have no idea. I mean, Marco didn’t really get a chance to hurt us, so it’d be our word against his, and even then I’m not sure what punishment they could give.”
Yeah, figured as much. I push the paper aside and run my hands over my face. Craig warned me about this. About making an enemy out of him. Because I wouldn’t talk to him, he’ll drag me through the mud instead. “I’m g-going to call him.”
“What? Who?”
“Craig Roberts. He came to see me that day and I kicked him out.”
Her expression falls a little. “So…you think he did this because you wouldn’t give him an interview?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m the one who told you not to talk to him.”
I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “D-don’t do that. Everyone told me not to talk to him.” Besides, how do I know anything I told Craig wouldn’t have been misconstrued and warped to fit his wants anyway?
Autumn takes a deep breath. She swipes briefly at her eyes and flicks off the overhead light. “I should probably get you home.”
I don’t wait until the next day to call Craig. His business card is still in the pocket of one of my pairs of jeans in my dirty laundry basket. I fish it out before even getting settled into bed and dial the number. It’s a business number that goes straight to voicemail, and I find myself hanging up without leaving a message.
What would I say to him, in all honesty? That I think he’s an asshole? That he almost got me beaten up with his lovely little article and photo? I could threaten to take it to my lawyer—being Mr. Mason—but I can’t guarantee that would get me any satisfaction, either.
I toss the card on my dresser and step into the hall. Faintly, I hear the TV in the living room, and occasional commentary from Aunt Sue and Mom. As far as I’m aware, Aunt Sue will be leaving in the morning to head home. She had originally planned on staying longer, but I think she realized there was only so much she could repair between Mom and me. Not to mention, sleeping on our couch has got to be uncomfortable. I’ve thought about taking this situation to them, and again I decide against it. Aunt Sue wouldn’t know what to do, and Mom would only get stressed out further. I don’t want to bother her.
Before going to bed, I text Brett to relay what happened.
Go read today’s Waverly Bee. 1st page. Bottom right. Show to your dad please.
I don’t go into details about what happened at work. Brett is another person I don’t want to stress out. The more of this I can handle on my own, the better.
I get showered, dressed, teeth brushed, and flop into bed with a sigh and an arm draped over my eyes. My phone beeps; it’s Brett writing back to say:
Dad says not to talk to any reporters. He’ll make calls tomorrow. You ok???
Great. Advice I was already following, and a response I don’t think will do me any good in the long run.
Before I reply, there comes a knock at my door and I say, “Come in,” without thinking about it. The door creaks open and Mom pokes her head in, glancing around like she expects I won’t be alone. I blink over at her and for a moment, we just stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak first.
“Just wanted to tell you good night,” she says, and the sentence is so strained and awkward that I can’t help but smile.
“’Night, Mom.”
She almost smiles. Almost. But it’s just as uncertain as her words and she’s quick to retreat. Small progress, but at this point I’ll take what I can get.
Chapter Twenty
Friday night, Brett, Autumn, and I meet in the parking lot after school. As promised, Brett is skipping tennis practice for this outing, and my stomach is rolling around and threatening to make me sick all over my feet.
I have the last known address for my dad in my pocket. Although I put a lot of thought into telling Mom, I decided against it. She wouldn’t understand, and it’s not like I’m expecting anything amazing out of this trip. I don’t expect him to welcome me with open arms, or that we’re going to have any kind of father-son bonding moment.
Frankly, I have no idea what to expect.
We take Brett’s car because he doesn’t like not driving. Autumn sits in the back and every so often, I feel her fingertips slipping between my seat and the door to poke at my side. I eventually reach a hand back awkwardly in order to poke her knee in return, grateful for the reassurance she’s trying to offer.
“You’re really okay with this?” Brett asks once we get on the freeway.
I have to admit, “I d-don’t know.”
“What worries you about it, exactly?”
That’s a good question. Sure, there are a lot of things running through my head, but to have to stop and really think of how to put it into words… “I’m afraid…he w-won’t know who I am. I’m afraid he will. I’m afraid I’ll hate him, or l-like him, or that he’ll be a good person or a bad person.” I run my hands over my face and sigh. “Sorry. I know it doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it does,” Brett says mildly. “You don’t know what to expect and you haven’t had a lot of time to process any of this. On one hand, it’s your dad and you want to feel some kind of connection. On the other hand, he did something terrible to your mom and you want to protect her.”
“It might be strange if you weren’t conflicted,” Autumn adds.
Their words don’t make me feel entirely better, but at least they put my mind at ease so I don’t think I’m wrong for feeling the way I do.
They don’t prod any more for the rest of the drive and I try to focus more on the music coming from the satellite radio and less on the fact that the trip goes by a lot faster than I expected it to. It’s dark out by the time Brett is pulling off the freeway into a small town just outside of Oakland that I’ve only vaguely heard of. It’s a lot of open fields between houses, and everything is so flat. No hills or the abundance of trees like we get in the valley.
My heart is hammering so loudly I can hardly hear myself think.
Autumn reads the directions from her phone and Brett follows them, until we’re pulling onto a slightly more suburban-like street where small houses are crowded together and have no fences around their front lawns or backyards. It isn’t run-down so much as just…old. Well-worn. I wipe my palms against my jeans and look over at Autumn and Brett, who are watching me with patient expressions. They’re letting me do this at my own pace.
“W-will you come with me?”
Of course they will; they immediately start to unbuckle. They were just waiting for me to ask in case I wanted to do this by myself, and originally, I had planned on doing just that. But now, standing on the sidewalk in front of my dad’s house, I think I need them at my side more than ever.
There are two older cars parked in the driveway and the windows are aglow, so I know someo
ne is home. Will I recognize him when I see him? Will he take one look at my face and immediately know who I am?
We come to a stop at the door and it takes everything I have to lift my hand and knock. Inside, footsteps approach, and the front door swings open to reveal an older man in suspenders and sharp facial features peering at us curiously, but not unkindly. “Can I help you?”
My throat refuses to cooperate. Brett seems to sense this because he speaks up for me. “Sorry to bother you so late. Does Don Whitmore still live here?”
He blinks slowly and the lack of recognition on his face has my heart immediately sinking.
“Sorry, I don’t know any Don. We moved in about six months ago.” He looks between us, but I feel his eyes mostly on me. Maybe I look like I’m about to pass out or something, though whether it’s from relief, disappointment, or simply the sudden drop of adrenaline, I don’t know.
Thank God for Brett thinking on his feet. “I know this is a lot to ask, but we’re trying to help our friend here find his dad. I’m not sure if you rent or own this place, but maybe you have someone you could call to get information about the previous tenants?”
The man rubs the back of his neck, though his gaze seems to have softened a little. “Let me grab a pen and paper.” He disappears briefly from the doorway, returning a second later with a yellow notepad and a ballpoint pen, which he hands to me. At least I manage a “thank you” without stumbling over the words, and I scribble down my first and last name, along with my phone number, before handing it back.
“Sorry to disappoint you kids,” he says as he accepts it. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Autumn gives him a sunny smile. “Thank you. We really appreciate it.”
The door is closed and I’m vaguely aware of my hands trembling. I cram them into my pockets and turn away, jogging back to the car. Am I going to throw up? I don’t know what’s wrong with me beyond wanting to laugh and cry and curl into a little ball. I was stupid to think I could just show up at Dad’s doorstep and expect some magical reunion.
Autumn comes up to where I’ve slumped against the car. Her fingers are cool and gentle as they slide through my hair, and it coaxes me into looking up at her. She takes this as incentive to wrap her arms around me in a tight hug, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t help even a little. Even more so when Brett comes up alongside us and slings an arm around my shoulders, too, and for a moment I’m simply engulfed in this warm embrace of comfort and support, and it makes things just a little bit better.
I turn down Brett’s invitation to go out that night. He has plans to hit up some coffee shop art gathering, which is about as much my scene as a lake house party, and besides that…I don’t really feel like being around people. He drops us off at school to get Autumn’s car, and surprises me with a hearty hug and a pat on the back. “Don’t let it get to you so much, yeah? We’ll find your dad.” I smile a little as he drives away, and then I turn to Autumn.
She tilts her head. “My parents are in town, unfortunately, otherwise I’d drag you home with me.”
“Th-that’s all right. You can come to my place. If you want.” As far as I know, Mom should be out at bingo with Ruthie tonight, and they usually aren’t home until late.
Autumn considers. “Are you sure you’re up for company? My feelings won’t be hurt if you want to be alone.”
“Why w-would you think I want to be alone?”
“You turned Brett down, so…”
My lips twitch into a smile. Sometimes the things she says, the small and sweet considerations she shows me, make me want to pick her up and spin her around. “You aren’t Brett.” That’s all there is to it. There are certain things I prefer to share with my best friend. Certain moments I feel like I need Brett’s guidance and presence at my side. And other things…I need Autumn. I need her gentleness and her fierce loyalty, and her honesty rather than Brett’s wanting to take charge of everything and withhold information—like how Aaron found out I was a suspect—because he thinks it’ll protect me.
We get back into the car and head home, where Mom’s sedan is absent from the driveway. I have Autumn park across the street and we slip inside. I want to get changed and cleaned up first, but rather than wait in the living room, she follows me to my room and plops onto the edge of my bed with a sigh.
“So how are you really feeling?”
I can tell she’s purposely looking elsewhere in the room to give me a bit of privacy without actually giving me privacy, and at least this time I’m a little less self-conscious as I start stripping down. To answer that, though… “I think I’m okay.”
“For real?”
“I don’t know. Everything is sort of…sort of a jumble.” I skim down to my boxers while staring blankly at the selection of clothes in my closet. “Partly disappointed, partly r-relieved?”
She glances in my direction. “Mm-hm. Elaborate?”
“Like…” I sigh, pushing a hand through my messy hair before turning to face her. “D-disappointed because I r-really had to work up the nerve to go in the first place…but relieved because I don’t know what I would have said.”
Her chin is propped in her hands, elbows on her knees, cross-legged. “Are you going to keep trying to find him, then?”
“Maybe. Some part of me wants closure from it.” Something, even just a glimpse of his face in person, to close the book I’ve always had open about the mysterious figure that is my father. If Mom had told me earlier in life about him, I wonder if things would have been easier? Of course, wondering that isn’t going to make me feel any better, and I don’t need anything else to be resentful of Mom over.
Autumn says, “Come here?” and I obediently move across the room to stand at the edge of the bed in front of her, almost forgetting that I’m not wearing much and there’s a beautiful girl that I really, really like on my bed. She uncurls from herself a bit and brings her hands up to my waist, pressing a kiss to my stomach in a way that makes me blush while silently willing the lower regions of my body to not react and embarrass the hell out of me. “I don’t really know if you should find him or not, frankly. He sounds like an asshole. But if you want to keep up the search, I’ll go along with it.”
I exhale. “How is this n-not weird for you? Being here with me, I mean. Doesn’t it bother your parents or Callie?”
Her expression turns sheepish. She tugs me to lie down on the bed beside her. “I haven’t exactly told my parents yet…”
“Oh.”
“Don’t ‘oh’ me. Have you told your mom you’ve been talking with me?”
She’s got me there. Except I’m not so sure she’d give a damn. “No.”
“I’ll tell them when things die down a little.” She leans into me. “I’ve talked in-depth with Callie about it. It doesn’t bother her. She’s convinced it wasn’t you, after all, so why would it matter?”
“Lingering d-doubts?”
“I won’t lie and say I don’t think she has any. I’m sure some little part of her suspects everyone. But she trusts you as much as she’s capable of trusting a guy right now.”
Hearing that makes me feel a little better, at least.
Autumn’s fingers touch the side of my face, tracing up my jaw and tickling along the back of my ear. She could reduce a guy to a puddle with those hands. “I believe you completely, if that helps.”
“It does,” I murmur. It helps a lot. Maybe her actions show me her trust more than her words, because I can’t imagine she’d be lying here with me half dressed if she had any remaining suspicion that I raped her best friend. “I want you to trust me.”
Her lips curve into one of those smiles I’ve grown to love. Her palms cup the sides of my face and she waits to speak until I manage to make eye contact, which is getting more difficult by the minute considering how her touching me is making me really want to touch her, too.
“Vic,” she says.
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
She’s going to kiss me. I know
this a full second before she does it, but it still comes as a surprise that renders me unable to respond at first. Her mouth is as warm and soft as I imagined it would be. Thank God I don’t freeze up or pull away; I lean into her almost cautiously, not entirely sure what I’m doing but like hell if I’m going to pass up the opportunity to kiss Autumn Dixon.
It’s a lingering kiss, but not a deep one. Her lips part beneath mine slightly, and then she pulls back and strokes her fingers through my messy hair.
She says, “I trust you,” and all the tension rushes right out of me.
I shift onto my back, and Autumn follows suit and stretches out beside me, tucked against my bare side in a way that I think friends definitely do not do unless they like each other, but I don’t want to say as much in case it makes her move away. I want to ask what the kiss means, if we’ve stepped past the friendship line, but I don’t want to ruin the moment.
“Don’t fall asleep,” I warn her softly. Her parents are expecting her home and although Mom doesn’t make it a habit of coming into my room, there’s a first time for everything.
Autumn says, “Mm-hm…”
But it’s only a matter of time before we’ve both drifted off.
Chapter Twenty-One
I wake to the sound of muffled ringing across the room, and it takes me a few moments to place what it is. My phone rings so rarely that the sound is unfamiliar. Autumn’s body is pressed neatly along mine, a leg hiked over my hip and her ponytail halfway down so that her dark hair is sticking out every which way. My phone is in the pocket of the pants I was wearing yesterday, I realize, and then it occurs to me that the sun is shining brightly through my window and…
“Shit.”
Autumn makes a noise when I nudge her, but that’s all it takes before her eyes are blinking open blearily and she, too, is coming to terms with the fact that we fell asleep and it’s now morning.