The Best of Friends

by Berry, Lucinda

  That’s definitely strange. The boys were never quiet when they were together. Caleb made sure of that because he couldn’t stand silence. Dani used to say he even talked in his sleep. It’s one of the reasons his silence is so disturbing.

  “Did you ask him about it afterward when they weren’t around?”

  “Of course.”

  “And?”

  “He shrugged it off like it was nothing.”

  Typical Jacob. Getting him to talk about his emotions was tough. Really wish I’d known something was going on. I might’ve been able to get it out of him, since I can pull things out of him that others can’t. It’s one of my gifts.

  Sutton’s voice calls out to us. “Mom!” She doesn’t wait for us to respond before she calls out a second time. It’s only a matter of seconds before she comes looking for us. We speed up, hurrying to tend to her, and pause the conversation until tomorrow.

  FIFTEEN

  DANI

  My feet pound against the pavement. I don’t care how Lindsey tries to play this off—it’s weird. This morning Kendra group-texted us to see if we could come over tonight. We both said yes, but when I wrote Lindsey earlier to see what time she’d be by my house—thinking we’d walk over to Kendra’s together—she didn’t respond. I poked her around four, and still nothing. I waited for as long as I could before heading over without her. My phone vibrated with her text as soon as I reached the end of my driveway.

  Already here. See you soon. Xo

  How long has she been there? Is that why she didn’t answer my text? I glance at my watch: 6:10. She’s had over thirty minutes alone with Kendra. It’s one of those weird moments when the fact that Lindsey and Kendra were best friends first comes into play, creating all kinds of weird tension and jealousy—their weddings, my wedding, birthdays, special vacations when we were kids. It’s so silly that fourth-grade girl drama would follow us into middle age, but it’s here, rearing its ugly head.

  I pick up my pace, rounding the corner and hurrying down Kendra’s cul-de-sac. The Madisons haven’t finished their landscaping. The front yard is covered in piles of dirt and gravel, which has been driving Kendra nuts for months. She swears it brings down the property value of every house on the block, which I thought only mattered if you were selling your house, but I guess not, and she’d know since she and Paul own the top real estate firm in our area. Her house looms at the end—the largest one on the block. Unlike the Madisons’, her landscaping is a mosaic of bold colors meticulously maintained. Solar garden lights dot the sidewalk, illuminating the path to the front door. Paul opens the door to greet me before I knock.

  Grief can’t hide his stunning looks. The scruff he wore on his face a few days ago has grown into a dark beard, and I’ve always liked him best unshaven, but Kendra is obsessed with smooth skin, so he rarely grows it out. His perfectly tanned skin matches his light-brown hair, which is so dirty I can see specks of dandruff in it, but even that doesn’t detract from his model features.

  I search for words. None feel right. I clear my throat and come up with, “Hi, how are you?”

  “Hi, Danielle,” he says, using my childhood name. The one that followed me all the way into seventh grade, when I started referring to myself as Dani in an attempt to be cool, since that was the most important thing in our world at the time. He started playing sports then for the same reason. We got what we wanted, but our relationship was never the same.

  Bryan knows we were friends in elementary school. It’d be impossible not to have been, since our class size was so small, but he has no idea that Paul was the one who told our first-grade class he’d spilled his orange juice on the floor so nobody would know that I’d accidentally peed my pants, or that he kicked Jeff Williams in the shins after he pulled the ribbon out of my ponytail on Valentine’s Day. Kendra asked me if it was okay to go out with him when he asked her out for the first time in tenth grade, and I said yes without a second thought because I never thought they’d last past a few dates, since Kendra was so boy crazy. They split up for a while after graduation, but it didn’t last long, and they’ve been together ever since.

  He points to the massive staircase behind him. I spent hours perusing Pinterest boards and interior design blogs with Kendra while she tried to decide on the perfect railing. “They’re upstairs in the master bedroom.”

  “Thanks,” I say, realizing I haven’t moved through the doorway yet. I duck my head in embarrassment and mumble something about wanting to get caught up on what I’ve missed before hurrying up the stairs and down the hallway to Kendra’s bedroom. I knock before opening the door and going in.

  Lindsey and Kendra are huddled on the four-poster bed in the center of the room. Balled-up tissues surround them. Long, flowing drapes hang from the windows lining the east side. Their pale-blue design emphasizes the twelve-foot ceilings. A plush rug in a slightly different shade of blue circles the space between the door and the bed. Back when the rug graced the smaller bedroom in the Mitchells’ house on Windsor Street, Luna used to run upstairs whenever we came over and throw herself on the rug. She’d wiggle around on it like dogs do when they’re trying to scratch their backs.

  I sit down on the bed next to them, and we come together in a group hug. Our hands twist and turn, rubbing and soothing each other. In junior high, our teachers called our parents in for a conference and said we were too close, that we touched too much, spent too much time doing each other’s hair. The school guidance counselor said it wasn’t healthy for us to be that dependent on each other, but what did she know? We’ve carried each other through every important milestone in our lives, from buying our first training bras to buying our first houses. This one is big, though. Much larger than anything else we’ve dealt with, and the weight of it descends on the bed, filling the room with darkness despite the gleaming, sunlit walls.

  “I can’t take this. I really can’t.” Emotions coat Kendra’s voice, making it thick. My hands meet Lindsey’s on her back. “I’m not going to make it.”

  “Shh . . . shh . . . it’s okay. Yes, you are,” I say.

  Lindsey quickly follows with, “Somehow, you’ll find a way. You’re stronger than you know, hon.”

  “But I’m not, you guys. I’m really not.” Tears flow unchecked. Her face is wasted with grief and devastation as she struggles to continue. “It’s like I’m a shadow getting sucked into darkness, but I don’t care. That’s the worst part. I want to disappear. Reese needs me. He’s in all kinds of trouble, and I’m just like, Oh well. I’m a terrible mother.”

  “Well, if you’re a terrible mother, then I don’t know what I am,” I interrupt before she can spiral any further downward.

  “Don’t even try.” She shakes her head, intent on destroying herself. She points her finger at Lindsey and me. “I know you guys think I’m the worst mother.”

  “No, we don’t.” Lindsey immediately jumps to her defense.

  “You’re only saying that because you’re my best friend.”

  “That’s not true,” Lindsay and I say together.

  “Please, you guys, I know all the things people say about me and how much I work.”

  They’ve been awful to Kendra in the local press about her devotion to her career as if her strong work ethic is somehow related to the accident. There’s no mention of Paul as a workaholic parent like they’ve labeled her, even though they work similar hours and both have devoted equal time to building a thriving real estate company.

  “When Luna left home, she said that she would spend the rest of her life making sure she never turned into me.” I blurt it out without thinking. “She said she had no respect for me because I did nothing but cater to Bryan’s and their needs like my needs didn’t matter. She was upset that she didn’t have a role model to look up to when she was growing up because I didn’t have an identity outside of my family.”

  They shift their attention to me. I’ve never told them that. I haven’t said it out loud to anyone. But just because I haven�
�t said it out loud doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about what she said every day since or cried about it in the shower when nobody could hear me. Luna doesn’t know the girl I used to be—the one who went to college and was on target to graduate summa cum laude until she got pregnant her senior year—even though she’s seen the pictures. Sometimes my life before Bryan seems like a made-up story to me too. I always intended to go back and finish my degree, but fear stole my choices one at a time until I didn’t have any left.

  “The thing about it is that she wasn’t even mad. She’s said plenty of nasty things when we were fighting. Honestly, she’s probably said worse, but we weren’t in a fight or an argument. Nothing like that was going on. She said it in the most calm and calculated way, like she’d thought about it and decided being me was the worst thing she could possibly be. You want to know the worst part?” I don’t wait for either of them to respond before continuing. “She never apologized or said she didn’t mean it.”

  “Really?” Kendra asks. My confession is enough to pull her out of herself for a second.

  “Yep. So you’re not the only one who’s not winning any mother-of-the-year awards.” I smile for her benefit, not because anything about my disclosure makes me happy.

  Kendra grabs a tissue and blows her nose hard. “God, this sucks.” She points to the walls of her beautiful master bedroom. “I’m barely in this room. I hung out in here today because you guys were coming over, but I haven’t slept in this bed since Sawyer died. I spend all my time in his room digging through his stuff for anything I missed. How did none of us notice anything strange? There had to be something.”

  The same question tortures me, especially since I was the last one of us to see them. “I’ve obsessively gone over every detail of that night for any clue about what they were up to, but I was so preoccupied with dinner that I barely paid them any attention. Bryan was trying to land a new client, and he needed me to impress his wife. You know how that goes.” It’s my least favorite part of his job, and I spent all afternoon trying on outfits and practicing things to say to her. I’m not even sure Sawyer was there when I left. If he was, I didn’t see him. I remember seeing Jacob briefly as he passed through the kitchen, but I’m not sure we spoke. Our kids move freely through our houses. It’s the best part of living so close.

  “I asked Jacob about their plans before he left for Dani’s, and he didn’t say anything about a gun, so I’m really confused about how things went so wrong in such a short time,” Lindsey adds matter-of-factly.

  I shoot her an annoyed glance. I can’t help myself. Like Jacob would say, Oh yes, Mom, we’re planning on messing around with Caleb’s gun, when she asked him about his plans for the night. She prides herself on how well she communicates with her kids. It wasn’t always that way, but she changed after she had Sutton, and it became all about conscious parenting. She tells anyone who will listen that her kids can come to her about anything because she talks to them like they’re real people with their own thoughts and ideas rather than some weird extensions of her and Andrew. It’s a subtle dig targeted at the rest of us, hinting that we treat our kids that way, but whatever. She’s always thought she was the best parent—she’s not. She’s just got easy kids. I tuck away my irritation. This is about Kendra and our boys.

  Kendra grips Lindsey’s wrist and speaks in a fevered pitch. “Do you think he knew he was dying? He was dead on arrival. Did you know that? There was nothing the paramedics could do for him. All their attention went to saving Jacob.”

  I hear Lindsey’s sharp intake of breath at the mention of Jacob’s condition. She’s as silent about him as Kendra is vocal about Sawyer. I can’t imagine she isn’t torn up inside, but I haven’t seen her break down once. Not even while we waited in agony to find out which one of our boys had been shot or during Jacob’s twelve-hour brain surgery.

  “Does that mean it was quick and he didn’t suffer? Or was it agonizing and slow?” A strangled sob escapes Kendra’s lips, and it takes her a few minutes to compose herself. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I play different scenarios over and over again in my head. There’s no relief. Not even sleep, because it’s all I dream about too. I can’t live like this. I have to know what his final moments were like.” She glances at Lindsey, who gives her an approving nod. “I told Lindsey I want to talk to Caleb and see if I can get him to talk. How’s he supposed to feel safe when the person asking him all the questions has a gun strapped to his belt?”

  There have been a lot more people who’ve tried getting Caleb to talk besides the police and Detective Locke. Me, for one, not to mention Gillian, who went to school for ten years to work with traumatized kids, and if Caleb hasn’t spoken to us, I’m pretty sure he’s not going to speak to her, but I give her a sympathetic nod. “That’s one of the reasons they called in a specialized trauma therapist to work with him. Remember Gillian?” I briefly mentioned her before, but I don’t expect Kendra to remember with everything she’s going through. “Detective Locke is setting up an interview with her soon. Hopefully, they’ll get somewhere.”

  Kendra shakes her head. “Yeah, but he still doesn’t know her. How do they expect him to talk to a total stranger?” She wipes her face on her sleeve. “I think he might talk to me because it’s not going to be so weird for him, and it would just be the two of us.”

  “You want to talk to him alone?” I assumed I’d be there. What will she do if he gets upset? There’s no way she can comfort him. Besides, I can’t remember the last time she talked to Caleb alone. Probably not since elementary school. She nods like it hasn’t occurred to her that it’d be any other way. “I’m not sure about that.” Getting Bryan to allow Caleb to speak with Kendra with me there would be a stretch. He’s definitely not going to let him do it alone.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” Lindsey leans in and kisses Kendra on her left cheek. “I wish Jacob could be more helpful. If the shoe was on the other foot, I’d be more than happy to let you talk to him. You know I’d do anything for you.”

  That’s easy for her to say when there’s not any possibility he can. They both turn to look at me expectantly.

  “Dani, can I talk to Caleb?” Kendra’s eyes plead with mine.

  “I mean . . . it’s just . . . I’d—”

  “Please?” There’s so much desperation in Kendra’s voice that the only answer I can give is yes.

  SIXTEEN

  KENDRA

  “I can’t believe she agreed,” Paul says. He knows how hard it is for Dani to make decisions by herself. I’ve complained about it for years. I called him upstairs after Lindsey and Dani left and quickly filled him in on everything.

  “She’s one of my best friends. What kind of a horrible person would she be if she said no?”

  “I think I should be there too,” he says.

  I shake my head. “No way.”

  He’s instantly insulted. “I want to know what happened that night just as badly as you do.”

  “I know that,” I say, not bothering to keep the irritation out of my voice. “But he’s more likely to talk if it’s only me, and that’s the most important thing here, remember? Getting him to talk?”

  Why is he bothering to argue with me? He doesn’t have that kind of relationship with Sawyer or any of his friends. He never has. It’s the recurring joke in our house that Sawyer and his friends go mute in serious conversations with him unless a ball is involved. Then you can’t shut them up, but beyond that, they mostly just sit there.

  Sawyer and his friends talk to me, though. They’ve spent most of their time here since the end of middle school, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Lindsey and Dani think it’s because Paul and I are never around—even though they’d never say it to my face—but that’s not the reason. Our house is the most comfortable. I don’t hover around the boys like their lives are teetering on some precarious edge, and for some reason, they come to me when they want to talk without me having to do anything, but I’d
never tell Lindsey and Dani that. Especially not Lindsey. She wants everyone to see her as being the best mom, and I conceded the title a long time ago because it’s the only thing she’s got. I’m not being mean. It just is what it is. She’s never worked, and she turned into someone I barely recognized after she had Sutton. She kept a journal of Sutton’s poop for a week because she was afraid she wasn’t getting a proper diet and brought it to her pediatrician to analyze. I’m still waiting for her to come back. Sometimes I worry she never will.

  Paul lets out a deep breath, conceding my point even though he doesn’t want to. “Are you nervous about being around him? Remember the funeral?”

  He doesn’t need to remind me. It was one of my worst moments that day. I hadn’t seen Caleb since the accident because it’d only been two days since he’d been discharged. I had no idea I’d react the way I did when I saw him for the first time, but all I wanted to do was shake him and ask if he’d killed my son, demand he tell me what had happened. Paul spotted the fire in my eyes immediately and pulled me aside before I could do anything. I broke into hysterics, and it took him over ten minutes to get me calmed down again.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say with determination. I have to be if I want him to talk, so I can’t push him away. He has to think I’m on his side. Same as Dani. She and Lindsey are equally invested in calling the whole thing an accident, but there’s no denying the possibility Caleb shot them both. How did he walk away from something so horrific without a single scratch? Nobody can explain that or anything else that’s happening with him. Dani keeps going on and on about how his therapist says he’s struggling with survivor’s guilt on top of everything else, but what if it’s just plain old guilt?

  “How do you plan on getting Caleb to talk?” Paul asks.

  “The same way I always do.”