Over Her Head

by Shelley Bates

  “I shouldn’t have said anything.” Tim’s eyes crinkled with mischief behind his shaggy skater-boy hair. “I want to see Nick give you a ticket.”

  “Just remember, what goes around comes around. When you get your license, Nick won’t cut you any breaks just because you’re family.”

  Her mouth said mom things while her mind galloped down the road like a frightened horse, trying to outrun its shadow.

  Not Anna. Not Anna. She was at home in bed. Everything is all right. Vanessa couldn’t see clearly. Couldn’t see who pushed, couldn’t see who fell, couldn’t see who was running under the bridge.

  We’re okay. We’re okay.

  “Mom, you’re going to miss the turn.”

  Instinctively she spun the wheel and made the right turn to the high school with no signal and just inches to spare. Behind her, someone honked in irritation and drove through with a rev of his engine.

  Get a grip.

  They pulled into the parking lot at a sedate ten miles per hour and merged into the line where the kids congregated while they waited for buses and parents. Anna waved good-bye to Kelci Platt and Rose Silverstein and climbed into the front seat.

  Kelci was there that night.

  Laurie resisted the urge to collar the girl and ask her whether it was true Anna had been there, too. But that was ridiculous. Vanessa had simply seen another teenager with shoulder-length dark hair and made a mistake.

  But the problem with mistakes was that once you took them to the police, they weren’t treated as mistakes anymore. They were treated as legitimate possibilities until proven otherwise.

  Laurie unbuckled her seat belt and tossed it to the side. “Stay here.” Both kids looked mystified as she got out of the minivan and crossed the sidewalk to where Kelci waited, presumably for Vanessa.

  “Kelci, can I talk to you for a second?”

  The girl looked uncomfortable, as if being seen talking to somebody’s mother was a social faux pas on the same level as walking down the hall with toilet paper stuck to your shoe.

  “Um, sure.”

  “I hear you were on the bridge last Wednesday night.”

  Something behind Kelci’s chocolate-brown eyes flickered closed, like the shutter on a camera. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What you do is your mom’s business, not mine. But I need to know something.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that night, Mrs. Hale.” Kelci slid one step sideways, as if she were getting ready to duck and run. “Here comes my ride.”

  “I just need you to tell me if Anna was there too.”

  A silky black eyebrow rose as Kelci glanced from Anna in the backseat of the minivan, looking mortified, to Laurie. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “I already have. I want to hear it from you.”

  “Naw, she wasn’t there.”

  Your sister says different. But Laurie bit back the words. If Vanessa was going to the police, the fewer people who knew she’d been talking to the older girl, the better. Besides, this was exactly what Laurie wanted to hear. She should be glad.

  “Thanks, sweetie. I appreciate your being candid with me.”

  “No problem, Mrs. Hale.” Time for you to go back on your meds, Mrs. Hale, her tone said. As soon as Vanessa pulled up in the Camry, Kelci hopped into the car and locked the door.

  When she got back in the van, Anna leaned sideways against the restraint of her seat belt, watching Vanessa pull away. “What’s up, Mom? What were you asking Kelci?”

  Laurie put the van into reverse and didn’t answer until they were on the road. “I was just doing a little fact-checking, that’s all.”

  “About what?”

  Laurie had nothing to hide. Anna would call Kelci as soon as she got home, anyway. “I just heard some confusing stories about what happened on the bridge the other night. I asked Kelci what happened and she told me. No biggie.”

  “You asked her what happened? Why, was she there?”

  Laurie glanced at her daughter in the rearview mirror. “I think you know she was.”

  “Why do you say that? I wasn’t there. How should I know?”

  “I assume you guys talk.”

  Anna snorted. “Not about this.”

  “Why not?”

  But Anna didn’t answer. Laurie glanced at her and saw that she was staring through the front window, her face as rigid as bone.

  “Mom, don’t go home this way.”

  “We go home this way every day. What’s the matter?”

  “Don’t. Not anymore. Go through downtown, okay?”

  They were approaching the bridge, with one traffic light to go. “Anna, don’t be silly. That’s two or three extra miles. Why would I want to do that?”

  “Mom, I’m asking you. Please don’t go over the bridge. I just can’t.”

  “Why?” The light turned green.

  “Mom!” Anna’s cry was the sound of a baby bird, shrieking in terror as the predator pounces.

  For the second time that afternoon, Laurie spun the wheel and made a right turn, which took them down the road behind the Stop-N-Go and along the river to the next bridge in the middle of town.

  “Anna Catherine Hale, stop it. There is no reason for you to be scared of that bridge. Yes, a tragedy happened there. But nothing is going to happen to you.”

  Silence. Laurie glanced to her right as they drove past the shops and businesses of downtown Glendale. Anna’s slender body shook as she tried to hold in the sobs. Tears streaked her cheeks.

  “Did you hear me, sweetie? Are you all right?”

  But Anna buried her face in the sleeve of her coat and didn’t answer.

  “Anna, please. It’s just a bridge. There are no ghosts there. Nothing to be afraid of.”

  “That’s what y—you think.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Silence, except for a sniffle.

  “Anna, what’s going on here that I don’t know about?”

  But Anna turned her face away to look out the window, and no amount of cajoling or threatening would make her explain what she meant.

  Chapter Eight

  Cammie picked up Tanya and brought her to Bible study the next morning, and Laurie ticked off another item on her mental “Taking Care of Tanya” list. It had enough items on it to cover the rest of the week. After that, they’d regroup and see if Tanya still needed them as much.

  Normally, Laurie would have loved being needed like this. She’d always considered it a form of creativity to try to make life better for other people. But lately the needs of other people were becoming a burden and a distraction—all she wanted to do was focus on the needs of her daughter.

  Was that a bad thing? That was normal, wasn’t it—to want to dig down and find what was hurting your child so you could remove the thorn from her flesh and help her heal? Laurie had come to Bible study this morning hoping to find just that kind of help. Not just in a spiritual sense, either, but in a very practical, natural sense.

  Janice Edgar held the key.

  After the study of their psalm (“Maybe we can skip ahead to something joyful, for Tanya’s sake,” Maggie had suggested), Laurie cornered Janice in the hallway while they waited for Debbie to come out of the old house’s only bathroom.

  With her toe, Laurie tucked a patchwork door dog against the door as she spoke. “I meant to call you after we talked on Tuesday, but things have been a little crazy.”

  Janice smiled. Was this the politician’s wife smile, Laurie wondered, or a real one? She couldn’t tell.

  “I know what you mean. It was my night to be with Tanya last night, so I wouldn’t have been home anyway. I was glad for the chance to get to know her a little better.”

  Laurie tried to imagine Janice, perfectly groomed and wearing tasteful slacks that would probably scream if they ever saw a speck of lint or pet fur, getting chummy with Tanya in her awful little apartment.

  “I wanted to talk with you about the night Randi was kil
led.”

  Janice stared at her. “Why?”

  “I need to get some facts straight. Do you have any plans for lunch?”

  “Well, no, but I should—”

  “Great!” The bathroom door opened and Debbie came out. “How about going to the Split Rail? Can I meet you there?”

  “Well, okay, but—”

  Laurie slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, and when she came out, Janice’s car was gone. It took five minutes to drive over to the Split Rail, an old-fashioned diner with aluminum trim, a flashing red neon sign, and a miniature jukebox at each table. It was homey and welcoming and lent itself to long conversations—perfect for her purposes. She found Janice at a table by the big center window (who had to move when the mayor’s wife asked for it?) and slid in opposite her.

  Janice ordered a Cobb salad and Laurie chose a Monte Cristo sandwich, ordering coleslaw on the side at the last minute instead of fries. When the waitress left, Janice looked her in the eye.

  “All right. Spill it. What is it you want to know?”

  There was no use in playing dumb. That wasn’t Laurie’s style. “I’m scared stiff that Anna is involved somehow in what happened on the bridge,” she blurted. “I want you to tell me it’s ridiculous and that of course she wasn’t there.”

  Janice sipped her hot tea and regarded Laurie over the rim of the cup. “I wish I could make you feel better, but I’m in exactly the same boat. The only problem is, I know for certain Kyle was there.”

  Laurie tried to keep her jaw from dropping. “How?”

  Janice put her cup down, and a little of the liquid slopped over the side into the saucer. “Because half a dozen kids were only too happy to tell the sheriff’s office that the mayor’s son was up on that bridge. I hate that our family is in the spotlight all the time, no matter what we do. If he’d been the son of just about anyone else, no one would have even seen him, much less cared.”

  “Oh.” Their food arrived, and Laurie gathered her wits while she poked at her coleslaw. How could she put this delicately? “Did you know he was out that night?”

  Janice made a sound that Laurie was sure was not part of the etiquette manual for mayors’ wives. “Of course not. Like a total idiot, I told the sheriff’s deputies that my darling boy was tucked up in bed and couldn’t possibly have been involved. Only to have my ignorance and lousy mothering skills exposed for everyone to see when the real story came out.” Another glance shot across the table like a laser. “You have no idea how difficult my life is right now. Going over to Tanya’s last night was a huge relief. She didn’t ask ridiculous questions, and her phone didn’t ring once.”

  Laurie bit into her sandwich to avoid saying something really stupid, such as, “No one calls Tanya except for us, do they?” When she could speak, she said, “I hope this doesn’t sound ridiculous, then, but did Kyle happen to mention whether Anna was there?”

  “He says not, but I’ve since heard from at least two sources that she was.”

  Auto reflex kicked in. “She was at home, in bed.”

  Janice’s lashes lifted. “Famous last words. Do you believe that?”

  “Of course. I was there. We watched TV together and then she went up to her room.”

  “She could have gone out after that.”

  “You’ve been to our house. The living room has a direct view of the front door. And the back door squeaks, so we’d have heard it if she’d gone out that way.”

  Janice dropped her gaze and bit into a cherry tomato. “There are more ways of getting out of a house than through its doors, I’ve discovered.”

  “What, are you suggesting she could go out a window?” She and Colin hadn’t raised a cat burglar, for Pete’s sake. And they hadn’t raised a girl who would deceive her parents by sneaking out late at night, either. “Why on earth would she do that?”

  Janice nibbled a spinach leaf before she answered. “I think Kyle has a girlfriend.”

  It took her a second to catch up. “Anna did not sneak out to see a boy. And even if she did, why would she be on the bridge?”

  The other woman shrugged. “Who knows why teenagers do the things they do? But Kyle’s room is on the ground floor. Getting out is obviously so simple that both his parents and his sister have been blissfully unaware of it all this time.”

  “All what time? How long do you think this has been going on?”

  She shrugged. “A couple of months, maybe. Not because I’ve been hearing strange sounds at night, but because he’s been so dozy in the mornings. And distracted. And irritable.”

  “Anna is all those things, too. I read in a magazine at work about how much sleep teenagers need, and how few of them actually get it. Anyway, she doesn’t have a boyfriend. She’s just that way because she’s fourteen.”

  “That you know of.”

  Laurie shook her head. “She doesn’t. I know where she is practically every minute. And when I don’t, I call her cell and find out.”

  “Mm.”

  Laurie didn’t like the sound of that noncommittal little noise. “I trust her.” She hoped she sounded as positive as she’d once felt. But ever since last Wednesday, doubt had been nibbling at the edges of her confidence. She could deal with nibbles. It was the big bites of uncertainty she was afraid of.

  “I trusted Kyle, too. Now it’s more difficult. Every time he opens his mouth, I’m looking for corroborating evidence.”

  “You sound like Nick.”

  “I’m more familiar with him than I ever want to be.” She glanced up. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “But I have to tell you, Laurie—he says that at least two of the kids who were there that night are insisting Anna was in that crowd.”

  Laurie shook her head. “Of course they’d say that, for the same reason they say Kyle was there. Anna is a bigger target. She’s a Hale. There are people in this town who would love to see us discredited over something like this.”

  “But in the case of Kyle, they’re right. He admitted everything to us while Nick was at the house. And if these kids were right about him, they could be right about Anna. You just don’t know it yet.”

  Laurie shook her head. “Nope.”

  “I wish I had the luxury of certainty.” Janice finished her salad and glanced up for the waitress.

  Laurie still had half a sandwich. She looked down at her plate, at the crisp, hot batter and melted cheese. The thought of taking one more bite made her feel sick, and she pushed her plate away.

  All the way home, she fought with herself. She needed to trust her daughter. Sure, Anna was going through a rough patch, and she struggled with all the things teenagers struggle with—being cool versus making her parents happy and getting good grades, learning that fine line between independence and disobedience, finding her own style without offending her mother’s sense of modesty.

  But despite all this, she was fundamentally a good kid. And good kids didn’t sneak out of bedroom windows late at night.

  Laurie managed to hang on to her confidence as she pulled into the garage and shut off the minivan’s engine. When she stepped into the house, the familiar smell—a mixture of furniture polish, laundry, and firewood—was like a balm. It was the smell of normalcy, of a happy family without—thank you, Lord—major problems.

  She hung up her coat and toed off her shoes by the door, then padded upstairs and into the master bedroom, stopping by the bed. What had she come up here for? There were a zillion things to do downstairs, like looking through the mail, doing the laundry, cleaning up the breakfast dishes, picking up the living room.

  The silence breathed, suggesting she act while she had the house to herself. Go look at the window. Just to see.

  No, she couldn’t do that. That was as good as saying she didn’t trust Anna’s word.

  Yes, she could. She needed to make sure that Anna was where she said she’d been, and that she couldn’t have been on the bridge or under it or anywhere near it. She needed to cl
ose any loopholes for the gossips in this town.

  She marched down the hall, her stocking feet quiet on the runner that covered the hardwood. Anna’s door was closed, as usual, but she pushed it open and walked straight over to the window.

  The sash didn’t stick at all, which was the first thing she noticed.

  The second thing she noticed was the fact that Anna’s window looked out on the roof over the garage. The distance between the sill and the roof was just two or three feet. So swinging your legs out and stepping onto the shingles would be easy.

  Okay, but getting down off the roof is the hard part. The impossible part, I would say.

  Just to be sure, she headed downstairs again, grabbed her coat, and jammed her feet into her shoes. She went through the garage and out the side door onto the lawn.

  “No way.”

  Talking to yourself was a sign of impending dementia. But maybe she was talking to Janice. Or Anna. Or God.

  On one side of the garage door stood the clematis trellis—and it was made of wrought iron. No flimsy wood pickets for Colin. He’d brought the trellis home from the store last fall when she’d talked about training a clematis vine over the door. When Colin installed something, he did it right. A platoon of marines could go up and down that trellis, and it wouldn’t even quiver.

  Closer inspection of the base of the trellis revealed a deep footprint in earth that had thawed and then frozen again. A footprint that Laurie would bet was a size five. She took a couple of steps backward and traced the escape route out the window, over the roof, and down the trellis. Thirty seconds, tops. And in sneakers a person could be both fast and quiet.

  The cold seeped through her feet and hands, washing down into the collar of her coat, sinking through her skin and into her heart. It wasn’t possible that Anna could have lied to them all. It wasn’t possible that she had raised a daughter who was so good at deceit.

  And it really wasn’t possible that Vanessa was right, that Anna really had been among those kids on the bridge. That Anna could have stood by and done nothing while someone pushed Randi Peizer to her death.

  Hot tears of denial and grief welled into Laurie’s eyes. Their Anna was no coward. Vanessa had said she was off in the trees, too far away to save Randi from going over. But what about before that? Couldn’t she have come to Randi’s defense somehow? Could she have stepped up to defuse a situation that was clearly getting out of control?