[Something in the Way 01.0] Something in the Way

by Jessica Hawkins

  “Okay. So you’ll go check on her?”

  There was nothing left to do. It wasn’t as if I could go into town and talk to Manning myself. At least Tiffany could drive. Once again, she was my only link to Manning.

  Tiffany was frazzled. She’d thrown her hair up in a messy bun, and her bangs stuck to her forehead. “Kimmy, why are you taking everything out of the bag we just packed?” she asked.

  “I can’t find my Walkman.” As Kimmy dug around, her dirty socks jumped onto the floor like fugitives on the run. “I need it for the bus.”

  “But you guys wouldn’t shut up on the way here!” Tiffany began shoving Kimmy’s things back into the duffel. “You didn’t even listen to music.”

  I put my hands on Kimmy’s shoulders. “We have games planned for the bus. You won’t need your Walkman. Right now, I need you to do a job for us.”

  Kimmy pouted. “What job?”

  “Go around to every bed that doesn’t have a sleeping bag, yank the sheets off the mattresses, and pile them in the middle of the cabin. Sounds fun, right?”

  I’d given her permission to cause mayhem. She sprinted the two feet to the nearest bed. “You make it too hard on yourself,” I told Tiffany.

  “If I ever, ever mention having babies, remind me of this experience,” Tiffany muttered. “I’m just glad Manning isn’t here to see me like this.”

  That’s because he’s with the police, I wanted to snap at her. But that wasn’t the way to get through to Tiffany. “What’d he want?” I asked. “When I sent you to talk to him.”

  “Iris!” Tiffany gaped behind me. “Are you kidding me?”

  I looked back to find Iris grinning in red lipstick. She made kissing noises. “Oh, Manning. I lo-o-o-ve you.”

  I recognized that lip color—it was Chanel. This wouldn’t go well. I was about to intervene when Tiffany stood up. “Come here,” she said to Iris.

  Iris took a step back.

  “You did it wrong. I taught you guys the other night how to use lip liner. You should’ve put that on first because now the lipstick is bleeding. You look like a hooker.”

  “Tiffany,” I said through my teeth.

  “What?” she asked me. “Do you want her to look like a hooker?”

  Iris narrowed her eyes and then went to Tiffany, digging the lipstick from her pocket. She handed it over. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Tiffany popped off the cap, inspected the lipstick, and muttered under her breath, “This would cost you a month’s allowance, but it’s okay.”

  If I hadn’t been so concerned about Manning, I might’ve fainted with shock. Somehow, at some point, Tiffany had been struck with an ounce of patience. Though it made me happy to see her try, I needed her to focus. “Tiff? What’d he say?”

  Tiffany capped the lipstick, sat on the ground, and put it in the mesh pocket of her luggage. “Who?”

  “Manning.”

  She blinked up to me. For the way she’d just screeched at Iris, her voice was eerily even. “He’s in trouble because he left camp last night.”

  I scratched my elbow. I shouldn’t feel guilty about lying. How many times had Tiffany lied to me or omitted information to get her way? “Do you know why?” I asked.

  “Don’t you? You talked to him.”

  My palms sweat. I didn’t know what she was talking about. “When?”

  “This morning. You were the one who told me to go to his cabin. Didn’t he tell you all this?”

  “No. He said it was . . . adult business.”

  Tiffany arched an eyebrow and laughed. “You’re an adult, aren’t you? You’ve been trying to act like one lately. To be like me.”

  My face reddened. “What do you mean?”

  She looked away. “Manning doesn’t think it’s a big deal, whatever the police want. But he wasn’t sure how long they’d keep him, so he might need me to come pick him up later.”

  “That’s a long drive to get back here.”

  “Who else is going to do it? You? His family? He wants me there.” She sat on her overstuffed suitcase and tried to pull the zipper closed. “All I know is it has to do with something that happened last night. He wouldn’t tell me more.”

  I knew it. Either he’d lied by saying it didn’t involve me, or there was something else going on. Manning wanted to protect me, he’d made that clear since we’d met, but at what point was he making things worse? I didn’t exactly feel safe with him in custody, unable to talk me through our next move.

  “Can I come with you to pick him up?” I asked.

  Tiffany yanked on the zipper so hard, her fingers slipped, and she flew backward. “Fuck.” She shook out her hand. “God, that hurt. And I broke a goddamn nail.”

  “Tiff?”

  “I’m so sick of this place,” she said. “It’s dirty and loud. I only came for him, and now he’s . . .”

  “What?” I asked, every hair on my body prickling.

  “Never mind—”

  “What else did he say?”

  “Nothing, I already told you.”

  “But if there’s anything else, anything—I need to know.”

  “What do you want from me, Lake?” she said, pounding her fist on the suitcase. Surprised, I stepped back. “I have no idea what’s going on. He wouldn’t tell me shit. I don’t know what to do or if I should do anything or just . . .”

  Her body shook with the threat of a sob. I was so shocked by her tears that I got on the floor next to her. She rarely cried if it wasn’t to get something out of my dad. I pulled her hands from her face to put my arms around her. “It’s okay.”

  She pulled away. “Don’t.”

  “Why?”

  She narrowed her eyes on me. “You’re the reason we’re in this mess.”

  It seemed to me Tiffany and Manning were adult enough to decide whether or not they wanted to be here, but when had Tiffany ever taken responsibility for her decisions? “Whatever, Tiffany. I came here to check on you and Manning, not fight.”

  “What if he gets in real trouble?” she asked. “How will you feel then?”

  “He won’t.”

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  “Innocent people don’t go to jail.”

  She looked at me hard. “What if he’s not innocent?”

  “He is,” Gary said from the doorway. “Manning’s a good guy. Whatever happened, I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”

  “Take us to the station, Gary,” I said. “Please.”

  “I can’t. Not only would it not help, but Manning specifically asked me to keep you two out of it.”

  “But I’m his girlfriend,” Tiffany said.

  “He’s trying to protect you.” He sniffed at us, his eyes roaming over our faces. We must’ve looked as bad as we felt, because he conceded, but not without an eye-roll. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll come back as soon as I can and check things out. Once everything at home is sorted, I’ll drive back up here on my own and make sure Manning’s all right.”

  It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but I could see it was all we were going to get. It was better than Manning being alone. “Thanks,” we said.

  “But I have one condition—relax. You girls are too young to worry about this sort of stuff. Actually, I have two conditions. Pack up your shit and get over to the buses now.” With a poor attempt at an angry-face, he turned and walked off.

  Tiffany looked exhausted. I could tell she was thinking about leaving her stuff behind just so she could stop packing. Considering there were designer purses in there, she must’ve been desperate.

  “I’ll sit on the bag, and you zip,” I said. “I’m heavier than you.” I might’ve been, if I’d had the boobs and butt she did, but it was exactly what she needed to hear. She inhaled a breath and stood so I could take her place. After wrestling with the zipper, she got the bag closed. Her face and eyes were red, her hairline sticky with sweat. I couldn’t help wondering what’d happened just now, before Gary’d interrupted u
s. Tiffany was clearly distraught. Was it possible she actually cared about Manning?

  With that realization, a new fear settled over me. Not for Manning or even myself. If Tiffany found out I’d snuck off with her boyfriend, she’d be furious. Embarrassed. Hurt. What I’d done, I’d done without considering how it might affect my own sister. It’d been easy to convince myself it wouldn’t matter to her because she didn’t have real feelings for Manning. But did she?

  “I’m sorry this week was so bad,” I said sincerely. “I’ll go to the mall with you when we get home and buy you something.”

  She wiped her nose. “With what?”

  “I have some allowance saved. Probably more than you.”

  She turned around and climbed onto her bed to remove pictures of her and her friends she’d taped to the wall. “You know I can have almost anyone. Manning’s lucky I’m still around.”

  I wasn’t sure where that was coming from, but there was only one way to answer that if I wanted to get out of here alive. “I know.” I waited for her to continue, but she just picked tape off the corners of the photographs. “Did something happen with him?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you thinking of breaking up with him?”

  “Maybe.”

  So many things ran through my mind at once. If they broke up, Manning would be out of her life. But would he then be out of mine, too? No. He and I had to find a way. We knew it’d come to this. It wasn’t as if I’d expected her to stay with Manning for two whole years until I turned eighteen.

  “We’ll see how it goes if I pick him up,” she said.

  I didn’t know which way to encourage her. It was a very real possibility that without Tiffany, Manning and I would be separated until I turned eighteen. That was two excruciating years away from him. But the thought of them together felt like having a piece of glass lodged in my chest—I couldn’t go very long without being reminded it was there.

  Manning and I needed Tiffany, but at the same time, there was no denying—she was also in the way.

  25

  Lake

  By Tuesday morning, three long days since they’d taken Manning away, I could no longer handle doing nothing. This time next week, I’d be back in school, even more helpless than I already was.

  I went through the bathroom, knocked on Tiffany’s door, and entered.

  “Rude much?” she asked. Tiffany lay on her stomach, reading Cosmopolitan, blowing on her nails. A bottle of purple polish sat precariously on her white comforter. “I could’ve been naked.”

  “I’ve seen you naked.”

  “What do you want?”

  Tiffany’s room was the personification of a rundown childhood. In elementary school, Mom had redecorated it with white wicker furniture, ruffled bedding, and pastel walls. She’d helped Tiffany and me paint tulips along the bottom. But as Tiffany had gotten older, she’d tacked concert posters around her bed. Paint chipped off the wicker desk where she’d thrown her phone at it. She’d glued pictures of celebrities to her vanity mirror. One tulip head had been covered with a glittery sticker that said “Goddess” and another with a cartoonish MTV logo. Her shoe collection had overflown from the closet, floral Doc Martens sprouting from her plush, white carpet.

  I turned the stereo volume down. “Did you get ahold of Gary?”

  “Hey. That was Alice in Chains.”

  “Did you?”

  She sighed. “He called last night. Manning robbed someone. That’s why he’s there.”

  But that made no sense at all. “Are you sure?”

  “Yup.”

  There were so many ways to tell her Manning couldn’t have committed any crime that night, but how? I’d have to admit I was with him, and I’d promised I wouldn’t tell. “What . . . who do they think he stole from?”

  She looked up at me. “Guess.”

  “How would I know?” Her eyes stayed on me so long, it was as if she actually expected me to respond. “Another counselor?” I asked.

  “No.” She returned to her magazine. “He didn’t take anything. Just broke into some house in the suburbs during an alcohol run. Nobody, not even Gary, knows what happened between when he left and morning. At least, nobody has come forward.”

  My throat went dry. There was no robbery. There was no house. Just a truck, a lake, and infinite stars. Manning was innocent. “Does Gary think he did it?”

  “No. Neither do I, obviously.”

  I tried to feel relieved. Gary and Tiffany were adults—they knew better. They’d handle this. “What else did he say?”

  “Manning meets with his lawyer this week, and they’ll go before a judge. I forget what it’s called, but Gary says that’s when he pleads ‘not guilty.’ We’ll know more after that.”

  “But what happens until then? Is Manning coming back?” Either my chest was caving in or my heart had begun to swell. I couldn’t picture him held at the station for days, just waiting, thinking of all the things he would’ve done differently that night. Maybe, even, regretting our time together. “Or is he already back?”

  Tiffany carefully flipped a page and checked her polish. “I don’t know. I guess he’s in jail.”

  On her desk next to her phone sat a pink, lined notepad with hearts doodled in the margin—and notes in her handwriting. “Did Gary give you the name of the lawyer?”

  Tiffany tilted her head at the magazine. She didn’t respond for so long, I assumed she’d forgotten I was here. Upside down, I read the title of the article she found so engrossing: “Best Autumn Makeup.”

  I was fed up. Either it was her narcissism that got under my skin, or the fact that autumn was practically here, pressing down on us when summer could so clearly not end this way. “Tiffany, you have to take this seriously. If you don’t want him anymore, fine, but he’s still a friend of ours.”

  “What makes you think I don’t want him?”

  “You said that at camp.”

  “And he’s my boyfriend, not your friend. Why do you want his lawyer’s name?”

  “Because I have to talk to him. I think I—I might’ve seen something that night.”

  Tiffany closed her magazine and sat up, catching the bottle of nail polish just as it started to tip over. “Okay, so tell me, and I’ll call him.”

  We stared at each other. I felt as if I were taking a quiz without knowing the topic. Tiffany was being weird and cryptic and I had zero time for that. I went over to her desk and grabbed the notepad.

  “Stop,” she said, swiping for it.

  I jumped back and read her handwriting. “Tuesday arraignment. One o’clock.” I looked up at her. “That’s today.”

  “So?”

  Manning was going to court for something he hadn’t done, and I still hadn’t told anybody my side of the story. For all the times he’d protected me, I owed him the same. I didn’t know much about the law, but I’d heard of attorney-client privilege on TV. I was almost positive Manning’s lawyer would need to know the truth, whether or not it could hurt Manning.

  I returned to my room and carried my phone to the bed.

  Making calls in this house was a dangerous business. At any moment, someone could pick up the line. Sometimes, you wouldn’t even hear the click, you’d just go on talking about stuff parents and older sisters could later tease you about. Vickie had once raved over Luke Harold’s hair, the ways in which it was better than even Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s. My dad had heard ten seconds of it and still hadn’t let me live that down.

  Tiffany was the only person home, but she of all people couldn’t hear this call. She’d have every right to demand answers if she found out I had sensitive information about the night her boyfriend was arrested.

  I read over her notes again—Arainment Tuesday. 1pm. Dexter Grimes public defender (lawyer).

  Once Tiffany had turned her music back up, I dialed four-one-one, got Dexter’s office number, and made the call. As I waited for him to pick up, I glanced around my room. It needed a m
akeover. My CD collection was a quarter the size of Tiffany’s. Like her, I also collected stickers, but they were confined to my school binders and a bookshelf crammed with paperbacks. Sweet Valley High and Goosebumps had to go. I hadn’t even picked one of those up since sixth grade.

  Were they the last books I’d read for fun?

  The line clicked over to voicemail. “You’ve reached Dexter Grimes of the public defender’s office—”

  Shit, shit, shit. This wasn’t good. The arraignment was in less than three hours. The recording beeped, and I realized I had no idea what I wanted to say. “Hello, Mr. Grimes,” I started.

  Tiffany pounded on my door, and I jumped a mile high. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  I put my hand over the receiver. “Go away.” I lowered my voice. “Sorry, Mr. Grimes. I’m calling about a client of yours, M—Mr. Manning Sutter. I have information about the night he got in trouble.” I paused. How much should I tell him? I needed to see what he already knew, figure out if I could trust him. “I can’t say it in a message, but it might help him. Please, please call me back when you get this.” I hung up and immediately realized I hadn’t left a number. Or a name. My hand sweat around the receiver. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I needed to. For Manning. I hit redial, stood, and paced the room, back and forth, as far as the cord would allow. “Hi, Mr. Grimes. I just left a message but I forgot to give you my information. I’m Lake. Like the body of water.” I cringed. I hadn’t introduced myself that way since I was a kid. “Lake Kaplan. When you call back, if I don’t answer, please don’t mention what this is about. I live with my family, and they can’t know I’m calling. But it’s really important what I have to tell you.” I relayed my phone number twice and my name again.

  I dropped the receiver into its cradle, flopped onto my bed, and looked up at the ceiling. I practiced breathing with my diaphragm as if I were back on the lawn at USC. I tried forcing myself to appreciate what I had around me like Gary had taught us to do. But Manning only grew bigger in my mind.