by Megan Crewe
Tim lowered his head. He rubbed the back of his neck. “No,” he said. “I don’t believe you. There’s got to be some other reason.”
He got up and took a few shaky steps into the parking lot, testing his balance. “It doesn’t matter,” he called, without looking back at me. “I’m going to get in my car and drive into a tree, or off a bridge, and then I’ll see Mom again, and not all the pricks around here, and it’ll be better like that.”
“Whoa!” I scrambled over the railing, too fast. My foot slipped, and I wrenched my shoulder as I caught myself against a post. Hissing at the pain, I ran after him.
“How’s that better?” I said, coming up beside him. “Maybe you see her, maybe you don’t—I don’t know, so there’s no way you can. And you lose everything else. Really, I’ve talked to enough of them. No one’s happier being dead.”
He shrugged. “What’s there to lose? I thought . . . I was dumb. If I wasn’t VP, if I didn’t know the right people, no one would even talk to me. Everyone’s doing it for themselves, no one thinks about anyone else. I don’t want to be in that. I’m sick of it.”
I tried to step in front of him, but he pushed right past me, aiming straight for the car. He was really going to do it. The breath gushed out of me like someone had bashed my chest in with a sledgehammer. I grabbed his elbow.
“Look,” I said. “You want proof it’s not everyone? It’s not me. I’m not here because of who you are or who you know. You want me to say I messed up? I did. I was as full of crap as the rest of them. Everyone was falling all over themselves for you, and I wanted you to know I wasn’t like that. So I was a bitch. That doesn’t mean I—”
Heat washed over my face and welled in my eyes. I choked on the words. Ducking my head, I let my hair slide over my face. This was not a good time to be a flake. I had to think, not get weepy.
“What?” Tim said, suspicious. “That’s it?”
He’d stopped. I was going to make a fool of myself, but he’d stopped walking. Well, hadn’t he almost cried in front of me enough times? To hell with it. I steeled myself and raised my chin. The world looked watery, but the breeze cooled my cheeks.
“You want someone to really care?” I said. “I care. All right? I haven’t liked anyone who wasn’t dead for four years. I’m out of practice. I acted like a jerk. But I’m telling you now. That’s got to count for something.” I wiped at my eyes. “Anyway, it won’t count if you go and kill yourself.”
Tim wasn’t moving toward the car, but he wasn’t saying anything either.
“You’re right—I thought everyone was a creep and a poseur, and there was no one worth liking,” I said, trying to smile. “But I admit it, I was wrong. Could be you are, too.”
His head drooped. “I don’t know,” he said. He sounded wiped. “I feel dead already.”
“That’ll happen when you down a whole bottle of wine.”
“There’s more in the car.” He took a step forward, but I was faster. I marched over to the Oldsmobile and propped myself against the driver-side door.
“You’re not getting in,” I said.
“What if I just want to go home?” he asked, eyeing me. Wondering, probably, if he could drag me off it.
“Like you’re sober enough that I’d trust you not to drive into a tree by mistake.” Suddenly I wished I’d let Mom convince me to get my license when she’d given me the “you’ll have to learn eventually” speech a few months back. “Call a cab. Take the bus. Walk. I’m going nowhere.”
He jingled his keys in his pocket. When he drew out his hand, it was empty. After a moment, he reached out and touched my hair, like he was making sure I was really there.
“If you mean it,” he said, “you won’t tell anyone, right? I don’t want . . . I don’t want you talking about this with my crap friends, with my dad . . . never with my dad.” His voice shook. “You have to promise.”
“Tim—”
“Promise!”
I drew in a breath. There was no way I could know he wouldn’t drown himself in another wine bottle tomorrow and take a drive somewhere I couldn’t find him. My friendship wasn’t enough to solve a problem this big. I knew I had to go to someone else—but I could still make this promise.
“Okay,” I said, carefully. “I promise not to tell your friends or your dad.”
For a moment we just looked at each other. Then he turned away.
I stuck close to the car as he shuffled across the parking lot and down the street. My ears pricked for the sound of honking. Ten minutes passed with only the whir of the cars rushing by. I started to relax, but I didn’t leave. The Oldsmobile’s shadow crept out under my feet, and mine touched the wheels of the minivan four spots over. An ice cream truck jangled by after its last trip past the elementary school yard.
It was almost summer. I’d lost my sense of time. The last week felt like it should have been a year.
Gingerly, I pushed myself upright. My shoulder ached from when I’d almost tripped, and there was a pang of guilt in my stomach for Mom and Paige. Somehow I’d expected there to be a hole, too, a vacant space left by everything I’d spilled to Tim. Instead, I felt all right. If I hadn’t still been worried about Tim, it might even have felt good.
When the sun hit the trees on the other side of the lake, I found my bike and headed home.
CHAPTER
18
By the time I got to the house, it was after eight, but it looked like Mom had just started dinner. I saw her through the screen door, leaning over the stove. The smell of basil and tomatoes wafted onto the porch.
She glanced up as I came in, and her spoon clanged on the inside of the pot. I felt myself gearing up to go into casual mode: say hi, kick off my shoes, and act like nothing had happened. I steadied myself. The air was heavy and the silence awkward, because something had happened.
“Cassie,” Mom said, coming to the doorway. She had a spot of tomato sauce on her cheek and a pinkish tinge around her eyes.
We looked at each other for a minute, feeling out the space between us. Then I said, quietly, “I’m sorry.”
Mom nodded. “I’m sorry, too.”
“I didn’t mean all of it. Some of it I did, but I know some of it wasn’t fair. I was really mad.”
“Well,” she said, “we waited on dinner for you. Why don’t we eat, and afterward we can talk about the parts you did mean. Okay?”
I breathed in. The air felt lighter. I could do this, and then I could do what I had to for Tim, and maybe everything would be okay. “Sounds good,” I said.
After dinner, Dad took care of the dishes while Mom and I sat down in the living room.
“Why don’t you go first,” Mom said. She smiled, a little stiffly. I couldn’t blame her if she was nervous about what might come out of my mouth. I was nervous.
“I—” I swallowed. Now that I wasn’t angry, it was harder to say any of it to her face. I’d been holding the feelings inside for so long, it was like they had grown into me, and I had to pull them out by the roots. “I feel like you’re hardly ever here. And then when you are here, you’re on my case a lot. Like you don’t like the way I am. But this is just . . . the way I am. Maybe if you were around more, you’d see I’m okay.”
Mom’s face had relaxed. “You think I want you to be more like Paige was,” she said.
“Yeah, it seems that way.”
“Cassie.” She sighed. “Paige wasn’t perfect. There were things I got on her case about, too.”
“But she had lots of friends,” I said. “You’re always bugging me about making friends.”
“Well, Paige lost the chance to do a lot of things. I suppose I’m afraid you’ll miss out, too, because you won’t give yourself the opportunity.”
When she put it that way, I could kind of see her point.
“You don’t have to be as social as Paige,” she continued. “But you do seem to spend a lot of time here alone.”
“You bug me about other stuff,” I pointed out. “
Like where I went on the weekend.”
“I can’t help being a little overprotective. I am your mother.” She shifted closer and put her hand over mine. “I don’t want you to think I’m disappointed in you. I’m not. I just want you to be as happy as you can be.”
I wanted to tell her that I was happy, but right then, I wasn’t really sure. What was happiness anyway? That good feeling when I’d first gotten the dirt on Paul? That had faded so fast. How could I know if I was happy if I didn’t even remember what it felt like?
In the pause, Mom said, “I talked to my editor at Travel Insight a couple days ago, about taking fewer away assignments. I’ll be home for the next few weeks. What if I promise not to criticize you about anything for the first week? We’ll take some time to get to know each other again.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to remind you if you slip up though.”
“Of course,” she said. “You know, I’ll still be traveling sometimes. Maybe during the summer you could come with me and see what it’s like.”
“Maybe.” I’d been annoyed at Mom for staying away, but now the thought of her being around made me feel twitchy. I’d gotten used to it being just me and Dad. But I guessed it’d work out if she really did start acting like a mom and not like a prosecutor. She seemed like she was trying anyway. That was something. Maybe . . . I could try to be less harsh on her, too.
Afterward, I trudged upstairs to my bedroom. I hesitated for a moment, then sat on the bed and lifted the phone onto my lap. My hand shook as I picked up the receiver.
I’d gone over this in my head a million times in the last hour. I couldn’t follow Tim around for the rest of his life, jumping in front of him whenever he tried something stupid. I couldn’t get his dad involved—I’d promised that much. But Tim had sounded like he liked his aunt, and his mom had encouraged him to go to her.
Trouble was, I only had her first name, and Tim wasn’t likely to hand any information over to me. But . . . he’d said she’d stayed with him while his mom was sick. His friends had probably met her. There was a chance she’d have given them some way of contacting her. Or that at least they’d know more about her, so I could figure it out for myself.
Steadying myself, I dialed the number I’d never quite managed to unmemorize.
Someone picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Cassie.”
My breath hitched. Caller ID, I reminded myself. But between my nervousness and the sharpness of Danielle’s voice, a snappy response popped out before I could bite it back.
“I’ve been going by Cass for a while now. Maybe you didn’t notice.”
“Is that why you’re calling? To tell me how to say your name?”
“No, I”—I forced myself to inhale—“I need to talk to Tim’s aunt. Nancy? She stayed with him before. I thought maybe—if any of you have her phone number, or know where she lives—”
“Why?” Danielle broke in. “What happened? Is he okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, hoping that was true right now. “I just—it’s complicated. I can’t get into it.”
“Why not? You can’t just ask for stuff like that and—”
My fingernails dug into my palm. “Danielle,” I said, “I want to talk to Tim’s aunt Nancy. That’s all there is to it. Can you help me or not?”
For a long moment, dead air hung between us. I backed down too many times before, I thought. I played by the rules you made. This once, you can do something for me.
She broke the silence first.
“Okay,” she said. “I think—I think she gave her cell number to Leon, just in case. Hold on while I call him. I’ll call you right back.”
“Sure,” I said, with more warmth than I’d expected to muster. “Thank you.”
It took only a minute before the phone rang again. “Ready?” she asked, and rattled off the number. I stared down at my scrawl on the back of the notebook I’d grabbed, my heart thumping.
She paused. “You know, Cassie—Cass—I am sorry about what happened in junior high. I didn’t mean for things to end up the way they did. I was mad, and I did some rotten things, and then everyone else joined in, and it just got crazy. After a while, I wasn’t even angry anymore, but it wasn’t like it was up to me what they did, you know?”
“All right,” I said. There was nothing more I could say to that.
We held there for a minute, not enemies, just two people, and I thought, now it’s done.
Almost.
I had one more call to make.
The next morning, I woke up so early only the faintest gleam of sunlight was peeking through my window. My heart was thumping, suddenly uncertain. I tried to hold on to the memory of my conversation with Tim’s aunt, the reassurance that had been in her voice, but the questions flooded in anyway.
What if Tim hadn’t even made it home last night? What if he’d come back for the car before he’d completely sobered up? I should have stayed, I should have gone with him, I should have—
I rolled over and pressed my face into my pillow. I was only one person, and calling his aunt was the best thing I could have done. She’d said she was coming down today to see him. That had to be enough.
If only I could be sure he’d see things that way, too. He’d been so intense, so insistent that no one know. What if I’d made things worse all over again?
I bit my lip and dragged myself out of bed.
The worries followed me to school, a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. I might as well have slept through my classes—everything the teachers said seemed to float right by me. By the time final bell rang, it was all I could do to remember which locker was mine. I twisted the wrong combination three times before I finally got it open. Norris sauntered over as I stared inside.
“Hey, Cass,” he said, slicking his palm over his hair, “I’ve got a pretty wild one. The principal, right, he—”
I swallowed hard. “Norris, I don’t think I want to hear dirt on people today.” I paused, and the realization hit me with a sweeping sense of relief. “Actually, I don’t think I want to hear stuff about anyone, anymore.”
Norris gaped at me. “What? But—you have your mission. Calling them on the crap, making them face up. You’re just giving that up?”
“I’ve got enough other things to think about,” I said. “Anyway, how many of them stopped being jerks because of me?”
“Okay, not so many. But, man . . . there goes the excitement out of my afterlife.”
“You can still spy on them all you want. I just don’t want to hear about it. And we’ll still talk.” I managed a thin smile. “I’ve got contemporary history next year. You can help me with my homework.”
“Right. Straight from the source!”
When I didn’t respond, he slipped partway through the locker, so he could look at me face-to-face, and cocked his head. “Are you okay, Cass?”
“I’m fine,” I said.
Except I was about as close to fine as the Antarctic was to New York, and I knew it. Why was I lying? To impress some dead guy with my deathly cool? Since when had I been such a poseur?
I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to that.
“You sure?” Norris was saying. “ ’Cause no offense, but you don’t look so sharp.”
I shook my head. “No, you’re right. It’s just, this guy I’m kind of friends with, he was talking really seriously about . . . about killing himself, yesterday. So I’m stressed. A lot.”
“Whoa,” Norris said. “You think he’d really do it?”
“He was already trying to. I don’t know if he’ll try again. I told someone, even though he didn’t want me to—I think she’ll make sure he gets help—but he probably hates me now.”
Norris shrugged. “Better angry and alive than just plain dead, right?”
I leaned against the neighboring locker and rubbed my eyes. “Yeah. Of course. I just—”
I just cared. There was nothing wrong with that, was there?
And as a person who cared, sure
ly there was nothing wrong with happening to wander by his house, just to see if, well, there was anything to see? Check that his aunt had come by, make sure he’d survived the time since I last saw him, that he was in good hands now.
“What?” Norris said, and I realized I was smiling for real now.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just—I’ve got to get going. See you tomorrow!”
My heart raced me down the stairs, threatening to burst out of my chest. I half walked, half jogged home, where I grabbed my bike and took off for Tim’s place. As I rounded the corner onto Nassau, my breath stopped.
The Oldsmobile was parked out front. In one piece. That meant chances were Tim was still in one piece, too.
I braked across from the house. He might already be gone. His aunt could have come, picked him up—
Then I saw the back of a head and the sheen of light blond hair through the living room window. My pulse hiccuped. Someone was sitting on the couch, just inside. I hesitated, and in the same moment, the head turned to look outside. Our eyes met.
Tim’s face tensed. He got up and walked out of view.
I wavered on the sidewalk for a minute longer. Tim didn’t come back. I knew he was home, at least, and not in a hospital. I could leave.
Instead I set my bike down on a lawn and went across the street to his house.
Moments after I rang the doorbell, the wooden inner door creaked open. Still half behind it, Tim stared out at me. It wasn’t quite a glare, but there wasn’t anything friendly in it either. His skin looked sallow, his fingers spidery thin.
“Hi” was the best I could come up with.
Tim said nothing. He moved forward, and I backed up as he came out onto the porch.
“Did your aunt come?” “She’s on her way,” he said. “She’s driving me up to stay at her place for a few days.”
“Oh. Good.” That was good, right?
“She seemed to think it wasn’t safe for me to drive myself.” He paused. “You called her.”
I couldn’t see any point in denying it. “I was worried,” I said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”