A small gasp from the kitchen catches my attention. Faith had disappeared in there. Probably to cry in private. I worry that she’ll plummet into depression. If one of us sinks, it’ll be easier for all of us to.
She appears. The half circles under her eyes are puffy and red.
I smile warmly. “Have you tried to get through to Scott?”
“I can’t reach him.” She rubs her eyes and sniffles. “Didn’t Paige say something about that? About the satellite?”
“I don’t remember.”
“It was something about the TV and Internet. I swear she said that if we have television, then we’d have Internet.”
I shake my head. “I don’t recall.” She holds an envelope in her hand. “What’s that?”
The kindling flames. Slowly I make a tic-tac-toe board from wood, stacking it so that the fire can breathe in the middle. It’s what Tal does.
My body aches to be with him. I can just see it—after making hot chocolate for the kids, I curl up with him on the couch, nuzzling my nose to the spot behind his ear.
God, I wish I were anywhere but here.
Blanche tromps down the steps. “Got it turned off. That should help.”
Faith smooths the envelope in her hand. “I found this.”
It looks like a plain, ordinary envelope. “What is it?”
Her lower lip trembles as she flips it around. Very clearly, in Paige’s handwriting, it reads, TO MY BEST FRIENDS.
My stomach splatters to the floor.
“It’s from Paige.” Faith drops onto a couch behind me. I rise, knees creaking, back throbbing, and sit across from her.
“Holy shit.” Blanche edges toward us, staring at the letter. Her cheeks flame with color, and her pulse patters in her neck. “Is that a suicide note?”
“I don’t know. Should we open it?”
“It’s addressed to us, isn’t it?” Blanche flicks a hand toward it. “Hell, yes. We should open it. If she…did it on purpose, we need to know why.”
“She wouldn’t kill herself.” Faith smooths a hand lovingly over the letter. “I knew her.”
An argument brews in Blanche’s eyes, but as quickly as it appears, it vanishes.
Faith flips the envelope around. “Well?”
It’s addressed to us, but after what happened last night between Blanche and Paige, I worry about what secrets might be buried inside. It could be the one final surprise that Paige had planned for us—a surprise that nobody wants to see.
But we have to read it, don’t we? Whatever is inked on the page inside must be read.
“Sure,” I reply, forcing myself to smile. “It’s got our names on it.”
Blanche picks at her cuticles nervously.
She’s worried that her explosive secret will come to light. Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t.
Faith’s breath shakes as she rips the top of the envelope clean off. It reminds me of only a few days ago when I received a similar looking envelope. It’s a rectangle that looks like a million other rectangles. There’s nothing unique about it except for the words written on the paper.
Faith unfolds the page and smooths it on her legs. She clears her throat and begins to read.
“‘To Faith, Blanche, and Court, my three best friends.’”
Her breath hitches.
“It’s okay,” I coax. “You can do it.”
She scratches her head so hard the fingernails bite into the scalp. “‘Congratulations,’” she continues, “‘y’all are all here because not only are you my friends, but you have something else in common, too.’”
Faith stops.
Blanche motions for her to continue. “What’s it say?”
Faith brings a shaking hand to her mouth. Her lips part, but the sound catches in her throat. She shakes her head, swallows, and repeats, “‘But you have something else in common, too. Blackmail. In case you haven’t guessed, all three of y’all are being blackmailed by me.’”
Chapter 23
Charlotte
Late October 2000
I am home when the police arrive. It’s late, after supper. After hearing the scream erupt from the belly of the woods, I had run back to the house.
I didn’t know what those girls had done, but none of them were my friend except for Brittany. And surely it wasn’t Brittany who screamed.
At first I had thought about going back to see what had happened. But that hateful look in Court’s eyes had stopped me cold. Whatever had made one of them yell, it couldn’t have been as bad as I imagined.
Even as I think this, my stomach folds.
When the police ask if they can talk with me down at the station, the hairs on my arms soldier to attention. Why do they want to talk to me?
But Daddy is at my rescue, starting in with all kinds of questions. He asks what this was about and why did they want to speak with me?
I can barely breathe, and then I realize what’s going on. I watch Law & Order. I know how this works.
Something did happen on that bluff. The girls were caught out there. That’s all. Court, that jerk, probably told the police that I had been out there, too. Just to be a bitch. I’m sure of it.
If that’s all this is, then I’m not worried. Daddy can get me out of any trouble.
He doesn’t look happy. News that his daughter has been to see the police might not be good for business dealings.
He doesn’t say this because he doesn’t have to. His thin lips and the wormy lines on his forehead suggest as much.
So we all march downtown. Mama and Daddy sit with me while a detective asks questions. He has dark brown eyes and sandy hair. He’s kind and warm. His last name strikes me as familiar, and then I realize it’s the same as Sam’s. This is his dad.
Does he know about us, I wonder. About Sam and me?
If he does, he keeps it to himself.
The other detective is a woman. Her hair is auburn colored. She still uses a curling iron to style it, because the curls are big and bouncy, with frizz working all the way down to the root plug.
I wonder who’s good cop and who’s bad cop. Because there’s always a good one and bad one. Even I know that.
Sam’s dad asks if I was at the bluff today. I tell him that I was. He asks if I know that it’s a crime to be out there.
My mom unclasps her purse and pulls out a tissue. She’s thinking that she has a juvenile delinquent on her hands. But I know that Daddy has connections and my record is clean. He can get any charges dropped, especially since I didn’t have anything to do with the screamer, whoever it was.
I tell the detective that yes, I know that the place is off-limits. There’s a sign, after all. He asks me if I was out there when other girls were—namely Court, Brittany, Faith, and Blanche. He uses their last names, but I can’t concentrate because I’m suddenly nervous. My palms are slick with sweat, and I swipe them down my thighs.
They just want to know when I left, I remind myself. That’s all.
I exhale and feel better. The only crime that I’ve committed is being on the bluff. If they want to press charges, they can. Like I said, Daddy will get them thrown out.
The woman (I don’t catch her name) asks about the trouble I was having at school. Says she heard it was over a boy.
Now my dad is mad and my mom is looking at me as if I’m an alien. Oh, there must be some mistake, she says. Charlotte never gets into trouble.
The lady detective doesn’t look at my mom when she asks me if that trouble was why I pushed Brittany off the bluff.
My heart is in my throat, beating madly. The rush of blood in my ears is all I can hear as my father starts yelling and saying that we’re getting a lawyer. That this discussion is over.
My mom is howling, crying, saying her baby could never do anything like this. The whole time I’m staring at my hands, wondering what has happened.
My gaze flickers up and meets the nice detective. He smiles at me again, warmly. He calms everyone down by patting his hands.
“She’s hurt pretty bad. In the hospital. Unconscious,” the female detective says. “Brittany has a broken pelvis and arm.”
Daddy has risen and is yanking up his pants, pulling them higher on his waist. He does that when he’s pissed. He says again that we’re getting a lawyer, and he tells me not to answer any questions.
The female cop leans over real far and looks me in the eyes. She’s the bad cop, I’ve decided.
Her lips part slowly, as if she’s about to tell me a secret. Then she says, “All the other girls say you did it on purpose. If Brittany backs up their claim, we could bring criminal charges against you. Do you know what that means?”
I know what it means. There was a kid at my last school who ended up in the system. He went to a juvenile detention center—a jail for minors until he turned eighteen. Then they tossed him in prison with the adults, all the real criminals.
A knot clots up my throat. That could happen to me. I’d end up in juvie, maybe even a prison for women. There is no telling what the justice system is like in this back-asswards state.
My stomach falls away. My entire body is suddenly numb.
Sam’s dad smiles. “If you work with us, we can help you.”
I tell my parents that I didn’t do it. I swear to them that I didn’t. Mama cries all the way home, quietly sobbing into her tissue.
Daddy says he’s calling his lawyer first thing when we get home. He does and the lawyer tells me that the best thing that I can do is to act like nothing is happening.
He says that without the victim’s testimony, the police don’t have a strong case.
At school the next day there are signs up asking us to pray for Brittany. She still hasn’t woken up. My gut twists when I look at them, all painted in red marker with gold hearts surrounding the words.
If she were here, Brittany would tell all of them the truth. She would let them know that I’m not guilty—that one of those other girls pushed her.
Why? Why did they do this to me?
I want to know. Every fiber of my being wants to confront Court, Faith, and Blanche. I want to ask them why they’re doing this. So what, I screwed Sam? This isn’t fair payment for that.
I deserve the truth, and what’s being spread now are lies.
I look for Court, wanting to confront her. Surprise, surprise, she isn’t at school. Blanche and Faith aren’t, either. They had the balls to accuse me but not to face me with their lies.
Tal walks through the hallway, his shoulders slumped. I want to tell him that I didn’t hurt Brittany. But I can’t find the words, so I move along, down the hall toward AP English.
Sam doesn’t look at me in class. No one does. But now the kids have gone from whispering “slut” to whispering “killer.”
It’s more than I can take. Nathaniel Hawthorne’s words in The Scarlet Letter blur before me. I can’t breathe. Everything is closing in. The next thing I know, I’m running from the classroom. Someone is yelling after me, shouting about a hall pass, about detention.
I laugh. If Brittany doesn’t wake up, then where I’m headed, detention will look like a joke. I burst through the front doors. The sun pierces my skin, warming me, righting me.
My feet amble. I don’t know where I’m going until I’m there, in the woods, in the place that started it all. My stomach aches, and I wrap an arm over it, trying to calm the acid that churns, churns, churns.
“What are you doing out here, alone?”
I whirl around. Sam’s dad, the good cop, is standing there, taking me in, his eyes the color of melted chocolate.
“I didn’t do it,” I say.
He nods, stares out at the bluff and the swaying pines. “Unless Brittany wakes up, there’s no proof of that.”
I don’t say anything.
“You would come here with him, right? The boy you were with?”
I search him to see if he knows who it is, but recognition doesn’t shine in his eyes.
I nod.
“You know,” he says, walking up, placing a calloused hand on my arm, “I can make this go away.” His finger traces down my flesh. Goose bumps prickle my skin. “One word from me and we’ll wrap it up, say the whole thing was an accident. It won’t matter about the other girls, what they’re saying.”
I cock a brow.
He smiles and in the very back row of teeth I see a silver cap. It glints in the sun. “I can make it all go away. All I need is a favor from you.” When I don’t say anything, he unbuckles his belt. “Just one favor.”
Chapter 24
Paige’s Letter
To Faith, Blanche, and Court, my three best friends,
Y’all are all here because not only are you my friends, but you have something else in common, too.
Blackmail.
In case you haven’t guessed, all three of y’all are being blackmailed by me.
You will wonder why, now, won’t you? You’ll wonder why in the hell have I done something so horrible to you. Why have I done this?
What reason could I have?
None of you remember me. I’m surprised that you don’t. But memory is a tricky thing. People are excellent at forgetting, especially when they hurt someone deeply.
Faith, the first time I saw you, I was certain you would recognize me. Yet you didn’t. You looked right at me, and not one flicker of remembrance crossed your face.
I guess that was no surprise. Twenty years is a long time, isn’t it? It’s a long time to forget what someone looks like, and when they have a different name, it’s even harder to connect the dots.
Even though each of you forgot about me, I never, not for one second, forgot you or what you did to me—and to Brittany.
Blanche and Court—you disappointed me, too. Surely, I thought, when Faith put together our little meet and greet, you would instantly know who I was.
But y’all didn’t recall me, either.
Because I didn’t mean anything to you.
But you meant something to me.
Now I feel like it’s time to reintroduce myself. Y’all will remember me as Charlotte. I’m a blast from the past, from when we were sophomores in high school.
Do you recall what happened?
I do. In case you’ve forgotten, let me remind you and fill in any gaps that you don’t know.
Because there are many big, gaping wounds that y’all know nothing about, but your actions directly contributed to creating them.
Court, Blanche, and Faith, the three of y’all told the police that I pushed Brittany off the bluff, where she was badly injured. The cops came to me. I didn’t know if Brittany would wake up or not, so I made a deal with detective Sam Roy, Sr. He told me to do him one favor, and in exchange, he’d make the investigation disappear.
That one favor got me pregnant.
But as it turned out, I didn’t need him. I’m sure you remember why.
Brittany woke up. Surely y’all can’t forget all the banners of praise and thanks that went up at school when she awoke.
When she told the truth.
Or, at least a partial truth. Brittany said that what happened was an accident, that she accidentally fell from that cliff. I don’t think it was unintentional.
Before we get to that, though, let’s finish my story.
I wound up pregnant, as I said. Sam’s father, Officer Roy, the detective who wanted to help me, planted his seed deep in my belly.
I had to tell my parents, who made me get rid of it. I’ve never gotten pregnant since.
I wanted to thank the three of y’all for putting my life on a trajectory that I never imagined. Because of your lies, my parents had little to do with me. Oh, we moved from town because of the stares and comments, but my mom and dad saw me as tainted goods, not worth a thing. They gave me money and made sure I went to a great school, but the shame t
hat I brought on them first with your lies (because even though Brittany said it was an accident, that I wasn’t involved, my parents never believed me) and then with the pregnancy, soured them to their daughter.
I wasn’t perfect anymore.
Not that I ever was, but I did not deserve your cruelty.
You know, I’ve thought a lot about y’all over the years and about how, because of your tongues, kids at school bullied me. It was wrong what I did with Sam, but I didn’t deserve to have the police on me, to have sex with a man because I was afraid that I would go to jail. I did not deserve the nightmares that hounded me. Ones where Sam’s father was on top of me, pushing deeper and deeper, his body pressing on my chest until I couldn’t breathe.
So you can see why I wanted you to pay. All three of you lived on as if what you’d done to me didn’t matter, as if it was okay to ruin someone’s life before it ever even got started.
Well, it’s not okay, and I want you to know that—starting now.
You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just confront you in person. There are reasons, and I will tell you all of them. But the first fun surprise we get to play is the blackmail game. You see, each and every one of y’all has a secret, one that I’m a thousand percent sure the other two friends don’t know about.
I know it because I’m y’all’s best friend.
Let’s start with you, Faith. You are so sweet and innocent, so hardworking when it comes to losing weight. Gosh, if you could just shed ten pounds, then everything would be better, wouldn’t it? But because you can’t shed those pounds, you have another little hobby. And I don’t mean bingeing and purging.
Blanche. Oh, Blanche, you’re tough as nails with a razor-sharp wit. For all that steely exterior, inside you’re just a little girl who yearns to be loved. You’ve found that love, haven’t you? Time to fess up about it.
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