The Last Words We Said

by Leah Scheier

  “I can’t do that,” I tell her. The room is empty. It’s just the three of us. “He isn’t here.”

  She flinches when I say it, and I realize for the first time that Deenie had secretly cherished my visions of our friend. It was comforting to her that he was somewhere in the shadows, even if only in my mind. He wasn’t truly gone, not while I still believed he was with us. But now he’s really vanished, and with him, the hope of his forgiveness, and her salvation.

  “Anyway, I can’t ask him for you,” I add.

  She nods wearily and sighs. “No, I guess not.”

  “But you can,” I say.

  “What do you mean? How?”

  “Close your eyes,” I instruct her. “As if you’re praying.”

  She looks doubtful, but she does as I ask.

  “There. Can you see him now?”

  She shakes her head.

  “He’s wearing that black polo. The gray sneakers with the crack in the sole.”

  She wrinkles her brows, as if concentrating on a blurry image.

  “He needs a haircut,” I prompt. “His bangs are practically covering his eyes.”

  A smile dawns now. Her lips fall open, and she draws a sharp breath. She sees him.

  “Talk to him,” I say. “Tell him you messed up. Tell him you’re sorry.”

  She speaks. I can’t hear what she is telling him, but her expression is pleading, and I know what she is saying, even though she never voices a word. Rae watches her fretfully, irritably, like a scientist who’s been forced to attend a séance. She rolls her eyes at me but otherwise doesn’t interrupt.

  Deenie talks silently for a long time. Rae keeps glancing at the clock. My mom wanders in with a plate of cookies, stares at my friend for a moment, and then wanders out, but Deenie never notices. She sits in the same trance as before, until even I begin to worry.

  Perhaps it’s too much for her? Maybe she’s too fragile to try this experiment. For me Danny was like a guardian angel, but maybe for her he will be different. He could take another form—an accusing demon. I’d met that Danny when my guilt had overwhelmed me at the prayer service. Was that the vision that was speaking to Deenie now?

  Suddenly, her peaceful expression changes, and her eyes fly open. She glances at our expectant faces and bites her lip. “I don’t want to do that anymore,” she tells me hoarsely. “It—it isn’t right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It isn’t real, okay? Danny doesn’t live in my mind. Talking to him doesn’t mean anything! I’m basically asking myself for forgiveness.”

  “How is that any different than praying?” Rae mutters.

  “Don’t start, Rae,” Deenie says, turning on her. “God can hear my prayers. But Danny can’t hear me—not anymore. And maybe some things can’t be forgiven. And maybe you shouldn’t forgive me either.”

  I lean back against a sofa cushion. “But I want to forgive,” I say after a moment. “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t pushed Danny away, if I’d just forgiven him. I’m not going to do that again.”

  “But—this is different,” Deenie says, her voice sinking to a miserable whisper. “You’ve been blaming yourself for something that was my fault—”

  “It’s all of our faults,” Rae interrupts.

  Deenie looks surprised for a moment and then shakes her head. “You don’t have to—” she begins, but Rae cuts her off.

  “What? I’m going to let you face the music alone?” Rae asks her bitterly. “I played a part too.”

  I sigh. “Come on, now. You didn’t hide the keys well enough? What did you do?”

  Rae looks me in the eye as she confesses. “I was the reason Danny left the party. I saw Deenie flirting with him, so I asked you to call him. When I came back, I found the two of them kissing. So I yelled at him. Screamed at him to get out. That’s why he never finished what he wanted to say to Deenie.” She doesn’t drop her head as Deenie had done. The confession spills from her lips as if she’s relieved to finally give it voice. “He ran from the house just as you were calling him. So even if you had told him to go back to the house—to wait until he’d sobered up—I don’t think he could have. You may have told him to steal the keys, but I basically pushed him into the car.”

  I haven’t yet recovered from Deenie’s confession; this new detail makes my head spin. I’m remembering Danny’s last words to me before the accident. I’ll try to sneak into the house. I have to make sure Rae doesn’t see me.

  He had to sneak past her to get the keys, because she had just thrown him out.

  “But you were just being a good friend,” I say to her. “You yelled at him because you were trying to protect me; you were trying to save my relationship with Danny.”

  She’s silent for a moment. “Yeah. Except, deep down, I wasn’t really doing it for you—for either of you.”

  We are both silent, waiting for her to continue. I’m completely lost, but Deenie seems calmer now, as if she knows what is about to come.

  “You weren’t the only one being hurt by that kiss.” Rae’s eyes don’t waver as she gives me the truth. “It burned me too, Ellie.”

  It takes me a moment to realize what she’s saying. “But you didn’t love Danny,” I say slowly. “Not like that.” About this, at least, I trust my instinct. “I know you didn’t.”

  “You’re right,” she replies softly. “I didn’t love Danny.” And for the first time since beginning her confession, her eyes shift. Drop to her hands.

  And focus, just for a moment, on Deenie.

  THE REST OF RAE’S STORY (transcribed from notes scribbled on a piece of paper that was shoved into my notebook when I wasn’t looking)

  Danny placed the cookie on Rae’s lap. “I just want you to know that you can always have my last cookie,” he said.

  She wiped her face with her sleeve and gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re such a cheeseball,” she said. “I don’t even know why I told you. It’s not going to change anything.”

  “Exactly.” He shrugged. “You told me because you know that it’s not going to change anything. I’m not going to look at you any differently.”

  She hesitated. “But—but the four of us hang out together all the time. It’s not like you can forget it. So from now on every time I—I hug Deenie or something, you’ll think—” She made a face and shook her head as if to banish the image.

  He laughed. “I’ll think that you care about your best friend.”

  She frowned and settled back on the sofa. “Yeah, she’s my best friend. And there’s so many things I can’t tell her.”

  “It’s just one thing.” Rae raised her eyebrows, and he waved his hand dismissively. “Okay, okay, I get that it’s a big thing. But—still, you can talk to her about everything else.”

  Rae hesitated again and bit her lip. “Not exactly. I can’t tell her anything big, really. I can’t tell her about my first time.”

  Danny sat up a little. “Your first time?”

  Rae looked down at her lap, picked up the cookie, and turned it over in her hands. “It was a few months ago. You don’t know the guy. I barely knew him myself.”

  Her fingers tightened on the cookie until it broke apart in her hand.

  “Maybe I was trying to prove something to myself? I don’t know. So I just decided to do it with some random guy—to get it over with, mostly. Maybe I would be into it? Who knew? Deenie and Ellie treated sex like this amazing life-changing event. But what I was feeling was already life-changing enough. And I guess I wanted to believe that the whole sex thing was no big deal.”

  Danny hesitated. “So—was it a big deal?”

  She grinned. “I don’t know. Honestly, it kind of sucked. Neither of us knew what we were doing. And somehow every damn thing he did managed to turn me off.” Rae stared glumly at the cookie dust in her hand. “So now I have no idea how I feel. I know I’m in love with a girl. But I’ve had crushes on guys, too. And I can’t tell my family about any of it because I know
they won’t understand.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Danny asked. “They’ve been pretty supportive so far.”

  Rae shook her head. “Because they understand leaving religion. They won’t understand this.” She took a deep breath and gave him a tired smile. “A while ago we were watching a movie scene where a bi girl brings home her girlfriend. And my dad said, ‘I just don’t get it. It’s not like she’s a lesbian. So if she can be attracted to guys, why doesn’t she just date guys?’ ”

  Danny rolled his eyes, but Rae rushed to her father’s defense before he could speak.

  “But he didn’t say it in a mean or hateful way, you know? He really just didn’t understand. How could I explain to him that if I could choose not to fall in love with my straight best friend, I would?”

  “So do you think you’ll tell them eventually?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, of course. One day.”

  He put his hand out, and she dumped the cookie crumbs into his palm. “You can talk to Deenie and Ellie, though,” he assured her. “I know they’ll understand.”

  She laughed shortly. “You think? Maybe they will. But I guess I’m just not ready for their understanding yet.”

  Chapter 29

  Rae gets up immediately after her confession, before I’ve had a chance to process what she’s just told us. “Don’t follow me,” she says, her back to us. “I’m going over to visit Mr. Edelstein, and I’ll meet you there. But I want to walk alone. Don’t run after me and tell me that you love me and you’ll support me. I know that already. Don’t ask me any questions. Don’t ask me what I’m planning to do. I’m not ready to talk about this, not yet. I just wanted the lies to end, that’s all. Okay?”

  “Yes,” Deenie and I whisper in unison. “Okay.”

  “I love you, Rae,” I add—because I just can’t help myself.

  She sighs, and a little of her usual snark creeps back into her voice. “Jeez, Ellie, I just said—” But I think she’s smiling as she leaves the room.

  “Did you know?” I ask Deenie after the door closes behind Rae.

  “I suspected,” Deenie admits. “For a while. But then right after Danny left the party, we had a long talk. And she told me how she felt. How she’s felt for a long time.”

  “What did you say?”

  “What could I say? She knew I didn’t feel the same way. I told her I loved her and promised her that nothing would change between us.”

  “And has it?”

  She considers for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. If anything, the truth brought us closer. I couldn’t believe that she stood by me even after what I did.” She gives me a wan smile. “And I can’t believe you still want to be my friend.”

  “We all loved Danny,” I tell her. “Each in our own way. That’s what I’m going to focus on. Not on what divides us.”

  She doesn’t seem reassured. “But my love was selfish.”

  “So was mine,” I tell her. “These last few months I held on to him so tightly that I blocked you and Rae out.”

  “Maybe sometimes. But you tried to be there for us, as much as you could be.” She gets up from the sofa and extends her hand. “And now we have to be there for Danny’s father. He doesn’t have anybody else now.”

  Chapter 30

  In the Jewish tradition, a funeral takes place as soon as possible after death has been declared, frequently on the same day. The Edelstein case was unusual; an autopsy had to be performed to determine cause of death. So I’m able to attend the funeral because it takes place the day after my discharge from the hospital.

  The ceremony passes in a blur; people say nice things about Danny, prayers are recited, and Mr. Edelstein totters at the edge of the grave as he drops the first scoops of earth on the casket. The hollow thud of the clods hitting wood is a sound that will haunt me forever.

  The seven-day period of mourning, or shiva, begins shortly afterward. Community members, teachers, and classmates file in and out of the darkened home. Danny’s father sits on a low stool in the middle of the room and receives his friends with a dazed, vacant smile. The food they bring sits untouched in piles around him.

  Deenie, Rae, and I spend most of the shiva period hovering by his side. We don’t talk much except to ask after his needs; he rarely responds, but the buzz of constant visitors keeps the silence from becoming oppressive. By the third day, the strain of receiving comfort is beginning to show. He spends more time in his bedroom and doesn’t emerge until noon, then retreats before the sun goes down. People come anyway, sometimes staying for hours. I know it’s considered a sacred tradition and a great kindness to console a mourner, but we’ve all run out of things to say, and the questions people slip into the conversation are starting to grate on our nerves.

  “It was an accident,” Rae tells one inquisitive grandmother. “The details don’t matter. Anyway, they don’t know what happened.”

  That isn’t exactly true, but a shiva is not the place for nosy inquiries. Visitors ask anyway, morbid curiosity seeping through their expressions of concern.

  “Why did it take nine months to find him?” my history teacher whispers to his girlfriend over a plate of cinnamon kichel. He doesn’t bother lowering his voice. “They used helicopters and dogs and everything.”

  “I heard that a random jogger found him. Off a side road more than ten miles from where he’d left the wrecked car,” the woman whispers. “Ten miles! How did that poor boy walk so far in such awful weather?”

  “They say that someone buried him,” he informs her, as if this is news. Everybody knows the details, yet no one can stop repeating them. “Those heavy rains and flooding over the holidays uncovered the top layer of dirt—”

  “Thank you all for coming,” Rae interrupts sharply, jumping up from her chair. “Mr. Edelstein is tired and needs to go lie down.”

  The shiva period ends finally, and the quiet that descends on the house is worse than the intrusive chatter of well-wishers.

  I stay, even after everyone else has left. My parents don’t argue; I’m mourning, finally, and they give me my space to do what I need to do.

  Mr. Edelstein sits listlessly in the same spot in the middle of the room. The low stool has been replaced with a padded armchair, and the platters of food have been wrapped and placed in the freezer. But he changes nothing else. The mirrors are still draped in dark cloth, the shutters are closed; he makes a murmur of protest when I push open the window to let in some fresh air.

  “Not yet, Ellie,” he says. “I’m not ready yet.”

  “What can I do?” I ask him. It’s the first time he’s addressed me directly. All week he’d been talking through us, as if addressing a roomful of ghosts. “I want to do something for you.”

  “Do?” His watery eyes focus on mine and wander away. “What is there to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I say desperately. “I know there’s nothing I can do—and I know that it’s my fault—” He cuts me off with a raised hand.

  “None of that, Ellie.” His voice is rough with emotion. “There will be no more of that. No more what-ifs. And I don’t want to hear the words ‘it’s my fault.’ Do you understand?”

  “I don’t know how you can stand to be around me,” I tell him miserably. “Knowing that it’s my—knowing what I did.”

  “You made a mistake,” he replies. “A terrible mistake that will always be with you. There’s nothing I can say that will make that go away.”

  I’m thankful he’s finally said it. No one has been that blunt with me, no matter how much I’d begged them to be. My parents blamed themselves when I told them what I’d done. If we’d only been more understanding, they said. “Maybe you two wouldn’t have gotten into a fight in the first place. And none of this would have happened.”

  Nina had analyzed my vulnerability on that night; she’d made excuses for my choice. “Teenagers see themselves as invincible; they don’t think anything bad can happen to them.”

  It was a platitude that didn’
t help me at all. Teenagers hadn’t convinced Danny to drink and drive. I had.

  “I know there’s nothing you can say,” I tell Mr. Edelstein. “I wasn’t looking for comfort. And I realize this guilt will never go away.”

  He nods. “At the same time, you aren’t the only one responsible.”

  “You’re talking about Deenie and Rae?” I ask him. “They told you what happened that night?”

  “They did,” he replies. “But I wasn’t thinking about them. I was referring to Danny.”

  I shake my head. “No. It wasn’t his fault. I was the one who told him to—”

  “Enough,” he interrupts. “Danny was free to make his own choices. Remember that.”

  “But—”

  “He made a terrible mistake,” he says. “One terrible mistake. But, in the end, that was all it took. It isn’t fair, I know. He was a good kid. The best.” He looks down at his shaking hands; they’re dotted with tears. “My Danny—” He sighs and wipes his wet cheeks. “My Danny could have hurt others that night. I can’t let myself forget that. No matter how angry I am at God for taking my boy from me, I still thank Him for that small mercy.”

  “You thank Him? How? For what?”

  He covers his face. “When I pray to God on Danny’s behalf, I thank Him that I’m the only one who lost a son that night.”

  MY GHOST, MY STORY

  “Ms. Baker wants me to write a story for this contest,” I told him. “I wasn’t very nice to her. I told her I didn’t want to.”

  “Why not?” He teetered on my windowsill and then dropped down onto the rug.

  I shrugged. “I don’t tell stories. That’s your job.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “But I haven’t told you a story in months,” he pointed out.

  “Of course you have—”

  He grinned. “No. I believe those were yours. You were just using my voice.”

  I sat down on my bed, picked up our old kissing blanket, and wrapped it around my shoulders. “I hate it when you do that.”