It would be nice to say it had all been worth it, that she’d managed to erase some part of her imagined debt to Harper, and she was able to start feeling good about herself again, or at the very least that she could put the day behind her, sleep long and hard, and hope the next day would be better.
But she just felt unsteady. Maybe it was the detention, maybe it was the four cups of coffee she’d downed since morning, maybe it was Kane—her supplier, she reminded herself. She tried to shut it out, but the image popped into her mind yet again: the empty box on her nightstand. Kane was the only one who knew about it—the only one who could ever suspect what she’d done.
And if he hadn’t given her the pills, she reminded herself, none of this would have happened. She hated him— almost as much as she hated herself.
Little wonder that she couldn’t face her meeting, haggling with a bunch of overly enthusiastic volunteers about how to stage the next day’s auction, where to hang the banners, which last-minute details to delegate and which to ditch. It was too depressing, especially since she used to be one of them, trying hard, worrying, taking all that nervous energy left over from waiting for college decisions and funneling it into something productive and mildly entertaining. Now she was just acting the part. And it was getting old.
She couldn’t face going home; the house was always either too full of people, noise, and clutter to think straight, or it was empty and too quiet.
So she’d driven away, following the familiar curves until she reached the spot that guaranteed her a quiet place to think. She felt guilty there, as if she were trespassing, especially in those moments when she was overcome by self-pity—it felt wrong, feeling sorry for herself, there of all places. But she couldn’t help it. And as time passed, it became the only place that could help.
The road curved, and the thin white cross appeared. Beth pulled her car onto the shoulder and parked. She hesitated for a moment, staring through the windshield at the small wooden cross stuck into the brush-covered ground, the withering bunches of flowers gathered around it. It looked almost lonely, dwarfed by the vast emptiness of the surrounding desert. From this distance she couldn’t see the name scratched into the wood, but she imagined she could. She had traced her fingers over the letters often enough.
Beth didn’t know who had erected the small memorial— Kaia’s father, from the few glimpses she’d gotten before he left town, didn’t seem the type. And there were few other candidates. She got out of the car and walked slowly over to the cross, then sat on the ground in front of it, not caring if she got dirt all over her jeans. She’d brought along her ancient duct-taped-together Discman, and now she switched it on, sliding the headphones over her head and tuning out the world.
The first time she’d come, she had wandered through the brush, looking for signs that something had happened here. And she’d found them—small spots of scorched earth, scratches and gouges in the ground, a smear of rubber on the road, a jagged chunk of metal, twisted and torn beyond recognition. But all of that was gone now; or, at least, Beth no longer had any urge to look. Now she just sat and stared, sometimes at the roughly engraved letters—just KAIA, no dates, no messages, no last name— sometimes at the empty road and still scenery, disturbed only by the occasional eighteen-wheeler barreling through, sometimes at the sky. She chose her music at random, though most of the CDs in her collection were weepy women, singer-songwriters warbling about lost love, so there was rarely much surprise. Today, however, she’d popped in an old Green Day album—something Adam had given her in hopes of giving her some kind of music makeover. She’d never really listened to it. But it was loud and angry, and today, somehow, it worked.
It’s not my fault, she told herself, trying to dislodge the mountain of guilt. There was no cause and effect. No connection. She’d drugged Harper; Kaia had crashed a car. It was a coincidence, nothing more. A bad driver, speeding down the road, slamming into the BMW, disappearing. It was an accident—-just bad luck. Not my fault. Harper was fine. Harper was healthy. Whatever Beth had done, there’d been no permanent consequences.
What happened to Kaia was permanent, but—not my fault.
She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when she felt the hand on her shoulder. She tipped her head back and looked up into the deepest brown eyes she’d ever seen. She took in his warm, crooked smile, the tendrils of dark, curly hair that flopped over his eyes, the smudge of grease just above his chin . .. and then it all came together into a familiar face, and she jerked away.
“Hey,” he said, his voice warm and gravelly, as if he’d just rolled out of bed. “Sorry.” He sat down next to her. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t,” Beth said, pulling off her headphones. She couldn’t look at him.
Reed flicked his eyes toward the cross. “I didn’t know anyone else came here,” he said. “Didn’t think anyone cared.” He spoke slowly, pausing between each word as if part of him preferred the silence. “I didn’t know you two were friends.”
Beth couldn’t bring herself to say that they weren’t, that Kaia had zoomed to the top of Beth’s enemies list by sleeping with her boyfriend; she couldn’t admit the hours she’d spent wishing Kaia Sellers out of existence. But she also didn’t want to lie.
“I’m Reed,” he said, breaking the awkward silence. “Maybe you don’t remember, but we met a while ago, before ...” He reached for her hand and shook it, an oddly formal gesture considering they were sitting across from each other in the dirt on the side of a highway. His hand was warm, his grip tight; she didn’t want to let go.
“I remember.” She’d been upset, and he’d cheered her up, somehow—she couldn’t remember now. Couldn’t even remember what she’d been so upset about. It felt like a different lifetime. “I should go,” she said suddenly, realizing he probably wanted to be alone—she didn’t belong. “Do you want me to—?”
“I should take off,” he said at the same time. They both stopped talking and laughed, then, shooting a guilty glance at the thin, white cross, fell into silence again.
“Really, I should go,” she insisted.
“No, stay.” He sighed and rubbed a worn spot on the knee of his jeans where the denim was about to tear apart. “Please.”
Beth nodded, feeling her chest tighten. It’s not my fault. I didn’t do this.
The sun was already setting, but it was a cloudless day, so there was no brilliant sunset, only a steadily deepening haze as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. Reed dug around in his pocket and pulled out a flat, grayish stone, its edges rounded and its top streaked with red. He stood up, placed it in front of the cross, where it was lost amid the bouquets of dying flowers. Then he sat down again and gave Beth a half smile. “I saw it, somewhere, that people do that. And I just thought it was, you know, a good thing to do.”
Beth opened her mouth to say, “That’s nice.” Instead, she let out a gasping sob and burst into tears.
“Hey,” Reed said, sounding alarmed. “Hey, don’t—”
Beth had squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to stop, so she didn’t see him leaning toward her. She just felt his strong arms pull her in, pressing her head against his chest.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “It’s okay.”
He smelled sweet and smoky and, as her gasps quieted, she could hear his heart beat.
“I miss her too,” he whispered.
Oh, God.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted, her voice muffled by his shirt. She pushed him away and stood up. “I have to go, I’m sorry.” By the time he stood up, she’d already started running toward her car, tears blinding her vision.
She didn’t know if he was trying to follow her and, as she started the car and tore out onto the road, she forced herself not to care. She never should have allowed him to comfort her like that, and she couldn’t let it happen again.
She didn’t deserve it.
Harper jerked awake, her breath ragged, sweat pour
ing down her face. She turned over to check the clock: 2:46 a.m. Four hours to go before the rest of the house woke up, and she would hear some noises other than her pounding heart.
She felt like she was still trapped in the nightmare; the dark shadows of her room seemed alive with possibility, as if the childhood monsters she’d once feared had returned to haunt her. But that was just the dream talking, she reminded herself. And nightmares weren’t real.
Except.
Except that her nightmares were memories that fled as soon as she opened her eyes. All she had were glimpses: the scream of tearing metal, the stench of smoke, the heavy weight on her chest that made it hurt to breathe. Her pillow was damp, maybe with sweat—she rubbed her eyes— maybe with tears.
She should be used to it by now, and she ran through her regular routine: Lying still, on her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, counting her breaths. It was supposed to relax her and lull her back to sleep, but this time, it relaxed some protective barrier in her mind, and the images of her nightmare came flooding back.
Harper sat up. “No.” It was halfway between a plea and a moan. “Please.”
But the truth slammed into her. She squeezed her eyes shut and fell forward, clapping a hand over her mouth, fighting against her sudden nausea.
Deep breaths, she told herself, trying to stop shaking.
It was only a dream.
Except it wasn’t a dream and she couldn’t breathe. She felt like someone had shoved a gasoline-soaked rag into her mouth and she was choking on rough cotton and toxic fumes.
If it was true, she thought, Yd light the match.
She’d waited so long to remember, but now she fought against it; maybe she could hide in the dark, she told herself, slip back into sleep, and wake up the next morning, everything safely forgotten.
But she stood up and fumbled her way toward the desk, refusing to turn on a light—that would make it too real. Blinking back tears, she found the business card and brought it back to her bed, reading the numbers by the dim light of her clock radio. Her fingers hesitated over the buttons on her cell. She had to do it now, she told herself; in the morning, in the light, she’d be too afraid.
The phone rang and rang, and then, just before she was about to hang up, the voice mail kicked in.
”This is Detective Sharon Wells. Leave your name and phone number after the beep. If this is an emergency, please call 911.”
“This is Harper Grace,” she said quickly, thinking, This is an emergency. She tried not to let her voice shake. “You told me to call you if I remembered anything. About, you know, the accident. And. I did.”
Harper snapped the phone shut and dove back into bed, burrowing under the covers. She squeezed her eyes closed but couldn’t force the images out of her brain.
Kaia laughing.
The truck barreling toward them.
Music pumping.
Breaks squealing.
And Harper’s hands wrapped around the wheel.
chapter
_______________
5
“I need to talk to you. Now.” Harper hissed.
Pretending not to notice the urgency in her voice, Kane tossed some books into his locker and eased the door shut. “At your service,” he told her, leaning against the cool metal and waiting for her to unload.
“Not here.” She looked up and down the hallway— students were trickling into the classrooms and there wasn’t a teacher in sight. “Come on.”
Not like he had much choice in the matter. She grabbed his sleeve and dragged him down the hall, slipping through a side door and depositing him on a small landing behind the history wing. It was an emergency exit whose alarm had been conveniently disabled, and since the stairwell down led to a narrow plot of cement bordered by a concrete retention wall, it was unlikely they’d be noticed.
“So what’s the emergency?” He perched on the railing and, letting himself tip backward, idly wondered how far he’d be able to lean before gravity pulled him all the way down.
“You want to tell me again what you saw?” Harper asked, pacing back and forth on the narrow landing. Her hair, more unruly than usual, flowed out behind her, and Kane suddenly noticed that she wasn’t wearing any makeup. His grin faded; Harper didn’t go for the natural look. Ever.
“Saw when?” he asked. “You’re going to have to give me a little more to go on here.”
“The accident.” She spit out. “In the parking lot, the day—you know when. What you told the cops. Tell me.”
Kane stretched his mouth wide open, cracking his jaw, then sighed. “I saw Kaia drive up to the school,” he began in a mechanical voice. The recitation of events had by now become so familiar, he’d memorized the spiel. “I saw you run out of the school. You talked for a while. Then you got into the car and Kaia drove away.”
“Bullshit!” Harper snapped. “Want to try again?”
“That’s the only story I’ve got,” Kane protested. “So unless you want me to make something up ...”
“You? Lie?” She made a noise that could have been a laugh. “Wouldn’t want to make you do that.”
She stopped pacing suddenly, and slumped against the brick wall of the school, facing Kane. Her chest shuddered as she gasped for air; how fast did you have to be breathing, Kane wondered, before you were officially hyperventilating?
“Chill out, Grace. What’s with you?”
“What did you see, Kane? Not what you told the police. What happened?.”
She knew something, he could hear it in her tone. Kane swung off the railing and approached her. “What. Are. You. Talking. About,” he said, slowly and clearly, overenunciating, hoping that if he couldn’t tease away her mood, he could piss her off enough that she’d snap out of it.
“When I woke up in the hospital, I didn’t remember anything that happened,” Harper said.
“I know.” He said it casually, as if it were no big deal that she was talking about this, despite the fact that until now, it had been clearly marked as off-limits, surrounded by conversational barbed wire.
“They just told me what—” She closed her eyes for a moment and, drawing in a deep breath, set her mouth in a firm line as if readying herself for a blow. “They told me she died. She was driving, there was some other car, there was a crash, and she . . . died.”
“It sucks.” Kane shifted his weight back and forth, waiting for the point.
“Why’d you do it?” she asked softly.
”What?”
“That’s what I don’t get. What’s in it for you?”
“What the hell are you talking about, Harper?”
“I remembered.”
Now Kane closed his eyes, then opened them again, searching her face for . . . uncertainty? Vulnerability? Gratitude? He didn’t know, and whatever he was looking for, it wasn’t there. Her face was angry, and that was it.
“Last night,” she said, “I had a nightmare, and then when I woke up—”
He relaxed. “Just a dream, then.” Kane forced a laugh. “Grace, I know it’s tough not to know what happened, but just because you have a nightmare doesn’t mean—”
“I know what happened. It was my fault. It was me.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a soft shake. “Nothing was your fault, Grace. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying!” she cried, pushing him away. “I was driving!”
“Shut up!” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. “You can’t go around saying things like that,” he told her softly, urgently. “You know they found drugs in your system. If people thought . . .” Did she not get how dangerous this was? Did she not understand what she was playing around with?
She rolled her eyes. “What’s the difference? Everyone’s going to know soon enough. The cops will make sure of that.”
“The cops?” He grabbed her again, and this time, when she tried to push him away, he gripped tighter, pushing her up agai
nst the wall. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” she admitted. “Yet. But I have to tell them.”
“Are you fucking insane?” He rubbed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, searching for a way to make her understand. “Whatever you think you remember, Grace, you’ve got to just forget about it. This isn’t something to screw around with.”
“I don’t think I remember, Kane. I know what happened. And I know what you saw. I just don’t know why you lied about it.”
Join the club, Kane thought bitterly. It was his general policy not to get involved, and yet he’d opened his big mouth, spit out a single lie, and now it was too late. He was involved.
And, even more puzzling: He didn’t completely regret it.
“Grace, listen to me, okay?” He leaned against the wall next to her and stared off into the grayish morning haze. “I’m trying to help you, so you have to listen to me. You cannot talk to the cops. You’ll ruin your life.”
“So?” she muttered. “I ruined hers.”
Kane pretended not to hear. “At least don’t do anything yet,” he insisted. “Just think about it. Give yourself some time. Don’t be an idiot about this. It’s too big.”
“And why should I listen to you?” Her voice had lost its anger and was now just a flat, tired-sounding monotone.
Because I’m your friend, he wanted to tell her. Because someone has to look out for you since you’re doing such a shit job of it yourself “I know about getting into trouble,” he said wryly. “And I know about getting out of it.”
Sloth (Seven Deadly Sins (Simon Pulse)) Page 7