This is Our Story

by Ashley Elston

  I don’t think about Shep or what it must be like for him sitting in that lawyer’s office, listening to the details of his friends flipping on him.

  I don’t think at all.

  I just breathe. In and out.

  My eyes close and my mind goes to the pictures of River Point. I flick through them, shot after shot. I’ve seen them so many times, they’re burned in my memory, and I can’t get past the idea that I’m missing something.

  I start at the beginning, just like I shot it—the walk into the woods, the trees, the leaves on the ground, the spot where Grant died, then shots in every direction. The image is clear in my mind, like I’m there.

  What am I missing?

  The walk back to the camp, the path leading to the back patio, the house, the windows, the board with the name tags still hanging to show the location of the hunters.

  I stay like this until I’ve gone through the entire series of photos twice and I can’t stand the cold anymore. My toes are numb. The tip of my nose feels funny. And I’m frustrated.

  I’m just about to leave when my phone vibrates in my coat pocket. It’s a text from Shep.

  Just finished with the meeting. Hoping I could see you if possible.

  I text him back immediately.

  I’m at the park. You know the one.

  I sit cross-legged on the bench and wait for Shep, rubbing my hands together, trying to generate a little warmth.

  It’s not long before I see his tall form enter the park, looking for me. I wave him over and he walks toward me, head down and shoulders slumped.

  I’m guessing the meeting didn’t go well.

  He drops down on the bench next to me and I don’t waste a moment scooting close to him.

  “You’re freezing,” he says, then takes my hands in his, trying to infuse his body heat into mine.

  “I’ve been here a while just thinking. How did it go?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and his face crumples. I feel like I’ve been hit in the gut.

  “Gaines is going to have your guy offer them a deal tomorrow. It sounds like their dads told him their sons would be ‘very cooperative’ with enough incentive.”

  “Oh, Shep…I’m so sorry. What did your new lawyer say?”

  “He’s supposed to be one of the best—but he was clear that the evidence against me is ‘very overwhelming.’”

  His lawyer feels like he got a loser case. Just like Stone felt when he got the River Point case.

  Shep hops up and starts pacing in front of me. He picks up a rock and throws it hard, hitting the side of the fence. “I’m so pissed!” Then he picks up another one and lets it fly. Shep spins around and says, “They were my friends. My best friends. And they’re going to go in front of a judge and lie about me.” He kicks a stick and then picks it up and throws it, too. “They’re going to say I killed Grant.”

  I get up and move in close, wrapping my arms around him. He buries his head against my neck. Some parents on the other side of the park are looking at us, watching him fall apart, so I turn him where they can’t see his face.

  “I’m scared, Kate,” he whispers in my hair. “I’m scared I’m going to jail for something I didn’t do.”

  I squeeze him hard. Hearing the pain in his voice makes it hard for me to swallow. “Don’t say that. It’s not over yet.”

  He pulls back slowly. “You’re not at work right now. What happened?”

  I let out a shaky breath and tell him about the picture of us this morning, getting fired, and even about Stone sending someone to that pawnshop.

  He moves away from me and picks up another stick, flinging it against the fence. “Fuck!” he yells, and a few moms whip around in our direction, shooting daggers at us with their eyes.

  “What’s going on?” he asks out loud, though I know the question isn’t one he expects me to answer.

  “I’m guessing those guys at the pawnshop told Logan about the guy Stone sent by. He knows I would do whatever I could to help you and he wanted to stop me. I guess mission accomplished.”

  “I don’t like it. I can’t stand that they’re watching us and screwing with you.” Shep scans the park, then moves away from me.

  He throws his hands out and turns in a slow circle. “Get a good look! Here I am, asshole. Get a good shot of this.” And then he holds up his right hand with only his middle finger raised.

  Parents are now ushering their children far away from us, disgust on all of their faces. I pull him down to the bench and throw apologetic looks their way.

  He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and drops his head in his hands.

  “Kate,” he says. “What if there’s no way to stop this? I can’t go to prison for this. I can’t.”

  His voice sounds hollow. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him as close to me as I can.

  “It’s not over. Do not give up on me, Shep. I won’t let you give up. You didn’t do this.”

  We stay like this for a while. He’s holding himself together, but not by much.

  “I’m not giving up,” he says. “But I’m afraid my lawyer isn’t even going to try. I’ve got another meeting with him tomorrow. I’m just going to have to convince him I didn’t do this.”

  He sits up and scans the almost empty park. “We should leave. It wouldn’t be good for us to be seen together.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t care about that anymore. Stone fired me, remember.”

  He pulls me up until we’re both standing. “But I haven’t forgotten that someone, probably Logan, is watching us…threatening us.”

  We walk, hand in hand, stopping at the edge of the parking lot, in between Mom’s car and his Jeep. It’s by no means private, but we’re hidden somewhat from view. He backs me up against his Jeep, his hands braced on the window on either side of my head.

  He moves in closer, his body connecting with mine from my shoulders down to my knees. My hands snake under his jacket and wrap around his waist. His lips land on mine softly at first. Then harder. Shep invades all of my senses, and it’s so easy to get lost in him. I want to cry when he finally steps back, the cold air slamming into me once his body isn’t there to block it.

  “I don’t want to walk away from you right now,” he says.

  “Me either.”

  His hands frame my face as he plants tiny kisses, starting from one cheek and moving across the bridge of my nose to the other cheek.

  “We’re not giving up,” he whispers.

  “Not giving up,” I whisper back.

  • • •

  I don’t expect Mom to be home when I get there, but she is. She’s at the kitchen table with a mug of hot tea in front of her, as if she’s been waiting for me for hours.

  “Sit down, Kate.”

  I sit across from her. It’s hard to look her in the face and see the disappointment there.

  “Start at the beginning,” she says in a quiet voice.

  And I do. I tell her everything. She never interrupts, although her facial expressions and small gasps tell me she is completely shocked.

  When I’m done, we sit quietly for a few minutes as she absorbs everything she’s heard.

  “That wasn’t what I was expecting,” she finally says.

  “It wasn’t what I was expecting either.”

  She nods. “Stone needs to know about the first picture. The one you got during the fire drill.”

  I shake my head. “Stone isn’t interested in hearing any of this. I don’t blame him for being mad at me, but I never thought it would be more important for him to win rather than to get it right.”

  Mom lets out a soft huff. “This isn’t a normal case and you know it. And he thinks he is getting it right. And you’ve given him no reason to trust you now.”

  I don’t reply.

  “So you’re still talking to him? Seeing him?” she asks.

  I nod and pick at my thumbnail.

  “I want you to stop. At least until this case is over. I know you beli
eve he didn’t do it. But we don’t know for sure, and I still work for Stone. We can’t afford for me to get fired, too. Someone is taking pictures of you with him, and, well, that’s just more than I can handle. You are the one and only important thing in my life, and I’m not willing to risk your safety over this.”

  I duck my head, embarrassed by her words. We don’t usually say mushy stuff to each other.

  “I’m serious, Kate. This is not a game. One boy is already dead. Let Shep’s family and his lawyer get him out of this trouble. If he didn’t do it, the truth will come out.”

  I nod but have no intention of deserting Shep. And I don’t know how she can still be so optimistic when it comes to the legal system after all these years.

  I’m not.

  It was easy, really. Almost too easy.

  We all sat in the district attorney’s office telling our story.

  Yes, sir, we saw Shep pick up the gun.

  Yes, sir, we were scared to admit it when we were first questioned.

  Yes, sir, we’re sorry for not coming forward earlier.

  Easy.

  DECEMBER 3, 11:53 A.M.

  SHEP: If I don’t get out of this house soon I’m going to lose my mind.

  The last week and a half has been torture. Thanksgiving break was depressing. Without school or work, I barely left the house. When we came back from break, I lost my work pass since I lost my job, so until I can find another one I’m stuck at school until three. And because I don’t have any classes scheduled in the afternoon, I spend most of my time in the media arts room. I’ve edited all the images taken over the last several weeks, the website is up to date, the paper is ready a full day before it’s due, and I’ve worked on all the ads that have been turned in for the yearbook.

  At home, Mom is watching me like a hawk and Shep’s parents have put him on lockdown after a blurry pic of him flipping the bird in the park found its way onto the news. There was no question who took it; one of those moms was happy to be interviewed about the entire event.

  Luckily, I didn’t make it into the shot, but Shep’s new lawyer suggested it would be better for him to lie low for a while, so now he’s being homeschooled. We still talk on the phone, but I haven’t been brave enough to try to sneak over there at night. I don’t want him to get in any more trouble than he’s already in.

  I’ve never felt so bored or useless in my life.

  Glancing at the clock, I see there’s still another hour to go before the final bell rings. God, it’s been a long day. I pull out my phone and open the gallery, scrolling back until I get to the picture I took of Shep Halloween night at the football game. This is my favorite image of him.

  I flip to the next picture and stare at the screenshot I took of Shep’s post that shows Grant and Henry passed out on that chair at River Point. I laugh again when I read the caption, but then my brain snags on something, but I can’t focus in on it. What is it?

  Opening up my laptop, I scroll through the pictures until I get to the ones of the back patio at River Point I took the day I visited the scene. The furniture is an eclectic mix that somehow makes sense. A few rocking chairs next to an iron table and chairs and even a few pieces with fabric cushions. But there seems to be a space in the center of the area…like something is missing. Where’s the chair?

  Holding my phone up next to my laptop screen, I see where the chair used to be.

  But it’s gone.

  I stare at the picture of Grant and Henry in the chair. There’s something else. Something familiar. The chair is wide…wide enough for both of them to fit comfortably side by side and still have a little extra room. And they are reclined back somewhat. Not all the way, but enough. There’s something there, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  And then I zoom in closer. I feel like what I’m looking for is just out of reach, like when you have something on the tip of your tongue but can’t say it. What is it?

  And then it hits me.

  “Holy shit!” I scream, and a few people on the other side of the room look at me.

  “Sorry,” I call out. I look back at the screen, minimizing the image, then pulling up every social media account until I find that photo that keeps getting reposted. When the picture of the girls pops up on-screen, I can’t stop myself from cringing.

  This is why the one of Grant and Henry was so familiar. I zoom in quickly, focusing on the corner of the picture that caught Reagan’s eye the first time we looked at it…the small swirl-like design. It matches the design on the chair in Shep’s picture.

  But it’s more than that. Even though the picture of the girls is taken from a different angle, the size of the chair and the way it reclines back matches the one the boys are on.

  This is where the girls were when this picture was taken. They were at River Point.

  I zoom back out on both images and put them side by side, even though it’s really hard to look at the one of the girls.

  But I’m trying to figure out how it was taken. I’m assuming Shep was standing when he took the one of the boys, but the angle of the one with the girls is totally different.

  It was taken from a higher angle, like that camera was looking down on the scene.

  But how?

  • • •

  By the time I’m walking to Mom’s car after school, I’m drained.

  Reagan calls just as I’m about to pull out of the lot. She’s been keeping me up to date ever since I got unofficially banned from the courthouse.

  “What’s going on?” I say when I answer.

  She’s quiet for just a second. “They’re offering Shep a deal.”

  Ever since the others turned on him, I knew this was coming.

  “What’s the deal?”

  “Instead of second-degree murder, he’ll get manslaughter with a cap of twenty years in prison.”

  I hit the steering wheel so hard it hurts my hand.

  “When does he enter his guilty plea?” I ask.

  “Tomorrow. At nine. Everyone wants this over and done with.”

  “I gotta go,” I say, and end the call.

  Banned or not—I need to talk to Stone.

  I’m a few blocks from the courthouse when I see the protesters. I have to give them credit for sticking with their cause. The local reporters have been all over John Michael’s dad the last week since there’s been a lull in the River Point case. I’ve enjoyed watching him squirm when they ambush him with questions.

  And then I see her. Pulling Mom’s car over, I watch her. The girl who attacked Grant in that video. The same girl Henry was with at the St. Jude’s barbecue. She’s walking toward the same coffee shop she was coming out of the other day, wearing the same T-shirt with the shop’s logo. School just got out, so she must be headed into work. Her arms are wrapped tightly across her chest, her eyes scanning up and down the street.

  And I look at her face. Really look at it.

  “Oh God,” I say quietly to myself.

  I pull my laptop out of my bag. Still frozen on the screen are the side-by-side image of the picture of the girls and the picture of Henry and Grant. The girl on the right is Bree but the girl in the middle of the picture is walking down the street in front of me.

  And she was at River Point the night before Grant was shot. And she was mad at him. And Henry pulled her away. And Henry told Grant, “You better hope you didn’t do what I think you did.”

  Change of plans.

  She’s half a block away when I pull Mom’s car to the side and jump out. I catch her just before she goes inside. “Excuse me?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hi. I’m Kate Marino and I work for the district attorney’s office. Can I ask you a couple of questions?”

  She hugs herself tighter and squints her eyes at me. “What do you want?”

  “We’re handling the River Point case and going over some of the evidence we found in a video from the party the night before. You were in it. You were really angry with Grant Perkins, and Henry Carlisle h
ad to intervene. Can you tell me what was going on?”

  She shifts back and leans against the side of the building, scanning up and down the street before turning back to me. She drops her backpack on the ground beside her.

  “You’re here to question me about this. You’re basically my age. I call bullshit.”

  Was not expecting that.

  “I work for the assistant—”

  “Look, I’m sure you know who I am. I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures. Everyone has seen those pictures.”

  “And that’s why you were angry at Grant,” I say. “The pictures. Right?”

  She crosses her arms in front of her again and stares at me to the point of being awkward.

  “What are you trying to do?” she asks, her eyes narrowing on me.

  “I’m trying to figure out what happened at River Point that morning…and the night before. Why were you so mad at him?”

  I don’t think she’s going to answer until she says, “Grant said something to me at the football game earlier. Something that, when I thought about exactly what he said later on, made me believe he was the one who took that picture.”

  “What did he say?”

  Her cheeks go pink. “Let’s just say he mentioned something that even those who have seen the pictures wouldn’t know.”

  I nod and swallow hard, trying not to let my imagination run away with me.

  “So I went there to confront him. Of course, he denied it. But I know it was him by the way he smirked at me.”

  Great. She knows it was him but has no proof of it.

  I can see her getting impatient. “And we noticed Henry came to your rescue…”

  She leans forward and says, “Yeah, because he’s not a dick like the rest of them.”

  “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? I mean, the way he is with you. It’s obvious in the way he touches you, looks at you. He cares for you. And you care for him.”

  She tucks her lips together, her mouth forming a straight line. I can see I’ve thrown her.

  “Henry was as angry with Grant as you were. Did he realize Grant took that picture of you and the others? What did Henry say to you that night?”