“What! You thought it was Caroline?”
“I thought it was her but she said I walked her home.”
“What do you think?”
“According to all of them, I’m making this up. They said no one was at the house that night. I told Max and Wilson every single detail of what I remember and they said I was passed out in Max’s basement. So I let it go. I decided to trust them and I told myself it was a dream.”
Van fidgeted with the zipper on his sweatshirt, dragging it up and down, up and down. There had to be more to this story.
“Did something else happen?”
Van seemed to waver. Then, “Caroline distanced herself for days afterward. She’d only say, ‘You don’t remember what you did?’”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Why won’t she tell you?”
“I don’t know. She’s acting like I hurt her somehow. But she won’t tell me anything. All she’s saying now is ‘Let’s just forget about it.’”
I couldn’t imagine Van physically hurting Caroline, but what if Van changed when he was high? Van said that night had been weeks ago. Since then, I’d seen the two of them at the diving meet, at his house, and at the awards dinner. They’d seemed completely into each other.
“Do you think you hurt her?” I asked.
“No! But I don’t know!” Van looked shaken. “When I woke up, I believed what I thought I saw. The part I was concerned about was why my girlfriend was huddled up with a shirtless Max and why I was fighting with Wilson.”
We were both quiet. Then, the only thing I could think to say was, “It’s shitty to feel like your head isn’t quite right.”
“Oh god. Your concussion is the first thing I should have asked you about.”
That was kind of sweet. “No, I’m good. Really. So you didn’t tell the police about the people coming from the woods because you weren’t sure if it really happened?”
“Yeah. And since I wasn’t sure, I really wanted to avoid the hell I’d have to pay with Kevin and my mom if they found out.”
“But then tonight happened,” I filled in.
“Ever since that night, I can’t sleep,” he said. “It’s killing me that Caroline might be accusing me of something, but she won’t say what it is. And the little I do remember I’m being told didn’t even occur.” I noticed Van stopped short of saying the obvious: He was worried his friends were lying to him. I sensed he was getting to the point of his visit.
“From your window, you have the best view of the neighbors’. It’s a total long shot that it will help me remember that night but what I wanted to ask is, can I look out your bedroom window?”
Van blushed. It was dark but I could tell. He’d put me on the spot and he quickly backtracked. “It’s so late. Or early. You probably want to go back to bed.”
The silence stretched. I didn’t know what was wrong with me—the need to help him overrode my plan to ignore him. I could run ahead and pick up the underwear on the floor. There was just something irrational in me that thought it would mess me up if he crossed this threshold.
Van probably thought my hesitation had something to do with not wanting a boy in my room, or that I was following my mother’s rules. I opened my mouth to speak, when a harsh rap on the front door startled us both.
“I’m sure that’s my mom. Wondering where I am. I gotta go.” Van exited the kitchen before I could walk him to the door. I heard the front door click shut behind him.
From the living room windows, there were hints of the sky growing lighter. I re-bolted the lock while my injured brain sorted the series of improbable events. I replayed the sight of a girl running into the dark.
Later, in the shower, the water as hot as I could stand, I knew I had to find a way to tell Van to come back.
To calm myself, I reiterated that my life wasn’t changing. Everything is still the same.
CHAPTER NINE
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 6
I remembered everything about the day of my first dive: the marbled pastel bathing suit I wore, the chlorine smell of the swim center, the dark hallway that opened to the vast deck with stadium seating. First, I noticed the swimmers rapidly traversing the lanes like cars. Then, in the distance, in a separate pool, I saw the divers. I barely had an idea of the difference between the platform and the springboard. I’d only seen a diving board at the country club where we sometimes met friends of my parents.
I lagged a half step behind my father when he introduced me to a coach. I could still trace the motions of my first dive—a simple closed pike. First the coach had another child demonstrate it for me, then I climbed the wet ladder and did just what they’d shown me. I grinned underwater and wanted to do it again. I did the next dive they explained and then another. After each one, I was met by the coach while my dad stood off to the side, his back against the painted cement bricks, a self-satisfied look on his face. I understood that look. It said maybe I had potential. Just maybe I took after him.
When my dad took me to dive that day—on my seventh birthday, just as he’d promised—it was like he handed me a shiny new piece of myself that I hadn’t known was missing. Sometimes I thought of that day when I needed a way to calm myself.
Tonight, I was using the memory to distract from the fact that I was perched on the roof. I was so desperate to rest that I’d climbed out of my window thinking that if I confronted my fear about next door I might finally be able to sleep. Now that I couldn’t sleep, I was overly aware of the abandoned house. All of the hiding behind curtains and locked doors had only made me more afraid, which in turn made it harder to sleep. The roof itself didn’t scare me. Being up high was where I felt safest. On the diving board, nothing could get to me. Until recently.
On the rooftop deck at my house, there was a built-in cement bench and a planter behind it, filled now with depleted, cracked dirt instead of an array of curated succulents. If you stepped up on the planter, it was only one bigger step to the flat roof. I looked over one shoulder again at the brown puddles that dotted the expanse of roof behind me, thick with pollen and dead leaves. At my feet, a stray plastic flowerpot lay on its side in the dirt, left behind instead of discarded. Now that I was spending more time at home—and awake—I saw these details I’d previously walked right past. There were so many of them—artifacts from another time.
It was 1 A.M. and all was quiet below on the cul-de-sac. I’d been waiting for a perfect moment like this. I was calm and maybe it was time to replay the dive that had sidelined me.
I closed my eyes. First, I saw the kiss between Van and Caroline, how her wrist draped over his shoulder while he pressed his hand to her bare lower back exposed by the deep half circle of her swimsuit. She had taken a few steps up into the stands to greet him. The kiss was quick—Caroline immediately raised her head to check if she’d been caught by Coach Mike.
“Look at them,” Alix breathed. Alix and I stood together, shoulder to shoulder, unexpectedly witnessing Caroline and Van’s kiss.
Caroline trotted back to the deck and rejoined the team. We were never supposed to leave the deck during a meet. Coach Mike walked away and Caroline held out a hand to stop him. Like me, she probably knew it was better to get the lecture over with before he stewed.
Next, I was climbing the ladder and then at the end of the board and I had the sensation that I’d suddenly awakened from a long, beautiful dream. A layer had been stripped away and I could feel eyes on me where before I’d been oblivious and confident. There was the realization that the situation was totally unsafe. A voice in my head said with pity, Oh, little girl, you were so stupid to believe it was that easy.
I couldn’t remember diving. It was supposed to have been a reverse two and a half on the three-meter springboard.
Despondent, I flipped through my internal index of other advanced dives and there was nothing. The worst thing? It was right there; all of that knowledge was in my head but my brain was playing a game with me. I wanted to scream in frustration—why was this hap
pening? Why was I holding myself back? Was this really about Van? Worry about failing Coach Mike?
I kicked the empty plastic flowerpot hard, accidentally propelling it off the roof and two stories down where it made three horrible, hollow bounces. Loud enough to wake the neighbors.
I held my breath and waited for lights to pop on. One second, two, ten passed. Van’s was the only light that had been on. Now he walked over to his window to investigate.
I’d expected him to turn away immediately once he saw it was me. But he continued to stand and watch.
After a few moments, he left the window and then his bedroom light went out. I exhaled with disappointment.
It had been one day since he was standing in my kitchen with me, and since then I’d only seen him across the classroom. If I didn’t know it was ludicrous that he’d care enough to bother, I’d suspect he was avoiding me.
I wanted a do-over. It sounded far-fetched that a view would jog his memory but, on the off chance that it did, I wanted to help him. I just didn’t know the right way to get that do-over. Walk up to him at school? Knock on his door?
“Ingrid.” I heard the faintest stage whisper.
I leaned forward to look down. Van was directly below, tucked against my house in the shadows.
“Come up!” I said louder than he had spoken, and I could almost feel him cringe. Not everyone had parents who were absent at night.
My heart tripled its beat as Van lightly climbed the spiral, black metal staircase against the side of the house. He stood on the roof deck and looked up at me.
“Hey,” he said softly.
If I had to admit it, that’s when the incomplete, unfinished feeling I’d carried around with me since we were nine years old disappeared.
* * *
“What are you doing on the roof?”
Waiting for you. “I can’t sleep.”
Van laughed humorlessly. “I wonder why.” He stood below me and paced nervously. Then, decidedly, he took the step up onto the planter and then the bigger step up onto the roof. He came to sit down next to me but scooted a few feet behind me, safely away from the edge.
“That’s right, you’re scared of heights!” I said.
“You remembered,” he said dryly.
“We can go to my bedroom,” I said.
Van laughed in surprise.
“You know what I mean! I want to help. I just didn’t want you up there the other night because…”
“Don’t worry about it. I get it,” he interrupted quickly. “I barged in.”
“There were clothes thrown on the floor.…” I kept going.
“Hey, you saw worse when you came into my room,” he joked.
His reminder of Caroline dampened my relief at getting the opportunity to explain myself. I didn’t know what to say or do next and I hated the feeling. Until last week, I had always been so sure. Nothing scared me.
We were quiet as we took in the view of the street and the wilderness beyond. The night noise of crickets rose in undulating clouds from the greenbelt. Simultaneously, we dropped our heads back to watch an airplane traverse the sky above us, the taillights winking.
“Okay, let’s go inside,” he said. “This is making me nervous.”
I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the house next door, his fear of heights, or me.
* * *
“It’s exactly the same,” he said with a little bit of wonder in his voice.
I was on edge. It was only when someone new came over that I could really see my surroundings. There was the stained, golden jute carpet with the giant dark spot where I’d spilled juice, the faded yellow everything, thinned-out bedding with pillows that had lost their plushness, the wallpaper more appropriate for a little girl, and then all the medals and awards made me look like an egomaniac. He could see all of me and I hated it.
“Over here,” I said quickly. The sooner he looked at the view, the sooner he could leave. I thought about what he would tell Max and Wilson: Everything is shabby compared to how it used to be. She was so nervous having a guy in her room.
“You look like him now,” Van said. He was studying a framed photograph in my bookcase. It was of me and my dad dropping fall leaves over my mom’s head. Her eyes were closed and her face was upturned, laughing. I was a kindergartner when the photo was taken. “In a girl way, I mean. It’s a compliment.” Both my parents were great-looking but maybe he assumed my mom was the one any girl would want to take after. She was blond, after all. Like Caroline.
“I mean, you have his eyes. Man, I was so scared of him. We all were. He’d give you that stare.”
“That’s funny. When I was little, he was the softie compared to my mom.”
I watched Van take one hand from his pocket and, like he couldn’t help himself, he quickly adjusted the frame so it was in line with the others. He shoved his hand back in his pocket and slowly faced me.
“He was so cool. How he’d play music for us when he was home. Well, I guess he wasn’t that cool…” Van trailed off awkwardly. “I never saw any of that coming, but I guess I was only nine.”
I had to blink rapidly. I’d never been so sensitive before the accident. I used to be better at letting things bounce off me. I also wasn’t used to anyone talking about my dad. It was weird when something that went unspoken 99 percent of the time in my house was so easily said by Van. It was also weird to suddenly remember how well Van had known him.
“Yeah, there was a ton of fighting in the garage. They thought I couldn’t hear but, of course I heard everything.” I surprised myself by continuing.
“What did they fight about?” Van asked.
“The amount of time my dad spent in LA. When his career really took off he wanted us to join him and even though we’d moved here because of him, he was annoyed my mom was taking so long to move us. She wanted me to finish elementary school here. Then, I guess Brooke became his client and he stopped asking.” I cleared my throat. “Do you remember your dad?”
“Just bits and pieces. Him lighting candles on my birthday cake. Chasing the dog in the backyard.”
Van’s expression didn’t change but I instantly got a lump in my throat. I didn’t want to say, “I’m sorry,” that seemed so inadequate, so instead I abruptly changed the subject. “The other night—this was where I was standing when I saw the light.”
Van made his way around the foot of my bed and came to stand next to me. His presence made everything in the room look so much smaller. He smelled like fresh deodorant and the faded scent of dryer sheets. I glanced sidelong and saw how flat and hard his chest was under his gray T-shirt, and I had an urge to lean against him and feel how solid he was.
I couldn’t imagine he was attracted to me in the least. In his eyes, I was the tomboy I’d always been. And now, except for suddenly having a chest, I was tall and lanky with a lot of straight lines. Boyish compared to Caroline, whose curvaceous body was the open envy of the girls on the diving team.
The last time Van had been up in this room, he had been just a little kid. So much had happened since then. So many new experiences and firsts for him. But for me, it had been dive after dive after dive; that was my catalog of firsts. I could tell anyone in detail about my first two and a half on the three-meter, scoring amazingly on my tuck list at Nationals and placing in the top three in the fourteen- and fifteen-year-old division. I should be happy to know so much about one single thing. But at this moment, I felt young compared to Van. And so different. Like Coach Mike said, I wasn’t a normal teenager. I couldn’t be. I had to choose.
“Right here,” I blurted, and pointed.
Van leaned to look and his shoulder brushed mine. He didn’t seem aware. I held perfectly still while he took in the partial view of the cedar fence, the runway strip of Bermuda grass now thick with weeds, the untouched trash cans next to the tan brick house. There were two windows on the side of the house, both flanked by colonial-looking black shutters.
The house was like a poor, inn
ocent sleeping giant that should be left alone, a traditional family house. Bad things shouldn’t happen in the same space where the little girl had played and her home had been her entire world. Where the hell was she now? Was she okay?
“Tell me again what you saw?” Van became aware he was leaning a bit close to me and took a step to the right. He continued to gaze long and hard at the view.
“I was sitting at my desk chair and, when I looked over, there was a lamp on in that window. But one second later it went dark. You didn’t see it? It was literally one second.”
“No. I didn’t catch it from the front view. It wouldn’t be as obvious from that angle.” We stood side by side, quiet. I was glad Van wasn’t placating me, telling me maybe I was making it up.
I turned to face him. “What do you think is happening inside? Just random break-ins? People sleeping there? Is someone trapping women inside?” I made the last sound like a joke but I was serious. I was looking for reassurance that there was still order in my world.
“I don’t know, but everything about that house, that night is messing with my peace of mind…” He trailed off.
“Hey, do you think they could all be lying to you about that night?” I asked. My voice was soft but I couldn’t think of a gentle way to phrase the question.
“I—” Van didn’t continue and it was obvious he wasn’t ready to answer the question. These were his best friends. I didn’t press and we stood silently, watching from the window.
“Well,” I said finally, expecting Van to make his excuses to leave.
Instead, Van sat down on my bed.
I noticed the bruising beneath his eyes. Van always had that teenage-boy thing going on where he looked like he’d just woken up. But now he looked tired on a whole different level.
“You said you’ve had trouble sleeping since that night you blacked out?” I asked.
“Yeah, it happened once before. Insomnia, I mean. I was five.”
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