Put Me Back Together

by Lola Rooney

  We looked at each other through the fence.

  “What are you doing here?” he said. There was no hostility in his voice, and also little surprise. He seemed mainly just curious.

  “I had to see you,” I answered. He was staring intently at my face, which unnerved me until I realized he was looking at my scabs. “I guess you must have read in the papers about…” I gestured at my face.

  “Are you all right?” he said. Something about the way he said it made me immensely sad. His voice was full of real concern, as though he’d been worrying about me, and I had to admit that until this day I’d never once worried about him. “I mean, I can’t believe that bastard—”

  “I’m fine,” I said before he could get too worked up. “I got away.” I didn’t add anything more, but I knew what he was thinking, because I was thinking it too:

  I got away from Tommy’s killer a second time. I was big enough and strong enough to get away. I got away, and Tommy did not.

  He looked back at his friends. The game had pretty much disintegrated and they were chatting up the three girls, wrestling with each other, and showing off. I looked him over while his head was turned. He was all grown up—fifteen years old now—and quite good-looking, with his blue eyes and blondish hair. He was almost a man. I noticed with a start that though he was slouching, he was taller than me. It was stupid, but in my mind he’d stayed forever nine years old, when in reality he’d left childhood behind years ago. Ricky wasn’t Tommy. Ricky had had the chance to grow up.

  “I heard you hit him with a tree trunk,” he said, looking back at me.

  I smiled. “More like a branch,” I corrected.

  “But you hit him,” he persisted, his eyes zeroing in on mine.

  “Yeah, Ricky, I hit him really hard,” I said, and he nodded once, as though that was all he needed to hear.

  He looked away again and I began to worry he might go before I said what I needed to. “I wanted to come see you because there’s something… I just wanted to talk to you, and tell you… I never explained… Well, really, I lied, and I always thought—”

  “Thought you should tell me that I was the reason Tommy died?” Ricky said. His tone was so matter-of-fact that it stopped me dead, and I could only stare at him. The right side of his face was streaked with mud and he scratched at it absently.

  “W-what?” I stammered finally. “No, you aren’t the reason! Brandon is the reason Tommy died. But how did you—?”

  “I know,” Ricky interrupted. “I know it was supposed to be me, but he got Tommy instead.”

  I gaped at him. He started walking slowly along the fence and I followed him.

  “How do you know?” I said a little too loudly. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How on earth could he know this?

  Ricky looked around, but the other kids were clearing off the field. There was no one close enough to hear.

  “I was in the woods, too, that day,” he said. My mouth actually fell open. “I saw Brandon kill Tommy and I didn’t save him. I let my little brother die.”

  We came to a gate in the fence and I walked through it. We sat down on a yellow bench at the side of the field and I wrapped my arms around my middle, taking deep breaths.

  “You were there?” I said finally, my eyes blurring with tears, though I wasn’t sure why. As I watched him nod, I had the sudden urge to throw my arms around him. A terrible kinship grew up between us in that moment, born of cowardice and fear and regret. I could see it all over his face. We both felt that we’d failed Tommy. We both blamed ourselves. For so long I’d thought I was all alone in my shame, when just three blocks away I’d had a partner in agony, and I’d never even known it.

  Ricky licked his lips. “I wasn’t over at Steven Lipinski’s house. Steve wasn’t even my friend. That’s just what I said because I didn’t want to be at the house with you and Tommy,” he said. “I followed you guys to the woods. I saw him shove you down, and then…”

  He clenched his jaw. He’d shown very little emotion until now, but I could tell he was trying desperately to hold back tears.

  “He talked the whole time he did it. He kept going on about how much you hated Tommy, and describing the horrible things Tommy had done to you. But they were all things I’d done. That’s how I knew.”

  “Ricky,” I said, gripping him by the shoulder, “you have to know that wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want either of you to die. Brandon was—”

  “A total psycho,” he finished. “I know. I know you’re not a killer, Katie. Whatever you said just got all twisted up in his head. I know that.”

  I nodded, amazed that a fifteen-year-old kid had put this together when I never could.

  “So you saw everything?” I asked slowly. The horror of it was beyond imagining.

  Ricky shook his head. “It was kind of dark, and there were all these bushes in the way. I didn’t dare go any closer. But I heard it all.” I clenched my eyes shut as Ricky’s tears finally came. “I heard Tommy whimpering and screaming and crying until…until he stopped. I sat there listening and I did nothing.”

  I put my arm around him as he wept. I told him all the things Lucas had been telling me, that it wasn’t his fault, he’d been just a scared little kid, that it hadn’t been his job to stop a killer. I knew just how true those words were, and just how easy they were to dismiss. Ricky wiped at his face with his dirty hands and I saw that there was still some kid left in him, and I was glad. Maybe by the time he was my age he could put all this behind him. Maybe he could do what I couldn’t when I was thirteen or fifteen or eighteen. Maybe he could forgive himself.

  “You’re not going to come clean, are you?” he said suddenly.

  “Well, I already told my parents, and yours,” I said.

  My call to the Wesleys that morning had been much easier than I’d expected. At first I’d thought they hadn’t understood what I was saying. As soon as I’d mentioned Tommy’s name Mrs. Wesley had dropped the phone, and Mr. Wesley had just kept saying, “That’s okay, dear,” as if I were confessing to having accidentally shredded one of their bushes with the mower.

  “They seemed surprisingly unconcerned,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Ricky said knowingly. “They’ve been like that ever since Tommy died, like nothing can ever shock them again. I got a tattoo when I was twelve and they didn’t care. I crashed their car. It’s better now that I’m not living with them.”

  The Wesleys had moved to Alberta a few years back, but Mr. Wesley had explained to me on the phone that Ricky had insisted on staying behind. He lived with a friend’s family during the school year. He’d also told me his son liked to play football during lunchtime.

  “Why didn’t you go with them?” I asked.

  Ricky shrugged. “I told them I wanted to stay with my friends. But really, I couldn’t stand to leave Tommy. He’s buried here. I couldn’t leave him alone.” He kicked at a tuft of grass with his sneaker. “But what I mean is, I know you lied on the stand. You pretended you didn’t know Brandon at all. And maybe you’re thinking of telling the truth to the world now, but…I lied, too, you know? I lied to everyone for so long and I felt like crap about it, until one day I realized that the lie was good. The lie put the blame where it had to go—on Brandon. The rest of it should just stay buried, with Tommy.”

  I sighed. I hadn’t really thought about this part—telling the truth to anyone beyond my little circle. I also knew it wasn’t entirely in my control. Brandon knew about my lie, too, and he could bring it all back up again if he wanted to, not that anyone had listened to him the first time.

  A part of me did want to tell the world the truth. It seemed like the perfect way to finally free myself of the past. But another more sensible—and yes, fearful—part of me was afraid of the consequences that would follow. There was always the possibility that if I did tell Brandon might go free, and Ricky was right: the blame was his. He was the one who had to be punished, not Ricky, and not me.

  “I don’t k
now what I’m going to do,” I said honestly, “but I’ll leave your name out of it, Ricky. I’m not going to tell the media that your brother died because you were such a brat. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  He gave me a small half-smile. “I had a crush on you, you know?” he said. “That’s why I was always such a jerk to you.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, right. You hated me.”

  “No,” he replied. “I could see you liked Tommy better and I was jealous. You were so pretty and I wanted you to like me, but you just saw me as this little kid.”

  I blinked at him in surprise.

  “You’re even prettier now,” he said shyly, and I had to look away so he wouldn’t see me smile. I wasn’t laughing at him. This was just the most surreal conversation I’d ever had. “Is that your boyfriend?” he said, pointing over at Lucas, who was leaning on the front of the car, sipping the coffee my dad had given him.

  “Yeah, it is,” I said. Looking at Lucas grounded me back in the moment. I felt the dark forest which had been surrounding both Ricky and me begin to recede.

  “It figures,” Ricky mumbled.

  The school bell rang and we all turned to look at the drab high school building. I’d spent four years of my life wandering those halls, lost in a haze of pain and self-loathing. I was glad I’d come to find Ricky, but I was even gladder I hadn’t had to go inside the school to do it. I didn’t want to step foot inside that building again, ever.

  “I’m going to be late,” Ricky said as he got to his feet.

  He turned to me, licking his lips again, and I knew this would be the last time we would see each other. There was so much I wanted to say to him. I wanted to warn him not to believe his own lies. I wanted to tell him that I never hated him. I wanted to say goodbye and that I was sorry and that I didn’t blame him. I wanted to tell him how glad I was he’d turned out to be such a nice guy. I wanted to thank him for not hating me.

  But he was already walking away.

  “Ricky,” I called, and he turned back to look at me. “I hope you have a good life.”

  He smiled and the sun caught the gold in his hair. “You, too, Katie,” he said.

  As he ran across the field, I followed the fence back to the car and let Lucas engulf me in his arms. The tingles started up in me again, though they were a little muted now.

  “How was it?” Lucas asked, and I could tell that even from a distance he’d seen Ricky crying.

  “It was awful,” I said, “but it was good. We both had things to say and now that we’ve said them…I don’t know. I thought I needed to give him something, some truth that he deserved, but he already had it. I think he gave me more than I gave him.”

  “His forgiveness?” Lucas asked.

  “No,” I said. In the end I’d realized I didn’t need Ricky’s forgiveness. The only forgiveness I really needed was my own. “Just the truth, and goodbye.”

  “You were brave today,” Lucas said. “I’m proud of you.” He kissed me sweetly on the nose.

  “You make me brave,” I replied, kissing him back. “And now I think I just want to put my mind on something else.”

  Lucas opened the car door for me and I got in.

  “I’m in full agreement with that,” he said, putting both hands on the wheel. “So, where to? My flight back isn’t for a few hours.”

  “Oh, we need to drop the car off at my parents’ house,” I said. “I need to pick up a few things, too.” I gave him a mischievous look.

  “Pick up some things?” Lucas said. “I’m the one who’s leaving.”

  I gave him my best shocked look. “You didn’t think I was going to leave you to face the media hounds without me, did you?” I said as he eased the car out into traffic.

  His dimples slowly emerged on his cheeks. “What about your subletter?” he asked.

  The plan had been that Lucas would return to Kingston, pack up the few things I wanted for the summer and ship them to me, then hand the keys off to the subletter who would be living in my apartment for the next few months. He also had to pick up Turner.

  “I called Mr. Subletter this morning to tell him the bad news. When he realized who I was, I think he was kind of relieved. Who wants to be mobbed by reporters every time you step out of your building?”

  “Are you serious about this?” Lucas said, looking from me to the road. “What did your parents say? What about—”

  Leaning over quickly, I pressed my fingers to his mouth to stifle his words. Then I moved in close, my lips just next to his ear. “Did you really think I was going to let you go after you made me scream in the shower this morning?” I breathed, feeling his body tense. “I plan on spending the summer making you scream, too, over and over and over…” I let my hand trail down the front of his shirt.

  “Jesus, Katie!” Lucas cried as the car swerved and I giggled against his neck. “You’re in for it now,” he growled, making me shriek with laughter.

  I knew I should let go and let him drive, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to let go of Lucas ever, and I wasn’t going to. We had the whole summer ahead of us, and who knew what else, and I planned on spending as much of it with him as I could. Being with Lucas was so much better than anything else I’d ever tried. Better than painting. Better than chocolate. Better than ice cream. Actually, Lucas was my new ice cream, and I planned on enjoying every single lick.

  Epilogue

  Setting down my paintbrush, I take a step back to look at my painting. I’ve been working on it for two weeks in secret because I know that if Lucas catches wind of the fact that I’m painting again he won’t be able to stop himself from sneaking a peek, and I don’t want that. I frown and bite my lip as I gaze at the interplay of light and dark, the texture of the trees just visible in the background, and the figures, one on each end of the canvas. The snow was the hardest to paint by far, and Lucas’s face the easiest. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as our lips parted that night, or the way the furiously falling snow obscured him from view almost immediately as I walked away from him.

  In the painting I’ve captured a moment that never happened but should have. Lucas is watching me walk away, and instead of ignoring my heart and leaving him standing there I’m turning back, my head turned toward him as though I know he’s still there on the other side of the wall of snow.

  It’s a good effort, considering it’s the first thing I’ve painted in over three months. What I like best is that there’s no sky, just a sea of white. Not a dark cloud in sight.

  Leaning forward, I use my smallest brush to paint the title in the bottom-right corner. I’m calling it Firsts.

  My phone rings as I’m walking to the kitchen to wash my hands, and I glance at the clock on the microwave.

  Shit.

  I answer the phone without checking to see who it is, sticking it awkwardly between my shoulder and ear as I soap my hands.

  “Where are you?” Mariella says. I can hear a hubbub of noise in the background. “Tell me you already left the house.”

  “Of course I did,” I lie, jogging into my room to find a top that isn’t paint-spattered. It’s harder than it sounds. “I’m almost there. It didn’t start yet, did it?”

  “No, but it’s about to,” she answers. I wiggle out of my cut-off shorts and into a pink cotton dress I bought last week. I throw the shorts on top of Turner, who is splayed out on my bed. He meows plaintively. “They just came out, and damn your boy is looking fine today. Was he always this fine? Because my oh my—”

  “Keep it in your pants,” I interrupt. “Besides, I thought you swore off all white boys.” I check my face in the mirror beside the front door, scratching at a patch of black paint on my chin before grabbing my bag and locking the door behind me.

  “I’m an addict, what can I say?” Mariella answers, and I chuckle as I walk through the lobby. “Just hurry up, okay?”

  “I’ll see you in five minutes,” I say, and hang up the phone just as I reach the front door of the building. I take a deep
breath before I open the door and scan the street to the left and right, but there’s no one there. I grin at the sun-dappled sidewalk as I half-walk, half-run down the block.

  It’s been a solid month since the flurry of renewed interest in me due to Brandon’s plea of not guilty at his arraignment. For a while the reporters were camping out on the front stoop again, just like they were in April, and Lucas and I woke up every morning to the sound of Mariella’s curses as she shoved her way to the sidewalk. Luckily they quickly lost interest in my boring existence of summer classes and trips to the recreation centre, even if my basketball coach boyfriend was a total dreamboat. My story wasn’t particularly riveting. I wasn’t suicidal or popping pills or on my way to the nuthouse. I was just a student trying to get on with her life. So, after a while, they seemed to decide as a group to leave me alone, though I’m still a little surprised not to find one or two of them tailing me everywhere I go.

  It’s a little strange, not having to look over my shoulder all the time, but I’m getting used to it.

  As the park comes into view I feel my bag vibrating, letting me know I just got a text. I plunge my hand in, feeling around for my cell. It feels a little strange in my hand as I pick it up, but I don’t think much of it as I turn the phone over and see who messaged me. I beam.

  Em: Ugh. Did I mention I hate flying?

  Me: Repeatedly.

  Em: I still don’t get why you couldn’t fly home just to fly back to Kingston with me.

  Me: Maybe because that’s insane?

  Em: Sanity is overrated. Bring on the madness, I say!

  Me: Are we still on for tonight? Chinese?

  Em: I want to immerse myself in General Tso’s chicken. Only breaded chicken can save this awful day of cross-country travel.

  Me: I’m glad you’re back, Em.

  Em: Me, too.

  I heave a sigh of both relief and happiness as I stare down at the screen, falling still for a second. Things between my sister and I have been a lot better lately. I don’t think we’ll ever be the same as we were, but I’m also always reminding myself that I don’t want us to be. I’m completely honest with her now, and she is with me, too. At the beginning of the summer every conversation we had was just one long fight as she dug up every lie I’d ever told her and threw it in my face, and I struggled not to scream at her for being so oblivious to my pain. Eventually we started talking about everything I’d never told her, how I’d felt then and how I felt now and how she felt about everything. There were a lot of feelings flying around for a while there. Slowly she started trusting me again, and as August approached she took back her threat to transfer to another school and booked her flight to Kingston. When she told me I cried, because I knew then that I hadn’t lost my sister after all.