I stand up. I can’t stay here. I feel suffocated. Expected to pick a path without getting to look down them both, find any balance. “I know today wasn’t my finest hour, but I need to go for a drive or something to clear my head, if that’s okay? I’m not going to Jackson’s, I swear. I need to be alone for a little bit.” I probably could’ve gone without asking, but for some reason in that moment, it feels important to ask. To ask for that trust.
“That’s fine,” he tells me. And then just to add some extra parental authority: “Can you please be back by eleven?”
“Sure,” I say. I turn to go, but then: “Do you think I should break up with him?” I ask, stuck somewhere in the middle of leaving.
“That’s the thing,” he tells me, hands in his pockets. “I think for a change, you should do whatever you want.”
35
I don’t know where I’m going. The roads between my house and Jackson’s feel too familiar. I find as I’m driving that I’m so sick of the roads of this town. Of the endless gossip. Of the rich kids who prey on the kids who want to be accepted into their graces. Who want, more than anything, to be them.
There’s nothing so extraordinary about them.
I think about driving to Lois’s bar. I wonder if she’d remember me. But then I think, just like everything else in this town, she belongs to Jackson. Everything belongs to him.
not me not me not me
So I follow the river. Southwest, the way it flows. Fishing boats make their ways across it, herons dipping in sometimes to scoop something up. It’s not long before I hit the next town, Morgan. Right on the outskirts, there’s this little riverside restaurant my family used to go to. It’s beautiful but not pretentious like most of the nice places in Cedar Woods. Morgan doesn’t have the average household income Cedar Woods boasts, so there’s no one around to impress.
I pull into the parking lot, staring at the side of the building. It hasn’t changed at all and I haven’t been here since middle school, at least. Back then, it was Mom and Dad’s favorite place, and sometimes, they’d bring me along. There’s a sidewalk trailing the river out back. It opens to a dock with a small schooner that hosts fishing trips through the summer season.
I crunch through the gravel parking lot to the river, walking along the dock to its end, out in the water. The wind is blowing hard off the river, fish bobbing up to grab pieces of bread left floating around from the dinner crowd earlier. But it’s after ten now.
I push my body against the railing at the end of the dock, mostly wanting to fling myself over, in. Just to feel it. The fall. The splash. Swim back to shore dripping wet and with nowhere to go.
When you have everything so perfectly under control, so tightly held all the time, sometimes you only want to follow your impulses.
That’s what Jackson is—an impulse.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, sliding open the messages.
I’m sorry. It was stupid.
Would you call me cliché if I said the l-word?
Don’t answer that. Of course you would.
Can you answer me? Like the second you’re ready to talk to me again, will you talk to me?
I’m sorry, Nell. Not for earlier but for all the texts. I promise, I’ll give you space. Take all you need and then I’ll just be here. Waiting and all that.
Love you.
I press my palms against my eyes. Then I turn around so the water is at my back and lean against the railing, tipping my head up to look at the sky. It’s different here, still a few miles from the heart of the town, only the river and me. The stars demand one’s attention. They don’t ask.
I’ll answer him, I decide finally, heading down the dock. I’ll answer him when I get home. I’ll decide if I want to forgive him. I can’t keep living in the in-between. At some point, I have to acknowledge that I can’t go back to before.
I will figure out how to make things right with Lia. To make things right with my parents. To make things right with me.
I stop short when I get back to the riverwalk leading to the parking lot. Because there is my mother’s car, parked as innocuously as could be. Dad didn’t say anything about her going out. Why would she be all the way out in Morgan?
I backtrack, walking the other way down the riverwalk. The restaurant deck is closed but with all the lights out, I’m able to see through the huge windows—they’re rolled up to give the back bar open air. I move closer, creeping up the stairs that lead from the restaurant’s deck to the riverwalk.
I spot her then—her reflection in the mirror over the bar as she sits on a stool. She’s alone.
Why?
She has her usual glass of white wine, holding it as if it’s a precious commodity. It’s strange to watch her like this, unguarded. Not trying to look proper for anybody else. Not perfect. Just being.
She looks like she could be someone like me.
She’s talking to a man sitting a couple of seats over from her. Not in a flirtatious way at all. Very casual. She points to something behind the bar and she and the man both laugh. I can’t see his reflection from my angle.
I move forward until I’m on the deck, not more than a few yards from them, hidden in the dark. Not that they’re looking. I should let this go. Leave well enough alone.
But I think anyone in my shoes would do the same thing.
I’m at the right angle to see his face, and I do. I grab on to the back railing of the deck, my mind not completely understanding.
It’s Mr. Hart.
They’re talking like they’ve never met in their lives, like they’re brand-new people. There’s no way they just ran into each other here. Mr. Hart would never waste time on Morgan. Not without a reason.
Mom stops laughing. She turns back to the bar, saying something to the bartender as he goes by. He nods at her. She’s completely ignoring Mr. Hart now, sending my brain into spirals.
It’s once they’re not looking at each other that it happens. He passes something to her under the bar and she takes it. A gesture so smooth that I notice it only because I’m watching them so closely.
This exact spot. Where everything changed.
I take the steps three at a time, almost twisting my ankle as I hit the bottom and run to my car. I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here before they see me.
I’m trying to unlock my car so fast, I drop my keys. Twice. I finally get in and take off, driving forty miles over the legal speed limit out of town. I’m panting so hard, I can’t catch my breath, my heart racing faster than an Olympic medalist crossing the finish line. I’m not even sure how I’m driving, only that I have to get away faster faster faster.
I take a violent left to get off the main road as if they might follow me there and when I see a long driveway up ahead, I pull off the road. I wrap my hands around the steering wheel, holding on for dear life, the panic attack fully having its way with me. I feel like I’m going to be sick, except I’m not a tangible enough person to be sick right now. I can’t breathe so I’m sure I’ve died. I pull my feet up to my seat, wrapping my arms around them so I’m in the fetal position, waiting for it to pass. Please let me go please let me go please.
I start running through dates. But dates keep fading into memories and memories into realizations.
Mom.
Jackson’s mom and how she reacted to my name.
His dad’s face when he heard it, too.
I think you have a bit more respect for the Beckers than that, don’t you, Dad?
He knew.
I’m sorry. About before. Downstairs. And in the parking lot. That look after the first time we slept together. For not telling you last week.
He always knew.
It all clicks into place then, one piece falling after another. The boat. The condoms. Hello, Mrs. Becker. Good-bye, Mrs. Becker.
I am so. Goddamn. Stupid.
I don’t know why, but something about that calms me. Makes me find my center. Tells me to pull it the fuck together.
I run my fingers through my hair, thinking. Wishing I could hold on to my thoughts as fast as I can think them because it’s all coming together into one solid story. I wipe the skin under my eyes clean with my palm. Left then right. Pick up my phone and type out a text.
Meet me down by the river. Where we hooked up that first time.
I text Dad that I’m sorry, but I won’t be home until midnight. I’m sorry, I type again just to see the words, knowing I won’t send it.
I’m sorry I missed it.
I’m sorry you’re married to a conniving bitch.
I’m sorry I’m not as smart as I thought I was.
Jackson’s reply comes fast.
That sounds a little ominous.
I answer: I’ll see you in twenty.
He’s already there when I drive down the boat ramp, parking behind him because there’s not enough room next to his truck. He’s leaned onto his hood like last time. But he stands up straight when I get out of the car and walk toward him. I keep as much distance as I can between us, walking to the edge of the water and watching him from there, with my hands buried in my pockets.
“I know why you didn’t want to come over to my house,” he says, and I almost feel the desire to laugh. “But Mom apologized. And he’s not even there.”
“I know,” I say.
His expression shifts ever so slightly.
I shake my head, looking away from him. “I’m not here to make nice. All I want to know is when you knew.”
“When I knew what?” he asks, nerves progressively edging into his voice.
“That our parents were fucking,” I say, not letting the slightest bit of hurt or pain or anything touch my voice or face.
His expression changes completely. “Jesus Christ,” he says, burying his face in his hands.
“Don’t act like you didn’t know,” I say, holding on to that feeling. It’s the only way I’ll keep all the pieces of myself together.
He throws his hands up. “Of course I knew. And when exactly do you think would’ve been a good time for me to mention it?”
“Oh, go fuck yourself right up the river,” I tell him. I have an overwhelming desire to shove him, to hurt him. It’s a feral urge deep under my skin. “How long have you known? Was it that day you told me that sob story about hitting your dad? Or maybe when we were carting your best friend to the emergency room. Or even better”—I clap my hands together—“the day you took my virginity.”
“Do not put that shit on me,” he says. “That wasn’t exactly the seduction of the century I was running there.”
“Oh my God,” I say, actually letting out a laugh. “You did know then, didn’t you? That was what all your ‘you don’t understand’ bullshit was about. You actually had a conscience for half a second.”
“You wanted it as much as I did, Nell.”
“So why didn’t you STOP me!” I yell at him. “Say ‘by the way, Nell, our parents are having an affair and that’s why I need you to leave the damn premises.’” I curl my hands into fists. “How did you even know? Did he tell you? ‘Just so you know, I’m banging that Becker girl’s mom so you might want to stop screwing around with her.’”
Jackson takes a deep breath, working hard to build up to it, to keep his always-perfectly-maintained composure. “I realized Mom knew who he was having an affair with and since she knew, I made it my business to know. So I followed him around for a couple of days before I saw them together. Well, I saw him go into a hotel, and then I waited and saw your mom come out. But I wanted to be sure so I kept following him, and by the third time I saw your mom … I knew.”
“When?” I demand.
He rubs his eyes. “The weekend of Alston’s party. I started following Dad around after the bonfire. After you cornered me about my parents.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “So all of it? The whole thing was a lie?”
He shakes his head. “I just wanted to know more about you. So I’d know about your mom. And then—I swear, I wasn’t ever planning any of the rest of this. Once I really knew you, I always wanted to be with you, Nell, and then that night we were here at the river, I realized it was getting so out of control. I tried to end it. I did.”
“All you had to do was tell me.” My voice is so raw. “You got me to sleep with you, proved you could get any girl you wanted. That could’ve been the end of it.”
“I didn’t want this. I thought I could give you up, eventually. But by the time you came to my house—Jesus, Nell,” he says, his voice edging on desperate. “We’d already gotten in so deep.”
“Do you have no self-control? You couldn’t stop sleeping with me, stop trying to make me love you?” I take a step toward him, remaining calm as I do. “It didn’t take me that long to figure out. Everything. You’d let every other girl go in a minute, but you weren’t going to let me go, not when you could see that look in my mom’s eyes, feel that victory. The condoms? Genius. The boat thing today. You were just getting started. This was going to be Jackson Hart’s best ever con.
“Tell me,” I say as if I’m a teacher moving him along in class. “Tell me the truth.”
He swallows, stopping and starting. Finally, he manages to get it out: “Look, fine, I knew—I knew if I could get close to you, like, really close, it would be punishment for both of them. And yes, I saw opportunities or whatever, I guess, to mess with them, but there’s so much more to it than that.” His voice cracks. “I need to sort everything out because it’s not like that. If you only understood what my family was really like.”
He’s crying, I can see that now. Everything in me goes numb and I can’t think anything but: He’s ugly when he cries.
“Your family? You, Jackson. It’s YOU. Goddammit, what is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you’re just going to stand here and cry like that somehow absolves you?” I take a step toward him. “You still wanna fuck me?”
“I’m not going to fight with you,” he tells me.
“Not even if I tell you that’s the only way I’d feel even the smallest bit better?”
He sighs, taking a shaky breath.
“You know, there’s one small comfort I take in all of this,” I say. “When I told you I trusted you earlier, it was a lie.”
He doesn’t say anything as I walk past him, doesn’t try to call me back. He stands there, still, like this is where he’ll always be now.
My amazing calm lasts long enough for me to drive away. I go the opposite of the way I know he might leave and pull over again, this time in a random patch of grass because I can’t go any farther. I call Lia, hysterical to the point that she thinks someone’s dead.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” she finally says, “but I’m in my car already. I’ll meet you at your house.”
That’s where she is when I get home, parked on the street and waiting on me. I’d gotten it together enough to get home, but I lose it all over again when I see her. She goes into the house before me to make sure she hears the sound of Dad snoring before she pulls me inside, flipping off the porch light he left on behind us, and taking me up the stairs.
I try not to let myself wonder when Mom will be home.
Upstairs, I crawl directly under the covers, willing my breathing back to normal. She sits cross-legged in front of me, running her fingers over my hair. “You’re okay,” she keeps saying, and I want to tell her I doubt that very seriously.
It’s a while before I dry out. She’s had time to change into a pair of athletic shorts and T-shirt to sleep in since it’s clear she’ll be spending the night. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asks.
Sometimes it’s the worst thing in the world to have to say You were right.
I have to tell her in pieces. The drive. The restaurant. Mom. His dad. She doesn’t say anything at that part, which is good because otherwise I might not be able to finish. Her face grows steadily darker as I tell her everything else, end
ing on murderous.
“You were right,” I finally finish, turning the loathing inward. “I was his masterpiece, perfectly played, never seeing any of it. I told him I loved him.” I close my eyes, a tear leaking out. “I’m a pawn in some sick game between our parents. And he got every single piece of me that he wanted. Like, a complete skeleton, sinew and all.”
Lia winces. “Nell, I am so sorry. I—I”—she trips over her words—“I don’t even know what to say. Only I wasn’t right at all. I never imagined this. He’s a damn sociopath.”
I cling to the comforter on my bed.
“Shit,” she says. “We have to spend an entire school year with him. With his smug face every day. I’ll kill him.”
“Lia.” I reach out and grab her arm, hanging on tight. “You can’t tell anyone about this. I am humiliated.”
“Of course,” she says, squeezing my hand gently where it’s touching her, despite my deadly grip.
“I want to pretend this never happened. To make it go away. I want him to be nothing.”
“He’s less than nothing,” she tells me, pulling my hand down carefully. “Nothing has substance. You can’t ignore nothing. He’s something you stuffed in a drawer when you got it three years ago and threw in the trash while spring cleaning without even considering it. Nell, he’s a black hole and you’re the best damn person I know.”
Her voice is steady, vibrating into my skin. “Thanks for being my best friend,” I tell her, lying with my head facing her, cuddled up close.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she whispers, leaning down and pressing her lips against my forehead like I’m a child.
36
I become a permanent fixture at the Reagans’ house.
I stay there as often as I can, sharing a bed with Lia more nights than not. Otherwise, I sneak home, trying to avoid both of my parents. The Reagans don’t seem to mind. Mr. Reagan’s in and out of the house; I have no idea where he goes most of the time and I don’t think anyone else does, either, frankly. He isn’t supposed to leave the state as he’s considered a minor flight risk due to his business interests and money. Lia gets this look on her face when I ask and says he’s probably with “Meemaw,” rolling her eyes. Mrs. Reagan is back to her charity routines and the liquor cabinets are locked, the key stowed away in Taylor’s sock drawer.
Winner Take All Page 21