Echo Bridge

by Kristen O'Toole

  As I clomped down the front walk to Melissa’s car, I wished it were Lexi’s Caddie waiting for me in the street. But we had agreed that getting out without raising any alarms meant acting normal. I’d had plenty of practice, but nothing was normal now. Melissa was still wearing her huge funeral sunglasses, and Hilary was still sullen and quiet in the passenger seat. I think she was angry at Hugh for dying and casting a pall over senior year.

  “Why are you wearing those work boots?” Melissa didn’t bother waiting for a reply. “I just don’t understand how we’re supposed to go on. Everything’s different now.”

  “Everything’s shitty,” Hilary agreed.

  “I think everything will be back to normal by second semester,” I said. I doubted that was true, but it could have been, if Hugh really had been a nice, dumb jock who fell on his head. We would have mourned and moved on. Whatever happened now, with the cops on to Ted and me about to pull my disappearing act, would end any semblance of normal at Belknap Country Day. But I wouldn’t be around to see it.

  “How can you say that?” asked Melissa. “It’s not like he just went away for a while and is going to come back.”

  “Seriously, Courtney,” added Hilary. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say, especially coming from you.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  There was a pause, and Melissa even pulled down her sunglasses to exchange a look with Hilary.

  “Sweetie,” Melissa said. “Everybody knows there was something going on with the two of you.”

  “That is not true,” I said.

  “Oh, please, Courtney. Even Ted told us he thought something was up. He asked if you’d said anything to us.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Well, you were asking all those questions the night of the party,” Melissa said matter-of-factly. “And then you just fainted dead away at the funeral.”

  “Neither of you was holding up very well that day, either,” I said through gritted teeth.

  There was another creepy, suspicious pause, and then Hilary said, “Look. We all saw Hugh and you have a little moment in the middle of the dance floor, and then ten minutes, later he’s sneaking off to the barn? I mean, what would make Hugh leave a party in the middle of it like that?”

  “Sex,” Melissa answered.

  I stared at the backs of their heads.

  “I’ve never cheated on Ted,” I growled. Lexi flashed through my mind, and I shook her out, because that didn’t count. It was different; everything was different now. “And I wouldn’t have touched Hugh with a hundred-foot pole.”

  “The lady doth protest too much,” Hilary snarked.

  I rubbed my forehead. This was worse than being haunted by Hugh’s ghost.

  “Look, everyone knows it was an accident, Courtney,” Melissa said, trying to be kind. “And I know Ted really needs you right now, and he feels like you’re a million miles away. So just be there for him, okay? Whatever’s going on.”

  I wondered if I could just make a break for it when we stopped at Starbucks. Just run off and never come back, Miranda Wickendam and passports be damned. I didn’t think I could put up with another thirty seconds of this crap, let alone two weeks.

  I had been dreading arriving at school, but once we did, I found it to be a relief. The teachers had apparently decided that keeping us busy was the best course of action, and each class felt more intense than usual, with a lot of talk about making up for the past couple of days of learning. I took frantic notes, and then realized that while it filled the time, I’d never actually need these notes. I’d be gone before finals.

  I knew I’d see Ted at lunch. There was no way around it; everybody would find my absence weird. Then again, if they all thought I’d been sleeping with Hugh, maybe they’d think I was just grieving. But I knew I couldn’t avoid Ted forever without the video coming out, and I thought I’d be safer in a crowd.

  I was wrong. I could see things were bad the minute I sat down with my cup of spinach and white bean soup, and it wasn’t just because Ted put his hand on my hip possessively as soon as I got within reach. Everybody else was a wreck. Jake had spiked his and Benji’s coffees with whiskey. Melissa was still wearing her sunglasses, even though the ref was in the basement and rather dimly lit, and was violently shredding a bagel into small pieces and only eating about half of them. Lindsay looked worse than she had at the funeral, her face pale and her eyes tiny and red, her hair matted and tangled, nibbling at a plate of cookies from the dessert buffet. Even Selena, who never looked bad, was gray and drawn around the eyes and was ignoring her salad in favor of a cup of tea. For a moment, I felt bad for them. As far as they were concerned, their hapless but loveable friend had died in a horrible accident. They were coping the best they could. But then I remembered who that hapless and loveable friend really was, and that they were all dupes and each a little awful in their own way, to boot. I sat down and scooted my chair as far away from Ted as I could without drawing attention to it. Which was impossible with the rumor mill churning invisibly around us and Melissa’s eyes eagle-sharp even behind her black shades.

  “So how are you guys doing?” she asked, in a faux kind voice, like she knew how each of us was doing individually but she was really invested in how our relationship was being impacted by the circus of mourning going on around us.

  I slurped some soup too hard in annoyance, and winced as it burned my throat, bringing tears to my eyes.

  “Oh, Court. That’s okay,” Ted cupped my head with his hand and drew it down onto his shoulder. “We all miss him.” To Melissa, I heard him stage whisper, “She’s taking it really hard.” There was a silence while I’m sure they exchanged a meaningful glance of some kind. My face was half hidden by my hair and the other half was pressed against the woolly shoulder of Ted’s sweater. Being this close to him made me feel like a thousand insects were walking on my skin, but at the same time, I was grateful for the split second of privacy. The way I had so many times before, I struggled to find the role I was supposed to play in this scene. Empathetic girlfriend? Woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown? Affianced lady quietly grieving her dead lover? If I could no longer find the role to suit the scene, I’d find one to suit me. I was going to run away soon, what would precipitate that? All of this ran through my head in only a split second, and as soon as the idea came to me, I wriggled out and tossed my hair back.

  “It just all seems so meaningless,” I said. “If it can end in an instant, in such a careless way…what’s the point of it all, you know?”

  I would do suicidal teen. That way, when I left, they’d never be truly sure if I’d run or if I was dead. Not until I came back, at least.

  I felt Ted glance at me sideways, a little surprised, trying to figure out what I was saying. Benji and Jake just stared at me, glum and numb, and Lindsay didn’t appear to have realized I had spoken. Melissa had pushed her glasses up on top of her head, and the shock on her face gave me a little pang.

  “That’s a pretty bleak way of looking at it, Courtney,” said Selena, lifting her teacup with both hands.

  “I guess I’m feeling pretty bleak these days,” I said.

  Next to me, Ted shifted again. He wrapped one arm around my shoulders tightly, and stroked my hair with his other hand. “Court,” he said. “Let’s go talk.”

  “I’m fine,” I said tightly.

  “Well, I’m not,” he said, and gave a lock of my hair a quick, sharp tug that no one would notice. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” I whined as he hauled me to my feet.

  “My car,” he said. And once again we were marching toward the senior parking lot, his hand on my arm.

  The walk seemed to take forever as I struggled to keep my fears in check. I was desperately afraid that Ted would force me to do something physical, and I didn’t know what I’d do if he tried. I would have liked to kill him myself, but I didn’t know how. We got into the Rover and closed the doors. Ted started the ignition and turned on t
he radio, raising the volume loud enough to drown out any sound I might have made. I swallowed as he turned to face me and felt for my purse, wondering what among its contents I might be able to use as a weapon.

  “I want you to tell the police I didn’t kill Hugh,” he said to me. “You did.”

  I stared at him. Every time I thought I’d gotten the worst shock, another one followed.

  “You saw Hugh go into the barn, and being the responsible gal you are, you followed him to remind him that it’s off limits and to drag his drunk ass back to the house. But he tried to force himself on you. You pushed him, and that’s how he fell. I saw the open barn door from the house, and when I came out to investigate, I got there right after it happened.”

  I stared at him. “You want me to say I killed Hugh?”

  “In self-defense. They won’t charge you.”

  “They already think we’re lying,” I said. “And I…” I didn’t know what to say. And I knew it wouldn’t matter to him anyway. “Now you want me to say that he did rape me?”

  Ted sighed and ran a hand over his hair. “That he attempted, because he was too wasted to know any better.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Courtney,” he held up his phone. “It’s your choice. You can be a hero to rape victims everywhere, or you can be the girl every guy in your dorm is jerking it to.”

  I looked down into my lap. That somehow made it so much worse, as if his proposal wasn’t bad enough—how could I pass myself as a hero of self-defense when I hadn’t been able to defend myself, and I hadn’t acted heroic even for a minute, during or since? But there was no alternative. If I went to the cops, then Ted would post those videos. If they went viral, the media would be all over any trial that might ensue. I’d be a famous rape victim porn star. I put my head in my hands.

  “The cops’ll bring us in again in a day or two,” Ted said. “I’m sure of it. You can go to them yourself or wait until they call you in, but when they do, if you don’t tell them what I told you”—he waggled the phone—“instant porn star. Now let’s get out of here before Farnsworth shows up to stop us from having funeral sex again.”

  Chapter 24

  In the midst of all this, The Crucible was slated to open in two days. The show, Mr. Gillison clichéd at us that afternoon, must go on. It was tech rehearsal, which was traditionally a goof because the run-through was all about getting the lights, music and curtain cues right, and the performance didn’t matter. In every play I’d done at Country Day, we’d hammed it up during the tech run. Mr. G encouraged this; he thought it loosened us up before dress rehearsal and opening night. But Hugh’s death was reverberating beyond those of us who’d been close to him, and none of the cast seemed much in the mood to be silly. We moved through the scenes with a stiff grimness. As I traipsed the stage and sloppily hit my marks, I wondered if we’d be able to pull it off on opening night. I wondered if I’d be able to pull it off. I felt bad for Mr. G, sitting out there in the dark auditorium, watching us phone it in. I could barely remember my lines.

  “Well, this sucks,” said Molly quietly, puffing her bangs out of her face. It was the middle of Act Two, and we were both backstage while Rodney banged around yelling about what a liar I was. As Abigail Williams, I mean.

  “For real,” I said.

  “Have they ever canceled a play?” she asked.

  “There’s a first time for everything,” I said, as Elizabeth Proctor dropped the poppet with the needle in it onstage. It wasn’t even supposed to be in the scene.

  “Just improvise!” Mr. G called from the audience. “What would you do if this place were full and you dropped it? Use your instinct! You can do it!”

  I took a deep breath. “So how are you feeling? About Hugh, I mean.”

  Molly was chewing a big wad of strawberry gum, her breath warm and moist with it as she blew a large bubble. She sucked it back into her mouth and said, “It’s weird. I mean, what happened between us before Thanksgiving didn’t really get around, at least not in my grade. So people keep coming up to me and acting all tragic, like we were in love or something. But I—I think I’m glad he’s dead. A little bit. And that makes me feel like I must be really messed up, you know?” She blew another bubble, and I saw that she was tearing up.

  “You’re not messed up, Molly,” I said. “You’re, like, the least messed up person I’ve talked to in a week.” She laughed quietly. “But listen.” I dropped my voice even lower. “You should talk to your sister about this stuff. All of it. Because I think there’s a lot she’s been alone with for a long time, and if you talk to her, she might share it with you.”

  “Elaine?” Molly’s eyes grew big in the darkness. “Did Hugh do something to her, too?”

  “You should talk to her,” I said. “And get her to talk back. She needs it.”

  Molly studied my face. “Okay. Thanks, Courtney.” She nudged me. “You’re on.”

  I stepped from the dim cave of the wings onto the stage, the spotlights blaring in my face.

  * * *

  I barely slept and woke to a gray morning haze, thinking of Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby, when she says it feels like there’s a wire inside her winding tighter and tighter. It seemed like Detective Soleto would come for me—and I’d have to decide what to tell her—at any second. I stumbled through school, and at lunch I went to the grief counselor’s office. It was the only place I could think of where I could hide out from Ted.

  The grief counselor was not a warm woman. I hadn’t seen her smile, and her silver hair was cut short, chic but severe. She was steely, I thought, and the wire inside me wound tighter.

  “Your boyfriend was close to Hugh,” she said to me, glancing at my file like Detective Soleto had and flicking her eyes back up at me over her reading glasses. She said the word “boyfriend” with disdain.

  “I was, too,” I said. For a split second, I felt defensive. Why shouldn’t I claim my share of the school tragedy? That I should think this immediately struck me as absurd, and I nearly laughed in her face. Her boredom was hilarious; she thought I was just another spoiled, overwrought teen. While I stared at her harsh, unmade-up features and tried not to laugh, I realized that the lack of sleep was catching up with me.

  “Courtney,” said the counselor, whose name I hadn’t caught, if anyone had ever told me. “It’s okay to feel confused right now.”

  My lips parted and something between a laugh and a sob escaped them, and then I was sobbing for real. The counselor pushed the box of tissues on her desk toward me and sat back and let me cry it out. After ten minutes, I managed to get myself under control. I blew my nose, wiped my tears, and then looked up and met her eyes.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Do you think I could lie down on that cot,” I said, pointing at the bed that had been moved into the corner, I guessed to make it feel more like a doctor’s office. “And take a nap?”

  “Go ahead,” said the counselor, and I saw the hardness in her face shift like tectonic plates and a soft, gentle empathy ooze from beneath.

  I lay down and slept through my next class.

  Then school was over, and it was time for dress rehearsal. Under normal circumstances, I loved dress rehearsal. If tech was where we got all our silliness out, dress was where we gathered our strength. It was more exciting than opening night, because on opening night the excitement was dampened by nerves. Dress rehearsal had its own magic. We were wearing costumes for the first time. The freshman with the bit part might ad lib the perfect gesture. The leads would finally kiss convincingly. It was in previous dress rehearsals that I had come close to glimpsing a small aspect of Rodney Fairchild that might make him loveable; it was the moment when he was at his best, mustering everything he had only for the role, not for the audience. Rodney, for all his faults, could play a good hero, and he was doing a decent job with John Proctor. I could see the girl who played his wife—a type-A, books-over-boys girl all the way—melting a little bit as he stomped arou
nd the stage gruffly.

  “Hey,” whispered Molly at my elbow.

  “Hey,” I said back. She looked angelic as Mary Warren, with her blond hair curving over her cheeks and a white apron and bonnet. I could see why Mr. G had cast her in the role, the cruel irony of someone who looked so innocent condemning a man to death.

  “I talked to my sister,” Molly went on. “She’s leaving school.”

  “What?” I had thought it would be good for Elaine to talk to someone—she had seemed like her secrets were rotting inside her, that day on the bank of the Souhegan—but I hadn’t expected her to drop out.

  “She’s going to a hospital for a few months,” said Molly. “Not like a hospital-hospital; it’s more like a resort. You know. Just for a little while. Then she’ll take her graduation equivalency and do the LPGA Tour.”

  “You’re joking,” I said. I knew Elaine was a very good golfer, but I didn’t know she was that good.

  “For real.” Molly’s eyes followed the players on stage for a moment. “There’s not much here for her anymore, you know? And with golf, the diploma is just an afterthought.”

  “Will you do that?” I asked. “With tennis?”

  “I’m not good enough,” Molly said without a trace of self-pity. “It’ll just be high school and college for me.”

  “Do you think she’s doing the right thing?” I asked.

  Molly shrugged. “It’s the right thing for her. Or else she wouldn’t be doing it, right?” Before I could respond, she darted out onto the stage, where Rodney began to yell at her for going to Salem town.

  * * *

  I slept a little better that night, and for a moment, lying in Anna’s bed half asleep with the sun creeping under the scalloped edges of the shades, I could let myself think that all I had to worry about was the opening that night. But of course, that wasn’t true at all. I rolled over and buried my face in the belly of one of the teddy bears. So Elaine Winslow was getting her own clean slate. I had to admit that the LPGA Tour made Prague look a little gray and shabby. But I was glad Elaine was getting out. I liked the idea of her in a little outfit, everything Nike, her blond ponytail streaming over a visor as she walked across a trim green with the blue sky behind her. The aim and the stroke. All that control and freedom.