by Ginger Scott
“I’ll be right here,” he says, and my breathing eases.
He reads some sports scores to me from his phone, then I listen to him watch Sports Center and oooh and ahhh over top plays. My eyelids grow heavy, and I only perk up to react when he speaks more than a few words as the half-hour show closes. The last words I remember his tender goodnight and the way he calls me baby.
Ty
Cass drifted off, and eventually so did I. But I never, not once, ended the call. She must have hit end before me, because she was gone from the other line when I woke up this morning.
I love Thanksgiving in our house. My mom hates turkey, and Dad doesn’t care enough to make a fuss. So we always eat things we really want, and my mom makes enough for a week’s worth of leftovers. This year is eggrolls and lasagna. The entire house stinks, but in a good way—mostly. It smells of onions and butter and maybe cabbage. I think that extra stench tacked on is from the cabbage for the eggrolls.
I treat myself to a handful of shredded mozzarella before my mom slides the lasagna tray back into the fridge, so she can time it with the eggrolls. She slaps my hand the first time, but when she starts washing her hands at the sink, I go in for one more pinch, smirking with pride that she can’t stop me.
“I need the keys,” I say, and Dad tosses them to me from his spot on the sofa. He’ll be there for most of the day.
“You make sure you’re home in an hour. You know your brother won’t want to wait to eat,” Mom says.
“I know. He’s such a pig,” I tease, and Nate reaches over the counter to the sink, flinging a handful of water at me, and then flipping me off.
“Can we have one finger-free holiday, for Pete’s sake?” Mom says.
“I don’t know who Pete is, but tell him I don’t like him fingering you,” I tease, my eyebrows high as I push backward out of my mom’s reach. She tries to fling water at me next, but it’s too late. So instead, she just flips me off. “Gosh, Mom. You’re such a hypocrite,” I joke.
“I’m serious. Be home in an hour,” she says.
“Okay, got it.” I cross my heart and leave the room, push through the front door and head down the ramp.
Driving the van is always easiest, because I can load my chair and lift myself to the driver’s seat. The hand controls are better on this than my mom’s Jeep, too.
Kelly’s waiting for me. She lives only a few miles from my parents’ house. Jared is home, and her parents are at the house. I had to promise her a thousand times that I wouldn’t start something today, but I’m not sure I can help myself. Jared is being selfish, even if he isn’t using. He’s being selfish with his time—he needs to spend that on his wife and son.
I get to their house quickly, but as I’m rounding the corner, I see Jared bound down the driveway, his keys dangling from a finger as he gets in his car. He’s probably running to the store to get something Kelly forgot. But maybe he’s going somewhere else.
Paused at the corner, I wait for him to back out of the driveway and speed down the street in the other direction before I turn and stop short of Kelly’s house. She won’t want me to do this. But I have to. Kelly deserves answers, and I’m her friend. I realized recently that I’m her best friend. And as that, I need to do this.
Instead of pulling in, I keep driving. I follow the path Jared took down the street to the end of the block. I catch his car making a left turn, so I speed around the corner to catch him. I get another glimpse of him turning right as I round the last corner he took, and I speed forward again, saying a silent prayer for the cops to be on my side today, to be lenient, and not to be anywhere I am driving.
I’m able to catch up to him at a stoplight on the busier road, and I position myself a car or two behind him so he won’t notice me. We drive for about ten minutes, several miles, to the next city over. We’ve passed a dozen grocery stores and convenience stores—all open for holiday hours. He’s not running an errand. Or, at least, that’s not his real reason for making this trip.
We drive three more blocks, and he pulls into a neighborhood diner. It’s one of those pancake houses, a place for truckers to stop. I pull in to an end spot, one that gives me a good view of the entire parking lot and the bay of windows looking into the restaurant.
When Jared gets out of his car, he stops and pulls out his phone, probably to make sure Kelly hasn’t called or texted…or maybe he’s getting a message from his dealer. He looks around the lot, but thankfully his head never fully turns in my direction. I’m not very good at hiding. And I’m not sure I don’t want him to see me.
After a few seconds, he walks to the diner entrance, steps inside, and moves toward the line of booths along the window.
And then it all becomes so painfully clear.
The girl is beautiful. Long, red hair, she looks to be about the same age as Kelly. She’s wearing a blue sweater and jeans, and looks like she dressed up just enough to impress someone—impress a boyfriend or a date.
They kiss.
His hand moves to her face.
His other hand grips her hand.
They hold hands on the table.
He orders coffee. So does she.
They drink.
They laugh.
They talk.
They kiss more.
He puts some money on the table, and she follows him out to the parking lot.
He gets in his car.
She gets in his car.
He drives to the back of the lot, near the unkempt trees and bushes that block most of their view.
She climbs on his lap.
They kiss more.
I take a photo with my phone.
I leave.
He’s not using. Goddamn how I wish that were it. I wish he were using. I could be angry at him, punish him, force him into rehab—make him do right by Kelly.
But this? I can’t forgive this. For me, this is unforgiveable. This is unacceptable. You don’t make promises of the heart just to break them. I never promised a girl something I couldn’t give her. The only promises I’ve made are to Kelly and Cass. And I’m living by them both.
Jared is a coward.
Jared is a dead man.
And I have to tell Kelly, because he’ll just keep doing this. And she deserves better.
I spend ten minutes in her driveway, trying to figure out what to say—how to pull her away from her parents, how to have this conversation. I sit there for so long, eventually she sees me out the window. She comes out of the house, down the driveway to where I’m parked.
“You know, you are allowed inside,” she says when I unroll the window.
I can’t even fake this, and she knows me too well to be able to ignore the expression on my face.
“What is it?” she asks. She looks so tired. But she’s still Kelly, still the beautiful girl I’ve known for so much of my life.
“Can you…take a short drive?” I ask, hating that I’m pulling her away from her family on a holiday, but not knowing how to handle this any other way.
“Give me a minute,” she says, walking back up her drive to the house. I notice her hand flexes as she walks. She does this when she’s stressed, when she’s angry. She knows something bad is coming.
She comes back out with keys and her phone in her hand. Picking up her step, she jogs to the van, rounding the front and getting inside. She smells like pie—she’s been baking.
“My parents are watching Jackson. We have some time,” she says, her gaze empty, her focus lost out the front window, her hands clutched to her phone and keys. She relaxes just long enough to put on her seatbelt. I back out and drive us a few blocks to the old elementary school. I pull in so we’re facing the swings, the same ones she used to push me on—the ones where I used to look up her dress. The memory makes me laugh under my breath.
“I used to pretend to fall out of the swings, you know,” I admit.
“I know,” she says. “You were looking up my dress. That’s why I wore shorts.”
He
r confession makes me smile, but now is not the time for smiling or happy memories, so I hold my hand over my mouth until I can regain my composure.
“I followed Jared,” I say.
She doesn’t respond, but her grip on her belongings gets tighter. I hear her swallow, see her throat move slowly, see her eyes twitch with both fury and tears. But she holds it all in, her breath heavy through her nose.
“Kel,” I say, reaching my hand over to her arm, sliding it down to her hand, forcing her hand loose from its grip, until she holds mine back. Her eyes still stay forward. “He’s not using, Kel.”
She remains rigid, but her hand squeezes me tightly. A single tear falls from her eye, slides down her cheek, lands on her arm, and waits to dissolve completely.
“I know,” she says. Somehow, her knowing makes this feel better. Everything is still awful, but her knowing, her not being surprised by what I’m saying—me not being the one to break it to her completely—somehow that makes this easier for me. And, selfish bastard that I am, I’m relieved by that.
“How long?” I ask. It’s not my place. None of this is. But Kelly is family to me. And she’s being disrespected. I need answers so I know what to do—how to avenge her.
“I think…I think maybe a few months,” she says, her face falling to the side, her eyes moving to our hands. She lets go slowly, folding her arms up to stave off the chill. I push the heater up a level. “I found a text from her last night. Before he could delete it. He’s been deleting everything. Or at least, I guess he has.”
Jared is an idiot. Jared is an asshole. Jared is a poor excuse for a human being. Jared can eat shit. Jared is going to feel pain, really soon. It’s a stream of rants running through my mind while I sit here in the van with Kelly, our view of simple times, of our innocence.
“I feel so stupid,” she says, biting her lip, another tear following along the same path as the first. I reach over and catch it, holding my hand to her face, and she closes her eyes.
“You aren’t stupid. You are amazing. And Jared…” I choke down bile from saying his name. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
Several minutes pass. I don’t talk. Kelly doesn’t talk. She lays her head on my hand, and I let her. Every now and then her face winces, like it’s being attacked from the inside. She wants to cry, but she doesn’t want to break.
“Do you want to meet Jackson?” she asks finally.
“I’d love to.” I smile and move the gear into reverse to back out of the lot. We drive back to her home, her ruined and poisoned home with white siding and blue trim. I’m relieved that Jared’s car still isn’t in the driveway. I’m not ready to see him. I won’t be able to help myself. And Kelly needs to call the shots on this.
She helps me from the van, just like she always did. I let her push me inside, over the lip of the door, and then I hug her parents. They look the same, only their hair a little grayer. Her dad looks stronger than when I saw him last, having survived another bout with cancer a year or two ago. Kelly brings Jackson over, a tiny human, bundled in an orange pumpkin onesie that covers his feet. He’s perfect. He’s beautiful. He’s everything Kelly, and nothing Jared. Thank God.
Jared doesn’t deserve him either.
I hold him for a few minutes, and he doesn’t cry. His body feels warm, and his small movements are the coolest things I’ve ever felt—the way his legs jut forward, his hand reaches for nothing, his eyes open and close in slow motion. His yawn is adorable. And he smells like powder and strawberries.
We reminisce about high school, swap embarrassing stories about grade school, and I give them updates on college and life in Oklahoma. It’s a pleasant, safe conversation, but there’s always an undertone of regret when Kelly and I make eye contact. Regret that her world is crumbling, and I know about it, but there’s nothing we can do to fix it. She’s going to have to live through this pain, because even ignoring it would hurt.
Kelly pulls her phone from her back pocket, and her brow pinches as she reads a text. It’s Jared. I know it is. I wait for her eyes to meet mine, and she motions for me to follow her to the door. She doesn’t want me to see Jared. I understand. It’s probably best I don’t.
I say my goodbyes, making excuses for my quick departure. Mom wants me home in time for dinner. It’s the truth in a way, though Mom would understand. I kiss Jackson’s small, fuzzy head, and follow Kelly through the door back to the van. She helps me pack my chair, and I position myself in the driver’s seat.
“He’s on his way home. Said he’d be about twenty minutes. Apparently, they were out of pumpkin filling at five stores,” she says with a harsh laugh.
“Kel, if you need me…if you need me here? If you want me to deal with him? Anything, just say the word,” I say, and she leans in through the window and kisses my cheek, her hand trembling along my face. She’s scared. And she’s angry.
“I know. Not today. Today we get to have Thanksgiving. Jackson gets to have this. And my parents get to have this,” she says, her hand dropping to her side with a heaviness. “But tomorrow…he’s out of the house.”
The blankness to her stare when she says that last part is serious. It’s an expression she’s never made for me, because of me, and I’m grateful I’ve never earned it.
I reach out and squeeze her arm one more time. She covers my hand with hers. Her gaze is soft and warm again when she looks at me, and she takes a deep breath. For a moment, staring at her, we’re that same couple we were in high school—like I’m dropping her off after a dance, just having kissed her goodbye. She’s so very much a part of me. And yet, what we are to one another is so different now. It’s important all the same.
“You love her?” she asks, and at first, I’m nervous by her question. Not because of what she’s asking, but because of everything that she’s just been through. Because it doesn’t feel fair for me to love someone when she’s hurting like this. But the longer I look at her, the longer I think, the calmer I become. The more sure I am…sure of everything. The more I see in her eyes that she wants something for me—something more than I’ve been giving myself.
“Yeah, I love her,” I say, allowing myself to be happy and smile cautiously in front of my heartbroken best friend. She wouldn’t want me to be fake.
“Good,” she says, and I know she means it. Her smile looks sad, but only for her own loss. “You should let her know that.”
“I’m working on that. I’m not very good at…you know…sayin’ mushy shit?” Her laugh is fast and raspy, and she looks to the side while she shakes her head and leans back from the van, her hands gripping the window frame.
“Ty,” she sighs, coming back to me and placing both hands flat along the door panel, patting them down once for emphasis. “You are especially good at the mushy shit.”
Her hands slip from the window, and she backs away, giving me one wink.
“Call me, Kel. For anything. I mean it,” I say, and she holds up a hand to wave goodbye before pulling her arms in to hug her body. She doesn’t break stride, doesn’t pause at the door, doesn’t let any of it show in front of her family. She walks back inside to pretend everything’s fine for a few more hours, for today.
She’s so strong.
She’ll be okay.
I convince myself she’ll be okay.
Chapter 25
Cass
The news was spreading all over the campus news sites when we got back to school.
ASSOCIATE FACULTY MEMBER FILES LAWSUIT AGAINST SCHOOL FOR WRONGFUL TERMINATION
I read the story a thousand times. No mention of my name. No mention of his assault either. A few quotes from school administrators, talking points that only circle the story, but never really saying anything. The closest anyone gets to the truth is when one faculty member uses the word accusations. Yes, someone made an accusation—based on an assault. Student reporters don’t dig as deeply as they should. A little legwork would have turned up my police report. But they only worked off of the tip they received, proba
bly from Cotterman’s lawyer. A bigger city, a bigger state—the more the media attention would be. It’s big enough for me as it is.
The plane ride here was just as quiet as the one going. And Paige didn’t try to fix things when we got to campus. She has a big formal to attend, the fruits of her planning. She’s distracting herself with that. And I’m glad.
In the meantime, I’ve come back to a lonely dorm room. Rowe left Nate and Ty’s parents’ house in the middle of the holiday. Her ex-boyfriend—the one who was barely living on life-support—died. Nate’s not talking about it at all, and he’s been completely closed off, spending most of his time at practice and alone with Ty. Ty told me it didn’t go well, that Rowe is extremely upset. I guess Nate knew about it before she did; somehow her parents told Nate first, asking him to keep it a secret until she was done with finals.
They meant well. That’s what everyone keeps saying.
They meant well.
Everyone means well—making decisions for you, taking things out of your control. But meaning well doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.
I text my friend again, hoping she’ll say she’s coming back, that she isn’t leaving me here alone. I need her. But she doesn’t write back. She’s gone dark. And with two weeks left including finals, I worry that I may never see her again.
“You skipped!” Ty says, busting through my door with a pizza on his lap. I skipped my workout session with him this afternoon, not really feeling the energy.
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m feeling a little zapped today,” I say, not really sure if it’s my body, the stress, or my spirit. Maybe it’s all three.
“Hmmmm, okay, you get one pass. But the next time you lose a whole letter grade,” he says, flipping open the box and pulling a slice out on a napkin. The smell is glorious, and for the first time in days, I think I’m hungry.
“I didn’t realize I was getting a grade for my workouts with you,” I say, holding a slice to my mouth and blowing on it to cool.