I need to go. I need to get out of this room. “I’ll be right back,” I say to Lizzy and Gina.
“Where’re you going?” asks Lizzy. “That guy Marcus is coming over here. Don’t you want to talk to him?”
Gina pulls me close. “Are you okay?”
I turn away. I can only imagine what I must look like now, sweat beads popping up all over my forehead, crazy swirling cartoon eyes, maybe. Gina knew me well enough, once. I don’t want her looking at me too closely.
I press my lips together. “I need to be alone for a few minutes.”
“Of course,” Gina says. She lets go of me but not before she says, “We’re here for you, Cass. I hope you know that. Just because things didn’t—”
“Thanks,” I say. It’s what people say at funerals. Gina’s not a liar, but I think she’d take her offer and run, a marathon maybe, if she ever found out the truth about that night—the night Devin died. If she found out what kind of a best friend I really am.
I leave my plate on an end table and head quickly toward the staircase, I don’t know why, but I need to go upstairs. I’m drawn there; my body moves as if I don’t have a choice. I know Marcus is watching me— I can feel it—but I keep going.
“That’s gotta totally suck,” I hear Jack say.
“This port-wine spread is amazing,” says Samantha.
“Cass.” Marcus is right there, faster than I thought. “Wait up, okay?”
I don’t turn around. “I need to do something,” I mumble.
“I just want to talk,” he says. “Don’t you want to talk? Cass,” he says. “Cass, please look at me.”
His voice melts me. I turn around for a split second and catch a glimpse of him, his eyes and his teeth. “I can’t.”
“Come on, Cass, it’s me.”
It’s Marcus. I know but still. “I can’t,” I say.
I turn away and head up the tall staircase that’s so similar to my own, my hand skimming the polished oak railing. He puts his hand on the railing, but I move mine too quickly and the opportunity is lost. We do not touch. I keep going, and Marcus doesn’t follow. That would just be weird, and I’m sure he knows it. Even desperation has its limits in civilized society. I feel him watching me, though, and I know he’s still at the bottom of the staircase.
At the top of the stairs, the door to Devin’s room is open. I forget almost completely about Marcus, and I run to it. But then I stop in the doorway. My heart pops. Devin’s room is freshly cleaned. Her bed is neatly made with the pink patchwork quilt. Her makeup case sits on her desk, a stick of brown lip gloss poking out from inside, as though she’s just gotten ready to go out. Posters of celebrity crushes in various stages of undress hang on the wall. Nothing is out of place. Nothing has changed. Then I see, placed carefully beside Devin’s bed, her pink terry-cloth slippers, her favorites, worn smooth. She’s had them for so long, they’ve molded to the shape of her feet.
“Devin.” I move toward them. My heart brushes against my chest, and my body bristles. It’s a strange sensation, not painful, but not exactly pleasant. I don’t know why but I say, “Devin?” as if I expect her to answer. “Devin?”
I was just here. We were just here. It was a night like a million others before it; we got dressed, put on makeup, talked about what might happen, told jokes. Jokes. But then that night wasn’t like any other, because it was Devin’s last. Just like that, any day can be your last. Everything we did that night in her room seems ridiculous. I mean, it’s not like you need lip gloss when you’re dead.
I close my eyes and breathe. Because, still, I think, way deep down, I expect to open my eyes and see her there. See Devin sitting at her vanity, brushing her hair. Or something. My eyes are closed, and then, just like the other day in the Rhodes’s garden, I feel something. It’s an unmistakable something or someone. I feel it first on my shoulder. Soft fingers holding on, and then another hand, maybe, on my other shoulder. The hair on the back of my neck rises and sways. It tickles, and I shrug to ease the feeling. Cool air rushes against my neck, then blows in soft, rhythmic whispers into my ear, again and again and again.
My heart pumps quickly. I fold my arms around myself and lift my head. “Devin?” I say again. “Devin, is that you?”
As if to answer, a feeling of hands moves up my arms and settles on my chest. Soft fingers linger over my charm; its coolness presses against me. I take in some air and bring my hand up to my charm, and for a moment it’s hand on hand.
The invisible fingers move from my shoulders, tapping, touching, and slowly curl themselves around my neck. They begin to tighten, and I want to scream, but my throat constricts and nothing can get in or out. Not words. Not air. My eyes are open now, but still, there’s darkness.
Before
A CAR HONKED AT US AS WE LEFT Cordeau’s Jewelers and headed down the street. I’m bad with cars, but it was newish and silver and driven by two guys who were way too old for us. That didn’t stop Devin.
“Come on,” she said. She grabbed my hand and squeezed, yanking me toward the curb.
“What are you doing?” I asked, dragging my feet.
“What do you think?” she said, still pulling me.
“You’re not going to talk to them, are you?” I asked. “Last summer you wouldn’t even ride to the mall on Jared Tomassi’s handlebars. Now you’re going to talk to two strange guys in a car?”
Devin sighed. “A bicycle is not a hot car, and a ninth-grade boy is not a man.”
We reached the car, and Devin leaned against the driver’s side. The driver had pulled over a few stores down from the jewelry shop. I chewed on my fingernail. Lately things like this happened more and more.
“Were you honking at us?” Devin said, smiling sweetly. She flipped her hair over to one side and pushed the other side behind her ear.
“Would you like it if I was?” The driver was cute; I gave her that. Dark brown curls fell onto his forehead, and he had eyes the color of blueberries, with long lashes to match. He smiled, and I couldn’t help staring. He might have been the best-looking guy I’d ever seen in person. But he was definitely too old for her. I was totally creeped out.
“Maybe,” said Devin, grinning back. She loosened her grip on my hand but didn’t let go.
“I’m Greg,” he said. “This is my buddy Dan.” For the first time I noticed the guy in the passenger seat. He was cute, too, but he was no Greg. He was more Sears catalog while Greg was GQ. I totally got the sidekick gig.
“Hi,” Dan said, raising his hand. His smile was more forced. He stared at us and then leaned over and whispered something to Greg that I couldn’t hear.
Greg ignored him and kept talking to Devin. “It’s hot out,” he said. “Good thing my AC is pumped.”
“Lucky.” Devin nodded, still smiling. She inched closer, slowly bringing me along. “We walked all the way here, and now we have to walk back.” She tilted her head. “I guess.”
No, I thought to myself. No, no. I squeezed her hand—a signal. Don’t get any closer. These guys were cute, but they were too old, much too old. Probably in college.
“Yeah, well, I can see you’re hot.” Greg grinned. “You know, from all that walking.”
Devin tugged on my hand and pulled me toward the car. What was she doing?
“Are you crazy?” I whispered. I tugged back and pulled us farther away again.
Dan seemed as thrilled as I was about the situation. He leaned back into his seat and shook his head. “Come on, man, they’re just kids.”
Greg patted Dan on the knee. He was still smiling. “How old are you, gorgeous?” he said to Devin.
Devin sighed dramatically, teen-soap style. “What’s age anyway?” She pulled on me harder, and I actually tripped forward. She shot me a can’t-you-even-try-to-be-cool? look. Then she turned back to the car, put her other hand on her hip, and grinned. “Just a number.”
“Actually, it’s the law,” said Dan, leaning forward. “Age is the law.” He shook his hand in a
dismissive way. “Why don’t you girls go play hopscotch?”
“How rude,” said Devin. “We’re a bit beyond that, my friend.”
“I doubt that,” said Dan. “And I’m not your friend.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” said Greg. “Relax. No need to get all bent out of shape.” He leaned on the car door and rested his elbow on the tip of the window. Thick brown hair covered his arm and curled over a silver wristwatch. “Seriously, though. You girls in high school?”
Devin moved toward the car and put her hand next to his. Her other hand still held mine. She leaned toward him. “Cass plays the guitar. Like in a band.”
“Devin!” I was so not in a band, but maybe one day. Still, what was she doing?
“Really?” said Greg, totally uninterested. “A high-school band?”
“We’re sophomores,” I said quickly. I wanted out. I wanted to get as far away from this car as possible. All three of them turned in my direction. Devin glared at me so sharply it hurt. She dropped my hand.
“Crap,” Greg said, rolling up the window. He didn’t look at us again and peeled off down the street.
Dan, however, stuck his head out the window. He yelled at us down the street. “Didn’t your mothers ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”
Devin stamped a foot and flicked him off, but I’m sure he didn’t see. “Jerks!” she said. “Losers!” Ironically she looked younger than she had in a long time.
“Exactly,” I said. “What were you thinking? They could’ve been, I don’t know, dangerous.”
She glared at me, then rolled her eyes.
“And telling them I’m in a band?” I said. “God, Devin.”
“Oh, shut up, Cass,” she said. “You wish you were.”
Of course I did, and I hated that she knew that. But that wasn’t the point.
“It was just for fun.” She kicked at the sidewalk. “You’re way too uptight. When are you going to grow up already?”
There was so much I wanted to say. So many words welled up in my throat. We were far away from the girls who’d played dress-up—who’d clomped around in Mrs. Rhodes’s high heels, draped in her silk scarves. Who wanted to be fancy grown-up ladies, but only for pretend. Game over. Devin didn’t get me anymore, and I didn’t get her. I should have stormed away dramatically and hurled my best threats at her—that’s what Devin would have done. But that wasn’t me. So I did what she said. I shut up.
AFTER
“CASS, ARE YOU UP THERE?”
It’s Mrs. Rhodes. The tightness around my neck disappears, and I can breathe again. It’s just Mrs. Rhodes. Just Devin’s room. Just me, alone in Devin’s room, right? I take deep breaths, in and out, in and out, and walk over to the large window at the far end of the room. I bring my hands up to my neck. My skin is smooth, unscarred. The charm sleeps softly against my skin. I press my forehead against the cool glass and watch as flashes of red and white headlights illuminate the street below. Just me, alone. My heart slows. What just happened?
“Cass?” Mrs. Rhodes is standing in Devin’s doorway now. All around the doorway are the flowers Devin painted on her wall so long ago. Of course, it was always flowers for Devin.
“You’re in her room,” she says, still staring. Does she know? Does she realize what just happened?
I nod. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, no, it’s okay.” She runs her long manicured fingers through her hair and sighs. “Somehow it makes me feel better, too. That’s why you’re up here, isn’t it?”
She has no idea, does she? I nod a lot. “Yes,” I say, but I don’t really look at her. “I guess so.”
Her eyes glaze over again with tears. “It’s almost as if when I’m up here, she’s with me.” She laughs. “It’s crazy, I know.”
Not really, I think. Not crazy. I bring my hands up to my throat. It’s sore, as though just thinking about screaming has rubbed it raw.
Mrs. Rhodes lingers in the doorway. There are no words right now; we’re just staring at each other, and I wish she would move so I could get downstairs. I need to leave just as much as I needed to come up here. I need to get out of this room, out of this house. I need air. “Cass, I—are you okay?” Mrs. Rhodes rubs her eye, leaving a smudge of what’s left of her mascara.
“Yes, I think—” Beneath the bed Devin’s slippers have moved slightly and now face the other way, as though she’d just taken them off and slid them under there. “I’m—I’m fine.” I stare at the slippers. Maybe I knocked into them by mistake? I don’t remember, but… maybe that’s what happened?
Mrs. Rhodes looks over toward the bed. “Oh,” she says, her voice cracking. “Her slippers.” She walks over and adjusts them, putting them back in place near the bed. She stands up and stares at me, her eyes wide and unblinking. I do the same, and for a moment, you can see the connection in the air, eye to eye, hovering between us. She thinks I moved the slippers. I know I didn’t. My eyes begin to sting, and soon I blink and look away. I wonder if Mrs. Rhodes reads into that. Reads what I’m trying to hide.
If she does, she doesn’t say so. “Listen, Cass, a detective’s going to call you. He wants to talk, you know, if there’s anything you can tell him.”
“Ah, okay.” Warm beads of sweat form above my lip. I lick them off.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know how difficult it must be for you to—to talk about things. It’s just part of the process.”
“I want to help. I mean, whatever I can do.” I do want to help. But that’s not everything, is it? Right now I want to leave. Right now I can’t even think. Those slippers…
She nods a few times. “Yes, well, we appreciate it, Mr. Rhodes and I.” She stares at me, still nodding. “We appreciate anything you can do for…” She clears her throat with a wet gurgling noise. “For Devin.” Her voice is hoarse from tears.
She reaches toward me and gently takes my hand, just as she did the other day in her backyard. I can barely feel my hand, as though it’s separate from my body, just floating there in hers. “Cass,” she says, still holding on. “I hope we can talk to each other. I hope we can.” She licks her lips again and pauses. “Let’s help each other, okay?”
I still can’t feel my hand, so it takes me a moment to realize that Mrs. Rhodes has let go. It’s only my heart knocking at my chest that clues me in to the fact that I’m breathing quickly and probably too loudly. “Okay,” I say, trying to slow my breath. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” she says.
Can she hear how loud my heart is beating? I close my mouth and breathe through my nose, but that doesn’t help. My heart can’t or won’t slow down.
Mrs. Rhodes straightens up and takes a deep breath. “There’s a boy downstairs who says he knows you.” She plays with her string of pearls.
I bite on my lip. “I saw.”
“A boyfriend?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
“Oh, no,” I say. “Nothing like that.” Not anymore at least.
“He seems nice,” she says. “Here he is today, and he barely knew Devin, right?”
Mostly right. But they’re linked. I just can’t tell her that. “He’s okay.”
“People come out of the woodwork for these things, don’t they?” I think she tries to smile, but her lips turn downward. Her mouth doesn’t move that way now. Maybe it won’t ever again. Mrs. Rhodes’s perfect mouth, stuck forever in neutral.
“I guess so.” But Marcus didn’t crawl out of any woodwork. He’s absolutely connected to this whole mess.
She turns away from me. “We’d better get back downstairs.”
“Sure.” Thank God. I follow her down the stairs. My legs shake beneath me, and I hold on to the banister to steady myself. I’m still reeling from what happened in Devin’s room. What am I doing to myself? Ahead of me Mrs. Rhodes walks slowly but deliberately, also holding on to the banister. She looks old from behind.
Mr. Cordeau is at the foot of the staircase. “There you are, Susan.” He take
s Mrs. Rhodes’s slender hands into his large palms. “Let me tell you again how sorry I am. Truly, truly sorry.”
Mrs. Rhodes looks tired, like she’d rather turn around and crawl into her bed. “Thank you, Jim,” she says, looking off to the side. She slowly pulls her hands away. “We appreciate your coming by.”
His gaze lingers on her, as if he’s searching, but she keeps her head down. “Of course,” he says. There’s a hint of a frown. Susan Rhodes is grieving. Her sparkle has faded.
His eyes turn toward me. “And for you, too,” he says. “Losing your best friend, and in such an…” He pauses. “There are simply no words.”
“Thanks,” I say. There are words, all right. Does he think I’ll tell him those words just because he made me a best-friend charm a few weeks ago? I turn away from him. I’m allowed, given the circumstances.
“I hope you have people to talk to,” he says. “When you feel the need.”
My cheeks grow warm. “I do,” I say. For example, Mrs. Rhodes wants to talk, even though I will never talk to her.
He turns back to Mrs. Rhodes. “Susan, dear, if there’s anything I can ever do.”
Mrs. Rhodes nods again, but her back is stiff and her eyes are far away. “Thank you, Jim,” she says, but it’s clear she’s done talking. Done with all the well-meaning visitors. Mr. Cordeau pats the top of the banister, then turns quickly to me. “Well, bye, then,” he says. He walks toward the front door. He looks over at Mr. Rhodes but then leaves without saying good-bye.
Mrs. Rhodes wipes tears from her eyes. “Out of the woodwork they come,” she says. I look around, but Marcus is gone. My heart sinks a little, betraying my mind. It’s better this way, I tell myself.
We make our way back into the living room. The babka I brought is now on the large table. It looks a little lost, as if it’s not sure why it’s there, surrounded by fish. I’d like to grab it, take it back. If the babka never gets eaten, maybe it will be like none of this ever happened. Maybe it will be like Devin’s still alive and I’m not this person I no longer recognize.
Devin Rhodes is Dead Page 3