A Good Idea

by Cristina Moracho

  “Jesus. Then who was wearing Betty’s clothes on the side of the highway?”

  “What?” I said. “You don’t believe in ghosts?”

  “You don’t really think—”

  “I don’t know what else to think. But something about Williston feels different this summer. Off. There was that fire at the high school. There’s no tourists. As far as I’m concerned, this whole fucking town is haunted.” I crushed my cigarette under my heel, picked up the butt, and threw it in the Dumpster. I didn’t know if it would be enough, but telling Jenny was a start. At least the last things I’d said were true.

  Inside, I went behind the counter and poured myself a cup of coffee. I took off my sodden apron and handed it to Owen. “It’s been a pleasure.” I took a sip of coffee, but it had been sitting on the burner too long. “This tastes like shit.”

  “Leaving already?” he said dryly. “I was so enjoying your company today.”

  “How was your chat with Emily last night?” I asked, unable to help myself.

  “Be here again tomorrow. Same time. Try to stay out of trouble between now and then.”

  “You should really do something about that coffee,” I said, and left.

  • • •

  I drove to the beach, to the place where Betty had died. I watched the last light drain from the sky, and when it was dark, I stripped down to my underwear and walked into the ocean.

  The water was so cold it hurt, but I forced myself to keep going, diving in and swimming out toward the horizon. I rolled over onto my back and stared up at the stars, this patch of sky that had been the last thing she’d ever seen, and I thought about how cold the water must have been in November, and I kept swimming, like if I went far enough out I might be able to find her again.

  But there was nothing there. Just cold, wet darkness, just my own guilt and grief, and the shore so far away. This was what Betty had meant when she talked about the unlights. Finley, I thought, when I saw how far I was from the shore, you dumb bitch.

  I started back, slow and steady, but when I tired I didn’t stop and think, Why bother? I thought, Fight, bitch, fight. I forced my numb legs to keep kicking, I forced my weak arms to keep moving through the water until I could feel sand beneath my feet again, and I walked out of the Atlantic and collapsed in a shivering, exhausted heap next to my clothes, too spent to get dressed, and I still didn’t feel any better, and I wondered if I ever would.

  CHAPTER NINE.

  WE GAVE IT about a week. Serena told a few of her fellow churchgoers about the potential eyewitness, and we waited for word to spread. I kept working at the diner to keep Owen and Dad happy, and even though I was mostly exiled to the kitchen I made it a point to emerge periodically, to clear a table or grab a cup of coffee, so I could hear the chatter among the patrons and see if the rumor had stuck. On the nights Jed bartended at Charlie’s, Serena and I posted up there, drinking beer and feeding the jukebox, listening.

  It took a few days, but finally one evening as Serena and I were programming the jukebox with every track from Appetite for Destruction, more for our own sanity than anything else—“If ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ comes on one more time,” she said, “I will fucking stab someone”—we overheard a conversation at one of the tables. It was a middle-aged couple. The man was eating peanuts and throwing the shells onto the floor. Serena and I stilled when we heard Calder’s name.

  “I think it’s ridiculous,” the man was saying. “Calder Miller didn’t kill anybody. They don’t even know if that girl is dead. Didn’t someone just see her near town the other day?”

  “I’m just telling you what I heard.”

  “Well, it sounds like bullshit to me.”

  “Fuck,” I whispered to Serena.

  She angrily punched the code for “Rocket Queen” into the machine, and we went back to our seats.

  “At least they’re talking about it,” I said.

  “What good does it do if they don’t believe it?”

  “We can’t make them believe it.”

  “Maybe we can,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah? How?”

  She looked at me, narrowing her gray eyes. “They’ll believe it if they read about it in the paper.”

  I snorted. “You think my dad will put something like that in the paper just because I ask him to? Are you kidding?”

  “I wasn’t really thinking about asking his permission.”

  My smile faded. “No way. No fucking way.”

  “Come on. You’ve got keys to the office, right? How hard would it be to go in there one night after he’s put the paper to bed and just make a few changes?”

  “Do you have any idea how much trouble he could get into?” I lowered my voice, not that anyone could hear me over “Welcome to the Jungle.” “You and I telling a few lies is one thing. Putting something like that in the paper? That’s libel. Leroy could sue my father, bankrupt him, shut down the paper—”

  “Okay, calm down. It was just an idea.”

  I grabbed my cigarettes and headed for the deck, welcoming the fresh air after sitting inside for so long. The clouds had returned, bringing with them a prickling drizzle. Leaning over the railing, I watched the waves far below.

  Serena approached me softly, putting her arms around my waist. “I’m sorry, okay? It was a stupid idea.” She stroked my hair back from my forehead and kissed me, hard. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

  I pushed her away. “I’m not mad. I don’t know what I am. I’m just sick of feeling—” What had Emily said? “So fucking helpless.”

  “I know, Finley. I know how you feel.”

  I stared out at the water for a long time, thinking. “Maybe there is a way. To slip it into the paper. Without mentioning any names, so my dad can’t get in trouble. He still wouldn’t be happy about it, but I don’t know. It might work.”

  “What might work?”

  “The police blotter.”

  • • •

  We spent the rest of the night crafting the perfect two-line item (Caller reported witnessing a crime last November, claiming he wanted to come forward but was afraid he would be prosecuted for not doing so sooner) and the next night, after Dad put the Messenger to bed around nine, it was easy enough to sneak into the office and make the tiniest addition to the files on his computer.

  The day the paper came out, our softball team was playing Pullman again. This time, we were the visitors, and everyone drove to the game like they were going to a funeral. I dragged Serena along; if Jack Emerson nailed Calder in the head this time, I didn’t want her to miss it.

  We sat at the top of the bleachers, where we could better survey the entire scene—Leroy in the bottom row with Mrs. Miller, Caroline nowhere to be seen; Calder in the dugout, staring straight ahead and not talking to any of his teammates; my father, notebook in hand, mini-cooler of beer at his feet; Owen flexing his hand inside his glove and chewing gum like he was hoping he might choke on it and be put out of his misery. From the pitcher’s mound, Jack scanned the Williston bleachers, and I had a feeling I knew who he was looking for.

  I pressed my thigh against Serena’s; finally, perhaps, we were making some progress. A hush had fallen over Williston, a tense expectancy heightened by the fact that it was clear now that the tourists weren’t coming, the weather wasn’t getting any better, and come winter the town would be fucked. The Williston side of the bleachers was filled with tight, worried faces, and my heart swelled with an evil gladness when I looked at them. The more miserable they seemed, the better I felt. Let them all get what they deserved.

  The game itself was uneventful. They scored, then we scored, whatever. It wasn’t a blowout like the last one, but in the end we still lost in a sort of bored, desultory fashion that implied we had other things on our minds. When the crowd began to disperse—the Pullman side to its local bar to celebrate, the Williston sid
e back to Charlie’s, but with far less cheer—I grabbed Serena’s hand and we followed Jack, at a distance, as he made his way back to his car.

  He was parked on a side street. I started to speed up—I wanted to catch him before he drove away—but Serena yanked my arm suddenly, pulling me behind someone’s minivan.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  Look, she mouthed.

  Caroline was waiting for Jack, sitting on his hood with her back against the windshield and her arms spread out crucifixion-style. She wore one of Betty’s least flamboyant outfits, a plain black shirtdress and espadrilles that tied around her ankles; no one else would have recognized its origin, no one besides me and Serena. Even as Jack approached, she didn’t move. Then he called her name, and finally she stirred.

  “What took you so long?” she said.

  “What are you doing here?” he said.

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Caroline, I don’t think that’s a very good idea. Where’s the rest of your family?”

  “I don’t know. I came alone.”

  He cupped her chin in his hand and pulled her face close to his, squinting; he shook his head in disgust. I guessed he was trying to get a good look at whatever was left of her pupils. “Goddammit, Caroline, not again with that stuff.”

  “Oh, please, what the fuck do you care?”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Then why—”

  “Let’s not do this again. You know why.”

  “I can only say ‘I’m sorry’ so many times.”

  “It’s not your fault. You’re just a kid, and I should have known better. But you shouldn’t be here. If your dad sees us, or your brother—”

  “Then let’s go somewhere.” She slid off the hood of the car, her skirt riding up and briefly revealing a plain, good-girl pair of white cotton panties before it fell back down to her knees. The espadrilles had a good four-inch wedge heel, and she wobbled unsteadily, listing to one side like a sinking ship until Jack grabbed her shoulders and righted her.

  “No way,” he said.

  “Please?”

  She sounded so desperate and entreating, I don’t think I could’ve said no to her, but Jack held fast. He must have been legitimately frightened of Calder and Leroy, and I didn’t blame him.

  “Why are you so scared of them?” Caroline asked.

  “Because when Calder told your father about us, he almost shut down our business. He sent in inspectors, held up our building permits. My dad had to pay thousands of dollars in fines. We’re still recovering,” he said, irritated, like he had explained the situation to her a dozen times before. “Come on, Caroline, you know all of this.”

  Serena and I glanced at each other. Was it possible that Jack’s animosity toward Calder had nothing to do with Betty? Were we crouched behind this vehicle for no reason?

  “Are you sure that’s it?” Caroline asked. “And it’s not because you think my brother killed Betty?”

  Jack said nothing for a long time. “You were sure he didn’t do it.”

  “What if I’m not so sure now?”

  “Why would you change your mind?”

  “I didn’t say I had.”

  “You’re not making any sense. You should go home and sleep it off. And flush the rest of those pills down the toilet. And you tell Owen Shepard if he sells you any more, he’s going to get a lot worse than a softball to the gut when I see him next.” Christ, was there anyone in Maine who didn’t know Owen was a drug dealer?

  Jack got into his car and slammed the door. Caroline stood on the sidewalk hugging herself, crying softly. I felt sorry for her; it sounded like Calder had destroyed whatever she and Jack had, and then Leroy set out to punish Jack for having it with her in the first place. I thought about what Emily had told me, that Leroy wouldn’t come for me but for the people I loved, the people who would be trapped in Williston long after I’d moved into my dorm room at NYU. And the Emersons didn’t even live in Williston. Just how vast was Leroy’s reach?

  Jack drove away, leaving Caroline behind.

  “Should we say something to her?” I whispered to Serena.

  She shook her head. “Let’s get out of here.”

  • • •

  I kept one hand on Serena’s thigh as I drove, silently replaying Caroline and Jack’s conversation. Were we the reason she was having doubts about Calder’s innocence? Had our campaign, the posters and the rumors and our little item in the paper, been that successful?

  But Caroline wasn’t the one who was supposed to be tortured by it.

  “Charlie’s?” Serena asked, like she was reading my mind.

  “Let’s get a closer look at Calder,” I said. “I want to know why Caroline’s having doubts.”

  I parked off Main Street. “Wait,” Serena said before I could open my door.

  “What?” I said, turning to her.

  She sprang at me from the passenger seat, kissing me, hands in my hair, pulling at my shirt, frantically unbuttoning my jeans. She pushed her seat back and reclined it, then guided me over the gearshift so I was half-sitting, half-lying on top of her, both of us facing the windshield, her hands prowling under my shirt, exploring farther and farther. I craned my neck so I could keep kissing her, but when her fingers reached their destination I threw my head back, gasping quick and sharp. I came in less than a minute, my thighs shuddering, whole body convulsing in a way not unlike when I had gotten sick in the bathroom at Charlie’s. Serena stroked my stomach gently while I tried to catch my breath, but when I moved to reverse our positions, she stopped me.

  “No?” I asked.

  “Later,” she said, grinning mischievously behind the curtain of black hair that had fallen over her face.

  “Okay,” I said, and kissed her.

  My knees were still trembling when we got out of the car.

  “Wait,” she said, trying to smooth my mussed hair. She shook her head. “It’s no use.”

  “What?” I asked. “How do I look?”

  “Freshly fucked.”

  “Oh, well,” I said, taking her hand and leading the way to the bar.

  We separated before we walked in, unconsciously putting negative space between our bodies. I could still feel her hands on me, her breath on my cheek, hear my own muffled cries echoing in my ears even as we were swallowed up by the din and chaos of the bar. People looked at us as we made our way inside, and I could see the knowing in those looks, and I realized my relationship with Serena was as much an open secret as Owen’s dealing, and what I had been trying to tell him all summer—that there were no secrets in this town—applied just as much to me.

  I felt as exposed as if I’d opened my eyes while Serena had her hand in my pants and seen them all there, watching us through the windshield.

  Sweat bloomed under my arms. Serena must have sensed my anxiety. “Just ignore them,” she said.

  “I’m trying,” I replied.

  Everyone was there. Or at least that’s how it seemed. Logically, I understood there was no way a town of 1,300 could fit inside a bar even as spacious as Charlie’s, but I recognized every single person. The softball team still in their uniforms. Calder sat at a table with Rebecca and Shelly and a bunch of kids I recognized from Shelly’s party. Charlie’s was pretty relaxed about serving older teenagers if their parents were there. I looked around until I spotted the elder Millers, Leroy drinking a Budweiser like it made him a man of the fucking people, his wife sipping tentatively at a glass of white wine I was sure had come out of a jug. I didn’t see Caroline anywhere. Janet and her divorcees had commandeered two tables, and the usual regulars were lined up on their barstools. I figured Owen was underneath the deck, selling somebody something, and that eventually he would surface.

  “I’ll get us a couple of beers,” Serena said. “See if you can get close
enough to Calder to hear what they’re all talking about.”

  I was heading in that direction, reaching for my cigarettes, when a hand clamped down on my arm, hard. I looked up, annoyed, expecting Owen—I blamed him for anything that irritated me—and instead found myself face-to-face with my father, whom I had scrupulously avoided all week.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  For once, I didn’t argue. I let him steer me out the door, to the farthest corner of the back deck. It was chilly, and I’d left my hoodie in the car, so I tried to chafe the goose bumps from my forearms and avoid eye contact with Dad.

  “I warned you, Finley,” he said. “I really did.”

  “What are you—”

  “You thought you could slip something into the police blotter and I wouldn’t notice? Or you knew I would figure it out eventually, and you just didn’t care?”

  “It’s all anonymous. There’s no names, no way for you to get in trouble—”

  “You snuck into my office, you altered my newspaper before it went to press, you printed something false in my fucking paper. Great, so the Millers can’t sue me. That doesn’t make me feel any better. That doesn’t solve my problem.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’re unrecognizable to me,” he said. “I don’t know who you are, I can’t trust you, and I don’t want you living in my house anymore.”

  “Dad, I’m sorry—”

  “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe anything that comes out of that mouth. Tomorrow you can call your mother and tell her you’re coming home. And I want to be there when you do it. I want to make sure you tell her why.”

  I was ashamed, because I knew he was right. I was a liar, and I wasn’t sorry about what I had done, and even as I stood in front of him trying to arrange my facial expression into some approximation of contrition, I was already scheming—he could make me leave his house, but he couldn’t make me leave Williston; I could sleep in my car; I could stay at Owen’s; I had Serena and we had unfinished business, Betty’s and our own. I would do it again, and I would do worse, until Calder had gotten what I decided he deserved.