“I do think Adam is genuinely worried about you.”
“I know. But I’m trying to move on. It’s like he won’t let me forget. He won’t stop searching for answers. Now he’s just mad because I’ll open up to Devon and Zoey over him.”
My throat closes in and I shut my eyes. “Zoey Peterson.”
“Yeah, she’s helped a lot. She’ll let me talk, but she doesn’t force it out of me. You know? I’m ashamed to admit it, but I wasn’t even that nice to Zoey when she first got here. After this, I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
I take a deep breath. One… two… three. I want to tell this girl the truth. That the person she’s painting as her savior is likely the person who attacked her. But I can’t. Not without proof.
“There might be a reason you can’t remember what happened that night,” I say, trying to steer the conversation away from Zoey and back to the party.
“When I got to the hospital, they said there was something in my system. I’ve never done drugs, so I know it’s nothing I took. It’s something someone gave me. You’d think that would make people stop blaming me, but it doesn’t.”
“What happened that night was not your fault.”
Her face melts, as though she’s about to cry again, but she doesn’t. She places her trembling hands on the desk. “Sometimes I think it is. And that’s why I hate coming to school. I hate seeing Adam and talking to my parents. Because I’ve hurt them, too.”
“Darcy, what happened that night was not your fault,” I repeat, standing and walking toward her. “And if you can’t remember what happened, that’s not your fault either.”
I take a seat next to her and feel a strong urge to hug her. I wish there was something I could do to erase her pain. But she doesn’t need contact right now. She needs space. Space to talk, and someone to listen.
She looks at me with scared eyes. “I remember parts of what happened.”
“What do you remember?” I ask, staring at her. If she’s going to tell the truth, I hope she’ll go all the way.
“I… I,” she starts, her eyes darting toward the door. It’s almost like she wants someone to walk in and interrupt. She wants a reason to stop talking.
“Darcy,” I say. “What do you remember from that night?”
She looks back at me with full tears in her eyes. “I didn’t fall,” she says, her voice cracking. “I know someone was deliberately attacking me. I remember trying to fight back.”
She leans forward, covering her mouth with her palms, and cries hard. I’m not sure what to say. I’ve been sure for weeks, but it’s different hearing her say the words. It’s not the first time I’ve watched someone break from baring their soul. Slowly, I raise my arm and rub her trembling back. She flinches but doesn’t push me away. I allow her to cry, getting as much of her grief out as possible.
“Do you remember anything else that happened before the police found you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“It’s like little flashes,” she says. “Which is why it’s just easier to let it go. Pretend my mind is playing tricks on me. Telling people I fell made them stop asking questions, even if they didn’t believe me.”
“But you can’t let it go, Darcy,” I tell her. “You can’t let it go because you know it’s not a trick. You know the memories are real.”
She nods, and just when I think she’s about to cry again, she takes a deep breath. She holds the air for a second, before breathing it out slowly. She appears stronger.
“I remember someone walking me outside. I remember sitting in the grass. And then I was cold, like my dress was being ripped. But someone was still there with me.” She takes another deep breath and stretches her fingers. “And then I remember someone on top of me. I remember someone stabbing my leg. I tried to push them away, I think. Like I said, it’s all little flashes.”
“It’s okay, Darcy,” I soothe. “If someone slipped you something, it explains your memory loss.”
“I don’t remember anything clearly until I was in the hospital. By then, my parents were freaking out. And my phone was blowing up with questions from people at the party. Everything was already so intense. I just wanted to get out of there.”
“Your parents want what’s best for you,” I say, wondering if that’s true.
“Are you going to tell them I remember the attack?”
“Legally, they need to know. But I think it should come from you.”
“How? I’ve spent weeks saying I fell and don’t remember anything. I can’t change my story now.”
“You weren’t ready to tell anyone yet,” I tell her. “You’re not changing your story. You’re telling your story for the first time.”
“People won’t see it that way.”
“We can’t control what people see. Just speak your truth,” I tell her, reaching for her hand. “What you’ve told me today took a lot of courage.”
“What do we do now?” she asks.
“I think we should go see Ms. Pam. She’ll know how to handle this from here.”
“But it’s just pointless,” she says. “I can’t tell her who hurt me. I can only say I remember the attack. I have no proof.”
“It doesn’t matter. Now that we know a crime has been committed, people can at least start looking for someone. The police—”
“I don’t want the police involved,” she says, running fingers through her dark mane. “I just want all this to go away.”
I take a deep breath. “I want you to do what makes you comfortable, of course. But you also have to consider other people. If the person who hurt you thinks they got away with it, they might try to hurt someone else.”
For the first time, her eyes aren’t filled with anger or grief. They fill with fear. She doesn’t want her silence to contribute to another person’s pain. “Do you think the police will believe me?”
“I believe you,” I say.
She covers her face again. “Coming forward with this is going to stir up a lot of shit. My parents, Dad especially, will go mad. Adam—”
“Darcy,” I interrupt her. “You can’t allow other people’s reactions to interfere with what you do moving forward. This is about you.”
“I know I don’t want someone else getting hurt.”
I look at the clock. School won’t be over for another half hour. That gives us time to talk with Pam. I’m proud of Darcy for admitting what happened, and I hope people will finally start looking for an assailant.
“I’ll walk with you to Ms. Pam’s office,” I say.
“Okay.” She stands shakily, knocking over her bag. Random items scatter across the floor. I help her retrieve them. A compact. Tampons. Her keys have far too many charms, ranging from a Mickey Mouse figurine to an emerald cross to a Victory Hills mascot. I retrieve the items closest to me and hand them back to her.
“Thanks,” she says. Her petite body reminds me how young she is, but her face suddenly looks older. Like she’s found a small fragment of peace.
Together, we leave the classroom and make the short walk to Pam’s office. Before entering the guidance wing, I turn to Darcy. “I’m proud of you for doing this,” I tell her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Mayfair.”
I open the door, allowing Darcy to walk inside. She takes a seat in the waiting area, as students typically do. Through the glass on Pam’s door, I can see she is in her office with Principal Bowles. As though they felt my presence, they look up.
I push open the already cracked door. “Excuse me, Pam,” I say. “I have a student who needs to talk with you.”
Pam clears her throat and pushes back her shoulders. “Who is it?” she asks.
“Darcy Moore,” I say.
Pam and Bowles look at each other, then back at me. “We were actually wanting to speak with you, Della.” She releases the words like she doesn’t want to. Like she’s being forced.
“All right.” I walk inside the office and close the door, so Darcy can’t hear. “What’s g
oing on?”
“What does Darcy want to speak with Pam about?” Bowles asks.
“I’d rather not say.” I look down. Darcy’s story will spread fast enough. Encouraging her to speak with Pam is one thing, but I’m not going to force the girl to share her story with Bowles, too. I look at Pam. “But she really needs to speak with you.”
“Okay,” Bowles says, walking away from Pam’s desk. “Tell Darcy to come on in. Della, follow me to my office. We can talk there.”
“What’s this about?” I ask.
“Just come with me,” Bowles says, abruptly walking past me and opening Pam’s door. He marches out of the guidance office, doesn’t even acknowledge Darcy sitting on the couch.
The door open, Darcy leans her head around the corner.
“Come on inside, Darcy,” Pam says. Darcy obeys, choosing one of the seats in front of Pam’s desk. Pam turns to me. “Thank you, Mrs. Mayfair.”
“Aren’t you staying?” Darcy asks.
“I need to speak with Principal Bowles about something,” I say. I raise my hands. “It’s completely unrelated.”
I look at Pam, who is staring at me with what seems like worry in her eyes. “I’ll take it from here,” she says.
“Just tell Ms. Pam what you told me,” I say to Darcy, before exiting the office.
Thirty-One
Winter 2005
Brian didn’t return home that entire first semester. His reluctance to visit didn’t surprise me, but it devastated Mom. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t make the two-hour trek to Wilsonville, even for the weekend. But Brian always had an excuse. He was busy joining a fraternity. He’d been selected to help tutor a freshman taking remedial English. At first, I thought his cheeriness over the phone was forced. As the weeks passed, he sounded like he was finding his place. I’d have to see him in person to know if it was an act.
According to Danny, Brian was doing all right. The two didn’t see each other as often; Danny was too focused on his first-year academics. He started texting me during the second week of the semester. I’m not sure why. We didn’t text when he lived in the neighborhood. He was firmly Brian’s friend. But now that Danny was gone, I think I was a link back to the life he sometimes missed.
As promised, Brian returned home after he completed finals in December. It was near four o’clock when I pulled Dad’s car into the driveway and saw my regular parking spot was filled by Brian’s truck.
I opened the front door and stepped into a Hallmark movie. A decorated tree stood in the corner of the room. Mom had sprinkled her collection of nutcrackers throughout the living room and kitchen. She had a roast in the crockpot and was preparing cider by the stove.
Mom looked up when I walked into the kitchen. “Hey, sweetie,” she said. She’d not called me sweetie in months. Maybe years.
“Place looks great, Mom,” I said.
“Please, it’s no trouble,” she said, stirring. If it were no trouble, she wouldn’t have spent the entire day decorating. But she couldn’t cheap out when it came to Brian, especially considering this was his first visit.
“Where’s Brian?”
“He ran out to see some of the neighborhood kids,” she said. “He’ll be back before dinner.”
I wondered which neighborhood kids Brian visited, if they were sharing war stories and comparing battle scars. I thought about Amber. I’d seen her at school a few times, but never got as close as I had on the day Brian left for SCU. If she saw me, she usually turned in a different direction. She’d made it clear she wanted me to stay the hell away.
“Can I help with anything?” I asked Mom. She instructed me to set the table using her good china. At this point, I wondered how she would outdo herself come Christmas Day if she used all her tricks now. I remembered this would be our first Christmas without Dad, and the familiar feeling of loss consumed me.
Minutes later, the front door opened, and Brian walked inside. I’d gone four months without seeing him. He had the same thick hair combed to the side and wore a SCU hoodie. Still, he looked different. His face, still handsome, was less defined. His body seemed bigger, like he’d morphed from a scrawny high schooler into a grown adult. He saw me standing by the table and came over. He hugged me. A big bear hug that almost took my feet off the ground.
“Careful, Brian,” Mom sang from the kitchen.
“I think I missed you, Della,” Brian said, tightening his arms.
I wasn’t used to this Brian. The same brother who used to get off on hurting me and calling me names like skank and slut. Normally all his comments came in the form of a dig, but this time he sounded genuine.
“I missed you, too.” It was a lie. I couldn’t miss this version of Brian because I’d never seen him before. He was all new.
We sat around the table and ate. Brian told us all about SCU. His classes were easy, and he was confident he’d aced his finals. Next semester, he said, would be even more enjoyable because he’d picked up a slew of electives. He told us about joining his fraternity and the infamous rush week, even filling us in on some of the secret group doctrine.
“I hope the hazing wasn’t too rough,” Mom said, putting her napkin on the table.
“Nah,” Brian said. “Not for me, anyway.” He assured us he was one of the most liked members of his class, which was easy to believe. Brian had the ability to charm people wherever he went. It was at home, away from the eyes of strangers, where his unflattering side arose. And yet, none of that was apparent anymore. He seemed nice. He seemed normal. He seemed like the type of older brother I wished I’d had my entire childhood, not just in the past hour.
“What about you, Della?” Brian asked. I’d purposely remained quiet as he talked, wanting to assess everything he told us. “Do you think you’ll apply to SCU? You might love it there.”
“I’m not sure. I still have time to decide.”
“Not too much time,” Mom said. “You’re halfway through junior year.”
“I know,” I said. “But I’m retaking the ACT in the spring. If I can up my score, I might have more options.”
I liked to talk about options because it made me sound older, like I had an ounce of the freedom that Brian possessed. I knew I’d end up attending the school which made the most sense financially. And SCU was a big name on that list. I didn’t want to continue in Brian’s shadow, but I didn’t exactly have the grades or the spine to do much else.
“Well, you should think about it. It’s great there,” Brian said. “I’d love to give you a tour next semester. If you visit the campus, you’ll fall in love.”
“Now that’s nice,” Mom said. She walked to Brian and kissed the top of his head. “But you better not take your sister to that frat house.”
“Of course not, Mom. Must keep an eye on my little sister.”
They both laughed. Mom reached into the top cupboard and pulled out three mugs for cider. The two continued talking, the room filling with their jovial banter. I wanted to join them, but I was too busy trying to figure Brian out. How had this person, who seemed completely charming and rational, developed in mere months? I’d spent my entire childhood trying to relate to him. He went away for a semester and came back perfect? Brian noticed me staring at him. He didn’t let on, but, as he continued his conversation with Mom, I saw his eyes dart in my direction.
“Oh rats,” Mom said, looking at her watch. “I promised the committee I’d run by the community center tonight. We’ve got the Christmas parade this weekend,” she explained to Brian.
“I’ll go with you tomorrow,” Brian said. He leaned back and took a sip of cider.
“Please, it will seem so lowbrow compared to all your college experiences.” She kissed the top of Brian’s head again. It was the one and only time I ever heard her refer to something she helped produce as lowbrow. “I’m happy you’re home.”
“Yeah, it’s nice,” he said, as if convincing himself.
“I’ll be home within the hour. You want to watch a movie
when I get back?” she asked. This time she addressed the question to both of us. We nodded. She grabbed her keys and left.
We sat alone at the table with our mugs in our hands. The scent of cinnamon filled the air. Neither one of us said anything. I’d been waiting for this. For the moment we were alone, and this preppy façade Brian wore would go away.
His phone vibrated on the table, interrupting the silence. He lifted it and his happy stare dropped within seconds. He turned and looked at the front door.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. Something had to be, otherwise his expression wouldn’t have changed so quickly.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’ll be back in a minute. Get me some more cider?”
He stood and walked outside. I stood, too. I refilled both our mugs from the pot. Then I walked toward the front door and looked out the distorted glass.
A red car was parked by the curb. A girl I’d never seen before was leaning against it. She was tall and slim with blonde hair that almost touched her waist. She was beautiful, the type of pretty that can only be cultivated at a place like college. None of the girls from Wilsonville had an effortless beauty like that.
I watched them. At first, they had a flirtatious exchange. Brian leaned against her car. She dropped a hand on his shoulder, and he touched the hairs falling around her face. After a few seconds, their body language turned frigid. Her arms were crossed, and she was taking a step away from him. Whatever they were talking about, she wasn’t getting her way.
I opened the front door, which brought their attention to me.
“Della,” Brian said. He sounded thankful I’d interrupted them.
“How’s it going?” I asked, stepping outside into the night.
He turned to the girl. “This is my sister Della,” he said.
She wiped any sign of frustration from her face and smiled. She waved, her pale fingers shimmying in the dark. “Hi. I’m Mila.”
“We know each other from SCU,” Brian explained.
What I Know: An utterly compelling psychological thriller full of suspense Page 20