by Sara Shepard
She slipped out onto the porch and shut the door firmly behind her. She couldn’t look at him directly but instead kept her eyes focused on the collection of empty boxes, soda cans, cat food tins, and half-used sacks of bird feed littering the porch. “What do you want?”
“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” Carson said gently. “I tried to text you, but your phone was off.”
Julie shrugged. She’d turned her phone off after Ashley’s email went out. She couldn’t face the aftermath.
“And you weren’t at school.”
Julie sniffed sarcastically. “It’s pretty obvious why, isn’t it?”
He scoffed. “I just want to be with you, Julie. I don’t care what people think.”
She stared at him, confused. “But what about that picture of you and Ashley?”
He cocked his head. “What picture?”
“At the Pike Place Fish Market. Ashley said, This is what Carson thinks of you now. You looked . . .” She trailed off. He’d looked, well, totally disgusted.
Carson narrowed his eyes. “The Pike Place . . .” Then he brightened. “I was in a picture with Ashley there, yeah. We were there for a class trip a few weeks ago.”
“A few weeks ago?” Julie repeated.
Carson nodded. “James West shot it, and he told us to make a crazy face. Ashley grabbed my hand, and I just went with it.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Wait, she sent it to you now? That girl is horrible.”
“I know,” Julie exploded, and she suddenly erupted into fresh tears.
Carson put his arms around Julie’s shoulders and pulled her in. She stiffened, but then relaxed into his chest, breathing in the fresh-laundry scent of his flannel shirt.
But then she leaned back. “How could you not care about the truth about me?” she asked. “Because it is true, Carson. All of it—well, at least the stuff about my mom, anyway.” She squeezed her eyes shut, reliving the awful things her mom had just said to her. “It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting.”
Carson gently pulled back so he could see her face again. “You, Julie Redding, are beautiful. And smart. And funny. There is nothing about you—not even your pinky toe—that could be considered disgusting.”
Then, amazingly, Carson tipped his head forward and brushed her lips with his. Julie didn’t even believe it was happening until a few seconds in, when her numbness subsided and she actually felt his lips on hers. They were kissing. Really kissing.
And then it hit her: This was her first kiss, ever. Not quite how she pictured it, of course—in her bathrobe, on her wretched front porch, in full view of the broken patio furniture and multitudes of Christmas decorations and even a couple of random cat scratching posts on the lawn. But it was a pure, sweet, sensual kiss all the same.
When it was over, Carson leaned back and smiled graciously at her. “Thank you,” he breathed.
“I should be thanking you,” Julie said. “Are you sure about this? About . . . me? Because, I mean, you have no idea how cruel people can be. It’s going to be brutal. It’s okay if you don’t want to be associated with me. I understand.”
He waved his hand. “I don’t care.”
She blinked hard. “You’re . . . sure?”
“Well,” he said with mock seriousness, “that depends. It’s my understanding that you yourself are not the Crazy Cat Lady of Beacon Heights. Is that correct?”
Julie couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “That’s correct,” she replied with a weak smile. “I’m simply an innocent bystander to the cat collecting.”
“Then it’s settled. You are officially absolved of all responsibility for this”—Carson pointed at the house behind her, his eyebrows bunched together as he searched for the appropriate word—“um . . . situation. . . . And you are officially my girlfriend—if you want to be, that is. Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me.”
Julie beamed at him. She couldn’t believe her eyes, her ears . . . or her heart. And just like that, every horrible thing her mother had said to her receded into the background. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t damaged goods after all. Maybe she was okay—someone worth caring for. Someone worth loving, even.
More than anything on earth, Julie wanted to believe Carson was right.
CHAPTER THREE
MONDAY AFTERNOON, CAITLIN MARTELL-LEWIS PULLED into a lot that was empty except for a boatlike green Cadillac under a canopy of trees. When she got out of her own car, her ears rang with the peaceful silence, and her nose twitched with the scent of freshly cut grass and newly planted flowers. She looked beyond the wrought iron gates and into the rolling hills peppered with tombstones. Suddenly she heard a sound behind a tree, and her heart seized. For some reason, she felt like she was being tailed . . . maybe by the cops. Was she? Were they following all of them around, trying to find something that might link them to Granger’s death?
But then she looked again. It was just a squirrel.
Sighing, Caitlin locked her car, pocketed her keys, and made her way to her brother’s grave. She could probably do it blindfolded at this point—pass the headstone with the big angels on top of it, a right at the guy who was buried next to his two Italian greyhounds, and then up the little hill and under the tree. Hey, Taylor, began the monologue in her head. It’s me again. Your crazy sister, skipping soccer practice, here to vent about how crazy my life has become.
There was so much she had to tell Taylor, who’d passed away at the end of last year . . . and so much she wished he could tell her, stuff she would never get to know. Like how much he suffered at Nolan Hotchkiss’s hands, or why he’d decided it would be easier to die than to show his sweet face at school for just one more day. Had there been a final straw? Caitlin would probably never forgive herself for not seeing the signs in him sooner. If she had, would he still be here?
She rounded a tree. Her brother’s grave was ahead—and a new Dragon Ball Z figurine rested atop his headstone. Caitlin stopped, confused. She was the only person who placed new action figures on his grave. Well, she and . . .
Her thoughts halted as a figure appeared from behind another tree. It was Jeremy Friday. The only other person who cared enough to leave Taylor little tokens.
Jeremy turned and saw Caitlin at the same time. His eyebrows shot up, and his eyes softened. His expression looked hopeful, which filled Caitlin with all kinds of emotions—love, relief, excitement, and anxiety, too. She took in his lanky frame, holey Star Wars T-shirt, and dark jeans. If you’d asked her even a few weeks ago if she’d go for someone like Jeremy, Caitlin would’ve laughed. But he was perfect. A diamond in the rough. He’d been under her nose this whole time, and she hadn’t seen how special he was.
And what was even more perfect? That Jeremy was smiling at her instead of scowling. The last time she’d seen him was two nights ago in the Fridays’ basement, when all the Granger stuff had gone down. Josh, her ex-boyfriend and Jeremy’s brother, had caught them together, and instead of standing up for their new relationship, Caitlin had just kind of . . . bolted. She’d assumed Jeremy hated her for that.
But when she stepped toward him, he pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry,” Caitlin blurted, overwhelmed. “About everything. I’m sorry I just ran like that. I just . . . I don’t know.”
“It’s okay.” Jeremy kissed the top of her head. “You were caught off guard.”
“That’s an understatement,” Caitlin said emphatically.
“But, well,” Jeremy faltered, playing with her hair. “Do you still want to be with me? I mean—I understand that it’s really complicated, so . . .”
In reply, Caitlin stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him, cutting him off. “Does that answer your question?” she breathed, when they broke apart.
He rested his forehead against hers. “That pretty much tells me everything I need to know.”
They looked down at Taylor’s grave. Caitlin wondered what Taylor would think about this turn of events—her now being with quirky, kinda-geeky Jeremy, h
er younger brother’s best friend, instead of popular ultrajock Josh. It had happened unexpectedly: Caitlin had run into Jeremy at Taylor’s grave a few weeks ago, when she was going through a particularly tempestuous time—she wasn’t sure if she wanted to continue playing soccer, she didn’t know if she was with the right guy, she was still so mixed up and angry about Taylor, and she and the others had just pulled that prank on Nolan. They’d got to talking, and Caitlin had realized how easily she connected with Jeremy. And how much he understood what she was going through. Josh never even asked about Taylor. He seemed to think that avoiding uncomfortable issues was the answer.
Jeremy shifted his weight. “So have you talked to Josh at all?” he asked, as if there was a big sign over Caitlin’s head broadcasting what she was thinking.
Caitlin stiffened. “Yeah,” she said vaguely, making a face.
“That good of an experience, huh?”
She kicked up a divot of grass. She’d run into Josh that morning at school—which had been weird enough because of the whole Granger thing. Girls were literally sobbing because Granger was gone, placing bouquets of flowers in his doorway and meeting during lunch to pray about him around the flagpole. Caitlin had been amazed that even the girls who’d turned up on Granger’s phone—like Jenny Thiel—had been in the tight knots of sobbing kids or had been one of the distraught teens slipping into the guidance counselors’ offices during class. It was like they had blinders on regarding what a jerk the guy was. And though the lawyer Caitlin had spoken with said the police were under obligation to keep her involvement with Granger’s death a secret since they weren’t yet officially charged, Caitlin was almost positive Beacon kids had caught wind of the rumor all the same. She’d gotten vicious looks all day, like everyone believed she was guilty. Even girls on her soccer team were looking at her funny—but then again, no one brought it up, so maybe she was just paranoid.
It was halfway through the morning when she ran into Josh. He’d been standing by his locker with Guy Kenwood and Timothy Burgess, his buddies from the soccer team. They’d locked eyes, and Caitlin had frozen in her tracks, knowing she’d look like an asshole if she turned around and went the other way. By the daggers Guy and Timothy were shooting her, it was clear they’d found out that Caitlin was now with Josh’s brother. Caitlin had wondered, for a split second, how exactly Josh had told them. Having your less popular younger brother steal your girlfriend wasn’t exactly something to brag about, after all.
“Well, at first he didn’t look at me,” Caitlin told Jeremy, shoving her hands in her pockets. “But then I pulled him aside and tried to explain.”
Jeremy winced. “I’m sure that went over well.”
“I told him we hadn’t been connecting for a while, and it was just a matter of time, you know?” She swallowed hard, thinking of Josh’s tight, furious expression as soon as Caitlin had said all that. “He was pretty blindsided. And hurt. But then . . . well, I don’t know. He was okay, in the end.”
“Really?” Jeremy looked curious. “What did he say?”
Caitlin took a breath. “He just said that if that’s what I wanted, then he wanted me to be happy,” she explained. She’d been astonished when Josh had said it, actually—it was so gracious and mature. I’m not going to be one of those pathetic guys who can’t deal. I’m not thrilled that you’re into Jeremy, but I guess I can’t stop you, can I?
“I expected him to be so angry,” Caitlin concluded, peeking at Jeremy. “It was nice that he wasn’t.”
Jeremy nodded. “Well, he’s been ignoring me for days. Although that’s better than him insulting me, which I figured he’d be doing in full force. Maybe our boy is growing up.”
“Maybe.” Caitlin smiled weakly. Then she was hit with a pang. Every good thing in her life, she realized, was offset by something sad or bad. Here she was with Jeremy, but at Taylor’s grave—and with Josh so hurt. Here she was, happier than she was in years, but she was also an accused murderer. Nothing came easy.
She looked up at Jeremy, Granger now on her mind. “So I guess you’ve heard about Mr. Granger—and my involvement. It’s not what it seems, though.”
Jeremy waved his hand. “Please. I know that. But why were you at his house?”
She shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. She couldn’t totally tell Jeremy the truth. “It’s a long story. But it has to do with Nolan. Some friends of mine and I thought Granger was the one who killed him.”
Jeremy widened his eyes. “Really?”
“Well, maybe not anymore,” Caitlin said faintly. Finding Nolan’s threat to Granger seemed like perfect proof—of course Granger would want Nolan dead to protect his reputation. But what if Granger was killed because he knew something else, something about Nolan’s murderer? There still could be all kinds of secrets out there.
An elderly couple appeared at the top of the hill and walked with stooped backs down the path. Suddenly feeling like they no longer had the place to themselves, Caitlin turned to Jeremy. “Pizza?”
“Sure,” he said, a grin breaking out on his face.
They headed to Gino’s, a mom-and-pop place near the cemetery that was blissfully empty at that time of the day. Over slices of white pie, they talked about normal things—Jeremy’s participation in the next science fair, shows they liked on TV, and how Caitlin’s soccer team was voting on captain this week. Caitlin was still on the fence about what soccer meant to her, but deep down, she couldn’t help feeling jittery over the election. Captain was something she’d wanted forever, and it felt weird to just let it go when she actually, finally, had a chance.
There wasn’t a single mention of Josh, Granger, Nolan, or the police—a welcome change. An hour later, after a kiss at Caitlin’s car, Jeremy climbed on his Vespa and roared off into the distance, promising to call her later. Feeling much more contented, Caitlin headed home. She’d hoped to have a few hours to herself, but when she pulled into the driveway, her moms’ cars were already there, both of them home from work.
Sigh.
She put the car in park, grabbed her soccer bag and backpack, and girded herself for whatever was going to come next. NPR was on in the kitchen—a news story about raising backyard chickens. She could hear the steady chop chop chop of a knife hitting a cutting board and water running in the sink. She could tell from the familiar and comforting assortment of sounds that Sibyl and Mary Ann, her two moms, were cooking together. Caitlin tiptoed as quietly as she could toward the stairs, but too late—Mary Ann looked up and saw her. “Honey?” she called out.
Caitlin sighed. So much for getting a few minutes to herself. “Uh, hey,” she said, remaining where she was by the stairs.
Mary Ann’s eyes were sad. “Want to help us prep?”
Not really, Caitlin thought, but she knew refusing would mean one of her moms would follow her upstairs and ask even more plaintive, intrusive questions than the ones she’d get down here. So she trudged into the kitchen and accepted a cutting board and a bell pepper Sibyl offered.
“So how was your day?” Sibyl asked cautiously, her eyes flicking from Caitlin back to her own chopping work.
“Fine,” Caitlin answered.
She felt her moms exchange a glance. She knew they wanted more. Mary Ann cleared her throat. “Did they, um, talk about that teacher?”
Caitlin carefully cut the top off the pepper. “Yeah. A lot.”
Another exchanged glance. Caitlin’s moms had been silent and worried when they’d gotten the call on Sunday that she’d potentially been part of a murder plot. She’d told them again and again that it was just an unfortunate coincidence, but she wasn’t entirely sure they believed her. Just like she wasn’t sure they believed her about Nolan—Mary Ann had made pointed comments about Caitlin’s Oxy supply, after all, begging her to get rid of the stash. And though it came back that it was cyanide that had killed Nolan, not Oxy, there was Oxy in his blood, too. As the cops hadn’t dragged them back into the station yet, the subject had been momentarily dropped, but Caitlin
knew it was swimming just below the surface, ready to erupt at a moment’s notice.
“And did you talk to Josh?” Mary Ann asked.
She looked up. Her moms were looking at her eagerly. Clearly, they wanted her to talk to Josh. Sibyl Martell and Mary Ann Lewis were best friends with the Friday parents, and though they hadn’t said it outright, it was clear that Caitlin’s dumping Josh for Jeremy had put a crimp in their social schedule. Their normal Saturday antiquing with the Fridays had been canceled for this weekend. So had Sunday brunch, which they did the first of every month, and their regular weekly Wednesday dinners. And Caitlin had heard the two of them whispering in their bedroom the night it happened—before she’d been fingerprinted for sneaking into Granger’s house, when Josh was all they’d had to worry about. Why do you think she’s doing this? they’d said in low murmurs. Is she acting out against us? Maybe this has something to do with Taylor? And: Poor Josh. He must be crushed.
She hated the Poor Josh part. What about poor her?
Caitlin must have sniffed angrily, because Sibyl put down her knife. “Honey. If you think we’re mad at you for the Josh and Jeremy thing, we’re not.”
“We’re just trying to understand,” Mary Ann broke in. “Whoever you like, it’s fine. But the two boys are just so . . . different. We’re not sure what you have in common with Jeremy is all.”
Caitlin looked up, her eyes flashing. “I have nothing in common with Josh.”
Her moms looked puzzled. “But you two have soccer. And you like doing the same things. And you have so much history.”
Caitlin scoffed. “Like that’s everything?” She shoved her half-sliced pepper away. “You know, if you actually got to know me a little better, you’d understand why Josh and I have nothing to say to each other anymore. But you just want me to be the same, predictable Caitlin as ever.” She started out of the room.
“Honey!” Mary Ann called after her. “Don’t be like that!”
“We support you!” Sibyl cried.