by McKayla Box
And that's it.
Jake is dead.
Jake is gone.
THIRTY
I'm holding a plate of food, but not eating any of it.
We left the cemetery and drive to someone's house. I don't know whose. It's big and it's quiet despite the fact that there are a lot of people there. People are whispering and talking in groups of twos and threes.
Jake's parents were near the door when we got there. My dad introduces himself and tells them he's so sorry for their loss. Jake's mom just stares at the ground. His dad shakes hands with my dad and thanks us for coming.
I don't say anything and follow my dad into the house. We pass a food table and he tells me I should eat something. So I grab a paper plate and put some crackers and cheese on it.
But I'm not eating it.
I see Bridget sitting in a chair in the far corner and walk over to her. She has a plate, too, but she's not eating, either. I sit down in the chair next to her.
“This fucking sucks,” she whispers.
“Uh huh.”
“It doesn't feel real,” she says. “And I feel sick to my stomach.”
“I've barely eaten all week,” I say.
“Same.” She leans back in the chair. “I don't know what we're supposed to do, Presley. I don't know what to say. How to feel. How to talk. I'm so fucked up.”
“Me, too,” I tell her. “I feel like I'm paralyzed. I just keep hearing his head hit the ring. I can't not hear it. And all of this feels like we're in a movie.”
She nods. “I know.” She looks around. “You wanna get some air? I feel like I can't breathe in here.”
I nod and we find the stairs that lead to the lower level of the house. We dump our plates in a trash can at the bottom of the stairs. It's a massive family room with a pool table, a wide screen television, and leather sofas. The back doors are open and we walk outside.
Gina and Maddie are sitting in chairs on the patio.
Maddie holds up a hand. “Hi.”
“Hey,” I say. I put my hand on Gina's shoulder. “How are you?”
Gina shrugs.
“Shitty,” Maddie says. “You?”
“Shitty,” Bridget says.
“Shitty,” I say.
I sit down in the chair next to Gina. “You alright?”
She shakes her head. “No. Not really.” She glances at me. “I can't stop thinking about it. Literally. I can't think about anything else.”
“I just told Bridget upstairs,” I say. “I keep hearing it. It doesn't stop.”
“I...just...” She shakes her head. “I just keep thinking he's gonna walk into the room and tell us he was just fucking around. That's he fine and everything will go back to normal. Then I see him hitting his head and just laying there and I know he's not going to walk into the room.” She shakes her head again. “It's all on repeat. Like a loop in my head.”
I nod and we all sit there quietly for awhile, not saying or doing anything.
A few minutes later, Trevor walks out of the house. He looks at me and holds up a hand.
I stand up. “I'll be back.”
I walk over to him and try to smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says. “I'm sorry I didn't call you back yesterday.”
“Don't apologize,” I say. “It's fine. How are you?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Just great.”
“Sorry. Stupid question.”
He takes my head. “I didn't mean it like that. Sorry.”
We walk over to the edge of the yard. We're on a hill and the ocean is just visible in the distance. White, puffy clouds dot the blue sky.
“For real,” I ask. “How are you?”
He takes a long time to answer.
“Mad,” he says. “Sad. Tired. A whole lot of things. Mostly mad, though.”
“Why mad?” I ask.
“Because it's not fair,” he says, squinting into the sun. “Because he's gone. Because I should've done something. Because they haven't found Kane.”
“It's not your fault,” I tell him, squeezing his hand.
“I could've stopped it,” he says. “I could've gotten to Kane first. I could've gotten in the way. I could've done something.” He shakes his head. “But I just sat there.”
“Because I told you to,” I say.
He shrugs.
“And because you knew if you got into it, the consequences were going to be bad,” I say. “You knew those things. You can't rewind the clock on that stuff.”
“I shouldn't have just sat there,” he says. “He was my friend and I let him fight and I did nothing. And it feels even worse because Kane was there to fight with me. Not with Jake. He wanted me.” He eyes me. “You wanna talk about consequences?” He makes a face. “Jake died. That feels like a pretty bad consequence to me.”
I touch his arm. “It's not your fault. And it could've been you instead of him.”
“Probably should've been.”
“Don't think that way,” I say. “Then we'd all be here and he'd be saying the same things about you. No one would be better off. It's terrible, no matter the outcome. You know that, Trevor. I know it sucks. I know it does. But this isn't your fault. The only person responsible is Kane. No one else.”
He looks out at the water and I know he doesn't believe that.
“You can be sad and you can be mad,” I tell him. “But you can't spend your time thinking it should've been you. Jake wouldn't have wanted that. It doesn't change anything.”
He looks at me. “If you think I'm just gonna let this go, you're crazy.”
“I don't expect anyone to let it go,” I say. “Everyone needs to grieve. The police need to find Kane. Those are the things that need to happen.”
He looks away again.
“I know this is awful,” I say. “It's painful for me, so I can't imagine what it's like for you. I really can't. I just don't want you to do anything that's going to make it worse.”
“I'm not looking to make it worse,” he says. “I'm looking to make it right.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know yet,” he says. “But I know a couple of things.”
“Tell me.”
“I'm done being afraid,” he says. “I'm done sitting on my ass, worrying about what might if I do this or if I do that. Fuck that. I'm not doing it anymore. Whatever happens, happens.”
“I don't think that's a bad thing,” I tell him.
“Even if it means I jump into a fight to help my friends?” he asks. He shakes his head. “Never again. I'd rather go to jail than sit on the sidelines. At least I wouldn't feel like a coward. Or worthless.”
“You aren't either of those things,” I tell him.
“I feel like both of them right now,” he says. “But the other thing is this.” He looks at me. “The cops better hope they find Kane before I do.”
“Trevor, don't--”
“Because I'll kill him, Presley,” he says, shrugging. “I'll kill him. And I know people say shit like that all the time.” He pauses. “But I mean it. I will end his life if I get my hands on him.”
“You don't mean that,” I say.
“The fuck I don't,” he says, looking right at me. “The fuck I don't. And if that's too much for you, I get it.” He loosens his hand from mine. “I get why you don't wanna be a part of that. I really do. I don't wanna hurt you and I don't wanna let you down.” He backs up a couple of steps. “So maybe it's better if we just cut the cord now.”
“Trevor,” I say. “Come on. Stop.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I mean it. I really don't wanna hurt you. I care more about you than I ever cared about anyone in my life. I don't wanna let you down.” He stares at me. “But this matters to me and I know we're not on the same page.” He pauses, squinting in to the sun before looking at me again. “I'll see ya.”
I watch him turn and walk back toward the house. He steps back into the family room or the media room or whatever it was and di
sappears.
I stand there. I can't move. I don't know what to do.
Because I don't know that there's anything I can do.
THIRTY ONE
“We need a night of normalcy,” my dad says.
It’s the next evening and we’re sitting in a restaurant, waiting on our cheeseburgers. I’m not hungry but he insisted that I order something, correctly noting that I’d barely eaten anything the previous few days.
I move the straw in my soda. “Nothing feels normal right now.”
“I know,” he says. “But we need to at least try.”
“Okay.”
“You sleep last night?” he asks.
“Not really.”
“I’m wondering if you need to go talk to someone,” he says.
“Why? I’m talking to you.”
“Not what I mean,” he says. “I mean someone who can help you process...what happened. What you saw. What you're dealing with. I don't know. I just know you're having a hard time and that's understandable. So, maybe a counselor or someone like that.”
I shake my head. “I don't need to talk to anyone.”
“What if I say you do?” he says.
“I say I'm eighteen and it's kind of hard to force me to do things I don't want to do these days,” I tell him.
He frowns. “Okay. Maybe at least think about it?”
I shrug and take a sip from the soda.
He sighs. “Alright. Maybe we need to get off that topic.”
“Good idea.”
“Can we talk about school?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“Presley.”
There's a sharpness in his voice and I look across the table at him.
“I know you're hurting,” he says. “I really do. I'm not asking you to ignore that. But we need to take some baby steps here. You've barely eaten. You've barely slept. You've barely spoken. If you don't want me to drag you to a counselor or a therapist, you're going to have to help me out here a little bit and try.”
I take a deep breath and exhale. “Okay. I'm sorry, Dad.”
“I'm not asking you to apologize,” he says. “I'm really not. I know this sucks. But I need to make sure you're okay. So you've got to work with me here. One way or another.”
I know he's right. It's not that I want to stay in this funk or depression or whatever it is. I just don't know how to get out of it.
I take another deep breath, exhale. “Okay. School.”
He gives me a thin smile. “Thank you.”
I nod.
“Have you thought at all about a major?” he asks.
I stir the straw in my drink. “I mean, a little I guess? I don't know. I've thought about maybe being a teacher, so that would mean something in education. I've been thinking about communications, just because it seems like it's a good, broad major.” I pause. “And I've been thinking about something else lately, too.”
“What is it?”
“You can't laugh.”
He frowns. “Why would I laugh?”
“I don't know,” I tell him. “Because it probably doesn't sound like me. I've never mentioned it before. It's just something I've been thinking about a little more lately. I don't even know that much about it or what I'd do with it after graduation.”
He waves his hand. “Well, now you have to tell me because I'm so curious.”
“Don't laugh.”
“Pres. Come on.”
I take a long drink from the soda, then lean back in the booth. “Oceanography.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Really?”
I nod. “Yeah. I've just been thinking about how connected I feel to the ocean and the beach. I was pretty weirded out about moving here, but the one thing that I was excited about was being near the ocean. Now I'm in it almost every day. It's the biggest reason I really didn't consider Virginia for school because I couldn't imagine being away from it. It's just...I feel like it's this huge part of who I am now.”
He smiles. “That's interesting. I mean, I know you love the beach and surfing. I guess I just didn't realize you felt that strongly about it.” He points to his face. “And see? I'm not laughing.”
“Thank you,” I say. “For not laughing.”
“Welcome.”
The server comes and drops off our food. We eat for a few minutes. The burger is good and I actually feel hungrier than I thought I was when we got there.
“I don't even really know what the major is,” I tell him. “I just know it would be studying the ocean, which would mean I'd be in and around the water and the beach. The program at Santa Barbara is pretty well-known, so I'd assume that would help me find a job after graduation.”
“Sounds like you've given this more thought than you're letting on,” he says.
“Not really,” I say. “Yeah, I looked it up and stuff. But I really haven't made up my mind.”
“Is there an intro class that you can take as a first year student?”
I nod. “Yeah. Literally Oceanography 101.” I laugh. “It sounds fake, but that's the actual class.”
He laughs, too. “Yeah. So, at the very least, you could take that class and see if it interests you. Right?”
I nod. “Yeah, that's what I'm thinking.”
“Then do it,” he says. “You don't have to have some iron clad plan the day you walk on campus. You should explore a little bit. See what interests you. That's what college is supposed to be.” He smiles. “And I'm sure Trevor would find that interesting, too, given how often he surfs.”
I look down at my plate. “Yeah, well, I don't know about that.”
He wipes at his mouth with his napkin. “Everything okay there?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Apparently not. I think we broke up.”
“You think?”
“Was just a weird conversation,” I tell him. “At the reception after Jake's funeral. We haven't talked since.”
Because he hasn't returned my calls or texts and he hasn't been at the beach. Brett hasn't returned my messages, either. I want to give him some room to breathe, to cool off, but now I'm wondering if it really is permanent.
“I'm sorry,” my dad says. “I didn't realize that.”
I shrug. “Oh well.”
“You don't have to pretend it's not a big deal,” he says.
“I'm leaving for school soon,” I say. “He's staying here. Like we talked about before. None of that is changing. So maybe it's for the best.”
“It doesn't sound like you believe that at all,” he says.
Tears sting the corners of my eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe it's not something I can control, you know?”
He taps his fingers against the table. “I'm sorry, Pres. I wish I could do something.”
I grab the paper napkin and wipe at my eyes. “Me, too. But I can't, so it's dumb to cry about it.”
“It's not dumb,” he says. “If that's how you feel, then it's okay to cry about it. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
I force a smile onto my face. “It'll be fine. Whatever happens, it'll be fine.”
He smiles back at me, but I know his is forced, too. I can tell he doesn't believe me. He knows I'm just trying to move off of the subject because I don't want to talk about it anymore.
And because I don't really believe everything will be fine.”
THIRTY TWO
We've just walked in the door from dinner when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and I'm surprised to see Brett's name on the screen.
I need your help. Can you come?
Help? Why? What's wrong?”
Can you just come down to the pier? Now?
Yeah. Leaving my house now.
“Dad, I'm going out for a bit,” I yell toward his bedroom.
“Where to?” he yells back.
“Just down to the beach for a little bit,” I say. “I won't be gone long.”
“I'll check on you in a little bit.”
I make a face because he doesn't need to check on me,
but I know he's just worried about me and, after the last few days, it's not unreasonable on his part to want to check on me.
I grab my car keys and head out.
I didn't ask Brett anymore questions about why he was at the pier or what he needed because he jumped when I asked him to come with me to Matt Wheeler's. He didn't ask me a million questions. He just said he'd meet me there. He knew I needed him and he showed up.
I am trying to return that kind of favor.
But I am curious as hell as to what he needs from me.
I pull into the lot closest to the pier and the beach is mostly deserted. I see Trevor's truck in the lot and Brett is standing on the sand.
I don't see Trevor.
I park next to the truck and get out. Brett turns and waves at me. He's in his trunks and his board is in the sand next to him. I recognize Trevor's laying next to it.
I walk down the sand. “What's going on?”
“Hey,” Brett says. “I didn't know who else to call. He's freaking me out.”
“Trevor?”
I scan the water. “I don't see him.”
“He's under the pier,” he says. “Up on the pilings. He climbed up into them and he's jumping around like a fucking chimp.” He runs a hand through his wet hair. “He's drunk, Presley.”
I look toward the pier, but I don't see him. “What the hell is he doing?”
“I have no idea,” he says. “We were surfing and then he told me he was going to climb the pier. Before I could stop him, he was swimming toward it. He just let his board go. I paddled over and he was already climbing around on the wooden posts. He was laughing and jumping around.” He frowns. “I don't know if you've been under there, but it's a fucking mess. The wood is rotting and the water is gnarly under there. If he falls, he's gonna get slammed into the wood.” He looks at me. “He's better in the water than anyone I know, but even he knows better than to do that.”
“And he's drunk?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah. He hasn't really stopped since yesterday.” He squints at the pier. “He's really fucked up over Jake.” He looks at me. “I just thought you might be able to talk him down.”
