As the district attorney had said—loudly and in front of the cameras—accused murderers don’t get out on bail, no matter how much money they have. He is also running for reelection this year.
Kay leads Zach to a small room with one door, no windows, a plastic table, and two chairs. She tells him to put both hands on the table and pats him down. It’s more than a little weird when she gets to his groin.
After confiscating his phone and keys, she leads him out of the room and down another dark hallway. They pass two empty jail cells before getting to Courtney.
She looks worse than Zach imagined. Pale, tired, and so very thin. She looks like she hasn’t had a decent meal in months. Probably hasn’t.
Courtney gasps when she sees Zach. “How—”
“Doesn’t matter how,” Kay says, unlocking the door to the cell. She motions for Zach to enter. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”
Zach steps inside the cell and gives Courtney a hug. “Hey, Nerd.”
“That’s enough touching,” Kay says.
“Sorry,” Zach says.
Kay nods at both of them and closes the door. The metal-on-metal sound is horrible. So final.
Zach waits until Kay walks away, then points to Courtney’s outfit. It looks like hospital scrubs, except grey. “I’m pretty disappointed you aren’t wearing an orange jumpsuit.”
“Me too. I was kinda looking forward to that.”
She smiles. He smiles back.
“Have a seat,” she says, pointing to a metal chair bolted to the floor. She sits on the bunk. “I can’t believe you found a way in.”
“I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be.”
Courtney rubs her fingers together, the international gesture for cash. Zach nods.
“I should have thought of this earlier,” he says.
“Yeah, you should’ve. Loser.”
He smiles. “Is it stupid to ask how you are?”
“I’m exactly as bad as you think I am.”
“How are they treating you?”
“They’re pretty nice, actually. Sometimes, the guards play cards with me. Through the bars, I mean.” She stops, clears her throat. “They’re the only ones I have to talk to. Other than my lawyer and my dad.”
“I guess that’s good,” Zach says, though he doesn’t think it is. None of this is good.
“But I don’t want to talk about here,” Courtney says. “Tell me what’s going on at school. Distract me.”
What’s going on at school is her. It’s all Courtney, all the time, especially now that the trial is so close and everyone is divided about what’s going to happen. What should happen.
“Connor broke up with Siobhan,” he finally says.
“Seriously?”
“Truth.”
“Tell me.”
Zach gives her the details, stretching the story out to be as dramatic as possible. Anything to avoid talking about the trial or Courtney’s mother.
“I knew they’d never make it,” she says. “What else?”
He tells her all the gossip he can remember, even the small stuff. She smiles and laughs, and even squeals a few times, but it sounds forced. Like she’s trying to enjoy the things that used to make her happy.
Kay appears in front of the cell door, looks inside, and then disappears.
Finally, Courtney gets around to asking the question Zach knew was coming: “Does everyone think I did it?”
“No.”
“But some do.”
He shrugs.
“Truth,” she says.
“Yeah, some do. The assholes.”
She shifts in her seat, leaning forward toward Zach. “What are they saying on TV?”
He hesitates.
“Come on. No one will tell me,” she says.
He takes a deep breath and tells her the truth. “They’re saying you cracked under the pressure to get into a good college.”
Courtney sits back and stares at him, shaking her head. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s messed up.”
“But on the upside,” Zach says, “you’re the poster child for why parents need to back off.”
Her eyes widen. “I’m a poster child?”
Kay appears in the doorway. “Hank’s break is almost over. He’ll be back soon, so wrap it up.”
Zach nods. Courtney stares at the one window in the cell. It’s small and narrow, with bars on it. She looks much older now, though he isn’t sure why.
“It’ll be okay,” he says. “This will all be over soon.”
She turns to him. “I didn’t hate her,” she says. “I mean, yeah, I said that, but I didn’t really. She was my mom.”
“I know.”
“You get that, right?”
“Of course.”
Courtney sighs, her body slumping. She looks so defeated. “You remember when we were like eleven years old and our families went to the lake? We all stayed in that house together?”
He nods. “Sure.”
“We had that blow-up raft with the clear window in it, so you could see the water below. We lay on it facedown to watch the fish.”
Zach smiles. “And floated out too far. We had to take turns paddling back.”
“But remember when we first looked up?” she says. “And we saw how far the dock was?”
“Yeah.”
“Everyone had gone inside or something. No one heard us when we yelled.”
“I remember.”
“That’s how it feels in here,” she says, looking at him with hollow eyes. “The same way it felt on that raft.”
33
ALL FRANK WANTS is for everyone to shut up. They won’t.
Before class, during class, after class, at breaks, at lunch, after school, at home. Yesterday, he stopped at the CVS after work and a reporter tried to talk to him. The asshole had followed him from Belmont, then walked right up behind him in line and asked him a question about Courtney.
“No comment,” Frank said.
“Look, I get it,” the reporter said. His breath smelled like cigarettes. “A lot of reporters out here are just looking for a juicy story. A byline. I’m looking for the truth.”
“No comment.”
“I won’t use your name.”
“No comment.”
The reporter had tried three or four more times before giving up and walking away.
This morning, as Frank drove into school, he saw that same reporter standing outside the fence. It wasn’t snowing, but the temperature was below freezing and Frank hoped that reporter was cold.
A second later, he scolded himself for thinking such a thing.
He could imagine what that reporter would say if he knew the truth about Frank.
If he saw that picture.
The first time Frank saw it was a week after he got drunk with Ingrid. She’d called, saying she wanted to continue their conversation. He’d said yes. In part because he was embarrassed, but also because he couldn’t say no. Not to a board member.
The bar was out-of-the-way, dark, and quiet. Ingrid looked good. Then again, she always looked good. But that night, especially so. At first, the conversation was mundane—work, school, the change in weather. Then she brought up Courtney.
“I understand she’s been having some trouble in your class.”
Frank shrugged, not wanting to talk about Ingrid’s daughter at that moment. “It’s AP Calculus. Most students have trouble with it.” And Courtney wasn’t doing that badly, though she was usually a straight-A student. In his class, she was averaging a B+, but there was plenty of time left in the semester.
He didn’t say any of that to her mother.
“Is there anything you can do to help her?” Ingrid asked.
“Like
tutoring?” he said. “I can give you some names, if that’s what you mean. There are several good math tutors that Belmont recommends.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Frank’s hand froze midair, his drink suspended between the table and his lips. Something in her tone was different. Not so flirty anymore. In fact, not flirty at all. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said.
“I think you do.”
He smiled a little, trying to bring back the lightness. “Do I?”
“Don’t be stupid, Frank.” Ingrid took out her phone. She swiped it open, clicked a few times, and slid it across the table.
The photo, clearly a selfie, taken by her, was of him. And of Ingrid, though her face couldn’t be seen; it was covered by her hair. His was visible, though. His eyes were closed, they were in bed, and from the waist up, they were naked.
He didn’t remember that at all. He didn’t even remember taking off his shirt.
“What is—”
“I assume you don’t want anyone to see that,” Ingrid said.
“No, I—”
Ingrid snatched the phone away from him. “Then my daughter better get an A.”
He stared at her, at first confused. The realization came slowly and, with it, the agonizing pain of how bad this was. “But we never did anything,” he said. “I couldn’t have done anything.”
Ingrid smiled. “Try explaining that to your wife.”
* * *
REVENGE WASN’T SOMETHING Frank had ever thought about. He was taught to turn the other cheek, so that’s what he had always done.
Until he saw Ingrid on the day of Sonia’s party.
Frank was at school early, like always, because it was quiet there and he could work.
And there she was.
Ingrid. In the parking lot, her arms filled with boxes full of party supplies, and she was taking them into the school. She was wearing yoga pants and her Collaborative jacket, her hair pulled back into a neat bun. Ingrid looked so normal, just like all the other parents. She didn’t look like a succubus.
Frank pulled in behind another car, blocking her view of him, but he could see her car from his side mirror. He didn’t move.
Not yet.
The back of her SUV was open, which meant she would return.
As he sat in his car, waiting for her, he imagined that picture on her phone. What she had done was worse than horrific. It was . . . unconscionable.
And Frank was embarrassed, even more so because today he would have to see her at the party.
He imagined her staring at him, a silent threat in her eyes.
He stopped feeling embarrassed and started feeling angry. That’s when the idea hit.
The water bottle.
She always had it with her, and inevitably it was filled with green tea. She loved that stuff, had even told him about her love for it when they were drinking alcohol.
Her car was open, the doors were unlocked, and no one was around. The water bottle was right in the cup holder next to her seat. So easy. It would be just so easy.
All he wanted was for her to go away for a while. To spend half the day in the restroom and miss the party. So he wouldn’t have to look at her.
Not so she would die. He’d never wanted that.
His gym bag was in the car, always, even though he hadn’t been working out recently. And one thing he always kept in his bag was diuretics. How was he supposed to know his real weight if he was bloated with water? Impossible. When he wanted to check his weight and body fat, he used a diuretic a few hours before. It wasn’t that big of a deal to spend more time in the bathroom.
So when he had the chance, he slipped some into Ingrid’s tea.
It wasn’t until much later that he googled the potential effects of the drug. One of them is heart failure.
34
AT LUNCHTIME, FRANK makes the mistake of going to the lounge. He assumed it would be empty and everyone would be in the Porter Room, watching TV, but the room is packed. Everyone is grabbing their lunch out of the fridge or heating it up in the microwave. And everyone’s talking about who will be testifying. More specifically, who they are testifying for.
“I can’t believe they called me,” Sonia says. “The fact that any of us have to testify against one of our students is just . . . abhorrent.” She’s dressed in black, again, just like she has been since Courtney was arrested. Some say it’s because she’s in mourning. Others say it’s because she’s been gaining so much weight.
Frank doesn’t care. He just wants her to shut up.
“I heard they’re going to call Nari, too,” someone says. Nari is a history teacher, and like Sonia, she’s a faculty liaison to the Collaborative.
“I bet a lot of parents will be testifying, too,” another teacher says.
“What about the students?” Sonia says. “Some of them must be testifying for the defense.”
“I certainly hope so,” says Louella Mason. She’s an art teacher with a self-proclaimed old soul. On more than one occasion, Louella has burst into huge, wracking sobs while talking about Courtney. This is one of those occasions.
Everyone has something to say. A lot to say, actually.
Except God. He isn’t talking to Frank anymore.
“I’m going back to my classroom,” Frank says to Teddy. “Get some work done.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Back at his desk, Frank checks his phone. There’s a message from his wife, asking him to pick up a cheese grater on his way home from work. The request is so mundane, so normal, it makes him feel a little bit better.
He reads the Bible on his phone until his fifth-period class starts.
1 John 1:9. But if we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness.
Frank doesn’t feel the forgiveness. He reads the passage over and over again but still feels nothing.
AP Calculus. The same one Courtney used to be in. Her desk still sits empty. He tried to move it once, but a student asked him not to. She said Courtney would be back soon and he should leave it, so he did.
The empty desk bothers him. When he stands at the front of the class, he sees it out of the corner of his eye.
Today, he sees Courtney sitting there. Right where she should be.
When he looks directly, the desk is empty.
A few minutes later, he sees her again out of the corner of his eye. She sits up tall and straight, her hair pulled back tight, her shirt crisp and ironed. When he looks straight at the desk, she disappears.
He sees her three more times before class ends. Once, Frank almost speaks to her before she vanishes.
As the students leave, he slumps in his chair, exhausted. His eyes are just playing tricks on him—that’s all. Those weren’t hallucinations. He refuses to call them that.
* * *
SONIA BOUGHT FOURTEEN possible outfits to wear in court. She tries each one on, takes a selfie, and loads the photos onto the computer. One by one, she goes through them, trying to decide which outfit makes her serious but not somber, intelligent but not unstylish. And thin. Or at least thinner than she is. It’s so unfortunate real life doesn’t have filters.
“I think I have to go shopping again,” she says.
“Again?” her husband says.
She looks up, surprised he answered. Surprised to see Mark sitting beside her on the couch. She didn’t realize he was even there.
Eating ice cream.
“Can you do that in the kitchen?” she says.
“What? Eat?”
“Yes.”
He shrugs. “I won’t spill any.”
She grits her teeth, keeps her mouth closed.
“Let me see,” he says, leaning toward the screen.
Sonia closes her laptop,
not wanting him to see that she was googling “How much weight can I lose in one week?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says, standing up.
“Sure it does. Sit back down and let’s talk about this.”
She hesitates. It would be nice to talk about all of this.
Mark reaches out and coaxes her back down to the couch. “I know how nervous you are about testifying. So talk to me.”
With a sigh, she sits down and leans into him. He offers her a spoonful of ice cream, and she eats it. “I just can’t believe any of this is happening,” she says. “This might be the worst thing that’s ever happened at Belmont.”
“Worse than when the headmaster committed suicide?”
“Yes. Much worse than that. So much worse.” She sits up to look at him. “Do you know we have students testifying?”
“That’s not surprising.”
“I’m not half as worried about me as I am about them. Imagine being a teenager and having to testify in a murder trial.” She accepts another spoonful of ice cream before getting up off the couch. “That’s enough for me. I’ve got to make my lunch for tomorrow.”
She walks away, rather proud of herself for not staying on the couch, helping her husband finish off that pint of ice cream. While cutting up carrots and celery into bite-size pieces, she also finds herself proud of all the things she didn’t share with him. Like eating candy in the store dressing room. The last thing she needs is to be told she’s in a snit.
She isn’t. She is just very worried about testifying.
Today was the worst so far. Up until everyone started talking about who was testifying and who wasn’t, the faculty and staff had tiptoed around the topic of Courtney. Specifically about whether she was guilty or innocent. The students talked about it, yes, but not the staff. Not until today.
It wouldn’t surprise me if she did it. Ingrid could be a nightmare.
What are you saying? You really think that girl could kill someone?
I think it’s possible.
For Your Own Good Page 11
