Since We Last Spoke

by Brenda Rufener

  “There was that time,” Dr. Nelson says, “when we broke into the biology lab at our high school on a rescue mission we called Save Life. Worms and frogs and, I think, a few dung beetles found themselves rescued and given freedom in a pond near my family’s home.”

  Dr. Nelson’s face beams with pride from remembering yesteryear.

  “Same trope, different decade, huh?” Umé says. “Kids have been rescuing mice and frogs since forever.”

  Dr. Nelson winks. “It’s an oldie, but we made it our own. Still puts a smile on my face.” Dr. Nelson shoves the cardboard box at us. “Come on, kids, eat another slice so I don’t slip into a carb coma alone.”

  I grab my stomach and groan. “This is my second dinner, and the first was huge.”

  “So how’d you become a biologist, then?” Umé asks. “If you couldn’t handle keeping animals captive?”

  Dr. Nelson flicks a crumb off her pants. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Did you get caught?” Grace asks. “Did your teachers find out about your rescue mission?”

  “I got into a bit of trouble with the police. Thanks for asking.” Dr. Nelson winks at Grace and taps her on the knee. “Took a gap year before college on account of it. Let’s just say I’ve done my fair share of community service.”

  Umé pulls her knees to her chest. “You’re a professor now. Couldn’t have been that bad. Breaking and entering? Destroying school property?”

  “Let’s just say the rescue mission grew into something bigger as the night went on.”

  Our faces contort. “Bigger?”

  Dr. Nelson sighs. “Long story. One I’d rather not get into.”

  Umé leans forward in her chair, elbows on her knees. “But one we have time for.”

  Dr. Nelson rubs her arms in an attempt to change the subject. “So cold out here. We should head home before it starts snowing again.”

  Umé kicks at the metal fire pit. “Can’t we light this thing?”

  Dr. Nelson shrugs and reaches into her bag, pulling out a small orange box of matches with black lettering that reads: Take a poop? Light a match.

  After a couple of strikes, the fire pit roars and we hover around the circle listening to Dr. Nelson divulge details we desperately want to hear. Well, except Grace. She’s been sent to the other side of the roof to search for something that doesn’t exist. Another one of Dr. Nelson’s missions, titled Protecting Innocent Ears.

  “We didn’t plan to hurt the poor bastard,” Dr. Nelson whispers. “We only wanted to save the beavers.”

  “Hurt who?” I ask, warming a narrow slice of pizza over the fire until the cheese melts.

  “You know him, Aggi. Well, you know of him. Your friend Henry Beacon’s grandfather.” She pauses, glances over at Grace.

  “She’s okay. Keep going.” Umé’s always loved a good tale, and Dr. Nelson has many. We could be here all night.

  “Well, we were pretty proud of ourselves—me and my three girlfriends—and when we finished dumping the critters off at their new home, we felt alive and powerful and like we wanted to do something more.” Dr. Nelson takes a breath. “That’s when we should have stopped.”

  “But you didn’t?” Umé’s eyes widen with anticipation.

  “Nope. We kept it going.” Dr. Nelson looks over her shoulder at Grace, now chopping snow with a stick.

  “Don’t leave us hanging, Dr. N,” Umé says, untwisting her scarf.

  The fire crackles and Dr. Nelson scoots her chair back to avoid the smoke blowing in her face. I glance over at Grace to make sure she’s wearing gloves.

  “There were these rumors around the lake,” Dr. Nelson whispers. “The Beacons and their beaver traps. If they caught one, they pummeled it to death and sold off the pelts.”

  Umé gasps, and Dr. Nelson nods.

  “I don’t like where this story is going,” Umé says. “I’ve no use for animal abusers. Right, Aggi? No damn use!”

  Dr. Nelson nods again. “Exactly! So we decided to act on what we’d heard. We were all dressed in black—boots like the ones I’m wearing—and we were ready to smash those traps. Should have left things alone, but . . .” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and it springs forward.

  “Did you rescue a beaver?” Umé asks.

  “It was hell getting close to the water where we’d heard the traps were set, but long story short, we found them. Then old man Beacon found us.”

  Umé covers her mouth and groans.

  “When we saw the traps were empty, we smashed them to bits with hammers and shovels we’d taken from my family’s toolshed. The noise must have echoed. We weren’t exactly quiet. We were exhilarated. It felt like we were doing something that mattered.”

  Umé and I nod.

  “Before long, we heard his shouts and took off running. We split apart, but one of us got caught.” Dr. Nelson bites on her lip. “I’ll give you one guess who that person was.”

  “You!” we both shout.

  Dr. Nelson stands and takes a bow.

  “What’d he do?” I ask. “Because if he’s anything like his son or grandchildren . . . well, except for Henry.”

  “Oh, he was a meaner than hell. Teeth—the ones that hadn’t rotted from his mouth—were as yellow as a beaver’s, and when he grabbed me by my shoulders and shook, his breath stole mine away.”

  “Oh my God.” Umé stands. “Please tell me you ran.”

  “I fought. Kicked and punched. I was afraid, but I wasn’t about to die in the woods. When I finally broke free, he was shouting for me to run or he’d kill me. . . .”

  Dr. Nelson stops, digs her fingers into her hair, and shakes her head.

  “I got away. We all did. But two days later, the police found him. Dead. He’d died chasing me off his property.”

  “I heard about this!” I say. “Henry said his grandfather had a heart attack and died. He wasn’t very old.”

  Dr. Nelson checks on Grace again. I follow her eyes and see Grace whacking a snowball across the roof like a hockey puck.

  “I think he was just shy of fifty,” Dr. Nelson says. “But old enough to know he shouldn’t be trapping and killing beavers. There are humane ways to relocate the animals.”

  “Wow,” Umé says. “When did the truth come out?”

  Dr. Nelson sighs. “When I came clean and told my parents what had happened that night.”

  “But why?” Umé asks.

  “Couldn’t live with myself,” Dr. Nelson says. “I had to confess.”

  “But he might have had a heart attack anyway,” I say.

  “We were there and we shouldn’t have been. We could have reported the rumors we’d heard to the police. We could have done a lot of things differently, but we were just kids.”

  “From what Henry’s said, his grandfather was pretty awful. He taught his son a thing or two about violence.”

  Dr. Nelson scoops a mound of snow in her hands and dumps it into the fire pit. “Not my best moment, girls.”

  Umé stands and scoops up a handful of snow. She shapes it into a ball and launches it softly at Grace’s behind.

  “Hey!” Grace shouts.

  “Well, we think you’re pretty badass, Dr. N,” Umé says.

  Dr. Nelson dumps more snow on the fire. “Not always but definitely now.” She chuckles. “Sometimes you believe you’re doing the right thing by bringing order to the chaos.”

  Dr. Nelson wanders over to the railing and slips an arm around Grace’s waist. Grace wraps her arm over Dr. Nelson’s shoulder and leans against her. They both stare up at the sky.

  “Wait a second!” Umé shouts. “Did that shit go on your permanent record?”

  Dr. Nelson turns around. “Permanent record?” She shakes her head and whispers, “We paid our debt. The only thing permanent is death.”

  Grace points across campus, but Dr. Nelson continues to whisper-talk.

  “Like I said, not our best moment. But we felt relieved to get off as easy as we did. Community service
for breaking into our high school. The judge was lenient on us with the Beacon incident. Sure, we’d been on private property, but those traps were illegal to begin with. Before long, we were all off to college and spreading our wings, but I still grapple with the guilt.”

  “Why’d you come back here to teach?” Umé asks. “You could be a professor anywhere.”

  A smile spreads across Dr. Nelson’s face. “I could, and I have, but Plum Lake has a way of pulling you back—a gentle nudge, never with force—and when you’re away from these woods and all the precious animals it contains, they’re all you think about.”

  Umé reaches for Dr. Nelson’s hand. “Will you adopt me?”

  I pop up behind Umé. “Get in line.”

  We’re all gazing across the campus and courtyard—bellies full of pizza—taking in the newfound beauty of our surroundings when Dr. Nelson belches and says, “Pardon,” in her best French accent and we burst into laughter.

  “Hey!” Grace shouts. “Those headlights have been shining our way for a very long time.”

  Dr. Nelson leans over the railing. “No one should be here. We shouldn’t even be here. Who, besides me, studies science on a Saturday night?”

  “Another professor?” Umé asks, removing her glasses and rubbing them on her scarf.

  “That truck looks a lot like Henry’s,” I say.

  Umé grabs my shoulder. “Seriously?” She grips the rail. “Holy shit! It is!” But her voice sounds forced and makes me think Umé expected them to be here.

  “Aggi’s stalker returns,” Dr. Nelson says.

  “Returns?” Umé says. “He never leaves.”

  Dr. Nelson drapes her arm over my shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze. With my best friend on one side, Dr. Nelson on the other, Grace bouncing between us, I’m wrapped in safety, security, and calm. It’s the most whole I’ve felt in a year.

  “You know that boy cares deeply,” Dr. Nelson says at my ear. “Why else would he shadow you wherever you go? He thinks he’s watching out for you, honey. Consider it a compliment.”

  I stare at Henry’s truck. The headlights beaming.

  “Dad says Max is trying to dig up information he can give to his father’s attorney. He’s forbidden me to ever speak to Max again. He said if I did, he’d hurt him.”

  Dr. Nelson scoffs. “Oh, is that what your dad says?”

  I nod. “As much as I want to talk to Max, I can’t. It would ruin dad’s countersuit.”

  “Well, wouldn’t that be a goddamned shame!”

  Dr. Nelson slides her arm off my shoulder and squeezes my hand.

  “With all due respect, Aggi, your dad doesn’t know shit.”

  23

  Max

  AFTER OUR FIFTH MARCH AROUND the science building to check each door for access, Henry says, “I think I forgot to turn off the headlights.”

  A student jogs toward us on the sidewalk. My teeth chatter, and I’m struggling to keep Henry’s shoes on my feet every time I shuffle-step. “Just leave them on. We won’t be long.” I’m not about to return to the truck now and let this student slip past me.

  “Hey!” I shout. “Can we borrow your ID card?”

  The jogger yanks off his hood and trots backward. “Sorry, but that’s a hard no.” He turns and disappears into the campus.

  The sky begins to spit light flakes of snow, and the vacant grounds in front of the science building remind me it’s late. As we approach the main doors, a voice sounds from the roof.

  Henry yanks the handles for the hundredth time. “I’m texting Umé. She said she’d watch for us and let us in.”

  “Let’s wait here.” I blow on my hands, taking a step back for a better view of the roof, and trip on Henry’s sled-shoes.

  Henry’s typing on his phone as I slide my feet across the sidewalk, craning my neck. Someone’s laughing above us. My heart revs as I think of the last place Aggi and I spent time alone together.

  “Come on!” Henry shouts, banging on the door. “Open up!”

  I’m skiing my way back to Henry when a light flashes and a loud throat clears. “Door’s locked, Einstein.”

  I whip around and come face-to-face with a black-haired, red-lipped, green-eyed girl with arches in her eyebrows that put ski jumps to shame. “ID card?” she snaps, and her blue-painted nails poking from her fingerless glove shimmer beneath her flashlight. Henry joins me on the sidewalk.

  “ID card?” Henry and I repeat like a couple of high school kids in the presence of a college girl.

  The girl rolls her eyes and, with an extraordinary amount of effort, slides her left hand out of her back pocket and reaches inside her coat. She retrieves an ID card and fans it in our faces. “Looks something like this.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Henry says. His voice shaky and frog-like. He clears his throat. “We left ours . . . our ID cards . . . at our dorm. But it’s great you brought yours. Can we use it?”

  College girl stares at Henry. Henry starts to fidget. Sniffing, wiping his nose, making farting noises with his mouth. The corner of the girl’s mouth twitches. Is she smiling? At Henry?

  “If you think I’m letting you in this building, you’re mistaken.” She shoves a second ID into Henry’s face. “Campus security,” she says.

  Henry’s eyes widen, his mouth agape. I know this look. It’s the same one he gave when he first met Umé. Some might mistake Henry’s droopy jaw, wide mouth, and big eyes for childlike innocence, but I know better. I know Henry. How he’s smitten by a strong girl with power, or in this case, an ID card that reads: Jen Salazar—Campus Security. She’s dimple-cheeked and wearing black boots and a leather jacket, and as expected, Henry’s about to lose his goddamn mind.

  I glance at Jen, then back at Henry. She’s slightly taller than he is. Her hand’s back on her hip, and Henry’s flashing a boyish grin. If these shoes would stay on my feet, I’d kick his shin and snap him out of his insta-love stupor.

  “I . . . I . . .”

  I shuffle next to Henry. “What Henry means is that we . . . I . . . left my bag upstairs in the science building and my ID card is in it. That’s the whole problem.”

  Jen looks at me like she’s unimpressed. In fact, she yawns.

  “And I suppose his card was in your bag, too?” Jen asks, and her eyes gravitate back to Henry.

  “I . . . no . . . I . . . yeah . . .”

  I sling a dagger with my eyes at Henry, but he keeps babbling.

  “What my friend here is trying to say is that after an incredibly hard workout at the gym, we stuffed everything into one bag. His bag. My bag was left here by mistake.” Henry’s eyebrow lifts, and I squeeze his shoulder and continue my lie. “Then after our extremely difficult workout, we had bio lab, and I forgot my bag upstairs. Please have mercy on a fellow college student. My whole life, including my ID card, is in that bag.”

  “The bag that’s upstairs?” Jen’s brow furrows.

  I nod. “Yep. Yeah. Yes, ma’am.”

  Jen hesitates, glances at Henry again, and sighs. “Okay. I’ll probably regret this, but let’s go get your bag.” She swipes her card in the door, and the light shifts from red to green. She jerks the handle and holds the door open with her hip. “You coming or what?”

  Henry and I freeze. What do we do now? How do we find a fictitious bag?

  But with Aggi on the roof, I’m pulled indoors. If we get busted, at least I’ll know I tried to talk to her.

  We move into the doorway, and Henry whispers, “Holy hell. This girl is amazing. Come on, let’s go.”

  “Go where exactly?”

  “We’ll figure it out when we get there,” Henry whispers. “Act like you know what you’re doing.”

  “Second or third floor?” Jen asks, marching toward the stairs.

  “Isn’t there an elevator?” I ask, but Jen doesn’t hear me.

  Henry bounces past me, and I grab the back of his coat. “I have no idea what we’re doing. Do you?”

  Henry grins. “Following Brienne of Tart
h. Now come on!”

  Henry races up the stairs, two at a time, while I struggle to keep the shoes on my feet with each step.

  At the third floor, Jen opens a door and hesitates. When I finally reach the landing, she says, “Shoes are a little big, huh?”

  I purse my lips and glare at Henry. Jen heads for the hallway, and Henry gives himself whiplash, signaling for me to get lost—down another hallway—so he can be alone with Brienne of Tarth Jen.

  Henry fast-walks toward Jen, and I shoot down the opposite hallway, shouting, “I’ll just go get my bag! The one I left somewhere around here!” As soon as I take off running, one of Henry’s shoes slips from my foot.

  The end of the hallway spills into a large room surrounded by glass and centered with potted plants and trees that spread their long, leafy branches toward the skylights. I shuffle to the left, then the right, scanning benches and chairs for a random backpack forgotten by a distracted student. I’m also taking my time to listen for voices. I half expect Aggi to jump out from behind a tree.

  As I cross the corridor and enter a dimly lit hallway lined with faculty offices and locked laboratory doors, voices sound from behind a metal door that reads: Rooftop Access. A familiar laugh twists my stomach into knots and I practically drop to my knees due to the sudden weakness throughout my body.

  “Where’d he go?” It’s Jen.

  “Max likes to work alone. He’s a loner. Quite the lonely guy.” Thanks, Henry.

  But it’s true. So much of who I was disappeared after Cal died. My brother was the one I confided in, shared secrets with. He was the first person to know how I felt about Aggi. He even knew before Henry. And Henry knows everything about me.

  Cal and I were brothers, but we were close friends, too. Sure, we had our sibling rivalry days when we were little, but Mom and Dad did a good job showing us we both mattered and didn’t have to compete for attention. Cal was older, but never judgmental. He didn’t act like the shitty older brothers you see in movies. He never looked down on me, thinking I was immature for not knowing what he did. Cal would just smile when I asked annoying-little-brother questions and strum his guitar. He made me feel like his equal. I loved when he’d put words into song and ask for my opinion.