“We haven’t talked about Del,” he says to my mother.
Her face goes whitish. I can smell smoke on her. Of everything I’ve learned recently, the fact that she’s still smoking—or rather, smoking again—hurts in an especially sad way. Her smoking led to my father’s death, and it almost killed me. And she can’t stop? It’s sickening. I never, ever want to let an addiction rule me like that.
“What about Del?” I ask. “I already know that he knew everything about me.”
“Del’s missing,” my father tells me.
So much for blackmailing Mr. Henry.
“Yeah? So what?” I want to hurt my parents more than anything right now, and I have the ammunition to do it. I could tell them about all the times I snuck out to be with Del after my father had forbidden me to see him, how I fell in love with him. I could tell them we slept together. I could tell them about the baby.
But I won’t. It already hurts too badly; hurting my parents will only make things worse. In my nightmares, sometimes, I hear my baby’s cry as she’s taken away from me, wanting—what? Of course I know what she wanted. She wanted me.
“His parents think that Del went to find his sister,” my father continues, “and that’s a definite possibility.” He stares at the Oriental rug on the floor in front of him. He either can’t or won’t look at me. “But I think he may come looking for you.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because he knows about your past.” My dad starts to tap his fingers nervously against the leather arm of the sofa. “Del is a very intelligent boy, and he knows how to get information. His father called me a few nights ago. His parents are worried sick. They haven’t heard from him in months, and he didn’t have any money when he left. But his father told me that Del had heard them talk about you before, long before they sent him here. They never used your name, but he must have put two and two together. Emily, honey—that’s why I wanted you to stay away from him. He wanted you because of what happened to you. You see, Del is fascinated by people who are like him—people with incomplete histories, from broken families. He must have believed that you two belonged together somehow.”
For just a second, I lose my breath. The room seems to shrink a little. The bell rings.
“You think he’ll come to get me?” I ask. But, knowing what I know now, I’m certain he’ll come to get me, even though I’m not sure I want to see him. I don’t know what I want anymore. I want a normal life, but what’s normal? I left “normal” behind a long time ago, the first night I met Del in Winchester.
And I don’t know what I expect to happen when he shows up. We can’t go anywhere together. I have things to do like apply to colleges and take the SATs. The idea of normalcy seems bizarre when I compare it to the reality of my life right now.
“You can miss class,” my father says. “I want us to talk about this.”
The late bell rings.
“No.” I shake my head. I get up, and my parents try to physically push me back onto the sofa.
“Emily, baby,” my mom says, “we did all of this because we love you. Don’t you understand that?”
All I imagine is trying to tell my own child the same thing someday.
I shove them away. I rush out of the room and hurry to the nearest bathroom to compose myself. I stand in front of the mirror, touch up my makeup, and wait until my eyes don’t look so puffy. I smooth out my uniform and take a deep breath. Then I go to chemistry class.
It’s like I’m living two different lives. Stephanie, Ethan, and Franny are all in my chem class. Stephanie and Ethan are lab partners; it was another one of her rules. She’s been making addenda to the original three rules on a pretty much daily basis. I’m not allowed to be his lab partner, or his partner for any reason in any classes that the three of us are in together. I’ve been letting everything slide, mostly because I’m so preoccupied with the mess that my life has become, and I can barely devote any thought to having a normal senior year, but I’m starting to get tired of it. I smile at Ethan from across the room, where the contents of his test tube have turned the correct shade of blue. Franny and I are partners; our tube is purple, and it’s giving off a foul smell.
“I know what you did,” Franny murmurs, dumping some white powder into the tube, which turns the contents almost black. The smell gets worse.
“What did I do?” I ask innocently.
“I know you talked to Paul. He told me everything.”
“Oh, did he? Franny, what he’s doing is wrong. He’s taking advantage of you.”
“We love each other!” she insists. “And besides, I don’t think you have any right to talk.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means. I’m talking about you and Del, last year. Everyone knew you were sneaking out to sleep with him at night. You’re not exactly pure as the fallen snow, and he was no angel, so maybe you should mind your own business.” Then she rifles through her book bag—our test tube contents beginning to bubble and smoke, which is definitely not supposed to happen—and pulls out a plain white envelope. “Here,” she whispers. “I’m supposed to give this to you.”
I blink at the envelope. “What is it?”
“It’s from Paul.”
Since I know nobody knows where Del is—there’s no way Paul could have figured it out—the envelope must have the information about Madeline.
“Did you open this?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “He told me not to. He told me to tell you to handle the contents delicately. He said you’d understand.” She’s curious, though. “What is it?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Just some stuff about Del that I wanted him to get for me.”
“Oh? I thought you were over Del Sugar. After all,” she smirks, “you’re the Princess now.”
“I am over Del,” I say. “It’s just, you know, information is always a good thing.”
“Whatever.” She glares at me. “Now you have what you wanted. Happy?”
I nod, tucking the envelope into my chem notebook. I don’t know why Franny’s so upset with me; I’m only trying to protect her. She’s been much more assertive lately, though. I suppose it’s good for her to stand up for herself.
“Good. Then leave us alone, Emily. You don’t know what it’s like to love somebody who you’re not supposed to have.”
I almost laugh out loud.
I rush back to the dorms after school before anybody else has a chance to get there, dig into my backpack, and find the envelope. Inside, there are two pieces of paper: a note from Paul, and a photocopy of a newspaper clipping.
Emily,
I hope you’ll understand how important it is to keep this quiet. It was hard to get, and from what I understand, Madeline was a nice girl. Even though she’s not here anymore, that doesn’t mean this getting out wouldn’t hurt her. There’s a thing called karma.
P.
P.S. She’s at a boarding school in West Virginia now called Woodsdale Academy. If she hasn’t contacted you, it’s probably because she wants it that way. Can you blame her? But since you were so insistent, here’s her phone number: (304) 555-8547.
The clipping is obviously from Madeline’s hometown paper. The article takes up two full columns of print. The details are grisly.
Madeline’s mother died. But it’s so much more than that. It’s more than I ever could have imagined. I shudder as I read the entire article, and when I’m finished, I immediately read it again. I can hardly believe what I’m learning. My heart breaks for Madeline.
There’s only one other person who deserves to know what happened. I find a new envelope and stuff Paul’s note and the photocopied article inside. Then I write a short note of my own.
Renee,
Here’s what I learned about Madeline. You can do what you want. It might help for her to hear from someone who loves her regardless. But knowing what we know now, don’t you think it’s obvious she wanted to disappear?
&n
bsp; Destroy this letter after reading.
I miss you. I love you.
E.
I seal the envelope, put a stamp on it, and take it straight down to the campus mailbox. I make a silent promise to myself that, aside from Renee, I’ll never tell another soul what I’ve just learned.
Less than three days later, I get a reply from her. The note is short and to the point.
Thursday
cold and sunny
heartbroken
Emily,
Oh my God.
Shhhh.
I’m going to call her. Even if she won’t talk—I need to hear her voice .
More to come . I love you, too.
R .G.
chapter twenty
Over the next few months, I get pretty good at pretending that things are normal in my life. Ethan and I go out together most weekends. He is different from Del in every way imaginable. Last year, at a Halloween party off campus, Del and I went dressed as Adam and Eve. The apple tattoo on his arm was a nice touch. This year, Ethan and I stay on campus for Halloween and go to the homecoming dance dressed as—who else?—Clark Kent and Lois Lane.
But it’s not just the physical differences, Del’s wiry build and blond hair compared to Ethan in all his muscled, tall-dark-and-handsome glory. There are so many personality differences that it’s hard to believe I’ve dated both of them. It’s hard to believe how much I care for both of them. Del was sneaky and brilliant to the point where even I didn’t actually know him. And the more I get to know Ethan as his girlfriend, the more I realize that he is genuinely kind and honest and compassionate. He rarely drinks; he isn’t exactly the greatest at holding his liquor. He’d never dream of smoking.
We are together all the time, but things are progressing slowly. When we’re alone, I’m always afraid of him getting too close. The idea of sex feels vulgar to me. I’ve been pregnant and had a child; my body does not feel like a teenager’s so much as it does a woman’s. I remember what it’s like to carry a baby and to give birth. I have had physical experiences that none of my peers can even imagine. They were experiences I never wanted or asked for, but I can’t get them out of my head.
Since we’ve been dating more than four months, the topic of sex has naturally come up. I told him that I wasn’t comfortable with it. I told him that what happened with Del was a mistake that I regret more than anything. True to form, Ethan respected my decision. He didn’t ask questions.
I try not to think about Del. But sometimes at night, when I’m taking out my contact lenses before bed, I slide them to the side and stand in front of the mirror, willing myself not to blink them back into place, just to remember how it felt that first night.
Can you see me?
No.
I can see you.
I know now what he was really talking about. He saw so much more of me than I knew.
Since I’ve been dating Ethan, things between me and Stephanie have been fine. I’m following all of her rules, even though they’re ridiculous, and life has been relatively calm. There are the nightmares that I’m still having, not only about my childhood and the father I never knew, but now about my own baby, the sound of her cries as she was taken away from me. And there’s the worry that eats away at me from not knowing where Del is, whether or not he’s safe, or if he will ever show up to see me. And if he does—what then? There’s the fact that I can barely even look at my father, who isn’t really my father. There’s the fact that I’m still haunted by so many questions that there aren’t answers for. What about the water in my dreams? My mother’s response just didn’t seem to cut it.
By January, after a brutally awkward winter break at home with my parents, Connecticut has a constant blanket of snow covering everything in sight. All of the students are used to the intense cold; we trudge up to school in boots and coats lined with down; we sleep with three blankets to keep warm in the drafty old buildings; we carry premium lip balm and moisturizer pretty much everywhere and stay indoors as much as possible and get used to being shocked on a regular basis from all the dry friction.
But just after we get back from winter break, there’s a brief warm snap. It lasts only about a week. By “warm” I mean that the temperature climbs into the fifties. All the snow melts; you can actually feel the sun as you’re walking to school. So, figuring we should seize the day while we still can, the seniors decide to have a beach party in Groton, at—where else—Amanda Stream’s family’s summer house.
Amanda’s parents are, of course, not in town. With no supervision all weekend, things get a little crazy. There is a huge bonfire on the beach. Inside the house, someone has somehow (I suspect Franny through Mr. Henry, who she’s still seeing) gotten ahold of four kegs. By midnight, the house and the private beach behind it are both full of drunken teenagers.
Ethan and I have been inseparable all night. I feel so comfortable and calm around him. He is so much safer than Del, so much softer in a way. I love that he is genuine and sweet and giving. I love that he does not keep secrets from me. There are times when I feel like I could tell him anything, and he would understand. But, of course, there are plenty of things that I’ll never tell anyone.
We are perched in a lawn chair beside the bonfire. I’m sitting on Ethan’s lap; a huge plaid blanket is wrapped around both of us, and my head is resting on his shoulder as we alternately sip from the same beer. When it’s gone, Ethan nudges me. “Want to go for a walk?”
“Sure,” I say.
With the blanket still wrapped around our bodies, arms around each other’s waists, we walk to the edge of the property. It’s a beautiful night, cool but not too cold. The moon looks nearly full, and reflects off the dark water to illuminate a clear sky full of fat, glowing stars.
“Can you believe this?” Ethan asks, taking a seat in the sand, tugging me beside him. “Look at the ocean.”
“It seems endless.”
He knows about my supposedly inexplicable fear of water. He pulls me closer. “I’m right here,” he says. “I’ve got you.”
“Yes, you do.” I kiss him.
“I’m so glad.” He kisses me back. Before I know it, we’re both on the sand, the blanket on top of us, out of sight from the rest of the party.
Things go from warm to hot in a matter of moments. We are both tipsy, sloppy, loving the feel of each other’s bodies.
“Ethan,” I murmur, “we need to stop.”
“I know.” He kisses my neck, slides his hands up the back of my shirt to unclasp my bra. “Believe me, Em, I know.”
I pull back slightly. “Does it bother you?”
He shakes his head. “I told you, I’ll respect whatever you want to do. Whenever you’re ready.”
But what if I’m never ready? The thought hasn’t occurred to me until now. Things with Ethan are fantastic; they’re definitely serious. Won’t it have to happen sometime?
“I’m not on any birth control,” I say.
He pauses in his effort to remove my shirt. “What?”
The shirt is halfway over my head. “Hm?”
He tugs it all the way off, pulls me even closer so that there’s almost no space between our bodies. He’s already taken his shirt off. We are pressed together close as can be.
He puts his mouth against my ear. “Does this mean you’re thinking about getting on birth control?”
“I didn’t say that. Ethan, just kiss me.”
So he does. As things grow hotter, as his fumbling becomes more deliberate, he murmurs, “I want to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I love you.”
“I know that.” I hesitate only for a moment before responding. I know it’s true. Maybe not the same way it was with Del, but true nevertheless. “I love you, too.”
He’s almost crying. “I’ve loved you for so long, Emily.”
I pause. “You have?”
“Yes. And there’s something I want you to know. I don’t want you to feel pressured. But I just th
ink you should know about it, for whenever the time is right.”
He’s slurring his words a little bit, fumbling drunkenly with the button on my pants.
“Okay.”
“I carry a condom with me. All the time. Every time we’re together. So you don’t have to worry too much about birth control. I’ve got it covered. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Good to know,” I murmur, gently tugging his hands away from my pants, holding them in mine.
“Ethan?”
“Yes?”
“We’re drunk. I don’t want to do it tonight. Not like this.”
He sighs, half-yawning. “You’re such a good girl.” The irony to his statement makes me hate myself a little bit. Then he asks, “Em?”
“Yeah?”
“When do you think it will be time?”
“I don’t know.”
He takes a long, deep breath. “All right.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Really, it’s fine. I do love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Emily?”
“What is it, Ethan?”
“I think I have to throw up.”
The next morning, Ethan realizes that he lost his watch at some point in the evening. We look for it in the sand, but can’t find it anywhere.
Ethan is the kind of guy who needs to wear a watch. He can’t stand not being on time, not being on top of life in general. So I decide to buy him one for his birthday, which is coming up on January 15.
Of course, it’s also Stephanie’s birthday. On the evening of the fifteenth, she comes into my room and asks, “What did you get my brother?”
Without looking up, I say, “I’m going to sleep with him. That’s his present. Wild sex.”
“Not funny,” she says. “Seriously, I just got back from the mall with his present. I want to compare gifts.”
I show her the watch I bought him. I’m excited about it; it’s almost identical to the old one, except I’ve had it engraved on the back: it says, “To E.P. with love, E.M.”
Where the Truth Lies Page 21
