The next morning, while I was getting ready for school, my brother knocked on the bathroom door. When I opened the door, his eyes darted to my makeup bag. I opened the door wider to let him in. He sat on the lid of the toilet, and I went to work covering up the evidence.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ed:
I remember the first time I realized Brett had grown into something more than the gangly girl who tagged along with me and her brother. Not that I minded she tagged along. As far as little sisters went, Tristan seemed to have lucked out.
It was the end of sophomore year, and I thought I was pretty badass for being able to drive. I drove everywhere. Tristan didn’t feel the need to drive, so I offered at every opportunity. One day, I got a call from Brett. Brett never called me. It was always assumed that Tristan would be our basis of communication. If we hung out, it was only because she was coming along with Tristan. I never invited her anywhere. I certainly never called her.
I was surprised she even had my number.
“Can you come and get me?” she asked when I picked up.
“Um…”
“Look, I wouldn’t ask if I had someone else. Tristan’s grounded from the car, and I don’t want to ask my mom. She would just demand I stay anyway.”
“Alright.”
The idea made me a little uncomfortable. It’s not that I had something better to do. I was killing time till Tristan got out of practice. We were going to try out a new video game I picked up.
Brett had been at a party. A pool party. It was to celebrate the end of 8th grade year. When I pulled up to the house, I called her. I had no intention of going to the door. The last thing I needed was to be surrounded by a bunch of thirteen-year-olds who thought even they were too cool for me.
On the first ring, I watched as Brett stalked out of the house. She slammed the passenger door, and I started to drive without even saying hello. We sat in an uncomfortable silence.
“Can we just drive around before you take me home?” she asked. Her brow was wrinkled, and she stared straight ahead. Her arms were crossed against her chest. She was pissed. It was kind of funny. I mean, it’s hard to take someone seriously when they are wearing a vintage New Kids on the Block t-shirt over cut-off jean shorts.
Brett has always had an eclectic style.
“Sure,” I told her. “Want to talk about it?” I asked, hoping she didn’t. I was afraid she was going to tell me she got her period or something.
“No.”
“Alright.”
“Want to sneak into the Hendersons’ pool?”
“Huh?”
“I guess it wouldn’t really be sneaking in. I have a key. I’m feeding their dogs while they’re out of town.”
“You want to go swimming?” I asked.
“That was the plan for today,” she snapped, pointing to the straps of her swimsuit that reached out from underneath her t-shirt.
“Um…”
“What else you got to do?”
I sighed. “Good point.”
I sat awkwardly on a lounge chair as Brett went to feed the Hendersons’ dogs. When she returned, Brett sat on the edge of my chair. She looked at me in that way that always made me a little uncomfortable—the I-know-what-you’re-thinking way.
And, of course, she said what was right on her mind. “You hate being here, don’t you?”
“You mean the pool?”
“No. With me. It’s weird without Tristan.”
“Um…”
“It is a little weird. But I’m going to Wendall next year, so we might as well solidify this friendship now.”
“Solidify this friendship?” I asked with a small smile.
“What? You don’t like me?”
“I like you.”
“Name three things you like about me.”
“What?”
She sighed. “Every good friendship is based on actually liking the person for who they are, and not on what they can get from the person. I’ve got to make sure you like me for me.”
“Um…”
“Fine. I’ll go first. Three things I like about you, and your vast vocabulary is not one of them. I like that you like your mom. I mean it. It’s pretty rad the way you can talk to her. Second, I like the way you actually listen to me. I mean really listen, and not just because I’m Tristan’s sister. I hate that people see me and think because I’m young I don’t know anything. Three, I just like you. Your crappy band t-shirts and all. So, I think we should be friends. You and me. And not just because Tristan is there.”
I wanted to tell her I liked her just because I liked her. I liked who she was. But I couldn’t open my damn mouth. It was like I was seeing her for the first time. I was seeing her as her own person, and not just some part of Tristan. I was realizing she was pretty cool.
She shrugged. “You work on that list of why you like me. I’m going to get in the pool.”
Without another word, she pulled off her shirt and shorts. I was stunned. She wasn’t a little kid anymore. I wondered how the hell I missed her transition from girl into woman, but I certainly had.
My mouth went dry.
I heard the splash before I was fully recovered.
Before I knew what I was doing, I jumped into the pool with all my clothes on. Wallet, cell phone, and all.
Brett laughed. “What the Hades are you doing?” she called out.
“You know what they say. Friends don’t let friends swim alone,” I joked lamely.
I was thirty minutes late picking up Tristan from practice that day.
On the way back to the car, Brett slapped her wet towel against my ass. I turned on her and playfully threw my keys at her. She pushed me in return.
We were flirting.
We were doomed.
When Tristan saw Brett in the passenger seat, he didn’t act surprised. I tried to explain, but he didn’t seem to care at all. It was like he almost expected it. He settled into the backseat with a lazy shrug of his shoulders.
I stayed at the Jensen’s house that night. When I woke up needing to take a piss, I looked over to see Tristan was gone. I could see the downstairs light on from the stairwell, and had noticed Brett’s bedroom door was open.
I hesitated before walking downstairs, but damn if I didn’t go. I was so unused to the feelings that stirred within me concerning Brett that I was unprepared to battle them. She sat at the kitchen table, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands.
“Whatcha doing?” I asked, taking a seat across from her.
“Trying to see if I can stay up all night,” she replied with a tight smile. Her eyes said something else—wondering where in the world Tristan was.
“Mind if I try too?”
She smiled for real this time and got up and poured me a cup of coffee. There we were, sitting with cups of coffee in our hands, waiting in the night for the boy who connected us. The boy maybe we didn’t need anymore. At least not to bring us together.
She looked at me for a long while before speaking. “Did I ever tell you about the time Tristan ran away?”
****
Brett and I sit on my bed watching season one of LOST on Netflix, sharing a plate of pizza rolls. “Brett? Why did you ask me to pick you up from that pool party?” I wonder if she knows what I’m talking about. I wonder if that night means as much to her as it means to be.
“Bobby Lewis flashed me,” she replies, stuffing a pizza roll into her mouth.
“Wait. What?” I manage to get out in between choking on the delicious square of pizza goodness.
She swallows before answering. “They were playing that stupid seven minutes in heaven game. I refused to play. So, I just sat back and watched. It was Bobby’s turn, but no one would go in the closest with him. He had really bad acne back then.”
“Yeah, I remember,” I reply. The little shit. My hand tightens around the can of coke that I hold.
“I felt so bad for him. So, I said I would go in with him. When we got in there, I made i
t clear nothing was going to happen. I told him it had nothing to do with him. I just had no intention of kissing anyone I didn’t like. The thought of some random boy’s tongue in my mouth was repulsive.”
I want to tell her to hurry the story along. I want to drive over to Bobby’s house and attempt to kick his ass. I realize, of course, this impulse is ridiculous.
“He told me he understood. The next thing I know, he’s pulling down his pants. He’s just hanging out there. I had no idea what to do. I just froze. Needless to say, I was not in that closet for seven minutes. I ran out and called you.” She grabs the can of coke in my hand and takes a swig. “The rest of my night was better.”
And just like that, I don’t feel the need to beat up Bobby. I smile. “Not a bad time, if I recall.”
“Not a bad time at all.”
I put my plate down. I lean closer to her and brush a strand of hair from her forehead. I’m breaking our unspoken rule. I’m touching her, and it’s not night. She bites her lip and looks up at me.
“I thought you were beautiful that night,” I admit.
“I always thought you were beautiful,” she whispers back.
“You’ve always been smarter than me,” I reply.
She grins.
I have to kiss her.
But she beats me to it. She moves so she’s sitting in my lap. Her hands move to my hair and she pulls me toward her. Her lips meet mine, and I let her take control. She’s always been in control. Since day one.
She’s moving against me as she kisses me. I want to tell her to stop, but I can’t. My hands slip around to her back and travel up her shirt. She shivers. She leans away from me, breaking the kiss. Her hands move to my shirt and she pulls it off. Before I can do it, she’s pulling off her shirt too.
I’m not going to be able to stop. I don’t want to stop. I grab her by the arms and move her so I’m on top. I grab her leg and hitch it around my waist. We’re kissing again.
Someone’s pounding on the door.
Did I just hear someone yell police?
The pounding continues.
I pull away from Brett, and her hands greedily grab for me.
“I’ll be right back,” I stammer, moving toward the door. Before I leave, I catch the oddest expression cross Brett’s face. She looks guilty.
It’s him. The bastard. I can’t believe he has the nerve to show his face here. Cop or not, I want to slam the door on his face.
“Is Brett here?” he asks gruffly.
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m on official police business,” he replies. He looks anywhere but at me. He doesn’t want to be here either. I turn around and see Brett coming down the stairs. She’s fully clothed and all bundled up. I don’t understand.
“Your dad reported the car stolen,” he says to Brett.
“Figured,” she mumbles.
“Apparently, I’m the only one surprised. “What the hell is going on, Brett? Why would your dad report the car stolen?”
“I have to go, Ed,” she replies, refusing to look me in the eyes. Her face is pale. She looks like she’s going to get sick.
I grab Brett by the hand and pull her into the house. I shut the door right on the officer’s face. I don’t respect him anyways. Not after what he did to Tristan.
“What’s going on, Brett?” Why does my voice sound so panicked? Why do I feel like I’m losing her? I just got her.
“I….I haven’t been staying at home.”
“What?”
“Listen, I really have to go.” Brett opens the door and heads out without another word.
She’s been lying to me.
Chapter Thirty
Brett:
“You were the one that found my brother, right?”
Officer Daniels nods without looking at me. At least he let me sit in the passenger seat instead of the back. Not that his backseat has many visitors. Wendall maybe has five patrol cars. Daniels probably writes more speeding tickets than anything else.
He was the one who found my brother. Of course, I know that. My mission to find my brother’s killer has been neglected as of late. I know in my head it should be my number one concern, but the desire never burns inside me like other feelings do. All I can think about is being with Ed.
I may be the worst sister of all time.
I even skipped school. I never skip school. I missed my chance to corner Donnie and ask him about my brother. I no longer think Sophia had anything to do with my brother’s death. I have no evidence to support this, of course. She just seems such a mess, and despite any logical reasons to back it up, I think she really did love him.
Loves him.
You can still love someone even when they’re gone.
My number one suspect is still Donnie. Maybe he knew my brother was gay. I know my brother had been fooling around with someone behind Sophia’s back. Was it Donnie? Maybe when my brother beat him up, it broke some unspoken code. Or maybe it just broke him. I could understand that. I think that night broke something between my brother and me. In the last few weeks before his death, we barely acknowledged each other at all.
Every time he looked at me, I waited for him to say something, but he never did. When I think back on it, I realize my brother never really spoke at all. Sure, he complained and moaned about the little pestering things in life like all teenagers seemed programmed to do, but he never really spoke about anything of importance. He talked of girls and football and video games and comic books. That was all.
Had I known my brother? I can’t think of that right now. I know soon we will reach my house, and I have to get outside of my own head and confront this thing. I have to find my brother’s killer. Starting with the man who discovered his body. Most likely the man who helped cover up his death.
Officer Daniels.
He left Wendall a few years back. They said he went to go and try and make it out in Hollywood. He is pretty dreamy. Grow up with enough people telling you that you could be a movie star, and you are bound to believe it at some point. Especially when your other life choices seem so limited.
He returned a little over two years ago and took a job at the police station. A lot of people looked down on him for leaving. The Daniels family owned two farms, and he was expected to stay and do his duty. His dad passed away shortly after he got home. By that time, they had already lost one of the farms. A lot of people in Wendall blamed Officer Daniels for that. I mean, they never said it, but you could tell in the looks they threw his way.
Officer Daniels has been trying to get back in the town’s good graces ever since. He’s known for always giving you a warning first when it comes to speeding, and he joined the choir. He works at his father’s farm during the day and the police station at night.
So eager to please.
I clear my throat. “When you found my brother, did, well, did you…how did you find him?” I ask. I’m surprised to hear how much fear lives between my words. I truly don’t want to think bad things about the people in my town. Sure, I think sort of bad things about them, but I don’t want to think of them as murderers and conspirators.
Maybe I don’t want to find my brother’s murderer at all.
Officer Daniels’ hands open and shut around the steering wheel. If I’m not mistaken, his eyes seem to squint slightly. “Ms. Jensen, I’m not sure this is a conversation you want to have.”
I sit up in my seat. Can he sense my nervousness? My hesitation? “Of course it’s a conversation I want to have. He was my brother, sir.”
Daniels lets out a heavy sigh. “I was on patrol and I saw his car. He had run into a tree. When I got to the scene of the accident, I found your brother in the driver’s seat. I could barely get the driver’s side door opened because the car was so smashed up. I checked for vital signs. There were none. He smelled like alcohol.”
Lie one. My brother certainly didn’t smell like alcohol when he left the wedding. Unless he stopped and boozed it up between leaving the wedding an
d the accident…
“What time was this?” I ask.
“Can’t say I rightly recall, miss.”
I shake my head.
“What?”
“Sorry, sir. It just seems a little odd that you don’t remember what time that was. I mean, something like that doesn’t happen very often here in Wendall. I just think you would remember the time.” I am the most ineloquent detective ever.
“Your brother was pretty messed up, kid. I don’t want to remember something like that.”
I swallow back whatever has begun to rise up in my throat. I clear my throat again. “And the car? There didn’t seemed to be anything tampered with it?”
Daniels shakes his head. “Nope. Pretty clear it was a drunk driving accident.”
“So, no blood tests were done? The car wasn’t looked at?”
“Look, I’m not in charge of that kind of stuff. I just gave the chief my report. It was up to him to order an investigation.”
Daniels sounds annoyed and maybe even a little on edge. Another lesson from watching Veronica Mars—people get really defensive when they’ve got something to hide. “Must have been a pretty convincing report,” I mutter.
Daniels hits the brakes a little too hard in front of my house. “Want my advice, Ms. Jensen?”
I clench my jaw and nod.
“Let it go. Your brother’s death was a tragedy. We all feel for you and your family, but it’s about time you accepted it and work on healing. It won’t be good for anyone if you continue in this way.”
Why did his words sound like a warning? “Thanks for the advice,” I reply, gritting my teeth.
“Tell your dad I’ll have one of the boys drop off the car. Please try to not commit a felony again, Ms. Jensen. If you do, I might just have to charge you next time.”
As I walk to my door, I can’t shake the chill that has crawled inside my skin. Is this what intuition feels like? I know he’s hiding something from me. I just know it, and it makes me feel nauseous.
The Language of Silence Page 13
