That Night

by Cecily Wolfe

  He took the first mug he found on the shelf in the cabinet and used it to refill the water compartment, his hands careful and steady. He chose a K-cup of French vanilla medium roast, Sarah’s favorite, and she heard the tiny crunch of the plastic as he pressed the handle down and the machine began to sputter as he turned to her.

  “I hope we didn’t wake you. I know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

  She shook her head. He lowered his eyes, but she had already seen that he was having difficulty keeping them open. He was tired, and while part of it had to do with his concern for her after losing Kayla, she knew that the texts had brought on a new worry as well as anger.

  The police had agreed to come out this afternoon to see the string of texts that alternated between supportive and contemptuous, long and thoughtful to short and hateful. The way the words flashed before her eyes, quick and meaningless, and the sentiments behind them a few seconds after they had passed before her sight felt like tiny light switches flickering off and on in her head - and her heart.

  She knew that Cass was getting them too, and she worried that Mia could be subjected to the same harassment if her phone number fell into the wrong hands.

  “No, I’m fine, I just . . .” she started, then waited as he took the mug from the plastic tray and handed it to her. It was one of three that she, Cass, and Kayla had made together at a pottery painting shop that had long since closed, where Kayla’s mom had brought them for her twelfth birthday. They had been obsessed with an online game involving penguins, and while their interest had been waning as they grew older, they had all decided to paint the animal on their mugs.

  Sarah was the most artistic, or so everyone said, and hers had been a carefully rendered realistic version, in black and white, although a little more round than a traditional penguin. They had named him Chubs, while Kay’s sparkly purple penguin, which looked more like a dragon, was creatively called Sparkles. Cass’s black and white blob had a distinct bow tie in a shell pink color that became the focus of the picture, so hers became known as Pinky.

  All three girls still had and used their mugs. Sarah wondered what would happen to Kay’s.

  “Honey?”

  Sarah blinked and stared down at the mug, which had warmed her hands to the point of discomfort. Her father was watching her but hadn’t moved closer, as if he was afraid to startle her, and she was sorry for zoning out.

  “Just thinking, that’s all.”

  She took the few steps that separated her from the refrigerator and opened the door, reaching into the side for the half and half only she used. Her father liked regular milk and lots of sugar in his coffee, but she remembered her mother drinking it black, so she wasn’t sure how she herself had ended up preferring the thicker cream, and no sweetener.

  She realized that she was still standing at the open refrigerator, coffee in one hand, the half and half carton in the other, and turned to push the door closed with her hip.

  “I didn’t see any texts from Paul on your phone. Has Cassidy heard from him at all?”

  She shook her head, thinking of Mia and wondering if she should tell him her concerns about hurtful texts sent the younger girl’s way. He would probably call Kayla’s parents, and then they would know that people were saying hateful things about Kay, about her personally, about how she died.

  Things that could never be true, but might be believed.

  She didn’t always like Kayla’s parents and how they pushed Kay, but she didn’t want them to see what was being said. They might already know, she considered. They had phones, too, and sometimes adults could be just as terrible as kids when it came to gossip and jealousy.

  That’s what it was, wasn’t it, she assured herself. People were jealous of Kayla, just as some people would always be of someone who was beautiful and talented in ways they weren’t.

  “What was his relationship with Kayla like? Do you feel comfortable talking to me about him?”

  It took her a moment to realize what he was saying. What did that question mean? Was Paul in some kind of trouble? She and Cass knew he had nothing to do with what happened to Kayla.

  The three of them had been looking for her together, and he had been just as devastated when he couldn’t revive her. In fact, he was, at first, the one who had taken charge of the situation when they found Kay, starting CPR while Cass was fumbling with her phone and she held Kay’s damp hand in her own, dumbfounded.

  Her breath hitched, and she realized that she was crying, the tears falling onto her hands as she held the mug and carton close to her.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry - let me have those.”

  Her father took the items from her hands carefully, setting them on the counter and returning to wrap his hands around her arms and guide her into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

  She took a deep breath, then another, in an attempt to slow the tears, but when he left the room, explaining that he would send Paul’s parents on their way, she tucked her head into her chest and wrapped her arms around herself, wondering if there would come a time when the tears wouldn’t come rushing to overwhelm her.

  Day Nine

  Monday

  Labor Day

  Any holiday was cause for sparklers, at least as far as Kayla was concerned. Cass always ended up with a burned finger or two. Butterfingers, her father would say, and she would wonder why in the world anyone ever came up with that expression. Someone who predated the candy bar, she assumed. She understood what it meant, of course, but it sounded dumb.

  There would be picnics all over town today, but Cass wouldn’t be going to any.

  The three of them had always alternated the majority of time at each of their houses on holidays. Sometimes they would hang out at Cass’s, and her dad would grill a little of this or that, her parents’ friends stopping by as they hopped from house to house as if they had a checklist of people they needed to be seen with. Other holidays would be at Sarah’s, her father close by, smiling, allowing them space but making it clear he was there in case they needed anything.

  Kayla’s family always had a huge event no matter what the season, with family and friends over at all hours, pizza delivery augmenting the giant grill full of meats and vegetables, potatoes wrapped in silver foil baked to a crispy crunch that Cass adored. Once they had started ninth grade, Kay had abstained from them, and Cass couldn’t imagine how Kay had the self-control to walk away from such a perfect food.

  “One day you won’t have to worry about soccer, then you’ll be fighting me for these,” Cass would tell her, dropping spoonfuls of sour cream and slabs of salted butter into the steaming mash of the potato. She knew how much Kay loved soccer, but they all knew that a time would come, probably after college, when soccer would no longer dominate her life. Kay didn’t like to talk about a life without soccer.

  “Trade soccer for a potato? No thanks,” she would laugh, and Cass never saw Kayla look longingly at any food that she didn’t allow herself to eat. Kicking that ball around meant so much to her, and Cass and Sarah knew that while they didn’t understand why, they respected her love for the sport but also feared it.

  “You’re a little obsessive, aren’t you?” Cass had ventured one summer evening, when the air had cooled the sweat on their skin, and Kay’s feet, calloused and pink from hours at practice earlier that day. Kay had been quiet for a few moments and Sarah had dared a glance meant for Cass alone, as if to say, what are you doing?

  They were on hammocks slung low on Sarah’s patio, the cement inches from their bottoms, the heavy ropes used to their weight. Kay shifted and planted her bare feet on the ground, stepping quietly over to the pool and settling down at the edge, dipping her legs in the water, still warm from the heat of the sun. She didn’t look at Cass or Sarah when she spoke.

  “I hope someday you both find something like it. Something you love so much, something that feels so right.”

  Cass had been mesmerized by Kay’s intensity, and a little jealous, both o
f soccer’s hold over her friend, and of the affection Kay had for the sport. She had never felt so strongly about anything, except her friends. She wasn’t sure she could love an activity as much as a person, and she didn’t know how anyone could love something that hurt them.

  The older they got, the more Kay was stressed about it, about winning, about leading. About scholarships, about her parents, about being a good example. How could that be fun?

  “I can’t imagine not playing. That’s all. I don’t even want to think about a time when I won’t. Not even for a potato.”

  Kay had scooped up a handful of water and splashed it towards Cass, and Cass leaped up, surprised. The three of them ended up in the pool, their shorts and t-shirts left by the side of the pool, and Sarah’s father had been embarrassed to find their clothes littering the patio when he walked out to ask if they wanted to order pizza.

  “We have, uh, underthings on,” Sarah had assured him, but he still flushed red and turned back towards the house, looking down at his phone as he dialed frantically.

  “Underthings?” Kay had asked, laughing. She sank underneath the water when Sarah splashed her, coming up under the diving board, where she reached up and grabbed the heavy plastic, pulling her weight up and lowering herself, once, then twice.

  “You will have some pizza, though, right?” Sarah asked, eyebrows raised as she encouraged her. Kay sighed, then smiled in resignation.

  “Only if it has onions.”

  Cass was tired of the whispers, the questioning looks her parents held when she walked into a room, as if they didn’t know what to expect of her. She almost looked forward to going back to school just to get away from them, but when she started to think about school, her stomach caved in on itself. She couldn’t imagine what school was going to be like.

  A few years ago when they were still in middle school, one of Danny’s brother’s classmates died in a car accident and Danny said his brother complained about the assemblies and drama over it.

  “Like they don’t want to do anything but talk about him. Yeah, it’s sad, but . . . come on.”

  Kay had been horrified.

  “But he’s dead. Even if they weren’t friends, doesn’t your brother have any feelings?”

  Cass had mildly agreed with Danny’s brother. After all, she didn’t know the boy, and while she felt bad for his friends and family, everyone else had their own lives to live, and wasn’t sitting around crying about it just going to make it worse?

  She wasn’t going to contradict Kayla, though, because she could see that her friend was growing upset over it. Sarah had stood by watchfully, quiet as she was around everyone except Cass and Kay, and Cass noticed Danny’s gaze travel to Sarah again and again. Sarah either didn’t notice it, or she didn’t care. Cass thought maybe it was a bit of both.

  When Paul had found the four of them talking during recess on the old basketball court, while most of the other kids were playing ball on the new court or hanging around the bleachers, he had taken Kay’s side immediately.

  “Man, that’s just cold,” he told Danny, shaking his head. “Your brother would be sad if it was you, right?”

  Danny shrugged.

  “I hope so.”

  They had all laughed at his sheepish expression, and his frown dissolved into a smile when Sarah joined in. Cass thought of Danny’s brother now, and the friends he had over the night of the party.

  Was it one of them who gave the drug to Kayla? Why would Kay even talk to some guy, some man, she didn’t know?

  “We hope you aren’t thinking of staying home tomorrow, Cassidy. Moping around isn’t going to help you get on with your life.”

  Damn. They weren’t even trying to be sensitive. She was strangely relieved at that.

  “I’m going. So is Sarah.”

  Her mother offered her a tight smile and tilted her head as if she was speaking to someone much younger than Cass.

  “The two of you . . . now, you know we love Sarah, and her father, well, he’s very well-connected. But the two of you need to make more friends, especially now. Two is just, well, just too small of a circle. It isn’t even a circle.”

  Cass stared into her mother’s eyes until the woman blinked and looked away.

  “I didn’t know you were an expert in geometry.”

  Her father was watching from the other side of the kitchen table, quiet as her mother insulted her, insulted her friends, insulted the very memory of Kayla and the years of friendship she had shared with her and Sarah.

  “Now, Cassidy, there’s no need to be disrespectful. We just want what’s best for you.”

  What’s best for me, Cass considered, would be for Kayla to come back. For the party never to have happened. For both of you to stop hassling me.

  “Going to Sarah’s,” she spat as she turned her backs to them, ignoring her father’s call to come back, his words about a holiday and family distant for the lack of attention she paid to them, both the words and her parents.

  When Cass arrived, Sarah was curled up underneath a thin, pink blanket in one of the hammocks on the patio. Sarah’s father didn’t seem overly concerned, but rather relieved that Sarah was asleep.

  “I know that I slept a lot when Jennifer died,” he admitted to Cass, who knew exactly how much he had slept back then. If he wasn’t sleeping, he was crying, and if he wasn’t crying, he was sleeping. She didn’t know if the sleeping kept him from crying, or if the crying made him tired and that was why he slept so much.

  From what Sarah had learned in family counseling, Cass knew that everyone grieved differently, but hiding away from everyone, no matter what form it took, was not the best way. It made sense now, what Sarah had explained over the years, as her counseling took different turns and perspectives, and while Cass had understood in her head, she had not really grasped it in her heart.

  All the words, all the theories, all the coping mechanisms - it all seemed to coalesce into one small sliver of information that couldn’t account for the feelings involved with losing Kayla.

  “I’m glad you two have each other. I’m sure you know this, but I wanted to tell you, just so it’s clear. I don’t know what kind of support you’re getting at home, and I’d never want to undermine your parents and your respect for them, but you’re always welcome here.”

  His smile was small and brief, but unlike her mother’s, genuine and heartfelt. Cass didn’t realize that she was crying until he reached out and picked up a box of tissues, handing it to her without any hurry or upset.

  Her parents wouldn’t be pleased with more tears and would probably get flustered as they babbled something cliché and stupid that wouldn’t help. Sarah’s father looked out the sliding glass door to where Sarah slept, looking like a child bundled from the cold.

  “Cry all you need to, no matter what anyone says. Holding it inside just makes it worse.”

  Sarah had told Cass and Kay that her father still cried, just as Sarah still did, but when she heard him some nights, the sound muffled by his pillow, she felt helpless and sorry that she couldn’t help him. It felt like something so private that she shouldn’t listen, but there was no way not to hear, and she would never tell him.

  “They loved each other for so long. I can’t even imagine it.”

  “You’re lucky, though, that your parents were like that. Not that, I mean, you know, that she’s gone, I just mean that my parents suck at being with each other,” Cass would shake her head when she tried to explain the comparison to her home life. “They are always bitching about something. His suit is wrong for the party, or she said something wrong at that dinner, or whatever. Why is that stuff so important anyway, that you’d fight with someone you’re married to, someone you’re supposed to love, about it?”