That Night

by Cyn Balog

  As I lean forward to dig in again, Mrs. Weeks comes by, balancing baby Cooper on her hip. “Wow,” she says. “I’m surprised you haven’t uncovered the lost city of Atlantis yet.”

  “There’s still time,” I mumble.

  “Well, I have lunch on the table,” she says. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Come down and take a break.”

  “Thanks. I will in a minute,” I tell her, wiping my hands on my shirt.

  She leaves to feed the baby. I’m about to follow her downstairs when I notice a glistening gold statue, hidden underneath an old papier-mâché art project. I lift it out, wondering how it could’ve gotten in there. It’s a baseball trophy, the biggest one he has, the one he got from regionals two years ago. When I yank it free of all the other junk, the base is bent. No, not bent. It’s broken.

  Nothing a little wood glue wouldn’t fix. I sigh. Kane was probably too lazy to do even that, which is why it ended up where it was. I start to set it aside, thinking that of all the junk in this closet, that’s one thing he definitely wouldn’t want me to throw away.

  Then I notice the corner of the broken base is crusted with dried blood.

  The Day Of

  I hadn’t slept that night, but it didn’t matter.

  It was Valentine’s Day, and I was in love. The world seemed brighter as I drove to school. The dreary mid-February day threatened snow, but I felt as if I was bathed in brilliant sunshine.

  When I walked into homeroom, I saw the box of flowers—red and white carnations—on the teacher’s desk. One of those, I knew, was for me. I watched the teacher drone on with the morning announcements. I was so excited, my skin buzzed. She talked about the likelihood that we’d have our first early dismissal of the year, since the snow was supposed to arrive before lunch. She said that if so, we’d have to come back to homeroom for dismissal, to avoid chaos.

  Come on, come on, I thought, tapping my fingers on my desk.

  Then she asked one of the Key Clubbers to distribute the flowers. The student did so, moving too slowly. Seconds ticked by. A couple times, he came near me, and I expected a flower to land on my desk. But one never did. When the bell ending the period rang, he dropped the empty box in the trash can at the front of the classroom.

  I frowned. Then I looked at my phone. There was a message from Javier.

  Schuyler wants to know where Declan is. Do you know?

  Mrs. Schuyler was Declan’s first-period physics teacher.

  He wasn’t in class?

  No. And he had an exam today.

  Did you text him?

  Yeah. No response.

  I opened a text to Declan.

  Hey. Where are you?

  I waited a few moments as I gathered my things to get to my second-period class, English, but when I looked at my phone, he still hadn’t responded. The message said Delivered but hadn’t switched to Read. I frowned and typed one to Kane: Hey, have you seen Declan?

  A moment later, the text came back: No

  He’s not at school. Have you seen him?

  No

  He was up late last night. You think he overslept?

  Are you kidding?

  Yeah, it was a dumb idea. Declan once said he had an internal alarm clock that always, whether he wanted it to or not, woke him up at five in the morning. He was an early bird, for sure, which was why he was always taking the first bus into school.

  Maybe he’s sick. The flu’s going around. Did you see him at home?

  No

  Great. It was as if Kane was being deliberately unhelpful with his short texts. I gave up.

  In the hallway, people were flaunting their flowers like badges of honor. I thought I’d run into Kane there, as we usually crossed paths between homeroom and second period, while he was on his way to his level two English class, which was next to my Spanish class. But I didn’t see him. I frowned as I walked into English and saw a small collection of unclaimed flowers on the desk. I looked through them, wondering if mine had gotten lost in the wrong homeroom. But they were all for Kane, from various girls.

  Where was Kane? And why did Declan not give me a flower?

  Then I sat down for the world’s most mind-numbing lecture on conjugación en pretérito. Meanwhile, I kept sneaking looks at my phone under my desk, hoping Declan would reply.

  But he didn’t even read the message.

  When I drove home early that afternoon, around lunchtime, I thought I’d be a good girlfriend and bring him chicken soup. Not homemade, strictly Campbell’s, but knowing Declan, he’d appreciate it. There was no snow yet, just a bit of a weird, spritzy fog. When I pulled into the driveway, I looked at his window. The blinds were closed. He was probably on death’s door in there. I went inside, then cursed when I opened our pantry and realized we didn’t have any soup at all.

  When I next looked outside, it had started to snow.

  That was when I heard a loud, mournful wail.

  Monday, July 8

  Evening

  By the time Kane returns home, it’s dark. I’d helped Mrs. Weeks take all the bags of garbage to the curb. I’d hid the trophy in my backpack, then smuggled it into my room. When he pulls up at his house, I’m waiting for him. I push open my window and scream his name as he gets out of his car.

  He turns to me and starts to jog over. He stops at the driveway, and maybe he can see me trembling, because he says, “What? What happened?”

  I go downstairs and let him in, then take him upstairs to my room. Kane has a sunburn that’s threatening to become a tan on his cheeks, and he smells like sunshine and seawater. He keeps asking me what the problem is, but I don’t speak until I’ve closed the door and locked it. “Declan…”

  I can’t say anymore. A thousand thoughts are going through my mind, but nothing comes out. I reach under my bed, pull out the trophy, and lay it on my bed.

  His eyes widen. “Where did you get that?”

  “In your bedroom.” I stare at it, shaking uncontrollably. Every thought in my head has arrived at the same conclusion: This is the murder weapon that killed Declan. “Kane, what did you do?”

  He holds out a hand. “You need to chill out.”

  “It’s covered in blood, Kane! And it’s all bashed in! Did you—”

  “No. No!” he says, reaching over to grab me. I skirt away, around the bed, but he’s too fast. He leaps over the bed and takes me by the shoulders. “Listen. I don’t know why that’s there.”

  “You’re lying,” I say. Of course he knows. Kane was proud of each and every one of his trophies. It had been missing from his dresser, and yet he hadn’t said a thing about it. If it had suddenly disappeared, he would’ve wanted to know what had happened to it. “It’s his blood, isn’t it?”

  He stares at me for a full ten seconds before he nods. He closes his eyes.

  “Tell me.”

  He takes a deep breath. “I never went to school that Valentine’s Day. Our parents were away, so I’d stayed up late the night before, watching sports on television, and I’d fallen asleep on the couch. I woke up late and went upstairs to get ready for school, and I nearly fucking tripped on him.”

  My breath hitches.

  “He was dead. Just lying there in the hallway. He’d been hit in the head with the trophy, and I saw the blood.” He collapses suddenly, falling down on the bed, hunching over and burying his head in his arms.

  My mouth opens, trying to form words. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. After all this…it was true? “He was murdered?”

  His head bobs a yes. He speaks to the floor, his voice muffled by his arms. “And all I could think was that the last time I’d seen you, you were so upset. You told me you couldn’t live like that, apart from Declan.”

  “But I…”

  “So I hid the trophy. I was going to put it in his room, but I’d grown up in this house
and didn’t want…so I dragged him out to the shed. I…I didn’t know what to do. I…” He takes in a shaky breath, then lets it out slowly. “I found my father’s gun. I propped him up in there. I made it look like a suicide.”

  “My God,” I breathe out, covering my mouth with my hands. “You shot him?”

  “He was already dead,” Kane says, his voice trembling. “You have to believe that he was already dead.”

  “But why?” I shout at him, no longer able to stand on my own. I sink onto the bed next to him, stunned. “If he was murdered, why would you do that?”

  He looks at me, and there are tears in his eyes. “Why do you think? Goddamn it, Hailey, everything I’ve ever done is to protect you.”

  The Day After

  The Weeks family was already talking funeral plans. He’d been dead one day, and they were at the funeral parlor, making arrangements.

  All I could think was that he wasn’t dead. It was a mistake.

  I got a thousand calls and texts from people. Each one of them was someone asking whether I needed help. But I didn’t need help. I didn’t need anyone anymore. I kept thinking, This is a mistake. We’re forever. We’re forever. We’re forever.

  That afternoon, I climbed the trellis to Declan’s room. The window was locked, so I climbed down and found the key that Kane kept in a sad pot of dirt that used to have flowers. I opened the door, climbed the stairs, and cried on his bed. I inhaled the woodworker’s glue and the motor oil. I thought about the last time we’d been together. I thought about lying in the dirty snow, in the pirate ship, staring up at the stars. I thought of his heart, beating so fiercely under my ear. Forever had been tainted; now it was a death sentence.

  When Kane appeared, I didn’t even stir. He just stood in the doorway, and though I could feel his presence, I ignored it. I wanted to lie in this room forever, maybe even die here. Nothing else mattered.

  Finally, he said my name. I was surprised at how strong his voice was. I looked up. His eyes were rimmed darkly, probably from lack of sleep, as if something had finally chinked the great Kane Weeks’s armor.

  Very calmly, he asked me, “What did you do?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked him, burying my face again.

  “You know.”

  “No, I don’t.” My phone buzzed. I looked at it. Another text from another “concerned friend” who’d barely ever texted me before. “Why do people keep texting me?”

  Without thinking, I threw my phone, as hard as I could. It hit the wall and shattered instantly, the pieces showering one of Declan’s prized models of the Titanic.

  Kane grabbed me by the shoulders, holding me still as my whole body heaved. He stood so close that I couldn’t open my eyes without seeing him. As much as I didn’t want to, he caught my gaze and held it. “Hailey. What did you do?”

  I started to sob. “I think I made a mistake.”

  He nodded. “You think?”

  Then I focused on him. “What did you do?”

  “What I always do. What I will always do.” He released me as if I was worthless, and I pushed away from him. I ran home across the street, wanting so badly to follow Declan, wherever he’d gone.

  Monday, July 8

  Late

  He’s staring at me like he’s waiting for me to admit something.

  And I won’t. I won’t do it. Not now. Not after everything I’ve lost. I’ve lost so much more than anyone else. I don’t deserve the responsibility for this.

  “Kane,” I say. “How can you think I would do something like that?”

  He closes his eyes, then opens them, as if he’s having trouble believing this isn’t a dream. “What?”

  “You don’t understand. After I spoke with you…Declan came to my house. He told me he’d made a mistake. He told me he wanted to be with me. And we kissed, and he…” I heave a sob. “He went home. And I was so happy.”

  He stares at me. When he speaks, his voice quavers. “I don’t…”

  “I loved him, Kane. I’ve never loved anyone like I loved him. I could never do that.” I catch his eyes. “Were you…were you trying to be my Gatsby? Protecting me, the way he protected Daisy?”

  He’s beyond confused now. About the book, about what I’m telling him. All this time, he’d believed it was me. That I’d killed Declan. “Yeah.” His eyes trail to the ground. “But I thought…”

  “When he left, he told me that Luisa was coming over, and he planned to end things with her.”

  He blinks. “Luisa?”

  I nod. “She did this. My God. She killed him.”

  Kane is still standing there, like a statue. As if he can’t get it through his head. But it all makes complete sense to me. Emotion is bubbling in my heart, and something I’d said a long time ago. I’ll prove it, if it’s the last thing I do. She’ll see.

  I grab hold of the trophy and take a step toward the door.

  Kane stands. His face is stricken with alarm, eyes wide and wild. “Wait. What are you doing?”

  “We have to tell someone. Nina’s dad. She can’t be allowed to—”

  He crosses the room in three strides and grabs the trophy. “No. Hold on. You can’t do that, because… I mean, it’s been a year. More than a year.” His mouth moves, but nothing comes out for a moment, as if he’s tallying the implications of this in his head. “And hell, Hailey. If you tell them, I’m going to get screwed. Wouldn’t I be an accessory, because I covered it up?”

  “But we can’t just let it go!” I shout, horrified at the suggestion. “She needs to pay. She killed him, Kane.”

  He takes the trophy and sets it down. “Hailey. Can we please sleep on this?”

  “You think I can get any sleep now?”

  “Please,” he says, clamping his hand over my arm, so hard and desperate that I couldn’t move if I wanted to. “Tomorrow. I’ll go with you tomorrow, if you want. Think of what Declan would do.”

  Declan? I have no doubt. He’d wait. He always did things so carefully. So thoughtfully. Reluctantly, I nod.

  But I will not let Luisa get away with this. She took Declan from me, more than once. And she needs to pay.

  Three Days After

  The funeral was something else.

  Thousands of people packed into the funeral home for the memorial and drove in the procession to the cemetery. The priest remarked more than once that he’d never seen such an outpouring of love and support.

  Kane went with his family at the front of the procession. I was stuck in the back, with Nina and Javier. Nina had been crying nonstop since she’d heard the news. Javier was driving, reaching out every so often to pull her close, kissing her forehead. For the first time, it struck me that Javier hadn’t been forced with Nina because of all of us. From the way he kept holding her, touching her, looking at her to make sure she was okay, he really cared.

  Declan once cared about me like that.

  Now he was dead. About to be put in the ground for eternity.

  I fingered the necklace I’d taken to wearing—even when I slept and showered—and swallowed a sob. Diamonds are forever. And so are we.

  Because Javier’s SUV was at the end of the procession and rain was coming down in ceaseless sheets, by the time we’d slogged over the muddy patches of snow to the grave site, the ceremony had already begun. I had to stand behind rows and rows of people, and I couldn’t hear the priest over the patter of rain and the sobs of onlookers.

  Not a single one of us had an umbrella. I’m not sure if it was because the rain hadn’t been forecast, or because we’d all been too aggrieved to think of it. But I stood there, in the mud, thinking that rain always falls on the funerals of the truly virtuous. Blessed are the dead that the rain falls on.

  Afterward, we were all able to walk past the grave and throw a flower onto the coffin after it was lowered into the ground. I waited for what s
eemed like hours for my turn, my puffer coat and navy-blue dress so soaked that I could feel rainwater sliding down my rib cage. My hair was as wet as if I’d emerged from the shower without wringing it out. Trailing behind Nina and Javier, I took one of the last roses from the bucket, and as I did, my eyes met those of Mr. and Mrs. Weeks, Kane, and Luisa.

  Luisa stared at me as I looked over the casket, trying to think of words I could say to Declan. The only thing that came wasn’t very eloquent, but I suppose it said it all. I’m sorry.

  Before I could throw in my rose, someone snatched my wrist. “He doesn’t need anything from you,” Luisa snapped at me.

  I lost my grip on the flower, and it tumbled into the mud by my soaked boots. I stared at her, wondering whether those were tears or raindrops on her face.

  “He never loved you,” she whispered in my ear. “And with good reason. He told me everything you did to him. You don’t need to be here. So just go.”

  I didn’t pick up the flower. I pulled away and walked back to Javier’s car. She couldn’t be right. He did love me. He had loved me. If there hadn’t been a Luisa, he’d still be alive. She was the one who’d ruined it all.

  Back in Javier’s SUV, he and Nina tried to talk to me, about what a lovely ceremony it had been, but I wasn’t listening.

  “He loved me. And I’ll prove it, if it’s the last thing I do,” I said to no one in particular as I stared out the rain-streaked window. “She’ll see.”

  Tuesday, July 9

  That morning, bright and early, I get into my Jeep, with Kane at my side.

  We have someplace to be.