These Things I’ve Done
Page 24
“Someone keeps putting things like this in my locker,” I told Mrs. Dover. “I don’t know who they are, but I want them to stop.”
When she saw what was on the sheet, her pretty face turned stony. “If you ever find out who’s doing it,” she said, “please let me know.”
I promised her I would, even though I knew the culprit would probably remain a mystery. He or she is a coward, hiding behind their anonymity like a troll on the internet.
The good news is, there hasn’t been any passive-aggressive locker mail since. And if I ever do get more, I won’t hang on to them. My green notebook is being used to store something else now—the police academy brochures. Maybe someday soon, I’ll take them home with me.
“Dara,” Ethan says, jolting me back to the present. “You okay?”
I nod and pass him the flowers. “You do it.”
He crouches down and rests the tulips against the grave, right under the etched words Forever in our hearts. Before he straightens up again, he eases one flower from the bunch and closes his fingers around the stem. I don’t ask him why. Maybe he keeps one every time.
“Do you . . . feel her here?” I ask him.
“Not really. I feel her more at home. Especially when I’m alone in my room, playing guitar. I’m not sure why.”
I press my hand to the top of the stone, feeling vaguely relieved. I don’t feel her here either. Like Ethan, I mostly sense her presence around the house—his and mine. It’s where most of my memories with her took place.
Back in the car, Ethan puts the single purple tulip on the dash and pulls back onto the street. I assume he’s taking me home, so I’m confused when he goes in the opposite direction.
“Ethan, where are we—?”
He makes another turn and it suddenly hits me what he’s doing. Where he’s taking us. And my entire body freezes.
The last time I was here, back in September when my father took this way by accident, it was raining and I was so upset I barely even registered my surroundings. But today, it’s sunny and clear, and Fulham Road looks as peaceful and picturesque as ever. Exactly like it did the day Aubrey was killed.
The calmness I felt at the graveyard has abandoned me completely. My pulse quickens and my breathing shallows, a precursor to the flashbacks that always follow close behind. Suddenly, I feel Ethan’s hand on my shoulder, and I realize the car has stopped moving and we’re parked on the side of the road, mere feet from where Aubrey’s life was crushed out of her.
“You can do this.” Ethan’s face is inches from mine, all I can see. “You can. I’m right here with you. I love you.”
I focus on him, on the words he just said. Inhale. Exhale.
“I come here too, you know,” he says. “Every month, after leaving the cemetery, I come here. I feel like I owe her that, to stand in the last place she was alive. It’s hard, but I do it. And if I can do it, so can you.”
My heart is still racing, and the memories are still looming, but I keep my eyes anchored to Ethan’s and breathe through it. This time, I’ll try not to let them consume me. This time, I’ll try digging deep, past the thick, murky layers of guilt and hate and pain, to the fierce-and-fearless me who possibly still exists down there somewhere, waiting to be freed.
For Ethan, but mostly for myself, I’ll try.
“Okay,” I tell him.
He drops a kiss on my forehead and gets out of the car, grabbing the lone tulip as he goes. I take one more deep breath and get out too, nausea swirling in my stomach. But I breathe through that too and join Ethan on the sidewalk. We walk for a minute, passing neat houses and winter-worn lawns, until he comes to a stop near a spindly tree poking out of the strip of grass between the sidewalk and curb.
“No,” I say, tugging him forward several steps. “Right here.”
We stand together on the sidewalk for a while, looking out at the road. The occasional car passes, but no one seems to notice us. To them, and to the rest of the street, it’s just another ordinary day.
“You do it,” Ethan says, holding out the tulip.
I take it and step closer the curb, my shoes sinking into the new spring grass, and look down at the clean, unblemished pavement. These are the things I see now:
Rows of shortbread cookies, cooling on the counter.
A violin bow, cutting through the air.
A pair of dark brown eyes, watching me with love.
I lift the tulip to my nose, inhaling its subtle fragrance until it’s all I can smell. Then I hold it over the empty road, open up my fingers, and let go.
acknowledgments
THANK YOU TO MY EDITOR, CATHERINE WALLACE, for loving These Things I’ve Done. Your spot-on editorial notes pushed me to dig deeper into the heart of the story and figure out exactly what I was trying to achieve. The final product is a thousand times better because of you. Another huge thank-you to the rest of the HarperTeen team, for turning my little manuscript into a gorgeous book that people can hold in their hands.
A million thanks to the remarkable Eric Smith, both for taking me on and for being the best agent an author could ever dream of having in her corner. Your enthusiasm for this book (all books, really) knows no bounds. Your kindness, humor, and infinite supply of happy tears helped sustain me through all those long, agonizing waits. To everyone at P.S. Literary, thanks for always having my back. And of course, big group hugs to #TeamRocks. Your support makes the stress-inducing world of publishing a lot easier to navigate.
These Things I’ve Done literally would not exist without Cara Bertrand and her fateful email about a book idea. Cara, no words can adequately express my gratitude. You always believed I could write Dara’s story and do it justice, even when I had my doubts. We haven’t even met in person (yet), but you’ve made an impact in so many ways. This book isn’t just mine—it’s ours.
Thank you to Shannon Steele, my forever first reader and definitely my number one fan (Annie Wilkes has nothing on you). Your friendship, encouragement, and unflagging belief in me is always appreciated. And thanks to Tanja Sullivan, my talented critique partner, for taking the time to read my books and offer such thorough and thoughtful feedback.
One of the best parts of being a YA author is the YA community. Thanks to Nicole at YA Interrobang for the last-minute cover reveal, and to all the other bloggers who talked about and looked forward to These Things I’ve Done. You’re all amazing.
Thank you to my friends, real-life and online, for keeping me connected to the big and exciting world beyond my desk. I’m so fortunate to have such a wonderful support system. As always, thank you to my family, extended family, and in-law family. Your pride in my accomplishments grows stronger with each book, and it means everything to me.
Thank you to my beautiful and supportive children. If there’s one thing I hope I taught you guys, it’s that impossible dreams are possible if you put in the work and never quit.
And thank you to Jason, my best friend and my heart. I couldn’t do this without you. Parts of this book brought me right back to when I was a band girlfriend, sitting around with the other band girlfriends as we waited for Dark Waters to finish their set. Over two decades have passed since then, and you don’t play guitar much anymore, but I’m still as big a fan of yours as you are of mine.
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about the author
PHOTO BY SHANNON STEELE
REBECCA PHILLIPS lives in beautiful Nova Scotia, Canada, with her husband, two teenagers, and one spoiled-rotten cat. She’s also the author of the Just You series, Out of Nowhere, Faking Perfect, and Any Other Girl. Visit Rebecca on her website, www.rebeccawritesya.com, and on Twitter @RebeccaWritesYA.
books by rebecca phillips
These Things I’ve Done
credits
Cover photograph © 2017 by Marta Bevacqua
Cover design by Michelle Taormina
copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THESE THINGS I’VE DONE. Copyright © 2017 by Rebecca Phillips. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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ISBN 978-0-06-257090-1 (trade bdg.)
EPub Edition © July 2017 ISBN 9780062570932
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FIRST EDITION
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