by Jen Nadol
“She’s still down there, you know.” She didn’t have to tell me who she was talking about.
“With the police?”
Tannis nodded, flicking her eyes to me. “Does that mean they think she did it?”
“It could mean lots of stuff,” I said, trying to picture Nat with the cops, being questioned like I’d been, her dad dead. Natalie was tough, but not like that. Not hard. “Maybe she doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Maybe they just have her with, like, a foster family or something. Who else does Nat have?”
“I don’t know. No one?” She rubbed her forehead, admitting shakily, “I’m freaking out, Riley.”
“We all are.”
Trip and Sarah joined us then, Sarah’s cheeks red from the cold. They matched her coat, one she’d complained mildly was worn at the edges, last year’s style. She looked beautiful, and I thought of how it had felt to stand beside her at John Peters’s. Two nights ago that felt like two million.
“What do you think happened?” I asked when we were all at the table. No one else was outside today; the air was sharp with the brittle cold. Sarah shook her head, still looking spooked.
“Damned if I know, Ri,” Trip said. “Sounds like the police don’t either.”
“People think it might have been her,” I said.
He nodded. “I got that from the stuff the cops asked. I don’t believe it.”
“Really?”
“It’s just not Natalie.” Trip was adamant.
“Yeah, I know, Trip. But her dad—”
“Has been out of hand for as long as any of us can remember,” he said, cutting me off. “But we don’t know that he’s ever done anything to hurt anyone. Except himself. It’s all speculation and suspicion and rumor.” He shook his head. “If he was really abusive, don’t you think Natalie would have done something about it? In all these years, with all the people who’ve offered to step in? Why would she suddenly decide to shoot him?”
“Maybe she just snapped,” I said. “Maybe he came after her.”
“Then she’d have done whatever she’s been doing the last ten or fifteen years to deal with it,” Trip said angrily.
“So if it wasn’t her,” Tannis said, “who was it? And how could she have been there and not heard anything?”
“We don’t know that she didn’t,” Trip pointed out. I was about to tell him what Matty’s mom had said, but realized it was just more hearsay. “Maybe it was a disgruntled client,” Trip continued. “Or a girlfriend?”
“Ewww.” Tannis wrinkled her nose. “He had girlfriends?”
I thought of the woman passed out on the couch, and Sarah said, “Nat mentioned his ‘lady friends’ a couple times.”
“Ugh,” Tannis said. “Parents and dating? Awkward.”
“I’m not sure you’d call what they did dating,” Trip said.
“Ewww,” Tannis said again.
“The cops were asking about drugs and stuff,” I said, realizing that I’d actually been the one to bring it up.
“And?” Trip asked.
“Maybe they have a suspect.” One I gave them. Moose had looked like he wanted to strangle me when he’d walked out of his chat with them.
“If looks could kill, Randall Cleary would’ve been dead at the mountain,” Sarah said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “But I don’t think Bill Winston hauled up to the trailer in the middle of the night and shot him.”
Sarah nodded.
“The cops were asking me who I thought might have done it,” I said. “‘Who would have wanted him dead?’ were their actual words.”
Trip snorted. “Everyone?” He said. “Except Nat.”
“Trip,” Sarah said, “you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead.”
He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, grandma,” he said. “The fact is, there probably isn’t anyone in town you could come up with a longer list of suspects for.”
I nodded. “It sounds like the cops are keeping it wide open right now.”
“So they think Nat did it or don’t?” Trip asked.
“I don’t think they have a clue.”
“That’s not likely to change,” Sarah said. She was joking, but there was more than a kernel of truth there. Buford’s finest hadn’t had much to investigate since someone had stolen Larry Bushman’s lawn mower six months ago. And they’d only dug into that because Larry had called them about it every day. People up here tended to live and let live. It was the way we were all brought up. Why stick your nose into other people’s business unless it affected you? People gossiped plenty but rarely got involved, and the cops tended to look the other way unless their hand was forced. I don’t think it had ever been forced like it was being forced now.
“But, guys,” Tannis said, “what about those binoculars?”
We stared at her. “What about them?” Trip said.
“I mean, I know I’m freaking out, but what if . . .” Tannis took a ragged breath. “What if we saw the future?”
There it was. None of us said anything right away, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’d wondered the same thing sometime between watching the red-and-blue police lights outside Natalie’s trailer and now.
I ignored the shiver down my spine. “That’s impossible.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “The stuff I saw was so real. Not like it’d be if I made it up. The strangest things came to me about walking with those kids. I mean, I felt like I loved them or something.” Tannis looked embarrassed. “I don’t even like kids. And my shoes hurt and it was blazing hot. And I was crampy—”
“TMI,” I said, trying to calm the anxiety racing through me. I’d smelled French fries in mine and had felt a weird nervousness that definitely wouldn’t have been part of a fantasy or hallucination.
“But it was like it was really happening,” Tannis insisted. “Or would. And now this.”
“It’s impossible,” I said again.
“How do you know?” she demanded.
“It’s against the laws of physics. We studied it in class last year.” Another of Mr. Ruskovich’s lessons. But even as I said it, I wondered if it was true. You couldn’t go to the future, but did that mean you couldn’t see it? I wasn’t about to share any doubts with Tannis. “All that stuff in books and movies . . . it’s all just fantasy.”
“Really?” she asked hopefully.
“There’s one way to find out for sure,” Trip chimed in.
I knew immediately what he meant. “I’m not going back there,” I said. “That’s crazy, Trip. After what happened?”
“You’re not curious?” he countered.
Oh, I was definitely curious. Could it really be my future? Me with Sarah? I glanced at her and saw the weirdest expression on her face. Nervous, almost guilty. What had she seen that she was afraid to tell?
“What are you guys talking about?” Tannis asked.
“Going back to the binoculars,” Sarah said. “Right?” She looked at Trip.
He nodded. “You just said it couldn’t be the future, so what can looking hurt?” he asked me.
“It was definitely something, though,” I said. “Hallucinations or whatever.”
“So?” Trip said.
I looked around but could see that none of them got it. “What if it’s what we first talked about—subconscious desires or something? What if whatever happened that night called up things we’d been thinking deep down.” I saw Tannis about to interrupt. “Maybe so deep we’re not even aware of it.”
“And . . . ,” Trip prompted.
“And changed how we think or act. Maybe it didn’t predict what happened to Nat’s dad but caused it.”
No one said anything for a minute.
“You really think she did it?” Trip said quietly.
“Not the Nat we’ve always known,” I
said. “But what if it was a hallucinogen? Something chemical that got on our skin? Into our brains? That night last year when we were on acid? We were acting pretty weird.”
“You think?” Trip said sarcastically.
“And to tell you the truth, I didn’t feel right for a few days after.”
He nodded slowly.
“What if this is like that and somehow it changed Natalie?” I said, then added, “We have no idea what we’re dealing with.”
Trip pursed his lips, thinking. Finally he said, “Don’t you think we should figure it out, Ri? I mean, the police are investigating a murder and holding our friend—maybe as a suspect. She saw it coming. Don’t you think we should check out the thing that showed it to her?”
I was silent because I didn’t want to go back. “You didn’t even see anything,” I said to him.
“All the more reason to look again,” Trip countered. “So I can see if you’re all just nuts. We’re the only ones who know about the binoculars,” he continued quietly. “If they have anything to do with what happened to Nat’s dad—by changing things or predicting them or whatever—the police will have no idea to even consider them.
“Which could be good or bad,” he added after a few seconds.
“Depending on . . . ,” I said.
“On whether or not Nat had anything to do with it.”
I realized that for all his certainty, Trip actually wasn’t that certain at all. Typical.
“So let’s just tell the cops about them and be done,” Tannis said. A confused look passed over her face. “Actually, that wouldn’t be a very good idea, would it?”
“They’d think we’re crazy,” Sarah said.
“Or worse,” I said. “Find out that we’re not.”
“We have to go back,” Trip said. “I don’t think there’s really a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I said, but it was halfhearted. I didn’t want to admit it and definitely didn’t want to do it, but Trip was right. We had to look again.
CHAPTER 10
“TELL ME AGAIN WHY WE’RE we doing this?” Tannis asked as she climbed into my car.
“Because you live close to me and I’ve got the car tonight and I’m gentleman enough not to make you walk.”
“No, you moron. I meant, why are we going back to those binoculars?”
I knew that’s what she’d meant, but I was trying to avoid thinking about it, my stomach a tight ball of knots.
Tannis poked my shoulder. “Hey. Loverboy.”
I rubbed the spot where she’d jabbed me. “Could you please stop calling me that?”
She snorted. “Truth hurts?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped, wishing immediately I hadn’t. I suspected Tannis knew I had a thing for Sarah, but I sure didn’t want to hear it out loud.
She smirked. “I think you know.”
“Whatever.” I waved it off. “You heard Trip,” I said, returning to her original question. “We’re going back because we need to know what the binoculars are. And whether they had anything to do with what happened to Nat’s dad.”
“And if they did?”
“I don’t know. I guess it depends on how they’re connected.” I didn’t want to think about turning Nat in. Or turning the binoculars in. Though I wouldn’t mind seeing the look on Lincoln Andrews’s face if he saw the crazy shit we had.
She was quiet for about ten seconds. Which might have been a world record for Tannis. “What if it really is the future?”
“It’s not,” I said automatically.
“But what if it is?”
“Okay, fine,” I said. “Let’s just say—for the sake of argument—that it is. So what?”
“So what?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Does it matter? Does it change anything?”
“It changes everything.” Tannis’s voice broke on the last word.
I looked over, surprised.
“It’s all wrong,” Tannis said.
“What? That you have kids?”
“Everything,” she said miserably. “It means all of the stuff—my races, the trials, the time I’ve been fixing cars instead of studying or whatever—it’s all been a huge waste. None of what I want happens. I never leave. I’m stuck right here, raising kids, living in a falling-down house, just like my mom, and her mom before her, and—”
“Whoa, Tannis. Hold it,” I said. “How can you know that?”
She stared at me, her face tight for a second, then crumpling. “Because I have three kids. And I’m not old.” She wiped at her eyes, and I felt my head swimming a little. I’d never seen Tannis cry. Or go off like this. “I’m in, like, my twenties. And I’m walking on a trail on that same damn mountain.” She took a short breath. “I’m not racing; I’m not training. It means I never make it on the circuit. So, what do I do? I’m not smart like you or Sarah. It’s too late for me to go to college or figure out something else. This is the only thing I’m good at. The only thing I’ve ever wanted. And it doesn’t happen.”
Tannis wiped at her eyes, sniffling.
“Tannis,” I said softly, “you’re getting way ahead of yourself.”
“Am I?” she demanded, whipping her head up to look at me. “Was yours like mine? So real you could smell and feel stuff in it like it was really happening?”
I thought about Sarah’s weight next to me in that bed. The way my chest flooded with warmth when she smiled. I didn’t answer, and I think that was answer enough. Tannis had been so quiet about the things she’d seen, not bringing it up at all in the week between the cave and the Dash. I’d assumed she’d blown it off as nothing, had forgotten it. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It was itching at her, just like it had been at me.
“You’re not really going to look, are you?” she finally asked.
“No, I’m not going to look.” It was Trip’s idea to go back, and even though I knew he was right, I wasn’t willing to be the guinea pig. Trip seemed more than happy to do the honors, which could only be attributed to the fact that he’d seen nothing last time and he hated to be left out.
I turned up the volume on the radio then, which was kind of rude, but it kept Tannis from asking me any more questions. Eventually she sang along instead. Loudly, the way Tannis does most everything.
Lights were blazing in the living room when we pulled up to Trip’s house. I saw his dad pass by the oversize window as we went up the walk, and my teeth clenched. The last person I wanted to see. Great.
Tannis rapped on the door three times, then pushed through without waiting for an answer. “Domino’s!” she yelled.
I took a deep breath, assaulted at the threshold by the smell of Pine-Sol and the candles Trip’s mom always lit to cover her cleaning obsession.
“Hey, guys,” Trip’s dad greeted us, giving me a hard clap on the back. I mumbled hi and ducked into the living room, hoping to catch the score before going downstairs. I could hear him chatting up Tannis: “. . . looking lovely as ever. . . . Got a hot date?” “Not tonight, Mr. Jones. . . . Are you free?” Hardy-har-har.
Then his footsteps. “They’re losing again.”
“I see that,” I said without turning around. Trip’s mom passed by on her way to the kitchen, calling a quick hi.
“Terrible about Natalie Cleary’s father,” he said, stepping closer and shaking his head with exaggerated sympathy. It was what people had been saying for days, but like everything else Mr. Jones did, it was too much—too loud, too hearty, and now, too sad. A big, fake, lying façade.
When I was a kid, I’d liked how his big smiles had been different from my dad’s moodiness. I remember roasting marshmallows beside him. He ate his charred, and I’d liked watching them burn.
“Ready, Riles?” he’d ask, puffing on his cigar and holding the stick just outside the campfire’s flam
es.
I’d nod, barely hearing my dad across the fire. “You’re making my son a pyromaniac, Pete.”
Trip’s dad had grinned. “I’ll drop off some fire extinguishers. Consider it a housewarming gift.”
We’d just moved into our place, and my parents had been scraping wallpaper and painting most weekends, their home improvements nearly steamrolling right over our annual camping trip with the Joneses. That year Trip and I had our own tent, which I’d been psyched about until he’d sprung his plan to set up his SpyToolz Lazer Wire to trap bears. I hoped I wouldn’t have to crawl into my parents’ tent overnight. I’d never hear the end of it.
“Better blow that out, Pete,” my dad warned, nodding toward the marshmallow as he stood. “You’re gonna catch the stick soon.” He tossed the remains of his cigar into the fire, then hooked a thumb toward the woods. “Gotta drain the main vein.”
Trip snorted. His dad didn’t say stuff like that, and Trip thought it was hilarious.
Mr. Jones had me hold his cigar while he steadied the stick and blew hard on the marshmallow until the fire went out, leaving a drippy black glob that he sandwiched between graham crackers and chocolate, then offered to me.
I wrinkled my nose. “No, thanks.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Have you boys been sneaking chocolate?”
I shook my head, but in fact we had.
“Reeeally,” he drawled. “Not sure I remember a time in your ten years when you’ve turned down a s’more, Riley Larkin.”
He winked so I’d know he wasn’t really mad. I liked that Trip’s dad never left you wondering about that.
He offered it to Trip, who also shook his head. “Don’t want it.”
“Hnmmmm.” Mr. Jones rubbed his chin. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
Mrs. Jones had ducked into their tent for some drinks, so Mr. Jones turned to my mom.
“Melissa?”
I was surprised when she said, “Sure.”
He smiled, crossing to her side of the fire. Trip scooted next to me, bringing the bag of marshmallows and chattering about whether we should set the wire up by the entrance to the cave or the trail and where a bear’d be more likely to come from, but I was busy watching Mr. Jones feed my mom, both of them laughing as strands of marshmallow dripped down her chin.
