“Maybe you’ve been with the wrong guys. Usually, it’s the ladies who overcomplicate shit.”
But maybe Sandy was the one getting things wrong. When guys really wanted you—all of you—it probably was a shitload messier. Maybe Sandy’s relationships with boys had always been simple because they weren’t relationships at all. Guys wanted one thing from Sandy: sex. And she knew after a lifetime of watching Jenna that it was stupid to give it up to them as easily as she did. But for some reason, it had always felt more stupid to snap on a chastity belt. Only an idiot would think doing that would change the way things were going to turn out for her.
“I’m not saying the guys are complicated.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “It’s a bunch of other things. My mom, for one. If you think she’s uptight about glitter shoes, imagine what she’d be like about boys. Anyway, it’s not just her. I think maybe I want to save myself until marriage. And don’t bother making fun of me. I already know you’ll probably think that’s ‘fucked up’ or whatever.”
Hannah always sounded so weird, swearing. Like she didn’t know what the words meant.
Sandy shrugged. “Is that what you want? To wait until you’re married? And I mean you, not your mom.”
Hannah looked up then. “Yes,” she said quietly. “It is what I want. When I’m with someone finally, I want it to be someone who likes me for me, you know. All the boys I know, usually, it feels like all they care about is themselves.”
What the hell did Sandy know? That was probably exactly what Hannah should do: wait for someone more mature. It was probably exactly what Sandy should have done.
“If that’s what you want,” Sandy said, “then there’s nothing fucked up about it.”
“I can’t tell you how good it is to see that you’re okay,” Hannah said again once they were upstairs. She motioned for Sandy to sit on the bed while she pulled out the desk chair and turned it around. Hannah did look relieved now, happy almost. “I mean, you look tired, like I said. But I was picturing—I don’t know, worse.”
Sandy needed to pull the trigger—end this in a way that hopefully wouldn’t make Hannah freak. Then Sandy needed to back the fuck out of this mess, slow and steady. No big movements.
“Yeah,” Sandy said. “So listen, I’m glad I came, too. Because I needed to tell you that I’m going out of town. I might be pretty hard to reach for a while.”
Not moving out of Ridgedale, though, that would be too much. Just a trip, an excuse for Sandy to be out of touch. People like Hannah went out of town all the time—long weekends, summer vacation—it was a regular thing they did.
“Oh?” Hannah looked worried as she rocked her hips back and forth, tucking her hands beneath her thighs. “Where are you going?”
Crap. Sandy hadn’t worked that out. That was another thing people like Hannah did: They planned an actual place to go instead of driving around randomly, like the last time she and Jenna had gone on “vacation” and ended up at a Courtyard Marriott in Camden.
“Washington, D.C.,” Sandy said. First place that jumped to mind. And it was somewhere regular people went. “For a few weeks. Maybe a month.”
“A month?” Hannah blinked at her. “That’s such a long time.”
Shit, it was. Sandy shouldn’t have said a month. She should have started small, hoped for the best. But what did any of this matter? A week, a month. At the end of the day, Sandy wouldn’t be able to control what Hannah said or who she said it to once she was gone. All the more reason for Sandy to go for real. To go far. And to go forever. But for that, she’d need Jenna.
“Yeah, it is kind of a long time,” Sandy said. “But my mom wants to stay for a while, so . . .”
“Won’t you have your phone?”
Shit. Why hadn’t she thought of that either? “Uh, my mom won’t let me bring it. She wants to, you know, unplug.”
“Oh, okay,” Hannah said. She seemed satisfied. Only she, with that mother of hers, would believe that bullshit. “Well, thanks for coming over. I just, I couldn’t— I needed to actually see you to know that you were okay. It was— I couldn’t sleep, thinking about it. Also, I wanted to make sure that you don’t blame yourself. Because it was an accident, the whole thing.”
Sandy nodded, afraid of saying the wrong thing when she was so close to getting out the door. “Yeah—I mean, no. Definitely don’t blame myself. Thanks for checking. But I do kind of have to go now. My mom will be waiting for me. Can I just use your bathroom before I take off?” She wanted to splash water on her face, wash her hands. She’d been on her bike for hours.
“Yeah, sure, of course. It’s right down the hall on the left.”
Sandy stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Hannah was right. She did look like shit. But it wasn’t like she was going to start looking better anytime soon. When she made it home to their empty apartment, she’d never be able to sleep.
The medicine cabinet caught Sandy’s eye then. Maybe there was a chance she could feel better for a while. Or maybe she could just forget a little bit. At this point, she’d settle for that. For temporary. Seemed about fucking time Sandy cut herself a break. And yeah, it would be better if it wasn’t the chief of police’s medicine cabinet she was about to swipe some bottles from. But it wasn’t like he’d know she’d been there. Besides, maybe Aidan had the right idea all along. Maybe what she needed was a bigger fuck-it bucket.
Sandy opened the medicine cabinet; there were more than half a dozen little amber bottles with all sorts of different names. There had to be something in there that would work. That would wipe out the world. She grabbed a couple of the older bottles from the way back (one of Barbara’s, one of Steve’s—faded, nearly expired, less likely to be missed) that had the telltale Danger, Controlled Substance. Illegal to Dispense Without Prescription. Tranquilizers, painkillers, what difference did it make? One of them was bound to do the trick. Sandy shook the bottles, and something rattled inside. Not now, though, not yet. Only if she really couldn’t fucking take it anymore—the looking for Jenna, the remembering. Sandy shoved the bottles in her pockets. She was pulling her shirt down over the lump in her jeans when there was a soft knock on the door.
“You should go now, Sandy. Out the back door,” Hannah whispered from the other side. “My brother just woke up and he’s really upset. My mom’s on her way home.”
Sandy saw the notice—bright yellow and taped across her apartment door—as she was coming up the steps of Ridgedale Commons. Even from that distance, she could see the padlock, too. The guy had said twenty-four hours. He’d probably even given her an extra few.
“Shit.” Sandy stopped and leaned against the wrought-iron railing, feeling her throat squeeze tight. She just couldn’t keep it all in anymore. Couldn’t take one more goddamn thing. “Shit!”
She yelled it so loud that her throat vibrated as she slid down the wall. She curled up on the ground, arms wrapped tight around her knees, mouth pressed against them. And then she started to bawl. Once she’d started, it was like she was never going to stop. Her body shook and she couldn’t catch her breath. Her face was a snotty mess. She jammed her lips harder against her knees until she felt like her mouth might tear. She wanted it to.
Sandy was still crying when she heard Mrs. Wilson’s door open. A second later, she heard the old lady come out, felt her staring down. Fuck.
“Good Lord,” her neighbor said. “What in heaven are you doing?”
Perfect. Exactly what Sandy needed: to have Mrs. Wilson rip in to her. Sandy shouldn’t have yelled. Not right outside Mrs. Wilson’s door. She knew better. Sandy tried wiping her eyes, hoping it would help her stop crying. But that only made it worse. She felt like she was melting beneath her fingertips, like her tears were washing away her skin.
“Such a goddamn mess, all of this, all the time,” Mrs. Wilson muttered, coming closer. Sandy could see the old woman’s wiry bare feet, her toes painted a bright orange. She wondered for a second what it would feel like when Mrs. Wilson kicked her.
She braced herself for it.
When the pain didn’t come, Sandy looked up. Mrs. Wilson was standing there in a teenager’s pink sweatsuit, her eyes shiny brown marbles in her bony old-lady face. She had a hand on her hip and a look of disgust on her face. “You hurt or something?” she shouted, like the problem was Sandy’s hearing. “One of these bastards do something to you?”
Sandy shook her head, but Mrs. Wilson looked up and down the walkway as if trying to find someone to blame. Then her eyes set on Sandy’s front door. She turned her orange-polished toes in the direction of the door, then padded down for closer inspection. She lifted her pointy chin to squint at the ugly yellow sticker, then poked her nose in close to the padlock that was bolting shut the door.
Mrs. Wilson marched back toward her own apartment, muttering more angrily as she disappeared inside. Sandy waited for her to slam the door. Instead, Mrs. Wilson reappeared, a crowbar gripped in her hand.
Hoisting it against her hip, Ms. Wilson headed to the apartment on the far side of hers. Every step looked like it might topple her skinny body. She rested the crowbar on the ground before pounding on her far neighbor’s door.
Two young guys lived there. Shady for sure, but not dealers, as far as Sandy knew. Otherwise, Jenna would have found her way over there a long time ago. Stolen electronics, maybe, or counterfeit something or other. From the constant stream of people in and out of their door, they were definitely selling something.
“Hey, I know you’re in there!” Mrs. Wilson shouted when they didn’t answer right away. She banged harder, this time with her whole forearm. “I just heard your TV through my wall! Open up the damn door!”
A second later, the one with the scruff of hair on his chin filled the entryway. He was wearing a 76ers jersey and a baseball cap backward over a tangled brown ponytail. There was a gold chain on his right wrist. The guy didn’t say anything, just stared at Mrs. Wilson like a startled elephant, not angry, only confused.
“Here.” She shoved the crowbar at him. He blinked down at it but didn’t take it. “Go on,” she scolded. “What are you waiting for?”
Finally, he reached forward. In his big fingers, the crowbar became a weightless matchstick. He stared down at it, surprised and even more confused.
“Now,” Mrs. Wilson said, “you take that and go open that door.”
“What?” His voice was nicer, more polite, than Sandy would have expected.
“You heard me. Go open that door for this girl.” Mrs. Wilson hooked a thumb toward Sandy’s apartment. “It’s locked.”
“What?” Now he sounded like a whiny teenager. “Why?”
“Because I said so,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “You boys are lucky someone hasn’t called the police on you. And someone still could.”
The guy heaved a loud sigh and lugged himself out of his apartment. As he headed for Sandy’s door, he tossed the crowbar higher in his huge hand. He paused at Sandy’s door to read the notice, turning back to look at Mrs. Wilson.
“Oh, please, don’t act like you care about the law.” She flapped a hand at him. “Just do it.”
He looked over his shoulder once more to see if anyone was watching—something he’d definitely done a hundred times before when breaking in elsewhere—then snapped the lock off in one easy movement. It fell to the ground with a thud. He walked back toward them, eyes on the ground. He rested the crowbar against the wall next to Mrs. Wilson and disappeared inside his apartment without saying another word.
Sandy pushed herself to her feet, heart pounding. She had to get in and out of that apartment now. Who knew what would happen when you broke open a lock like that? They arrested you, probably, and Sandy seriously did not fucking need that.
“Thank you,” she said to Mrs. Wilson, her voice still hoarse from crying.
Mrs. Wilson shook her head and stepped closer to Sandy, looking her hard in the eye. “You get in there and take what you need,” she said. “But then you go. Because you are the only person in this world who’s going to take care of you. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”
Inside the apartment, Sandy moved fast. She grabbed a couple of the boxes they’d used to move in months earlier, then went around scooping up their personal crap that mattered: Jenna’s jewelry box, Sandy’s grandparents’ pictures, her school records. She opened and closed cabinets, eyes darting around for anything important. There wasn’t much. Their stuff that mattered barely filled a single box.
Sandy filled a second box with some basic kitchen crap: couple plates, some bowls, and a handful of silverware. She also grabbed the stuff Hannah had given her that night for safekeeping. She couldn’t imagine ever seeing Hannah again—she hoped to God not—but it felt wrong to leave it behind. Sandy couldn’t take much else. They’d just have to replace the rest of their cheap shit with new cheap shit. As it was, she didn’t know where the hell she was going to put these two boxes; it wasn’t like she could ride away with them on her bike.
They’d need some clothes, too, an outfit for each, and she’d have to go with spring because there wasn’t time to cover winter. It wasn’t until then that Sandy noticed Jenna’s coat hanging on the back of the door. It had been cold the night before last, frost on the grass in the morning. What if Jenna was outside somewhere? What if she’d frozen to death?
Sandy tried to shake off the thought as she went back to Jenna’s room for one last pass. Though she was trying not to hope that she’d find her money somewhere, she was still disappointed when she didn’t.
There was one last place Sandy could look, the place girls like Jenna always hid their secret stash. Sandy grabbed the mattress with two hands and pushed. She was almost glad when it pitched to the left and crashed against Jenna’s bureau, taking everything on top—cheap bottles of perfume and small glass tchotchkes—down with it.
When Sandy looked back, she couldn’t believe it, but there was something fucking there on the box spring. Not her money. She’d never be that lucky. It was a small black book. Sandy picked it up, bracing herself when she flipped it open. Sure enough, there were her mom’s bubbly girlie letters and a date on the first page: February 15, 1994. Shit.
Sandy tucked the two boxes under the building’s stairs in a dusty cobwebbed corner she was pretty sure no one would check. In her backpack, she’d shoved what was left of her cash—eighteen dollars now—Jenna’s journal, a couple clean pairs of underwear, two T-shirts, and her toothbrush. She didn’t know where the hell she was going to stay, but it wasn’t here, that was for sure.
The last thing Sandy was about to drop in the bag were the pills she’d stolen from Hannah’s house. She would take them only if she got desperate, and then she’d take one pill. Maybe two. Except at this point, with the way she was feeling, Sandy wasn’t sure she could trust herself. Just in case, she should keep only a few and get rid of the rest. She cracked open the bottles and dumped the contents of both together into her palm.
When Sandy looked, there were a few different-shaped pills and a silver chain—broken at the clasp—with a silver moon charm, an aquamarine stone set inside.
It was Jenna’s necklace. The one she always had on. The one that meant so much to her, though even Sandy didn’t know why. Because for all the many secrets that Jenna wouldn’t keep from her daughter—about the drugs she took and the men she slept with—who gave her that necklace was the one thing she refused to tell.
It was dark by the time Sandy got on her bike. Her hands were trembling against the handlebars and her heart was pounding. There was no good reason for Jenna’s necklace to be in one of those bottles. There was only one bad reason for Jenna and her necklace to be separated in the first place: Jenna was dead. How the necklace had ended up in Hannah’s house in a goddamn old pill bottle, Sandy didn’t have a clue. Had Steve taken the pills off Jenna? No, they had his (or his wife’s) name on them. None of it made any sense. Not good sense, anyway.
It wasn’t until Sandy was pulling out of the parking lot th
at she noticed the police car parked across the street from Ridgedale Commons. Don’t look guilty. Don’t give them a reason. All Sandy had to do was keep going, real easy, like she wasn’t worried about a damn thing. Like all teenagers in Ridgedale rode their bikes around in the dark.
As Sandy passed the patrol car, she lifted her eyes just a little above her arm. Could’ve been anyone in that police car, sitting there for lots of reasons. Except once she got a better look, she saw that it wasn’t just anyone. It was Hannah’s dad, Steve. The same guy who seemed to know all about Jenna the second Sandy mentioned her name. The guy who had Jenna’s most prized possession in his medicine cabinet. Hannah’s dad was that guy. And right now that guy was staring dead at Sandy. Like the person he was really looking for, was her.
MOLLY
JUNE 2, 2013
Justin made it to the final round for the job at Ridgedale University! He’s so excited and I really am happy for him. He gave up so much in the past year and a half to take care of us. In a weird way, the whole terrible thing brought us so much closer. And it’s definitely his turn. I want us to focus on him and what he needs for a while.
But it’s so hard to think of leaving. And I know she never even lived in our apartment. But she died here. Inside me. As I slept. As I walked. As I breathed.
What will become of her if we leave this place behind?
RIDGEDALE READER
ONLINE EDITION
March 18, 2015, 5:23 p.m.
NEWS ALERT
Police Schedule Community Meeting
BY MOLLY SANDERSON
The Ridgedale Police Department will hold a community meeting this evening at 7 p.m. at the Ridgedale University Athletic Center. The meeting will provide an update on the investigation of the deceased infant found near the Essex Bridge. Topics to be discussed will include the department’s planned voluntary DNA testing.
The meeting is open to the public. A question-and-answer session will follow a brief presentation.
Where They Found Her: A Novel Page 20
