“But did I really open his text? That’s the part I don’t get. I don’t remember doing that. I can’t believe I would do that.”
Sheila is quiet. It goes on so long; I wonder if she has hung up.
“This isn’t my fault!” she hisses. “You were driving the car. You were the one all excited about that text. Not me!”
“I never said it was your fault. I am just trying to piece it back together and figure out exactly what happened. What is there to lie about? Why can’t you just be straight with me? What the hell happened in that car?”
Silence.
“What is the matter with you? Why are you doing this?” I am yelling now and Willard tries to crawl under the coffee table. He doesn’t fit.
“There is nothing wrong with me! I don’t have a problem. You are the one with the problem, a big problem. Look, Jess, I can’t hang out with you anymore. I’m not trying to be mean, it’s just, you know. Coach. Everyone is blaming you.”
It’s like being smacked in the chest, or like that time I tried hurdles and landed on my face. I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t speak. This can’t be happening.
Finally, I swallow my tears and beg. “But you’re my friend. You can’t just cut me out of your life. Real friends don’t do that.”
“It’s impossible Jess, surely you get that?”
“No. I don’t. I guess you’re just as fake as everyone says you are.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe that’s all I know how to be.”
“That’s not true. I know that’s not true.” We are both crying now, and I just want it all to stop. I want this not to be happening. I want to go back to two weeks ago when we were texting pictures of homecoming dresses and talking about the hot substitute teacher in English. I want my life not to have been totally screwed by something I don’t even remember.
“I gotta go,” Sheila says.
“Wait! I just need to know what happened in that car!” As I’m yelling, I hear the dial tone. Sheila has hung up on me.
I need to know what happened. I have imagined a million scenarios, but none make sense. Even if it was Casey, I wouldn’t have texted. I know better. But then why wouldn’t I have seen Coach?
I dial Sheila again, but it goes to voicemail. “It’s Sheila, do what you gotta do,” says her familiar voice.
Why I expected more from Sheila Richards, I don’t know. I am probably the only one who isn’t surprised. But I know she can’t mean this. She is just being dramatic, like always. It’s because of Jason, I’m sure. She can’t be friends with the girl who killed Coach Mitchell. And that’s who I am now. A fresh sob erupts, and Willard hops up on the picnic table beside me, nudging me. I stroke his long ears. “I know buddy, I wish you could help too.”
Nobody can help because no matter what happens, whether or not they convict me, I killed Coach Mitchell just as if I had stuck a knife in his chest. This town worshiped that man. From now on, whenever anyone sees me, they will think, “That’s the girl who killed Coach Mitchell.”
When Dad gets home from work, I stay in my room. There are cigarette butts all over his picnic table. I didn’t bother to clean them up. They so don’t matter. Not much does.
“So,” he says, standing in my doorway. “When did you start smoking?”
I shrug. “Today.”
“Any particular reason?”
I shrug again. “Seemed like a good idea.”
“Well, it isn’t. In fact, it’s a horrible idea. Those damn things will kill you.”
“Amanda smokes.”
“She’s an adult.”
“Why do you care if they kill me? Maybe that would be a good thing.”
Dad’s face caves when I say this; he steps into my room, stares at me, a tear runs down his face.
“Everybody hates me,” I tell him. “They wish I was dead. I do, too.” My voice has become shrill, hysterical.
In two steps, he reaches me, kneels and wraps his bear-sized arms around me.
“Jess, don’t ever say anything like that.”
“But you loved him,” I say, through the tears that betray me.
“I did,” he says, calmly. He points to the spot on the bed next to me. “Okay if I sit?”
I nod. He wipes at his eye with his arm, then sits on the bed. The bed groans and sinks in his direction. I have to brace my feet to keep from falling on him.
“Whatever happened in that car was an accident. You were not trying to kill anybody. I know that and most anybody with half a brain knows that. Everyone is just in shock right now. You, too.” Dad puts his arm around me and pulls me against his chest. He hasn’t held me since I was a little girl.
“But what if I did it?”
He sighs a long thinking sigh. “Well, it looks like you did, but that don’t mean you meant to hurt anybody. It was a mistake, a pretty awful one, but still not something you meant to do. It might just take people some time to figure that out.”
I lean into him and whisper, “When will it get better?”
“I don’t know,” he says, “But it will. Promise.”
15
LIZ
On Friday night, I meet Kevin for dinner after work. I arrive at the restaurant early and use the vanity mirror to touch up my lipstick. I should not be here. I am asking for the impossible. I should drive out to Jake’s and apologize and get the name of the public defender that helped his friend.
At dinner, after we have ordered a glass of wine, made small talk, I plunge right in.
“I want you to represent Jess.”
He frowns, looks into his wineglass, shakes his head slowly. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to help you, it’s that I’m not the right lawyer. I don’t know criminal law. I’m a divorce lawyer.”
“But you’re a lawyer.”
He nods.
“It’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not really.”
“But you can do it. And the bottom line is that you’re the only person I trust with this.”
“Did you call any of those names I gave you?”
“There wasn’t any point. Jake and I don’t have that kind of money. Which doesn’t mean we won’t pay you—we will, but it might take some time.”
“It’s not about the money. It’s about who can best represent Jess.”
“And that would be you,” I insist. He softens. I see it. His shoulders relax, and he leans back in his chair. Just then the waitress arrives for our orders, but I haven’t even looked at the menu. It’s expensive so I just order a salad. Kevin orders an appetizer and a full meal.
When the waitress leaves, he says, “You’re sure about this?”
I nod. “Very sure. I am not sure about much else anymore, but about you being the person I trust to represent Jess–yes, very much. I’ll figure out a way to pay you.” I hold his eyes just a beat longer than necessary, trying to make my point.
“I have to be honest. When you called and asked me to dinner, I was hoping it was because you were interested in me, not as a lawyer, but as…” I watch him struggle to find the right word and land on “friend.”
“Friend?”
“Well, maybe more than a friend.”
This is the part where it gets dicey. Crossing a line I am not even sure he has drawn. I don’t know how I feel about Kevin. I want him to help Jess, but is that help contingent on he and I becoming more than friends?
He is different than I remember him at Morningside. He is funny and charming, mostly when he stops trying to impress me. I guess I judged him harshly back then—his
father was so proud of him and he took that for granted. I thought he was just some shallow guy who stuck his father in a home because he didn’t want to deal with him. He never had time for his father, who only wanted his attention.
“You’re such a smart woman. Why didn’t you go to college?” he asks, startling me. I am not here to talk about me.
I shrug. “I tried a few times, but it always came back to money. In the beginning, right after Jess was born, Jake had this crazy dream about opening an auto repair shop. He was so certain he would make our fortune. He has always had a job in a garage, ever since I met him. When he said he wanted to use our savings to start the business, I agreed. He said he would make enough money I could quit my job and go to school. I believed him. He was so excited.”
I smile at the memory of Jake flying Jess around the house like a little airplane and telling her all about the garage he planned to open and how we would move out to the country and he would build us a house.
“But that’s not how it worked out?” Kevin asks.
I shake my head. “When the shop was barely breaking even, talk of us moving died down. Jake spent more and more time on the lake. He bought a boat and he would stay out there for hours.”
“And you were still working?”
“Someone had to have a job with health insurance and a steady paycheck.”
“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”
“To college?” I smile. “It’s probably too late for that.”
“You should,” he says confidently. “You are too smart to spend your life at Morningside.”
“I don’t know. I like it there. The residents are nice.”
My phone rings, and it is Jake.
“I have to take this,” I tell Kevin.
“Jake?” I say as the outside air hits me. It’s hot—Indian summer, they keep saying on the radio. I walk toward a little stand of trees beside the parking lot.
“Hey Lizzie, got a minute?” When Jake calls me Lizzie it makes my skin crawl. There was a time when it made my stomach do flip-flops. I am not his Lizzie. I have not been for a long time. He is much too busy with all his bimbos.
“Is Jess okay?”
“She’s fine. She’s in the trailer with the boys.”
The boys are the reason not only his trailer and truck stink like dog but he does, too, most days.
“She’s pretty upset.”
“I know she is, but I thought maybe being out there might help.”
“Not so sure about that. While I was at work today, she smoked a bunch of Amanda’s cigarettes.”
“Jess doesn’t smoke.”
“Well, from the looks of it, she smoked nearly an entire pack. I asked her about it, and she said she didn’t care if they killed her.”
“What did you say?”
“Same stuff; it was an accident, people know that. It will get better.”
I look back at the restaurant. I can see Kevin through the window talking with the waitress. She is laughing. He is such a nice guy, but can he save my daughter?
“What should I do about the smoking?”
“Get rid of the cigarettes. Spend some time with her. She needs a distraction.”
“I’ll try. She doesn’t seem to care if I’m around or not.”
“She does care. She’s just a teenager; she can’t show it. And keep her away from the newspaper. Have you seen the letters to the editor?”
“I read it. They’re just spoutin’ off.”
“I hate that people are talking about Jess. No one even knows for sure what happened.”
Jake sighs softly. “Remember what you said on our wedding night?”
Why is he bringing this up?
“No.”
“Yeah, you do.”
Our shotgun wedding was held on a Monday and not even written on the church calendar. A few of Jake’s buddies, their current girlfriends, my simmering parents, and my sister, Kate were the only guests. Afterward, we spent a night in Dallas at the Motel 8. We got there late and the pool was closed, so Jake lifted me over the fence and we sat with our feet in the water and drank a bottle of sparkling apple juice.
“You said, ‘We’re more than they say we are.’”
That became our line. Jake would write it on an anniversary card every year. He said he was going to tattoo it on his chest, but he never did, as far as I know.
“Well, this is different.”
“Not so much. People got a right to be mad. They’re hurting. They need someone to blame. But she’s more than all that talk.”
“But Jess is just a kid.”
“Doesn’t matter. You gotta remember most people ain’t as smart or as nice as you.”
After I hang up, I pace the parking lot trying to decide if I should just drive out there and get Jess. Finally, I sit down on a curb and wipe my face.
“Hey, there,” says Kevin. I didn’t hear him come out. “Everything okay?”
I nod, wipe tears from my eyes. I look across the parking lot at the trash blowing and the little stray cat sitting by the dumpster. “The thing is, Kevin, you’re really nice, and it’s not that I’m not grateful, but, I can’t, I mean, I need you to represent Jess, but this isn’t going to be what you think it is.” Tears stream down my face. It is all too hard. All of it. But I am not so desperate that I’ll sleep with Kevin to pay him for representing Jess. I must be losing my mind.
“What is it I think it is?” he asks, sitting down beside me in his expensive suit, not even brushing the gravel away first.
“I am not going to sleep with you,” I tell him.
He laughs. “Is that why you think I agreed to help you?”
I wipe my nose with the handkerchief he hands me.
“Well, if I’m honest I have to say that the prospect of sleeping with you is very appealing. But this,” he hesitates. “This is about my dad. He would want me to help you. This would make him proud.” He smiles at me.
I smile. “You really loved him, didn’t you?”
He nods. “I did. I still do. Miss him all the time and wish I could get back all those years I spent chasing after success, thinking it would make him happy.”
“It did make him happy.”
“But I missed out. I missed out on him. So, this,” he points to me and him, “This is for him. We will do this together. And maybe along the way, you’ll stop thinking I’m such an asshole. Maybe I will, too.”
16
JESS
Saturday night, I park myself on the couch with the dogs and watch really bad television, the kind you get with an antenna.
“So, you’re all set, right?” Dad yells as he finishes shaving. “I hate to leave you, but I haven’t seen Amanda all week, and I promised her a night out tonight. Her favorite band is playing at the Fishin’ Hole.”
“I’m good, no worries. Who’s the band?”
I watch him comb the trailer for his car keys. “Bunch of cowboys whose name I can never remember.”
I pick up his keys from the coffee table and toss them to him.
“Well, don’t worry about us. I’m sure we’ll have a fun night.” I wrap one arm around Willard and prop my feet on Homeboy who’s splayed out beside the couch, leaving a pile of drool on the carpet. I plan to make microwave popcorn and start reading the book for English, The Catcher in the Rye. Not that I’m going back to school anytime soon.
“I won’t be very late.” Dad’s standing at the door, wearing his only pair of jeans without an oil stain and a neat plaid shirt. “And you can throw Homeboy b
ack out on his chain if he starts farting.”
Homeboy thumps his tail at the mention of his name.
“I can take it.” I reach down and pat his pink belly.
“Well, keep the door locked and call me if you need anything. The Chocohaughs are next door if there’s an emergency. Mrs. C doesn’t hear so great, but Jim’s a good neighbor and he’ll help you if you need it.”
“I’ll be fine Dad, go! Say hi to Amanda.”
Amanda works at the Dollar Tree and always smells like cheap plastic and stale food. But she’s crazy about my dad, so that’s good.
“Yep,” he says and walks over to plant a kiss on my head like when I was little. I wave him away but don’t say anything. I don’t know why that little gesture makes me want to cry.
After he’s gone, the trailer is even more depressing. It’s homecoming weekend. Neither of my parents has mentioned it. Probably it isn’t even on their radar. Tonight I should be at the game, walking on the field with all the other girls in the homecoming court, waiting to hear who is crowned queen. When I woke up in the hospital and found out about the accident, I thought the worst part about it was that they shaved my head and I would miss homecoming. How messed up is that? Tonight, that seems like a lifetime ago, before I knew it was possible to ruin your life and not even know how you did it.
I fall asleep on the couch watching Saturday Night Live. It’s never funny anymore. Most nights I toss and turn sorting through my memories trying to put my finger on the one from Sunday, October 4. When I do dream, my dreams always lead me to the accident. Tonight, I see Coach Mitchell’s face. He doesn’t look scared, he looks confused, as if he’s thinking, “Why is Jess Johnson about to run me over?” Then I hear a horrible screaming like someone in great pain, but it isn’t coming from Coach Mitchell.
“Christ, Jess! What happened?” Dad shakes me awake.
“I saw him!” I yell.
“Saw who?” Dad looks around. He pulls the curtains aside; the sun is barely creeping over the sill. He looks back at me. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I saw Coach Mitchell.”
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