— — —
Twenty minutes later, Fish and Willard return. He holds up Homeboy’s leash.
“Damn dog slipped his collar. Willard and I looked for him, but he’s gone. Maybe he went back to your place.”
“Crap. I told Dad I would keep him on a leash.”
“You did; he just didn’t keep himself in his collar.” Fish grins. “You hungry?” Fish climbs in the RV and hollers back, “What time’s Jake get off work?”
“He said he’ll be home around eight.”
Fish reappears with a pack of generic hot dogs and a six-pack of beer.
“Fine dining,” he says, with a wink. He pulls out two well-used wire coat hangers and threads a hot dog on each. He crouches next to the fire and holds the hot dogs to the embers.
“You doing okay? Drying out?”
I nod. Fish opens a beer and takes a long swig.
“So why the hell did you jump in the creek, anyway?”
I blush despite the cold. Now I feel stupid. “I don’t know. I just felt like it.”
“That’s cool. I do stuff because I feel like it all the time. Gets me in a shit-load of trouble, though.”
Fish offers me a coat hanger and I nibble at the hot dog. I haven’t eaten in hours. Nothing has ever tasted this good.
“You wanna beer?”
Two beers later, I remember Homeboy. “I need to take Willard back and see if Homeboy is there.” When I stand up, the world sways. Fish reaches out and takes my arm.
“Let me give you a ride home.”
“What about Willard?”
“He can run behind. I’ll go slow.”
We climb on Fish’s dirt bike and I wrap my arms around his narrow waist. He feels solid. He doesn’t smell so bad today. When we get to the trailer, Homeboy is curled up by the door. I clip him back on his chain and put Willard inside. Then we get back on the bike and go to the package store for more beer.
It’s only 5:00.
— — —
By six-thirty, I am completely plastered. I can tell Fish is growing nervous. He knows my dad will kill him if he finds out. I keep hoping Fish will kiss me, but he doesn’t. I climb on a tire swing that hangs from an old oak near the RV. Fish says his uncle hung it for him the last time he saw him. That was probably ten years ago.
Fish gives me a push and the branch creaks as the tire swings in a big arc. At first, it’s fun, but then my stomach catches up. “Stop! I’m going to puke!”
Fish steadies the swing and helps me out. I stumble around like a kid who’s just been turned loose from Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Miraculously, for once my stomach holds.
“Guess I better get back,” I say. “I’m totally loaded. My dad will freak.”
Fish takes my hand and we walk towards the trailer. Halfway there, Fish says, “Maybe you shouldn’t go back. We could tell Jake I took you to a movie or something. Leave a note.”
“Would you really take me to a movie?”
“Nah. I don’t have any money and I’m too drunk to drive, but we could watch something on cable.”
“Would you kiss me this time?” I ask. I hear myself say this, my words slurring. I sound like a cartoon version of myself.
“I would do anything you wanted,” says Fish moving closer and pressing his hand into the small of my back. I think he means it. I know I should go home right now. I’m drunk and I might do something I regret. But then, regret is all I’ve got these days.
Fish pulls me to him. He glances towards the road and Dad’s trailer as if someone might be watching. Then he leans down and kisses me gently. It’s nice, and I lean into him. He kisses me harder. I can feel his warm skin through his thin T-shirt. I’m not cold anymore. Fish leads me out of the road, pushes me up against a tree, and kisses me urgently.
“Oh God, you’re killin’ me. Can we go back to my place?”
“No,” I say. I don’t want him to stop kissing me.
“Why not?”
“Because it smells in your trailer.”
Fish works his hands under my sweatshirt. His hands are icy against my skin. He places one hand over each breast. I feel a warmth coming from deep inside. I sigh and hear myself moan.
“We got to go back to my place,” he insists.
“Not yet,” I say. I don’t want to move. It feels good to be held—to be wanted. Fish isn’t worried I’ll lose it and he doesn’t hate me for killing the coach. I close my eyes, but I can’t stop the tears. They run down my cheeks and spill on to his face as he kisses my neck.
Fish pulls his hands away.
“Why’re you crying? Shit, I thought you liked this.”
“I do. I don’t know why I’m crying,” I say. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
“Maybe this is like jumping in the creek.”
“I think this is different.”
“Nah. You just do what you feel like doing. What do you feel like doing?”
I shrug and sit down in the leaves. Fish sits down next to me. His stringy hair probably hasn’t seen a shower in weeks. Zits cover his forehead, and his eyes are bloodshot. I watch him reach into his pocket and pull out his cigarettes. He offers one to me and I shake my head. He lights it and leans back against the tree.
“I think I better go home,” I say and climb to my feet.
He doesn’t move. “Okay,” he says.
When I get back to the trailer, I feed the dogs. Then I shower, brush my teeth, and climb into bed. When Dad gets home, he opens my door and whispers, “You asleep?”
I lay still in the dark, feigning sleep. He shuts my door, and I open my eyes because each time I close them the room spins and Helen Mitchell’s face appears above me. She’s disappointed, too.
27
LIZ
“Hey, babe,” I say when I finally reach Jess. I have been calling all morning, and no one answers. Jess says she and Jake went to Jeb’s for breakfast. She is in a foul mood, irritated at just the sound of my voice. My world has shifted so much in her absence I half-expected her to feel different, too.
When it is clear she has nothing to say, I ask, “Hey, when you left the house on Friday, do you remember if you locked the back slider door?”
“Oh, crap!” she says. “I didn’t. Did something happen?”
“No,” I tell her. “Nothing happened. I just wondered.”
Jess didn’t close the door properly. That was all it was. I am becoming paranoid, terrified of strangers and suspicious of friends. It is not just the door; my heart races when I walk from my office to the car after dark. I’m afraid to stop for gas, especially since twice now I have been harassed at a gas pump by some guy who used to play for Coach. It is like people think she murdered him. I know they have a right to their anger, but why can’t they see this tragedy for what it is—a tragedy?
“That door was in terrible shape. Kevin installed a new one this weekend,” I tell Jess.
“Guess he’s a full-service lawyer, huh?” she says, but I don’t take the bait.
“So what do you and your father have planned for today?”
“He wants me to go with him to look at some boat.”
“He’s buying a boat?”
“I don’t know.”
I swallow my fury. Jake has been clear that he is not paying for Kevin’s services. “He’s your friend,” he says. I had hoped once he saw that Kevin would be the best person to represent Jess, he would get on board, but so far that is not the case.
“Okay, well, your father will get you to school in the mor
ning.”
“Uh, huh.”
“I love you.”
“Same.”
The best part of Jess being out there is that she can’t see today’s paper or the comments online. When she is at Jake’s she is unplugged. It used to be a source of frustration for me because I felt so out of touch with her, but these days I think it’s a reprieve for Jess. A much-needed one. When she is here, I know she reads all the hateful comments online that pop up like foul mushrooms after every article about the case.
Today’s paper had a big piece about the group from Dallas. The MADD women were here for a rally for tougher texting laws. One woman gave an interview about how her son was killed by a distracted teen driver. She was eloquent and convincing in her argument that the law needed to change. She never said Jess’ name, but she said that Jefferson County has an opportunity to save future lives by sending a powerful message with an upcoming case.
“I want to live at Dad’s,” Jess says à propos of nothing.
Her words feel like a physical blow and I reach out for the wall to steady myself. “Did your father ask you to live there?”
Her voice is steely. “He didn’t say I couldn’t!”
“Your father will not want you living out there. He has his own life.”
“How do you know? Maybe he’d be fine with me being here! Then you could have your own life, too.”
“I don’t want my own life. I want us here, together, like always.”
“It will never be like always. Why can’t you see that?” Her shrill words echo in my head long after we say goodbye.
— — —
Every day Jess seems further away from me. Sometimes I am not sure my heart can hold the churning emotions; love, fear, and anger swirl through me like a river raging forward and then back on itself. I have never felt so helpless. When she was little, it was so much simpler. She was an easy kid. And once Jake left, she was my best friend. We did everything together. She was always my date for parties or my buddy to go to the movies, but now I feel a disconnect. Even before the accident, there was a distance. I was no longer her go-to for what was on her heart. That honor went to Sheila, and I never trusted that girl. But even I never dreamed she would desert Jess so blatantly because of a boy. If that is what this is about. I know that no matter what I do or how much I want to help, Jess has to go through this by herself. Her actions, whatever they were, got her into this situation. I can love her and love her and love her, but my love can’t protect her. Not from what happens in February at her trial or what happens at school or even from herself.
28
JESS
The next morning, Dad is unusually cheerful for 6 am on a Monday. After we looked at the boat yesterday (which he didn’t buy), we met Amanda for lunch. It was awkward as always. She tried to engage me in conversation, but it was a half-hearted effort and she spent most of the lunch looking at her phone.
“So, do you like school?”
“No.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“So, like, what’s your favorite class?”
“None of them.”
“Jess,” Dad chided me. “You like some of your classes.”
“No, I don’t.”
He gave me a look that said, be nice. But I didn’t feel like being nice. Not to a girl only a few years older than me who clearly was not wearing a bra, has a pierced tongue, and is shagging my dad. After we finished eating, Dad dropped me off at the trailer and went to “help Amanda with something.” Obviously, I know what he was helping her with. When he got back to the trailer it was late. I didn’t get the chance to talk to him about moving out to Gillam. I just need him to see that my being here wouldn’t change his life at all. He can still screw his girlfriends and spend his days fishing. I wouldn’t mind. But before I can figure out how to say that, we pull up in front of the school.
He offers to walk me in.
“You don’t need to,” I assure him.
“Does your mom walk in with you?”
“I’m not in kindergarten.” I open the car door before he can insist on making my life even more miserable.
— — —
I feel the accusatory eyes follow me as I make my way to Ms. Ellen’s office.
“Hello, Jess!” Ms. Ellen greets me, always cheery, always thrilled at the sight of me, or at least she’s very convincing. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay.” I settle onto her couch. The guidance office is now my homeroom. It’s our chance to ‘check-in’ she says.
“So, how was the weekend?”
“It was.”
She smiles. “Mr. Cafferty says you’re doing great in Calculus. He says you haven’t missed a beat. And your English teacher told me your class is reading The Catcher in the Rye. What did you think of it?”
“It was good.”
“What did you like about it?” Ms. Ellen leans back in her chair and gives me a knowing look.
“I liked Holden.”
“Uh-huh. He is an interesting character. What did you like about him?”
“I liked how he talked. It wasn’t like reading a real book.” I thumb through the worn pages and unstick a few that have dried together. “And I totally got how he said people were phonies.”
Ms. Ellen nods.
“They pretend they like you, only they don’t really, they just don’t want you to know they don’t. Turns out, most of my friends were phonies.”
“What makes you say that?”
I shake my head. “Everybody is siding with Sheila. Which is the way it always is. Even though Sheila treats them like shit.”
“Do you have any other friends besides Sheila?”
“I thought I did, but I guess they were really Sheila’s friends.”
I shake my head. Even I can’t believe not one of these people who were so important a month ago, have called me. But I wonder what I would do if the tables were turned.
Ms. Ellen doesn’t say anything, but she makes a note.
It’s not surprising I have no friends now that Sheila isn’t speaking to me. Being in Sheila’s circle was like being high school royalty. I liked being popular. Sometimes I didn’t like things Sheila did, but it was easier to go along. She’d cut people down because of their clothes or hair or for no reason at all, and I just laughed. Like it was a big joke. I think I knew at the time it was cruel, but it was fun to be Sheila’s friend. She wasn’t always mean. Sometimes she was hilarious.
Ellen looks at her watch. “Guess you better get to class.”
“Yup.”
“And Jess?”
I poke my head back into the room.
“I’m still waiting for an answer to my question.”
“Question?”
“The one I asked you before the break. What you would say to someone else if they were in your situation.”
“Oh yeah. I’ll work on that.” I had hoped she’d forget. Especially because I have no answer for her. It’s a stupid question.
I go to my locker to drop a couple of my books. I’m sick of carrying everything around with me. I’ve been avoiding it because Jamie and Sheila have lockers in my row. It takes me two tries to get the combination right. Homeroom hasn’t let out yet, so there’s no one to witness when I finally pull the latch up and open the door. A cascade of papers falls at my feet. Each one printed in red block letters. KILLER. I slam the locker, catching some of the papers half in, half out.
— — —
On Friday afternoon, Mom drops me off at th
e Monroe’s. Mrs. M called earlier in the week and talked to my mom. She told her since Mr. M was involved in the case, they weren’t sure whether it was okay for me to babysit, but that the kids missed me so they’d decided they couldn’t worry about that. I’m a pariah everywhere, it seems. Still, I’m touched that they called and excited to see Sally and Stu.
Sally comes running out in an elf costume. She and Stu are in some pageant coming up at their school.
“Stuey is a Christmas tree,” she tells me. I follow Sally inside, listening to her running commentary of what everyone else in her class will be.
Mrs. Monroe appears, already dressed for dinner. She looks gorgeous, as always. She’s wearing the perfume I love. I’ll never smell lilacs and not think of her.
“Wow, you look great,” I say.
Mrs. Monroe tears up and pulls me into a hug. “Oh, Jess,” she says. “I’m so sorry. Bill’s office was involved, and he didn’t want us to…” She stops, looks down at Sally, and steps back. “I’m just glad you’re here.” She smiles at me and I have to look away and blink back tears.
Any further talk is interrupted by Stu dragging an enormous piece of cardboard behind him. “Jess! I’m a kissmas tree!”
“He wants to add real ornaments,” explains Mrs. M. “But his teacher said it isn’t necessary.”
He beams up at me in all his five-year-old adorableness. God, I love this kid.
“I’ll help you,” I tell Stu.
Mrs. M kisses the kids and pulls on her coat. “I’m meeting Bill so I have to run, but I ordered dinner for you.”
“Awesome. I hope it’s the Proverbial Panda.”
“It is. Enjoy. We should be home around eleven-thirty.”
Fifteen minutes after Mrs. M leaves, the doorbell rings. I hurry to the door with my mini-entourage in tow, still holding the glue gun I was using to help Stu affix ornaments to his tree costume. When I open the door, Tucker Mobley is standing there.
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