“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Maybe protective is the wrong word. It was more possessive, you know?”
“Hmm. I can see why that might make you nervous.”
I grip the handle on my mug as I gather my thoughts. “Maybe I’m being paranoid because I’m worried she’ll fall into the same kind of relationship I had with Andrew. Or I’m worried about how she’s handling Andrew’s death and I’m fixating on this instead.”
“Good diagnosis,” he says. “But it’s okay to listen to your instincts about Jared. They might be trying to tell you something.”
I look up and meet his eyes. “He was watching my car drive away. He didn’t look at the school, or the other kids, or even Sophie. He was watching me.”
Marcus frowns. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“He calls me by my first name, and he has this aura about him … I can’t describe it, but it’s almost too confident, bordering on arrogant.”
“You said his parents are wealthy, right? Do they work a lot?”
“The father, definitely. They leave him on his own all the time.”
“He’s probably been treated as an adult most of his life.”
“Maybe. I just don’t like the hold he seems to have over Sophie. She doesn’t spend much time with Delaney anymore. It’s all Jared.”
“I think that’s normal for a teenaged girl. Katie had a few boyfriends in high school and she would obsess about them.”
“Was it different, though, when she met … him?” Marcus has never told me his daughter’s murderer’s name. He won’t say it out loud.
He stares down into his coffee, his expression reflective. “I wish I could say I noticed, but we didn’t speak as much after she moved out and started university. I was busy with my practice and she had her studies. I don’t really know what happened between them.”
“I just don’t want Sophie to lose herself, and it would be easy for her to cling to Jared right now because of everything that’s happened with her father.”
“Why don’t you talk to her?”
I mull it over for a few seconds. “If it sounds like I don’t approve of Jared, I know she’ll pull away from me. She needs to feel like I’m on her side—especially right now.”
“But she also needs to know you care.”
I think about what he said, tap my fingernail against the rim of my cup. “I know things are getting serious between them. Maybe I’ll talk to her and see if I can find out how serious.” It might also be a way for me to find out more about how she’s coping with everything. I’d suggested we could find her a grief counselor—we could even go together if she wanted—but she shut down that idea with an eye roll and a snarky comment: “You can’t afford it.”
“Good idea. You don’t want to regret keeping your fears to yourself.”
We meet eyes. “You have regrets?”
“More than I can count.” He looks around the room, gestures to all the people, smiles at a child. “But this is life,” he says. “This moment now. Sometimes all you can do is breathe.” He meets my eyes, nudges my mug toward me. “Drink up. It’s getting cold.”
* * *
Sophie’s picking at her salad while she surfs Facebook with her other hand. She catches my look and pushes her phone to the side. “Sorry.”
Marcus is in his office, working on his book. He often retreats after dinner, but I suspect it’s to give Sophie and me some space. I’ve been thinking for two days about how to talk to Sophie about Jared, but there haven’t been many opportunities. She comes home from school and goes straight into her room for hours. She emerges for dinner, then disappears again. I can hear her talking on the phone late into the night. She knows her father’s death is still under investigation, but I haven’t told her that they think his death is suspicious—and that I’m probably their prime suspect. That’s the last thing I want her to worry about.
It’s been weeks since she’s taken one of her early morning walks, and I haven’t noticed her painting or drawing since we came back from Vancouver. It’s as though the light has been turned off in my beautiful, colorful daughter.
She frowns. “Why are you staring at me?”
“We haven’t talked much lately. I was wondering how you’re feeling. Please tell me how to help you. I’m so sorry you are having to deal with this.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“I hear you on your phone at night.”
“You’re eavesdropping? That’s kind of rude.”
I’m surprised by her tone, the anger in her face. “That’s rude. I don’t hear what you’re saying, just that you’re up late. I assume you’re talking to Jared?”
“Yeah.” Her expression is guarded now, suspicious. She knows I’m going somewhere with these questions and is already bracing herself. I might as well get to the point.
“How serious are you two? I mean, should we talk about you going on the birth control pill?” Then I realize she might already be on it.
She drops her fork onto her plate with a clatter. “You’re not serious?”
“I just want you to know you can talk to me about anything.”
“We haven’t had sex, but thanks.”
“Oh, I see.”
“You don’t have to look so relieved.”
“I’m just worried about how intense things are with you two. In new relationships it’s easy to get caught up in the excitement. You give up on your own interests, then your friends. It can happen so subtly you don’t even notice until it’s too late and they’re your entire world.”
“I’m not stupid, Mom. I know you’re worried Jared is like Andrew, but he’s not, okay? He’s totally different. He’d never hurt me.” Her voice cracks a little, and I’m not sure if it’s from saying Andrew’s name or the reality that her father had hurt me.
“In the beginning, I didn’t think your dad would hurt me either.” I lean over. “We talk about this at my support group. Guys who get very serious very fast are often possessive—”
“Just because you made a mistake doesn’t mean I will.”
“Sophie.” I give her a look. “Stop that. Anything I say is only because I care about you. Disregard whatever you want, but my job is to take care of you.”
She’s staring at me. Her mouth a hard line. She looks so much like Andrew in this moment that I falter, but then I press on. “I’m just suggesting you might want to slow things down a little. This is your last year of school. Spend time with friends, have fun.”
She stands up. “Can I go? I’m not hungry.”
“Sure.” I pull her plate in front of me and pick at her salad, but I’m not very hungry anymore either. I botched that one well and truly. I hear a chirp, and realize she left her phone on the table. I stare at it for a moment, then slide it closer and look at the text.
I can’t stop thinking about you. Your body, your lips …
My face infuses with heat. I push the phone away just as Sophie comes back into the kitchen and snatches it up. She flicks a look at me and I stare down at the plates.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
SOPHIE
I should be happy. It’s my birthday and Mom took me out for pizza, gave me a beautiful silver snowflake necklace, and didn’t make me feel bad about wanting to spend the rest of the evening with my friends, but I keep thinking about my dad.
The coroner ruled his death an accident. He died of a broken neck. Mom says it would have been very fast. But I still think about him falling, how he might have tried to stop himself as he tumbled down. I could tell by the questions the cops asked in the first interview that they were suspicious that he was pushed, but I guess in the end they didn’t find anything unusual.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. When I try to draw, I can’t get into it, and I failed a chemistry test this week. It’s like everything went out of my head. My mom got a call from a lawyer who handled my dad’s business and I’m supposed to be getting some money when I turn twenty-fiv
e and all my schooling will be paid for. Dad left Mom money too, but she refuses to take it and asked the estate to give it to me. I don’t know if I even want the money. I haven’t told Jared or Delaney. I could go to any school I want now. But only because my dad is dead.
I told him to disappear. That’s the part that bothers me the most.
* * *
Jared hands me another drink. I’m not sure how many I’ve had now. We’ve also smoked a joint, blowing puffs into each other’s mouths. The room bends and spins, the music pulses, and now I’m thinking maybe none of it matters. I should take the money. I could buy a car, a house, and have my friends over all the time. Why shouldn’t I have fun?
I’m giggling, but I can’t remember who told the joke. Delaney is making out with Matthew on the other couch. Jared is holding my hand. “Come on, let’s go,” he says. I follow him down the hall to his bedroom. Laughing as I bump into his back and against the walls.
I flop down on his bed, feel the mattress shift when he lies down beside me. My stomach spins. I sit up to take some breaths. He pushes the hair out of my face, caresses my cheek. I turn to face him and he presses his mouth against mine. He tastes like rum, and something bitter. I’m holding the bottle in my hands. I take a swill from it straight and he laughs. I feel strong, brave, and I laugh too. I can be this girl. I can be this wild reckless girl.
Our clothes are off, but I don’t really remember when it happens. I’m naked and I think I should be shy, but I don’t feel shy. I’m brave! I’m flying. I’m numb. His body is rolling on top of mine and his hand is reaching for something in his drawer. Right. A condom. I’m laughing, thinking how funny this all is. I’m going to lose my virginity. On my birthday!
Two days after my dad’s funeral. I don’t want to laugh now. Everything feels all restless and hot in my head and my body. I keep thinking about my dad. Why was he in our house?
Jared is on top of me, his mouth nipping at my neck and his hands on my hips. He thinks we’re going to have sex. I haven’t said I wanted to do it. But I haven’t said I don’t want to.
I don’t know what I want. I feel like I should say something, but his mouth is over mine and it’s kind of hard to breathe and I can’t lift my arms and my legs feel all wobbly and I just want to close my eyes and sleep and listen to the music and it feels good not to think about anything. He pauses and whispers against my lips, “Do you want to?”
I don’t want him to talk. I want to listen to the music. I pull him down on top of me. Then I feel him pushing up between my legs and there’s pain, a burning, and I whimper and try to get away from the pain but I can’t really move, and he’s panting in my ears and saying he loves me and tears are leaking out of my eyes.
When it’s over we lie still in the dark. His skin is sticky against mine and he’s nestled against my side, kissing my shoulder and my neck, his hand stroking my hair.
“You okay?” he whispers.
I nod because I don’t think I can speak. It’s done. We’ve had sex now. I guess I must have wanted it, but I don’t remember. I close my eyes, take some deep breaths. I just need to sleep. My body is so heavy. I let myself sink into the darkness. I disappear.
* * *
I open my eyes, roll onto my side, and the room spins. I think I might be sick and press the heel of my hand over my mouth, choking back the bile. He’s asleep beside me, the sheet down around his waist. His chest is white, his ribs bony. When he’s sleeping, his mouth is slack and he doesn’t look so handsome. I look around the room. The half-empty bottle of rum on the dresser. My clothes beside the bed. The condom wrapper on the night table. I turn away.
Delaney. She has her car. She must be in the living room. We have to get out of here. I reach over the side of the bed, pull my clothes closer. My cell is in my pocket.
Five missed calls from my mom, then I see the time. Three-thirty.
I get dressed, pausing each time the room spins, then find the bathroom, bumping into the door in the dark. I have to grip the counter to hold myself up. I let the water run slow. My lips feel bruised, the area between my legs tender. I wince, press a cool cloth against my skin.
I tiptoe out of the room and down the hallway to the living room. The walls squish toward me and beads of sweat break out on my upper lip. I brace against the wall, close my eyes, and wait for the moment to pass. The living room is empty. Just glasses left on the table.
I’m confused. I spin around. Could she be in one of the rooms with Matthew? I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m going to get home. I sit on the couch. Maybe I should wake Jared.
Bits of the night are coming back to me in broken images, but I can’t remember so much. I’m scared about what I might have said, the things I did.
I see his face hovering over mine, his lips moist, and feel my stomach shudder. Then I remember him saying something. I think harder, bring the moment back into focus.
I’d do anything for you. That’s what he said. What does that mean? I don’t know.
* * *
It’s cold outside. I was dressed for being in a warm car, not walking, but the air feels good. Clean. I want to roll in the snow like when I was a kid and made snow angels, but then I remember making them with my dad and my eyes sting. The driveway is slippery, ice crunching under my boots, and the road is still a long way off. Delaney’s car is gone. She’s left me, and I think that maybe we argued, that maybe she was trying to get me to leave earlier, that I may have even shouted at her, but everything is muddled. I hate the thick sludge in my brain.
I hold my coat tighter against me, my cell clutched in my hand. When I get to the road, I’ll call a cab. That’s what I’ll do. But when I reach the top of the driveway and rummage through my purse, I don’t have any cash. Then the rest comes back. Delaney and I stopping at the store on our way to Jared’s. She needed gas and I gave her the money.
I look back down the road toward Jared’s house, but I keep smelling his bedroom, it clings to my clothes, the booze, his sweat, our sex smell. I turn and dry-heave into the snow.
I slide my finger across the screen on my cell. All those missed calls. She’s going to be so upset. So disappointed. I scroll through my phone, search the numbers, and call Marcus’s cell.
* * *
We’ve been driving for a few minutes, but he doesn’t say anything. He didn’t even ask any questions when I called, just told me that he’d get me as soon as possible and I should wait inside the house where it was warm, but I sat on the front steps. His car is hot, the vents blasting at my face, and the heat makes me more nauseated. I’m still shivering and have my arms wrapped around my body. He’s pulled over twice so I can throw up, stopped at the gas station to buy me Gatorade, and passed me a couple of Tylenol out of his glove box.
“Is she really mad?” I say.
“She’s worried.”
“She’s going to freak out.”
“She may sound upset, but mostly she’s just going to be relieved you’re okay.”
“She can’t baby me all the time. I’m moving out soon.”
“She’s still going to be your mother. And we worry about people we love.”
“You used to be a shrink.”
“Yes.” He glances over at me.
“How am I supposed to be feeling about my dad being dead?”
“You’ll probably feel all kinds of different emotions. Sometimes all at once.”
“I did something stupid.”
“Feel like talking about it?”
I can’t tell him about the sex. No way in hell. “I got really drunk.”
“We’ve all done that. Are you hurt?”
The way he says it makes me think he knows. He sounds like a doctor at a hospital. My head is fuzzy. I want to talk to him more, ask questions about his daughter. I’m staring out the window, but my eyes feel heavy again, so I let them drift closed.
The car stops. I hear his door opening and shutting. Now my door is opening, cold air nipping at me. Reluctantly I open
my eyes. Marcus is reaching for my hand, helping me out. Mom’s waiting at the front door and I brace myself, but she just steps forward and hugs me tight. She’s crying. I put my head into the crook of her neck. I’m home.
* * *
The scent of coffee drifts under my nose. I turn my head to the side, cover my nose and mouth with my arm. Angus snuffles across my face, his snout jabbing at my ear, thrusting under my arm as he whines and grunts at me.
“Stop it!” I give him a shove, but he pounces on me again, his weight pressing into my belly. I squint my eyes. Mom is sitting at the foot of my bed. She looks amused. Sun streams in from the window—she’s opened my blinds wide.
I groan and pull the pillow over my head. “It’s too early.” I’ve never had a headache like this before in my life. It’s like my skull has been ripped open and someone is pounding at it with knives and hammers, maybe an entire tool kit. The image makes me think of my dad and I feel sad and nauseated again. I’m going to sleep all day. I’ll just stay in bed until tomorrow.
“It’s almost noon. Jared’s been calling all morning.”
Images tumble through my mind in a hot rush of shame and disgust at myself. I’d waited so many years for that? It wasn’t romantic or sweet or even a little bit fun. I was just another stupid girl who got drunk and lost her virginity to her high school boyfriend.
This is real, he said.
I blink at the tears filling my eyes and try to sniff quietly so Mom can’t tell I’m crying. She lifts the pillow from my face, touches my check, then lies down beside me.
“Do you want to tell me why you were walking home by yourself in the middle of the night? Were you trying to turn yourself into a snow queen?”
I shake my head. “It’s complicated.”
“You can tell me anything.”
Right. As if I can tell her about this. I can’t stop remembering what we did. He knew I was drunk, but so was he. So is it my fault? I got in bed with him. I took off my clothes, didn’t I?
“Delaney called too. She’s worried about you.”
I wish I’d gone home with her, wish I could do the whole night over again. Maybe the whole year. “I just got too drunk and acted like an idiot. Guess I’m like my dad.”