“Eli’s here,” she said, hoping that would stir her. Hoping she’d get angry and wake up, demand to know why he was there and what he wanted. “He’s been sitting with me since he heard. He brought me a Sprite.”
She pulled a chair over to the bedside and sat down. She felt so tired. But she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to be awake if something changed, wanted to be the first person Bess saw when she opened her eyes. Bess had lost a lot of blood, had had to have surgery to repair her shoulder where the bullet had hit. She would need physical therapy for a long time, but she’d regain use of her shoulder. That’s what the doctor had said when he came out to talk to them. Her father had finally shown up with Nicole. The two of them sat side by side in the waiting area, looking shell-shocked and afraid, uncertain what to do. They looked at Casey with a wariness, like they wanted to ask her questions but were holding back. They seemed afraid of her, of what she’d witnessed. She felt apart from them, separated even more than before. But this time she enjoyed the distance. She wanted to stay on the other side of whatever gap existed now because her mom was on that side, and when she woke up, they would stand together, connected by what they’d experienced. She thought of the girl at the party that night saying that Russell Aldridge had raped Casey, saying it had happened to her, too. That connection had terrified her. But maybe, she thought, it didn’t have to.
She kept chatting, and her mom kept sleeping. She told Bess about the homeless guy who killed the man who’d held them hostage. The cops said the man had been stealing things from people’s storage sheds and garages—food and beverages mostly. They said he’d probably been canvassing the neighborhood for where to hit next and just happened to be in the right place at the right time. He’d stabbed the man with a knife he carried for protection. He was a hero, albeit an unlikely one. She told her mother she planned to track him down somehow so that she could thank him. Who knows what would’ve happened if he hadn’t come along. “I bet you’ll try to rehabilitate him or something,” she said to Bess. “Knowing you.”
Casey waited hopefully, but Bess didn’t respond. So she kept on talking, as much to keep herself awake as to communicate with her mom. She babbled on about Eli, about school, about whatever popped into her head. The longer she talked, the more she revealed. She told her mom about her conflicted feelings about Eli, about the cop, about how badly she’d handled everything lately. “I’ve messed everything up,” she admitted.
And then Bess opened her eyes. She looked at Casey and reached out to her. The two grasped hands, and she saw Bess take in the surroundings, seeming to understand where she was and what had happened, no explanation needed. “You didn’t mess everything up,” Bess said to Casey through tears. “You were so brave today. What you did for Violet. You didn’t even hesitate.” She squeezed Casey’s hand, and Casey was surprised by the strength she still had. This was her good hand now, her good arm.
Casey squeezed back. “So were you,” she said. “I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”
Bess tried to shrug, then winced. “Well, I didn’t do it all that well. Obviously.” She dipped her chin in the direction of her bandaged shoulder.
“Mom, you were a hero. You got us out of there.”
Bess closed her eyes for a moment. “I don’t remember all of it,” she said, and opened her eyes again.
“I do,” said Casey. “And maybe someday I’ll tell you whatever you don’t remember.”
“You’ll fill in my gaps,” Bess said.
Casey smiled. “Yes.”
Bess’s face grew serious. “There are other gaps I’d like you to fill. You promised me you would when you’re ready. Think you’re ready now?”
Casey gave her a scolding look. “Using your injury to guilt me into spilling my guts.” She tsked in mock disapproval. “That’s low, Mom.”
Bess gave a little laugh. “Trust me when I say I wanted to get you to talk somehow, but this wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“If you were brave enough to tackle a large man with a gun, I guess I should be brave enough to tell you what happened at school. Why I came back. You’ve waited long enough.”
Bess gestured to the bed with her good arm. “And, hey, I’ve got lots of time.”
Casey nodded. “That you do,” she said. “That you do.”
And then she repeated what she’d told Violet in her room just hours before. It had been a dress rehearsal of sorts, she supposed, a practice run for this moment. She was glad she’d had Violet to talk to then. She was glad she had her mom to talk to now. She had fled school and run home. But the journey to actually get home had taken far longer than she had anticipated. She was glad to finally arrive.
Violet
Instead of her life returning to normal, it just kept getting stranger. She was in Micah Berg’s house, spending the night in his sister’s old room. Polly stayed in the room down the hall, the one Violet was pretty sure Olivia Ames had died in, but she didn’t mention that to Polly. They’d had enough talk of death for one night.
Violet sat on the edge of the bed, too nervous to crawl under the covers, too keyed up to have any hope of falling asleep. A light knock on the door startled her, but she composed herself and said “Come in” just loudly enough to be heard. It was probably just Polly, checking on her yet again, or Micah’s mom, who’d come over and invited them to spend the night, considering all the cops streaming through their house, which was a crime scene once again. Or—she dared to hope—maybe it was Micah, responding to the text she’d sent him: I’ve got something to tell you. In person.
The door opened and she saw his shape fill the doorway, like a wish granted. She’d hoped he would respond to the text, but this was too quick. Micah Berg sauntered. He strolled. The only time he hustled or rushed was when he chased a hockey puck down a frozen rink or rebounded a basketball. Or, she thought, when he hoped that the girl across the street had information about his father. Before she spoke, she reminded herself that that was all she was to him: the girl across the street.
She beckoned for him to come in, motioned for him to close the door. He took a few steps forward but stopped at the midpoint between the doorway and his sister’s bed as if there were a mark there, like actors have on stages. He looked stricken, as though he were balancing on a tiny raft and surrounded by hot lava he might fall into. She and Nicole used to play that game all the time.
“I found it,” Violet said.
Micah looked down at her hands to see they were empty, then raised his eyes back to meet hers. “Well, where is it?”
“I . . . must’ve dropped it. When everything happened,” she said. It was just a little lie, a necessary one. Everyone had to believe that a cop had found the drive on the scene, not that it had been turned over by the accused’s daughter. For her plan to work, no one could know what she’d done. It was this secret thing that would remain solely hers. Her mom wasn’t the only one who could keep secrets, she reminded herself.
Micah’s face changed from hopeful to devastated in a flash. “Then what did you have to tell me?” he asked, impatient and exasperated.