Choker (4 page)

Cara closed her eyes. When she opened them, her mother was setting a dish of Fancy Feast on the floor. Samson crouched over it, smacking as he ate, while Mom crouched beside him, stroking his back and crooning. Her face wore a tender smile. Cara quietly began edging toward the door. Maybe she could just slip up to her room. Just close the door and—

“Cara!” Her mom looked up. “Where are you going?” She rose from the floor and looked more carefully at her daughter’s face. “Honey, you’re pale. Did you have a hard day?” She brushed her fingers over Cara’s forehead.

Cara jerked away from the irritating softness of her mother’s touch. “I’m fine.” She kept her voice steady and dug a Diet Coke out of the fridge. “Practice was just a little rough.” She forced herself to look at her mother full on, willing her face to betray nothing. She focused on the fine web of wrinkles fanning out from her mother’s eyes. Her parents were so much older than anyone else’s—sixty and sixty-two. By the time they’d gotten around to having kids, there was only time for one, her mom always said with a laugh.

“Maybe track is too much for you.” Her mom’s brows knit. “You know Dad and I wanted you to take things easy this year—”

“I’m fine,” Cara snapped, her voice rising. She caught herself and inhaled deeply. “I’m fine,” she repeated, this time more calmly. “Really. Track isn’t that hard. I like it.”

“Oh.” Her mother dropped her hand. She looked like she wanted to say something more but instead went over to the Crock-Pot and lifted the lid. “Well, I’m glad I made this stew. You need a good dinner.”

“It’s raw.” Cara poured the soda down her throat. “You forgot to turn it on.” She knew she was being a brat. But she really wasn’t in the mood for her mom’s June Cleaver act.

“Oh!” Her mother lifted the lid of the Crock-Pot and stared inside. “Well . . .” She looked around. “How about eggs on toast?”

The old standby. Cara stuck her hand in the cupboard and silently handed her mother the bread.

The front door opened again. A moment later, her father’s slender figure appeared in the doorway, his habitual bow tie askew. He was muttering to himself, as usual.

“Hi, Dad.”

His distracted gaze cleared a little as he focused on Cara standing near the stove. “Oh. Hi, honey.” He wandered over to the fridge. “Get out of court early, Marge?” He took a bottle of Sam Adams out of the fridge.

Mom ripped open a bag of salad greens and dumped them into a bowl, which she set on the table. “Yes, I was just telling Cara that the opposing counsel . . .” She rambled on while her father listened attentively, nodding his head.

The toaster dinged. Mom raked the toast out onto a plate with a fork. “Isn’t this nice?” she said. “All of us eating together. We don’t do this enough.”

Cara sighed. She pulled out the chair at her place and slid a fried egg off the platter onto her toast. With difficulty, she stuck her fork through the overcooked yolk.

They all chewed. Silence filled the kitchen, save for the crunching of toast. Her father’s gaze was focused on the wall in front of him. His lips moved a little, and she caught him muttering “motion to dismiss.” He’d always been preoccupied with the law, but ever since they moved a few years ago, the cloud of facts and arcane cases that surrounded him had only deepened.

“So, tell us about your day, honey.” Mom made another attempt.

Cara forced a pleasant smile. “It was fine.” She moved some blackened toast crumbs around on her plate.
Fine
. The only word necessary when speaking to parents.

“That’s not very descriptive.” Mom laughed a little. Her father was digging around in his salad, searching for the olives.

Cara maintained the pleasant smile. The taste of vomit still filled her mouth. “It was great, Mom. We’re reading
Catcher in the Rye
in English.”

“I loved that book. Your father did too, didn’t you, Don?”

Her dad looked up. “Oh. Yes, marvelous.” He returned to his salad. Her mother sat back in her chair tiredly. The kitchen clock’s tick was deafening.

After forcing one more bite, Cara laid down her fork with exquisite care. “Thanks for dinner, Mom. I have so much homework, I’m going to get started.” She laid her napkin next to her plate and rose from her seat.

“Dad and I are going out for a little bit. A dessert reception at the Waterfront. We’ll be back around eleven.”

Cara nodded. She took a carton of Phish Food from the freezer, pried the lid off, and dumped in half a bag of raisins and some Cheerios, along with a splash of milk. Grabbing a spoon, she made for the door.

“I’m glad we got a chance to talk, honey!” her mother called, pushing back her chair.

They began stacking the dishes in the sink as Cara climbed the stairs. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. She desperately needed a shower. Her track shorts seemed glued to her butt, and even after the egg and toast, the taste of vomit still lingered.

In the long upstairs hallway, she took a big spoonful of her special concoction and set the carton on the hall table, then flicked on the light in the guest bathroom. She deserved the rainfall showerhead in here today, instead of the drippy one in her own bathroom. Cheerful yellow light flooded the little room like an antidote to the shadows in the rest of the house. Downstairs, she could hear keys jingling and her parents talking. Then the front door closed and the house was quiet.

Cara shut the bathroom door firmly and turned the shower on steaming hot. With a deep sigh, she stripped off her sweaty running clothes and climbed under the pounding spray, letting the water run over the top of her head and down her back. The lemony scent of the citrus body wash seemed to lift her headache right out of her skull.

Cara scrubbed herself all over and shampooed her hair twice. Just as she was rinsing for the second time, she heard a sound in the hallway. She lifted her head, every horror movie she’d ever seen flashing through her mind. For a long moment, she stood tense, sponge still clutched in one hand, ears straining for the sound again. Nothing.

She tilted her head under the water once more. Then she heard it again—a soft rustle and then a thump, right outside the door. Her heart leaped into her throat. Reaching behind her, she carefully shut off the water. Her hand trembled a little as she reached out and pulled her towel from the rack, wrapping it around her streaming body.

The sound came again.
Rustle, thump.

Cara stared wide-eyed at the door, still firmly shut. Suddenly, she took one giant step out of the tub and swung the door open fast.

Samson crouched on the hall table, his furry head deep in the ice cream container, lapping it up as fast as he could. The container pushed back and forth, the spoon clanking against the wall.
Rustle, thump.

Cara sagged against the wall, her knees aching with unused adrenaline. Samson glanced up at her. “Get off of there.” She swatted at him, and he jumped gracefully off the table, dis-appearing into her parents’ room. Cara shook her head to clear it. She really had to get a grip.

Tightening the towel around her chest and under her arms, Cara padded toward her room at the end of the hall. The walls were shrouded in darkness. She stumbled over a pair of shoes left on the floor and opened the door to her room.

“Hi, Cara.”

She screamed and hit the light switch.

Zoe was sitting on her bed, her violet eyes shining.

Chapter 4

C
ARA STARED AT HER OLD FRIEND, FROZEN. SHE FELT
like she was in a dream, unable to speak or move, rooted to the floor.

Zoe just sat there on the edge of Cara’s striped bedspread, her bare feet resting on the floor. She wore a dirt-stained navy T-shirt with a pair of jeans ripped at the knee, her hair hanging like a shiny black sheet down her back. Her hands were clasped neatly together in her lap. She stared at Cara, her eyes sparkling, her mouth pursed a little, as if containing a laugh.

“What are you doing here?” Cara finally managed to whisper. Her face felt numb.

“Nice to see you, too!” Zoe rose from the bed, moving with the kind of sinuous grace Cara remembered from their childhood. She was taller, more slender than she’d been seven years ago. Her cheekbones were elegantly prominent. She came close, and Cara could smell cinnamon on her breath. “I thought you’d be glad to see me at least.” She stroked Cara’s cheek softly. “I’ve missed you so much.”

With the touch of Zoe’s hand, Cara woke from her trance. Her face broke into a grin. She grabbed Zoe up in a hug. “Oh my God, I’m sorry! Of course I’m glad to see you! I was just surprised, that’s all.” Cara squeezed Zoe’s shoulders. “Wow, you’re skinny. I can feel your bones.”

A rueful little smile twisted Zoe’s lips. “Yeah. Things have been rough at home. I fixed everything, though.” Together, the girls sank down onto Cara’s bed.

Cara took Zoe’s hands in hers. “What do you mean, you fixed everything? What’s going on? Tell me.” She stared intently into her friend’s eyes. They were the same, despite the hollows under them. Still those endless pools of amethyst.

Zoe swallowed and looked down at their clasped hands. “Car—it’s my stepdad.” Her voice was so low, Cara had to bend forward to hear her.

“Oh my God, still? What a bastard.” Though she’d never met Zoe’s stepdad, Cara felt like she knew him perfectly from her friend’s descriptions over the years. His straight, dark hair and big, raw-knuckled hands.

Zoe sniffled a little and wiped the back of her hand under her nose. “He’s been coming into my room again . . . just like he used to . . . and . . .” She looked up. Her eyes were huge, magnified by brimming tears. “I ran away. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

“I’m so glad you did!” Cara wrapped her arms around her friend’s shoulders. “How did you get here?”

“I hitchhiked. It took awhile, getting a ride on the interstate. But this trucker picked me up. He was pretty awful, too—” She shook her head as if to rid herself of the memory. She looked intently into Cara’s face. “Listen, Car, I have a huge favor to ask. Can I stay here for a few days? Just until I figure something out? Please?” Her eyes were pleading. “I saw a newspaper at the truck stop, and it had my picture in it. My mom reported me as a runaway. If they find me, they’ll take me straight back—and I’ll really be in trouble then.”

“No!” Cara’s breath caught at the thought of losing Zoe again. She squeezed her friend, pressing Zoe’s bony frame tightly against her shoulder. She could feel her friend’s chest rising and falling against her own. “Wait, what about my parents? If they find out, they’ll call your parents in, like, one second. They are lawyers, after all.”

Zoe nodded. “I know, I thought of that too. What if I just stay in your room? I won’t go out, I’ll be totally quiet. No one will ever know I’m here. You can just bring me up food sometimes . . .”

“We can hang out, talk . . .” Excitement was beginning to flood through Cara. “They work all the time anyway.” She jumped up from the bed. “Zo, you have no idea what amazing timing this is. I really needed someone right now.”

“I know you did. I could just feel it.” Zoe stood up too and pulled Cara into a hug. For a long moment, they just stood together in the middle of the floor, their arms wrapped around each other. Cara could feel Zoe’s heart beating in rhythm with her own. Zoe pulled away, her face lit up by a huge grin. “Okay, so tell me everything that’s happened to you in the last seven years. Every detail!”

Cara dropped her arms and swiped at her eyes. “Not here. I have a better place.” She led Zoe over to the window and raised the sash and then the screen. She climbed out onto the roof that spread just below the window, overlooking the side yard. Zoe followed. They settled on the rough asphalt shingles, still warm from the heat of the day. They sat with their backs resting comfortably against the clapboard, their arms looped around their updrawn knees. The autumn night was warm, and scented with the faint smell of wood smoke. Zoe sighed and tilted her head back against the wall, gazing up at the stars.

“I’m so glad I’m here. You have no idea what it was like, Cara, sneaking out of there, walking to the highway. I was so scared, people kept honking at me. I even lost my backpack.”

“You don’t have to worry anymore. You’re safe here.” Cara patted Zoe’s knee.

Zoe raised her head and looked around, taking in the sprawling, manicured lawns and gracious homes all around them, perfectly illuminated by outdoor spotlights. Dark pockets of woods tastefully separated neighbors. At this hour, the only sounds were the soft
shush-shush
of automatic sprinklers. “I knew you’d have some kind of plush setup,” Zoe noted. “You always did.”

Before Cara could reply, a door slammed, and the quiet of the night was broken by the sound of girls’ voices next door. “So, he was like, ‘Oh my God, they’re home,’ and I wasn’t wearing anything—,” someone was saying loudly. A chorus of titters broke out. Girls clutching bottles of beer filtered out through glass doors onto the teak deck and collapsed onto the white linen lounge chairs surrounding the jewel-like swimming pool. Its sapphire water sparkled, illuminated by the yellow lights at the bottom.

Zoe raised an eyebrow at Cara. “My neighbor.” Cara sighed. “Sydney. And her friends—”

Her words were cut off by the clatter of something metallic hitting the deck, followed by screams of laughter. Sydney, clad in a tight pink tank that clearly showed the outlines of her black bra, had knocked into one of the tables. She was currently trying to extricate herself from the grasp of a closed umbrella.

“That’s Alexis, Sydney’s best friend.” Cara pointed to Alexis, who was laid out like an Egyptian princess on a lounge chair, posing as if she expected a paparazzo to appear out of nowhere and snap her picture. “She’s the worst one. My parents are really close with hers, and they used to try and make us hang out when we first moved here. As soon as the grown-ups left the room, Alexis would call me Monkey-Face. She’d tell me I was too ugly for her to play with.” Cara sighed. “Mom realized it was a lost cause after a while.”

Down below, a short blonde named Maren appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, waving a pitcher of something pink over her head.