Echo Bridge (26 page)

“You’re not messed up, Molly,” I said. “You’re, like, the least messed up person I’ve talked to in a week.” She laughed quietly. “But listen.” I dropped my voice even lower. “You should talk to your sister about this stuff. All of it. Because I think there’s a lot she’s been alone with for a long time, and if you talk to her, she might share it with you.”

“Elaine?” Molly’s eyes grew big in the darkness. “Did Hugh do something to her, too?”

“You should talk to her,” I said. “And get her to talk back. She needs it.”

Molly studied my face. “Okay. Thanks, Courtney.” She nudged me. “You’re on.”

I stepped from the dim cave of the wings onto the stage, the spotlights blaring in my face.

* * *

I barely slept and woke to a gray morning haze, thinking of Mia Farrow in
Rosemary’s Baby
, when she says it feels like there’s a wire inside her winding tighter and tighter. It seemed like Detective Soleto would come for me—and I’d have to decide what to tell her—at any second. I stumbled through school, and at lunch I went to the grief counselor’s office. It was the only place I could think of where I could hide out from Ted.

The grief counselor was not a warm woman. I hadn’t seen her smile, and her silver hair was cut short, chic but severe. She was steely, I thought, and the wire inside me wound tighter.

“Your boyfriend was close to Hugh,” she said to me, glancing at my file like Detective Soleto had and flicking her eyes back up at me over her reading glasses. She said the word “boyfriend” with disdain.

“I was, too,” I said. For a split second, I felt defensive. Why shouldn’t I claim my share of the school tragedy? That I should think this immediately struck me as absurd, and I nearly laughed in her face. Her boredom was hilarious; she thought I was just another spoiled, overwrought teen. While I stared at her harsh, unmade-up features and tried not to laugh, I realized that the lack of sleep was catching up with me.

“Courtney,” said the counselor, whose name I hadn’t caught, if anyone had ever told me. “It’s okay to feel confused right now.”

My lips parted and something between a laugh and a sob escaped them, and then I was sobbing for real. The counselor pushed the box of tissues on her desk toward me and sat back and let me cry it out. After ten minutes, I managed to get myself under control. I blew my nose, wiped my tears, and then looked up and met her eyes.

“Well?” she asked.

“Do you think I could lie down on that cot,” I said, pointing at the bed that had been moved into the corner, I guessed to make it feel more like a doctor’s office. “And take a nap?”

“Go ahead,” said the counselor, and I saw the hardness in her face shift like tectonic plates and a soft, gentle empathy ooze from beneath.

I lay down and slept through my next class.

Then school was over, and it was time for dress rehearsal. Under normal circumstances, I loved dress rehearsal. If tech was where we got all our silliness out, dress was where we gathered our strength. It was more exciting than opening night, because on opening night the excitement was dampened by nerves. Dress rehearsal had its own magic. We were wearing costumes for the first time. The freshman with the bit part might ad lib the perfect gesture. The leads would finally kiss convincingly. It was in previous dress rehearsals that I had come close to glimpsing a small aspect of Rodney Fairchild that might make him loveable; it was the moment when he was at his best, mustering everything he had only for the role, not for the audience. Rodney, for all his faults, could play a good hero, and he was doing a decent job with John Proctor. I could see the girl who played his wife—a type-A, books-over-boys girl all the way—melting a little bit as he stomped around the stage gruffly.

“Hey,” whispered Molly at my elbow.

“Hey,” I said back. She looked angelic as Mary Warren, with her blond hair curving over her cheeks and a white apron and bonnet. I could see why Mr. G had cast her in the role, the cruel irony of someone who looked so innocent condemning a man to death.

“I talked to my sister,” Molly went on. “She’s leaving school.”

“What?” I had thought it would be good for Elaine to talk to someone—she had seemed like her secrets were rotting inside her, that day on the bank of the Souhegan—but I hadn’t expected her to drop out.

“She’s going to a hospital for a few months,” said Molly. “Not like a hospital-hospital; it’s more like a resort. You know. Just for a little while. Then she’ll take her graduation equivalency and do the LPGA Tour.”

“You’re joking,” I said. I knew Elaine was a very good golfer, but I didn’t know she was that good.

“For real.” Molly’s eyes followed the players on stage for a moment. “There’s not much here for her anymore, you know? And with golf, the diploma is just an afterthought.”

“Will you do that?” I asked. “With tennis?”

“I’m not good enough,” Molly said without a trace of self-pity. “It’ll just be high school and college for me.”

“Do you think she’s doing the right thing?” I asked.

Molly shrugged. “It’s the right thing for her. Or else she wouldn’t be doing it, right?” Before I could respond, she darted out onto the stage, where Rodney began to yell at her for going to Salem town.

* * *

I slept a little better that night, and for a moment, lying in Anna’s bed half asleep with the sun creeping under the scalloped edges of the shades, I could let myself think that all I had to worry about was the opening that night. But of course, that wasn’t true at all. I rolled over and buried my face in the belly of one of the teddy bears. So Elaine Winslow was getting her own clean slate. I had to admit that the LPGA Tour made Prague look a little gray and shabby. But I was glad Elaine was getting out. I liked the idea of her in a little outfit, everything Nike, her blond ponytail streaming over a visor as she walked across a trim green with the blue sky behind her. The aim and the stroke. All that control and freedom.

I had neither control nor freedom. Ted reminded me of this when he opened the door to the Rover as I crossed the senior parking lot with Melissa. He was sitting in the back and lifted the hatch when we walked by. When I paused and frowned, he held up his cell phone and pretended to text. I walked over and climbed in next to him.

“Hey, Court.” He closed the door, dropped back onto his elbows, and grinned at me. “How about a quickie before first period?”

“You’re disgusting,” I said in a low voice. I was much too close to him. The Rover had always struck me as comically large, but just then it seemed cramped and tiny. I pressed my back against the window.

“Come on, Courtney,” he reached over and pulled me down next to him. I stiffened, but like Hugh before him, Ted was much bigger than me. He ran a hand over my breast, down my waist to my hip. I thought I might actually projectile vomit into his face. “Come on,” he said again, squeezing my hip, yanking me closer to him, his hand fumbling at his belt.

“Ted,” I squirmed, tears in my eyes. “People can see us.”

“What people? It’s after first bell. Everybody’s up in the school house.”

“Ted, please,” I said, and cursed myself for begging. “I’ll tell the cops whatever you want, I’ll do anything, just not this. Anything but this.”

“Anything, huh?” he kept one hand on my rib cage and propped himself up on his elbow.

Before he could begin to explore the possibilities, there was a loud rap at the window. Detective Soleto was banging on it with the butt of her Mag light.

* * *

She and I stared at each other across the table in the interrogation room at the police station.

“Ms. Valance.”

“Detective Soleto.”

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because you don’t believe Hugh Marsden’s death was an accident.” I was trying to think through my options as quickly as possible. They hadn’t taken our phones; Ted could be sending out his videos of me from the next room at that moment. And what if they let him listen in, hoping to turn us against each other like in
L.A. Confidential
(Kim Basinger, Best Supporting Actress, 1998)? I knew that seemed ridiculous, but if I’d learned one thing that fall, it was that anything was possible.

“Correct. Are you ready to tell me what really happened last Friday?”

More staring. I broke her gaze and picked at the edge of the table where a plastic strip was peeling off. “All right.”

I took a deep breath.
Be convincing
, I thought.
Be authentic
. I remembered Constantin Stanislavski and emotional memory. I remembered that night in September in Melissa’s guest bathroom. I let the tears well up in my eyes.

“I did it,” I said, my voice breaking, as I wiped at my cheeks with my hands. “It’s all my fault.”

“Courtney?” Soleto put aside her ballpoint pen and steno notebook. “What do you mean?”

“I saw Hugh go into the barn,” I gulped. “And the barn is supposed to be locked during parties, and he was so drunk, so I went out to try to get him to come back to the house. And he, he…” Don’t overdo it, I thought. Ted had said ‘attempted.’ I struggled to rein in the tears a little. “He grabbed me. He was so drunk, I don’t think he knew what he was doing, but he scared me. So I pushed him. And he stumbled backward, onto the trap door, and fell. His head… his neck was at a grotesque angle.” I shuddered.

“And when did Ted show up?” The detective narrowed her eyes at me.

“Just a minute later. He could see that the barn light was on from the house and came out to make sure it was empty and lock it.”

“And why did you lie before?”

“Because I was scared,” I sniffled. “Ted, he agreed to lie for me.”

Detective Soleto picked her notebook up again. “How do I know you’re not lying now?” she asked me.

I stared at her, and the terror I let show on my face was very real. “What? I—I’m not, I swear.”

She tapped the pen on the notebook cover at a maddeningly slow pace. “A lot of your friends seem to think that something was going on between you and Hugh.”

“There wasn’t. I swear there wasn’t. I told him no.” I released the waterworks.

“You want to know what I think, Ms. Valance?” The ballpoint picked up its pace. “I think that you and Hugh had something on the side. Ted must have suspected something, if I’m hearing about it now. When he saw you two together in the barn, he snapped. And you’re trying desperately to hang on to him by covering for him.”

“Are you calling me a slut?” My fingers tightened at the edge of the table.

“No. I’m calling you a liar and a cheat.” The detective stood and waved me out of the room. “Don’t bother waiting for Ted. He’s going to be a while.”

* * *

I didn’t hear from Ted for the rest of the afternoon. I had no idea what he’d told the cops or if they’d managed to arrest him. I sat in the janitor’s closet we used as a dressing room during performances, wondering what had happened and how I had gotten there. For a second, the prospect of Ted getting arrested seemed like it would be the answer to everything, but then I realized that it would only mean a few hours of relief for me. Ted’s father’s lawyer would get him out quick. I had no idea if he’d then release his video collection, or what tale he might spin for a jury, if it came to that. No, an arrest would only make Ted angrier and open up more potential for him to manipulate me. I stared at my white face in the mirror.

In order to make the long, narrow closet more like a dressing room, Mr. G had propped a full-length mirror horizontally atop a counter at waist level. We all had to stoop and hunch to get our makeup on. Mechanically, I put on heavy eyeliner and a lot of powder. Abigail Williams wasn’t meant to look too made up, but everybody needed something extra under the harsh stage lights. I fell into a fugue state as we prepared, and I still have no memory of the performance at all. I only know that it was good, and that when my conscious mind checked out, I played Abigail naturally and knew her lines by heart. The only thing I remember thinking was that this was it, the last thing I’d ever do in Belknap; I had to leave immediately, because Ted would be gunning for me, one way or another.

Afterwards, I stood out in the lobby of the schoolhouse while my mother hugged me and people swarmed, underclassmen and random parents wanting to compliment me, wanting to tell me how their child looked up to me, how talented I was. I must have smiled and thanked them, but I knew I was a fraud. Whatever had just happened on stage was an accident, not a talent. And it didn’t matter; even if I got the chance to submit the video as part of my Tisch application, I wouldn’t be around to accept admission. I didn’t think I could stand another handshake, and I gulped frantically at the bottle of Poland Spring in my hand.

“Courtney,” said my dad as the lobby slowly emptied. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I hissed, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.

“She’s just upset that Ted’s not here,” my mother said, loud enough for anyone in the lobby to hear.

“No, Mom,” I said. “That’s not it at all.”

“Well,” she said. “He should be here. Frankly, I’m surprised.”

“Mom.”

“Did you and Ted have a falling out, honey?”

“Janice,” my father said, gently taking my mother by the shoulders. “Let the girl enjoy the spotlight.”

We turned to go, and then I saw Ted. My father must have seen him, too, and thought he was doing me a favor, but I felt my knees go watery at the sight of him. He was holding a huge bouquet, two dozen roses at least, white with red-tipped petals. I felt dizzy.

“Oh,” said my mother, loading the single syllable with weight. “We’ll just see you at home, Courtney.”

And then my father kissed my temple, and my mother kissed my cheek, and that was the last time I saw either of them.

* * *

Ted watched them leave, and then took a step closer to me. I stared at him with naked terror.

“Did they arrest you?” I whispered.

“No,” he said softly, hitching up the roses and stroking the hair over my ear, so that no one watching would guess what he was saying. “They don’t have any evidence, just that detective bitch’s suspicion. I sent a text to my dad, and he showed up with his lawyer and threatened to sue the cops for keeping me without a charge. You didn’t do what I asked, did you? You told them it was me who pushed Hugh.” He grabbed me with one arm like he was giving me a hug, but really, he was making sure that I felt the cell phone in his pocket. The cell phone full of videos of me in compromising positions.