Hanging by a Thread (15 page)

“Oh, no,” I said. “But that’s—it’s like they’re
trying
to scare people.”

“They just want to sell papers. Newspapers are struggling too, Clare. And it’s been on the morning shows. It’ll fade eventually, but …”

She didn’t have to finish her thought.
Not soon enough
, not for the bed-and-breakfast, and maybe not for the other businesses downtown.

That reminded me of something.

“Listen, Mom, when Mrs. Granger stopped by yesterday, it was the day before her son’s memorial service—it’s today in Raley Park. Don’t you think that’s weird? That she was out running around yesterday like nothing was wrong, when it’s the anniversary of Dillon’s death?”

Mom looked up at me, frowning. “Well, technically, the anniversary isn’t for three more days. But yes, I can see why you’d think that. But you have to understand, people grieve in all different ways.”

“Do you remember her? She says she remembers you.”

“I do, a little.” My mom’s tired features softened. “She was really sweet. I remember her selling Girl Scout cookies in front of the Frosty Top.”

“My friends say Mr. Granger’s crazy. Like even before Dillon died, he used to yell at the referees and get into fights at his baseball games. I guess he has a real anger problem.”

“Well, it would be awfully hard to judge, I think. Are you going to the memorial?”

“I think so,” I said noncommittally, hoping she wouldn’t want to go.

“With Rachel?”

I thought about how drunk Rachel had been last night, how she’d been like dead weight after I used her key to unlock the front door and half-dragged her to her room. I’d been afraid her parents would hear us and come see what bad shape she was in, but the house was huge, and their rooms were in opposite wings. They never came out, and I let myself out the front after getting Rachel into bed.

Still, I’d thought I would have heard from her by now. “No, I don’t think so,” I hedged. “I’m going with Victoria and Giselle.”

“Well, I think I’ll stay here and catch up. Stick together, okay?”

There it was, the warning that went along with every conversation these days, not just in our house but all over Winston.

“We will. Giselle’s parents invited people back to their house for dinner, but I’ll text if we go.”

“Okay, honey,” Mom said, already absorbed in her work again.

An hour before the service, Rachel called to tell me that she was coming along with Giselle and Victoria. I was glad to hear from her, especially because I had nothing to wear.

“Don’t worry,” Rachel said. “I’ll tell them to pick you up before they come over here. I have something you can borrow.”

By the time the three of us got to Rachel’s, her parents had already left for the service with Adrienne. We were going to be late if we didn’t hurry, but as we filed up to Rachel’s room she ran to get something from the kitchen.

“We can share,” she said, pouring vodka over ice into a sport bottle. She added most of a can of orange soda, but it was at least two-thirds vodka. She took a healthy swig and handed it to Victoria while she dug through her closet.

I wanted to say something. It seemed completely disrespectful to be drinking at a memorial service. Giselle caught my eye and sighed. “Don’t worry, Clare. I’m not drinking.”

“Here,” Rachel said, pulling out a simple black dress with white topstitching. It was the sort of thing she favored, tailored and short and simple. “I wore this to the JV cheer banquet last year. It’ll look great on you.”

She tossed it to me and I caught it—and it was like catching a handful of fire. I felt the sparkle sensation that signaled a vision, and I had the foresight to head for the bathroom adjoining Rachel’s room before it took over my body completely.

This was one vision I didn’t want to miss.

“I’ll just change in here,” I called, hoping no one noticed the quaver in my voice.

Inside her bathroom—it was larger than the one in our house, and I happened to know that Rachel’s house had four and a half baths, while ours had exactly one—I sat down on the toilet and clutched the dress to my chest. My vision flickered and swam.…
And then I was walking through a house, the rooms large and beautiful, people laughing and talking around me
.

I was Rachel now, seeing what she saw, hearing what she heard
.

I knew I was in the Stavros house because Rachel had told me they hosted the end-of-year awards banquet. I passed through the living room with its pale furniture, its glass-topped tables. I touched the handrail of a curved staircase that led upstairs. I was walking up it, my hand on the rail, my heart beating fast in my chest
.

Where was I going? The party was downstairs, the laughter of all the girls echoing in my ears. But I was feeling something other than celebration. I felt … I concentrated, willing myself deeper into the vision, letting Rachel’s emotions take over mine, letting her memories fill my mind
.

I was feeling resentment. Burning envy. But why? Amanda’s
house was no more opulent than Rachel’s. Rachel was every bit as pretty as Amanda
.

I walked into Amanda’s room—deep gold walls, ruby red covers on the bed, a bookcase filled with books and knickknacks—and started going through her things. Her desk—all those papers. I fanned them out and didn’t see anything that interested me. Her backpack, left lying on the floor; I searched it quickly and found only textbooks and an empty Tupperware container, remnants of some lunch that had been consumed and forgotten
.

I kept going, turning my attention to the shelves. A hatbox full of hair accessories. A little silver dish that held rings and, inexplicably, a tiny glass penguin. A journal that was empty except for the first few pages, which I didn’t bother to read
.

Jewelry box. A smooth ebony case with five drawers, which I yanked open one by one. Necklaces, earrings, I didn’t care. One, two, three—and then I opened the fourth and my eyes lit on the thing I had been searching for
.

My fingers—I noticed my perfect manicure, the one Rachel was never without—picked it up delicately. A shimmering gold chain with a charm shaped like a key. Amanda’s name engraved along the side infancy letters. My heart skittered and soared. I’d found it. I would have it
.

It should have been mine
.

Then I was retracing my steps, shoving the necklace into my pocket, fixing a smile on my face. No one saw me. No one would know
.

“Hurry up, Clare!”

Rachel’s voice cut through the vision, and I hastily tugged my clothes off, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

“Just a sec,” I called back. “You know, this doesn’t fit after all. Do you have anything else?”

There was grumbling outside the door as I managed to hang the dress from a hook meant for a bathrobe. Rachel stuck her arm in the door, holding a navy blue dress with red piping. “You’re making us late.” She sighed dramatically.

But I was already tugging the dress on. I didn’t even care what it looked like. All I cared about was that it had no terrible secrets to reveal about the girl I’d thought was my best friend.

We were late, but so were a lot of other people. We parked three blocks away and joined the throng trying to get to the park.

The weird thing was that, even though it seemed like half the town had shown up for the memorial, there were almost as many media people as townspeople. We counted four news vans and at least six reporters filming at various spots around the park. As I scanned the crowd, I didn’t see many of the merchants who’d been working so hard on the Independence Day festival. Maybe they didn’t want to add to the spectacle, staying away in an effort to take the focus off the tragedy. In three days the town would be crowded with day-trippers, and the park, downtown, and beach would be full of distractions. In addition to the food tents and the music stages, there would be a beach volleyball tournament and a parade and model airplane show and a
dozen other activities. It was as if the entire population of Winston was working together to erase the history that had hung over the town, and give it a second chance.

But that was all in the future. Today, the second anniversary of Dillon’s death was big news. Reporters and cameramen pressed forward toward the stage, where an older woman in white pants and a red jacket was fiddling with the microphone up at the podium. Half a dozen folding chairs were set up on the stage, and people were starting to take their seats.

“Here,” Rachel said, thrusting the sports bottle at me.

“No thanks.”

She shrugged and took a sip. We pressed forward with everyone else until we were in a group of people under some trees off to the left of the stage.

“Well, hello, girls,” a voice called, and we all turned to see Mrs. Granger hurrying toward us. She was wearing a suit like the one she had on the other day, in a sapphire blue color that looked beautiful with her hair.

She gave us all a tired smile as she caught up to the edge of our group. “Thank you so much for coming. It means so much to me and Dillon’s dad.”

Mrs. Granger gave Rachel’s shoulder a little squeeze, and I could have sworn Rachel winced before Dillon’s mom was off to greet other people standing nearby.

Rachel took another big sip from the bottle as the woman at the podium called for attention. She asked everyone to find their seats, and people stepped out of the way to give Mrs. Granger a clear path to the stage.

“There’s something very wrong with that woman,” Rachel whispered loudly to me, her face flushed. I could smell the alcohol on her breath. “No one’s that nice.”

“Give her a break,” I whispered back. “You have to give her credit for putting all of this together. Maybe it’s helping her grieve or something.” But deep down I had to agree; it was eerie how cheerful Mrs. Granger seemed, given that we were all assembled to observe the anniversary of her son’s death.

A man in front of us turned and hushed us, frowning. On the stage, Mrs. Granger took her place next to a tall man in a dark suit—Mr. Granger, I assumed. The woman at the podium introduced herself as a local pastor and invited everyone to join her in prayer. I peeked at Victoria and Giselle and, predictably enough, Giselle’s hands were folded and her head was lowered, while Victoria leaned against Rachel, the two of them looking chastened but inebriated.

The service was a short one. Mrs. Granger was remarkable, clear-voiced and even smiling as she told a story about Dillon’s last baseball season. She announced that the fund that had been established in Dillon’s name would be supporting a nonviolence initiative and that a tree had been planted in his memory at the elementary school. Behind her, Mr. Granger glowered and stared at the floor of the stage. When he looked out into the crowd once or twice, there was a furious intensity in his gaze that seemed to sear every face it landed on. When he looked at me, I felt a strong urge to turn away.

But then he looked at Rachel, and his expression seemed to focus even more, his mouth pinched in a tight line. She didn’t notice, sipping from the bottle with her arm around Victoria, the two of them holding each other up. I tried to move in front of them to block them from Mr. Granger’s gaze, but the crowd prevented me from moving.

Finally the service was over, and the crowd began to disperse. People lined up to speak to the Grangers, the reporters stepping in to snap pictures. Rachel pushed her way toward the back of the crowd, wiping her eyes before tipping up the sports bottle for the last sip.

“Do you have any idea what’s gotten into her?” I asked Giselle. “I didn’t know she was that upset about Dillon.”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

We managed to catch up with her, and the four of us headed back through the crowd. When we reached the car, I turned around for a final look at the people milling around the empty stage. The day was gorgeous, the sky blue, with the red, white, and blue bunting fluttering in the wind. If you didn’t know better, you might think you were looking at quite a charming little town.

“L
ISTEN, YOU WANT TO PICK UP
takeout tonight?” Mom asked the next morning, setting down her pencil and giving me a tired smile. She’d already been working when I got up. I’d had trouble sleeping the night before, even though I came home early from Giselle’s. Rachel was sleeping over there, so I knew she was in good hands, but I was worried about her and my mind raced for hours. “I’m going to have to take a break eventually.”