Heartstopper (28 page)

So I held on tight, feeling her squirm, watching the breath slowly seep from her body, her eyes growing wider with each agonizing breath. At least I hope it was agonizing. I believe I actually felt her heart stop, but I held on for another five minutes before carefully removing the plastic bag from her head and closing her eyes with my fingers. I knew that everyone would assume she’d taken a nasty tumble down the stairs in those ridiculously high heels and died as the result of the fall. Everyone knew she enjoyed a drink or two in the afternoon. No one would be probing any deeper.

Don’t go looking for trouble. Isn’t that what they say?

And I was right. They didn’t. Her death was quickly classified as accidental. The sheriff, out of respect for my family, decided against an autopsy. What was the point in cutting her up? It was perfectly obvious what had happened to her. What could be gained by prolonging everyone’s grief? Such are the joys of small-town life. And death.

We buried her next to my uncle. Everybody mourned. Including me, of course. I believe I even managed a few tears.

So that’s it. One down.

Fast forward almost three years later. Two more girls are dead. That makes it three down.

And more to come.

I’m feeling better already.

M
egan was feeling sick to her stomach. And not because she’d eaten something disagreeable, which she hadn’t, because she had absolutely no appetite and was seriously considering never eating again, or because she’d had too much to drink, which she hadn’t because she didn’t like the taste of alcohol and so had never felt the slightest temptation to get drunk, or even because she’d smoked too much weed, which she hadn’t, because all she’d had were a few puffs, and besides, everyone knew that marijuana didn’t upset your stomach. No, she was feeling queasy because she’d made a fool of herself with Greg Watt in front of half the school at last night’s wake, and then he’d ditched her, also in front of everybody, and she still had no idea what she’d said or done wrong. One minute they were having a nice conversation about his mother, and the next minute he was walking away, and that was the end of it. He’d avoided her for the rest of the night. Or at least for the next hour, which was all the neglect she could stand, and so she’d gone home without telling anyone she was leaving, left without Tim, whose side she’d promised to stick to like glue, and snuck out of the park and walked home. Alone, at night, in the dark, with a murderer on the loose, as her mother had reiterated—how many times?—after Tim had shown up at their door at
almost the same moment their mother had arrived home in a taxi. And now Megan was grounded. No going out for the next month, except to school and for rehearsals, which her mother insisted she attend, ostensibly because she didn’t think it fair to deprive poor Mr. Lipsman of his leading lady, but more probably because Megan had been so willing to forgo them. And now her cell phone had been confiscated and her computer removed from her room. Which was probably a blessing in disguise, Megan thought, considering the gossip that was probably circulating right this second in chat lines throughout America, and
that
, more than anything, was what was making Megan feel sick to her stomach. That and what her mother would say if and when she found out about Greg Watt.

Not that her mother was one to talk, Megan decided. She hadn’t exactly looked all that great when she’d arrived home at just minutes before midnight. Megan had watched Sandy slowly extricate herself from her taxi and teeter toward the front door as if she were sidestepping pieces of broken glass. She’d only had a few seconds to wonder what had happened to Rita when to her horror she saw Tim rounding the corner. “Mom?” he’d called out. “Is Megan home?”

“What? What do you mean? Isn’t she with you?” And then the front door was opening and closing, and the hysteria was rising, before crashing down around all their heads. “What do you mean, you don’t know where she is? What do you mean, you couldn’t find her? Did you look? Did you look everywhere?”

And stupid her. Stupid for thinking that simply by announcing her presence, her mother would be so glad to see her, and so relieved to know she was safe and sound and not in the clutches of some slavering maniac, all would be forgiven.

All was definitely not forgiven.

After the initial euphoria, the frantic kisses on her
cheek, the trembling fingers clutching proprietarily at Megan’s sides, Sandy’s face had grown dark and angry. “What do you mean, you left without telling your brother? You were supposed to stick together. Why weren’t you together? Where were you? Who were you with? What do you mean, you walked home by yourself? Don’t you know there’s a killer out there? I can’t believe you’re that stupid. What aren’t you telling me?” And then, without waiting for an explanation: “You’re grounded.”

Of course Megan had tried to change her mother’s mind, but each protest of innocence had served only to cement her guilt. Sandy, while clearly not herself—even a mouthful of Altoids hadn’t been enough to disguise the alcohol on her breath—was perceptive enough to know when her daughter was hiding something from her, and she would not be coddled, mollified, or thrown off course. Ultimately, Megan had fled to her room in tears.

When Sandy had knocked on her door some fifteen minutes later, Megan had assumed she’d had a change of heart and had come to apologize. Instead, her mother had unhooked her computer and unplugged her phone, as well as seized her cell phone from her purse. Instead of an apology, she’d announced, “I’m very disappointed in you, Megan.” Which meant that she was expecting Megan to apologize to
her.

Apologize and explain.

How can I explain? Megan wondered now, picturing herself in Greg’s surprisingly gentle arms, his fingers twisting around her hair, his tongue teasing the inside of her mouth. She could still taste the beer and cigarettes on his breath, could hear the hurt in his voice when he talked about his mother. She’d felt so close to him. Was that it? Had she strayed too close? “I’m such an idiot,” she moaned, falling back on her bed and staring up at the quietly rotating ceiling fan.

“Okay, sweetheart. Have a good time. And be careful,” she heard her mother telling Tim as the front door opened and closed.

She should go out there and apologize, Megan decided. Get it over with. Act suitably contrite and hope her mother would relent or, at the very least, give her back her cell phone. Sandy would ask a few questions that were none of her business and Megan would flatter her with a few well-placed lies—“You were right, Mom. I never should have gone to Liana’s wake. I didn’t realize how upsetting it would be. Of course I should have said something to Tim, but he was talking to some boys in his class, and I know how concerned you’ve been about him not having any friends, and I didn’t want to interrupt them—you know how easily embarrassed he gets and I knew he’d insist on walking me home—and, yes, I realize now how stupid it was, and I’m really very sorry. I promise I’ll never do anything that stupid ever again. Can you forgive me?”

Oh, and by the way, what were you doing last night that you came home in a taxi, and why did you smell like liquor, and where was Rita? Answer me that before you take anything else away from me.

Okay, so maybe not in those exact words, Megan was thinking as the phone rang, then rang twice more before Sandy finally picked it up. Megan stood still, waited for the sound of her mother’s voice.

“Rita, hello,” her mother said, although she didn’t sound too glad to hear from her friend. “I’ve been meaning to call you all day…. Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry you were so worried.”

So, her mother’s behavior had caused Rita concern. What had she done?

“I would have called you last night when I got home, but it was late and … No, it didn’t go exactly the way I’d hoped.” Sandy paused. Megan could almost feel her sneaking a peek over her shoulder, making sure no one
was listening. “Actually, it turned out I
didn’t
know him,” her mother continued, raising Megan’s interest even further by lowering her voice. Megan took several baby steps into the hallway. “Yes, I know what I said, what
he
said, but he wasn’t a former neighbor after all. In fact, I’d never seen him before in my life.”

Seen who? What was her mother talking about?

“Yes, I know it was reckless. Trust me, I know. I’ve been kicking myself all night.”

What had her mother done?

“I know. I know.”

What did her mother know?

“You don’t want to know,” her mother told her friend.

Yes, we do, Megan answered silently. We most definitely want to know.

“Well, we drove around for a little while,” Sandy obliged. “Did I tell you he drove a Porsche?”

Her mother had gone for a ride with someone who drove a Porsche?

“Yes, I know that shouldn’t mean anything, but what can I say? I’m shallow and I was impressed.”

Me too, Megan thought, inching closer, trying to picture Sandy in her red-and-white print silk dress in the passenger seat of a Porsche.

“And then he said something about being hungry, and I assumed we were going to a restaurant, but then he said he had some chicken at his apartment…. I
know
it’s the oldest line in the book, you don’t have to tell me that, but it’s a book I haven’t read in a very long time. And he was being so sweet, and he made me feel, I don’t know, as if he was completely innocent and that if I didn’t come up to his apartment, then
I
was the one with the problem.”

Megan released a deep breath of air. For the first time in a long while, she understood exactly what her mother was talking about.

“Yes, I went,” Sandy continued. “And, no, of course there wasn’t any chicken. At least none that I saw. But, no, nothing happened. I mean, he tried, and when I refused, he got a little insulting, more than a little actually. I think ‘pathetic’ was one of the kinder words he used.”

Megan gasped, then threw her hands across her mouth. How awful, she thought. Her mother was hardly
pathetic.

“And he threw me out of his apartment, and then
I
threw up in the lobby…. Yes, I guess you could call it poetic justice, except it didn’t feel that way at the time. It just felt awful. So I took a cab home…. No, of course I wasn’t going to call you. After abandoning you the way I did? Not a chance. I may be shallow and stupid, but I’m not totally insensitive. Besides, I didn’t have a clue where I was. How’d the rest of your evening go, by the way?”

So, let’s get this straight, Megan thought. Her mother had ditched her good friend to run off with some stranger in a Porsche, then risked her life for a piece of chicken, then thrown up in the lobby of a strange apartment building, then climbed into another stranger’s cab?
Her
mother? The same one who’d lectured her about walking home from the park alone when there was a murderer on the loose? The one who’d taken away her phone and computer privileges and grounded her for a month?
That
mother?

“I’m glad you had a good time. Was Bob terribly upset when I didn’t come back?”

Bob?
Who was Bob? There was a Bob?

“I guess I should call him and apologize. Do you have his number? … Good…. No, I am definitely not interested in any more double dates. I’m clearly not ready to be dating. I shouldn’t even be allowed out of the house, for God’s sake.”

And yet
she
was the one who was grounded, Megan thought.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to you later. Sorry again about last night.” Sandy hung up the phone. “Megan,” she called out. “I think you might be a little more comfortable in here.”

Megan rolled her eyes, half in defeat, half in admiration. “How long have you known I was there?” she asked, coming into the living room and plopping down on the sofa.

“Not long. How much did you overhear?”

“Pretty much everything.”

Sandy nodded. She was wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt with the outline of a big red heart in its center, and her hair was freshly washed and hanging in loose, wet curls around her face. “I guess that makes my humiliation pretty much complete.”

“Did he really say you were pathetic?”

“Among other things.”

“He sounds like a creep.”

“He was.”

“Was he good-looking?”

“Very.”

“As good-looking as Dad?”

Her mother sank back in her chair. “Different,” she said after a pause. “Younger.”

“Wow,” Megan said, not sure whether to be filled with anger or admiration. “I guess that makes everything all right then.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I’m not in the mood for sarcasm.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s fair for me to be punished when you behaved worse than I did.”

“It
doesn’t
seem fair, does it?”

“No. It really doesn’t.”

Sandy pushed herself to her feet. “Yeah, well, there you go. I’m thirsty. Can I get you something?” She walked toward the kitchen.

Megan was right behind her. “What!”

Sandy was already leaning into the open fridge. “Let’s see. We have Coke or ginger ale, or there’s orange juice.”

“What do you mean, ‘Yeah, well, there you go’?”

“It’s kind of self-explanatory.”

“You’re saying I’m still grounded?”

“Yup.”

“Yup?
Since when do you say
yup?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Sandy apologized, pouring herself a glass of juice. “But I thought I made myself very clear. You had strict instructions to stay with your brother. And you were very foolish to walk home by yourself under the circumstances.”

“Not as foolish as getting into a stranger’s car and going up to his apartment,” Megan protested.

“True enough.”

“So, how come I’m the only one who has to suffer?”

“Trust me. You aren’t the only one who’s suffering.”

“I’m the only one who’s grounded.”

“Yeah, well …”

“There you go?”
Megan repeated. “You’re such a hypocrite.”

“No,” Sandy said kindly, refusing to rise to the bait. “I’m your mother. And I love you more than anything in the world, and whether you think it’s fair or not, I get to set the rules.” She walked back into the living room, sipping on her drink, Megan on her heels.