Like It Never Happened (27 page)

“I have no idea what she wanted, in the moment,” said Liane, “but clearly she needed you afterward.”

I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes. Unlocking the bedroom door had been out of the question. I hadn't even considered it.

“It's not like you deserved what happened,” Liane added.

Only I wasn't sure if she meant that night at the beach—Connor's smile growing against my neck—or what came afterward: the accusation, the investigation. Tess's hope that the lie would turn into the truth and everyone would pat her on the back.

“I've still never even had sex,” I admitted.

“I know that.”

“You do?”

She cringed. “Charlie kind of talked about you a lot.”

“Like behind my back?” I shouldn't have been remotely surprised. “What else did he tell you?”

“Well, he told us about Mr. McFadden driving you home on Halloween.”

Somehow everyone knew about Halloween without actually knowing the whole story: how we had waited out the storm, together much longer than we needed to be. The curtain had fallen on the rest of the world, for once.

“And he told us you had no friends at the Shooting Stars Arts Camp, or whatever.”

I groaned. “Shining Stars Summer Camp for Performing Arts!”

Liane started giggling and the sound was such a massive relief. As we approached Vista Road, she searched for a parking space. “Which summer did you say it was?” she asked.

“Summer before tenth grade.”

“We became the Essential Five in the fall.”

“Yeah.”

Liane backed the car into a space against the curb. Without a word of explanation, she threw open her door and stepped into the street. I followed her to the Vista Bridge.

It was windy up there. We steadied ourselves against the low stone railing. The city was spread out below us: bank towers, dorm towers, church steeples, trains sliding through the streets. The Willamette River hugged downtown and on the east side, our side, boulevards stretched toward the mountains.

“We should probably amend the pact” was my terrible attempt at a joke.

Leaning boldly over the railing, Liane played along. “I, Liane Gallagher of Bickford Park Alternative School, resolve to stop signing pointless pacts that prevent me or prevent my friends from kissing the people we actually want to kiss.”

“Kind of wordy,” I observed.

“Whatever. I don't want to be a lawyer.” Liane leaned farther over the railing until I was compelled to hold on to her shoulders. “How come you never told me you knew Tess before?” she asked.

“How come you never told me you slept with Charlie?”

Liane took my question in stride. It wasn't like Charlie's talents had ever included secret-keeping. “Because I wanted to be friends with you.” She stepped back from the railing. “Your turn.”

I laughed. “My turn what?”

“Answer my question. Why didn't you tell me you knew Tess before?”

“Because I'm a liar?” I guessed.

“You are,” she said, sounding faintly remorseful. “A good one, too.”

We watched a MAX train slide through the street beneath us. Sparks danced on the wires.

“I wouldn't do that to you,” I said abruptly, looking hard at Liane's profile—at the curls pressed against her temple, the metal hoop through her nostril. “I mean, if you ever . . .” I trailed off.

“Pounded on your door in the middle of the night?” she supplied.

Grateful, I nodded. “I would open it instantly. I know I should have for Tess. But if you ever . . . there's no question.”

After a long pause Liane said, “Okay. Good.”

I had this urge to tell her something permanent. Like that I had always liked her better than everyone else and always would. But something stopped me, and in another second I realized that a declaration of friendship would be too much like the pact. Liane clearly had nothing but disdain left for the pact.

And I hoped, privately, that she had something else left for me.

I also declined to mention I wasn't coming back to Bickford Park Alternative School. Liane probably suspected as much anyway, and I didn't want to ruin the moment. I could always ruin some other moment, later.

The second I pushed through the front door, Mom accosted me, wielding a spatula. It was pretty common to find her absently carrying utensils from one room to another.

“Where were you?” she demanded. I had only been gone for about an hour.

“I went for a drive with Liane,” I explained.

“Not Charlie?”

“No.”

“Good,” she exhaled. “I don't think you should see that boy again.”

“Charlie Lamb?”

“I don't like him.” Cautiously, she lifted her gaze to meet mine. “He's not even very handsome.”

I suppressed a smile. God, she was completely insane. “You don't think so?”

Mom shook her head. “He should have stood up for you. What kind of boy doesn't defend his own girlfriend?” She looked shy, worried I wouldn't agree.

“I won't see him again.” I kissed Mom on the cheek before pushing past her and heading upstairs.

The promise came easy. Even my mother—formerly Charlie's number one fan—could see how terrible he had been. Tess had only followed me to the staff parking lot, witnessed my pitiful attempt to kiss Mr. McFadden, rushed to the office with her story, and then let Charlie take the lead, like we always did.

With all eyes on him, Charlie had shrugged:
We knew she was a slut, didn't we?
He hadn't played the victim. He hadn't played the loyal boyfriend. Supporting roles were useless.

He had assumed the part of the prosecutor—the guy who knew to pull the right string, to unstitch all the lies and present the audience with the naked truth.

Of course, Charlie had guessed wrong, but it didn't really matter. With Mr. McFadden gone and the play canceled, there was only one performance left on the bill.
The Charlie Lamb Show
, starring Charlie Lamb!

Every goddamn night.

Dear Rebecca,

I am writing this letter because I know my actions affected you negatively. I know this apology will never make up for the pain I caused you but I want you to know how sorry I am that I was wrong about the relationship between you and Mr. McFadden, which did not turn out to be inappropriate.

Principal Gladstone has given me the very fair punishment of 100 hours of unpaid service to Bickford Park Alternative School. I will be doing things such as taking inventory of custodial supplies and helping teachers get organized for the upcoming semester and possibly even assisting the cafeteria staff. I will also not be allowed to participate in any school plays ever again. This is very fair.

One thing I want you to understand is that I truly believed I was doing the right thing by telling the administration what I had seen in the parking lot. I had reason to think the relationship between you and Mr. McFadden was not an appropriate one. From personal experience, I know it can be hard to tell for yourself when things have gone too far.

And then, when I informed Principal Gladstone of what I knew to be true, he was very interested in learning more, which is why I said things of which I was not 100% sure.

I am very sorry and I hope you will one day forgive me. I have considered you a good friend for as long as I have known you and I'm not going to stop now.

Regretfully yours,
Tess Dunham

I kind of wanted to laugh. My fingers were poised to rip the letter—actually printed on Bickford Park stationery, meaning Tess had collaborated with some guidance counselor, or with Principal Gladstone himself—into shreds.

But instead I decided to show it to Mary. I knew how much my sister liked a good letter.

H
alfway through her rehearsal dinner
,
Mary pulled me into the bathroom.

“What are we doing?” I asked. She locked the door behind us.

“Bonding.” She was a tiny bit tipsy.

“Cool,” I said, leaning against the sink. “If you were a major American city, which city would you be?”

Mary blinked at me, and then giggled hysterically. “I just wanted to tell you”—she paused for air—“that Jeffrey and I aren't going home right away, as originally planned. Also, Cincinnati.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Of course I'm kidding. Who would want to be Cincinnati?”

I rolled my eyes at my half-drunk sister. “I mean, why aren't you going home? You must be dying to get away from . . .” I waved my hand toward the bathroom door, behind which dined our entire family plus Jeffrey's.

Mary started on some excuse about contractors tearing up their kitchen in Santa Cruz—how Jeffrey was super-attached to a certain mosaic of countertop tiles. It seemed unlikely.

“I thought we could hang out,” she confessed. “Before you start school again.”

“Dad told you about
Gossip Girl,
didn't he?” I asked.

Mary's eyelashes fluttered with confusion. “What?”

“Never mind,” I said. “I want to show you something.” From my purse I extracted Tess's letter of apology. I passed it to Mary without comment.

Her lips twisted into a snarl as she read. “‘This is very fair'?” she quoted. “Somebody should tear this girl a new one.” My sister seemed more mad than amused, which surprised me.

“I don't know.” I laughed.

Mary looked at me kind of quizzically. I considered telling her what had happened to Tess at the beach house. It felt cruel to omit that particular piece of information, but it also felt cruel to keep rehashing the whole story. Besides, I liked having my sister completely on my side.

Mary refolded the letter and a flush seeped into her cheeks. “I'm getting
married
tomorrow,” she gushed like a little kid excited for Christmas. Then she raised one eyebrow. “Do you want to sneak out for a cigarette?”

The restaurant was in an old garage on North Alberta Street. Neither Linda Rivers nor Darlene Cline had approved the location until Mary convinced them it was “industrial-chic,” which somehow won them over.

At the end of a narrow hallway we found a back exit and stepped into an alley lined with milk crates and beer kegs. Mary produced a pack of American Spirits from her shiny beaded clutch.

“I do remember him, by the way.”

“Who?” I held the cigarette between my lips while she thumbed up a flame.

“Stephen McFadden. We weren't really friends, but we hung out once or twice. He was nice. And very cute. I can see why you fell for him.”

I couldn't think of a single thing to say in response.

Harboring smoke in her lungs, Mary added, “Except I think he's gay.”

I had trouble sleeping that night. I was extremely nervous, but not with the kind of panic that had plagued me during the investigation. More like the butterflies I got before performing onstage. Only in a certain way, what I was planning was the opposite of a play.

The wedding ceremony was just a ceremony. Mary looked beautiful in her dress. My father looked equal parts proud and embarrassed walking her down the aisle. She wept through her vows; Jeffrey seemed to take vague, masculine offense at having to repeat the judge's words verbatim. Afterward, everyone clapped and breathed a collective sigh of relief, repeating, “That was perfect. Just perfect.”

Once the champagne had been poured, and Jeffrey's best man had revealed awkward and irrelevant details about Jeffrey's childhood, I walked to the microphone. My heart was going a million miles an hour. There was no stage, just a parquet dance floor, hardly elevated at all.

Approximately two hundred people had assembled to watch Mary Rivers become Mary Cline, but as I gave my toast, I looked only at my sister.

“I don't know Jeffrey that well,” I began shakily. Nervousness surged at the precise moment it usually vanished. “Not yet, anyway. But I know my sister—at least as well as sisters can ever know each other.”

Mary's eyes glistened—but to be fair, she had been crying all day.

“And I know that if she says she will love someone forever, she will. She's loyal like that.” I felt like an idiot. Why was I making her sound like a golden retriever? Why, after following scripts my entire life, did I think I would know exactly what to say?

Mary mouthed something at me. Just the three words that everyone mouths at weddings.

My eyes stung with tears.

“I love you too,” I said quickly, resting the microphone in the stand with an amplified clunk. Everyone clapped, like my speech deserved a prize. I rejoined my parents at our table.

“That was sweet of you,” observed my mother. “I wonder when they're going to serve the salads.”

Apparently it didn't always matter exactly what you said.