Rattled (18 page)

I stepped outside just in time to see the ambulance pull away. The lights were flashing, but the siren was silent. I didn't know what that meant.

There was a white station wagon parked in front of the Swickers'.
Family Services
was written on the side. “Can I walk around a bit?” I asked.

She nodded.

I made my way a little further up the driveway, squeezing between two parked police cars.

A woman was standing on the Swickers' porch. Sam and Megan were with her. With one arm around each of their shoulders, she led them down the steps. They looked up and saw me. Even from across the street, I could see the shock, the fear on their faces. I darted out to the street to meet them, to see if they were okay.

“What have you
done
?!” Megan screeched.

I stopped in my tracks. Was she talking to me?

She broke away from the woman and marched toward me. “You tried to kill our mother!” She was sobbing but I could feel and hear her anger. “What's
wrong
with you?!”

“No! You don't get it. It wasn't me! It was
her
!” I cried.

Sam joined her. “We thought you were our friend,” he accused.

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. “I
am
your friend! I was trying to help you!”

He put his arm around Megan. “We don't need your kind of help.”

“Megan!” I reached out to grab her arm. I had to make them understand.

She looked repulsed and took a step back. “Get away from us! I don't want to ever see you again!” She yanked open the door of the station wagon and took a seat. Sam slid in beside her.

The woman gave me a sympathetic look. “You should just leave them for now, honey,” she said.

I stood there stunned and watched them pull away. They didn't look back. There was someone standing behind me—the officer, but then I heard, “It's okay, I've got her. Could you just give us a minute?” It was Dad.

“Did you see them, Dad? Hear them? They hate me!” I said, my voice quivering.

He pulled me back against him and rested his chin on my head. “It'll be okay, Pumpkin.”

“I didn't think it would turn out like this…”

“You have to realize their whole world has been changed in an instant. Everything they thought they knew turned out to be…well, a lie.”

“She had a gun. I
had
to do it. Dad…I was
so
scared.”

“I know, I know,” he soothed.

“And now they blame
me
!”

“Once they have the whole story they'll feel differently.”

“You don't think they'll hate me anymore?”

“No, I don't think they'll hate you anymore.”

“Are you just saying that?”

“No.”

I wasn't sure I believed him.

“Come on. Let's go back in,” he said.

The officer followed us inside to the living room and stood against the wall. Jilly was already there and I sat down beside her. Nobody said anything.

Mom came in and sat on the arm of the sofa. She looked wiped. “The police are going to be here for quite awhile,” she told Dad. “They suggested a hotel. Then tomorrow we'll take Lydia down to the station so they can question her again and take her statement.”

“I'll call the Quality Inn,” Dad said.

“Should I pack a bathing suit?” Jilly nudged me. “They've got a waterslide.”

“This isn't a family vacation!” Mom snapped.

Jilly hung her head. “We're in trouble, aren't we?”

Mom sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “I can't understand why you guys just didn't come to us right away. How many times have we told you, if you're in trouble, come to us, that's what were here for.”

I was too tired to defend myself.

“I thought that was just about
drinking
,” Jilly mumbled.

Mom threw up her hands in frustration.

“So are we being punished? Are you taking
more
time off my curfew?” Jilly looked like she was about to cry.

“This isn't the time or place. We'll talk about it later,” Dad said, and then he turned to me. “Why don't you go have a shower? It'll make you feel better.”

The officer heard and came over. “They'll want your clothes. I'll get you an evidence bag.”

I glanced down. My arm was covered in dried blood. It was between my fingers and soaked into my watch strap. There was a spray of tiny droplets all over the front of my shirt. My stomach lurched and I thought I might be sick. The bathroom seemed a million miles away. When I got up I felt dizzy.

Jilly must have noticed. She stood up next to me. “Here, lean on me.” She held me by the elbow and helped me to my room. “Sit.” She pulled out my desk chair. “I'll go turn on the hot water. What do you want to pack for the hotel? I'll throw some stuff in a bag.”

“It doesn't matter.” I could barely think straight.

“Okay. Don't worry, I'll find something.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

She didn't answer right away. “I shouldn't have left you alone. I should have made you come with me.”

I saw her eyes were watery. “Jilly, there's no way we could have predicted this. That she was this…insane.”

“We
should
have predicted it, though. We knew she had a gun.”

I shook my head. “No, Jilly. Not us, not
anyone
, could have seen this coming.”

She ran her fingers under her eyes. “You should go have your shower,” she said in a hoarse voice.

There was a knock. It was the officer. She passed me a large clear bag. “I'll be out here in the hall,” she said.

When I came out of the bathroom, Jilly was still in my room, sitting quietly on the end of my bed.

“Here. I got out some comfy clothes for you.” She was holding my new T-shirt, the one she'd made me buy, and…her yoga pants? Her prized Lulu Lemons, with the yellow waistband.

“Wow, Jilly, the pants. Thanks.”

“No worries,” she shrugged. “Listen. I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep much tonight. You?”

I shook my head.

“A movie-athon?”

“Ummm…”

“Don't worry, no horror. I have Vivian's Season One of
The
O.C.
We could take it to the hotel.”

She was trying so hard. “That'd be great, Jilly.”

“I'll wait for you downstairs.” On the way to the door she stopped and hugged me.

“Jilly?”

“Yeah?”

“I know I said you couldn't borrow my new shirt. But you can, anytime.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip and looked down at the floor. “Um, thanks.”

After she left, I stood in front of the dresser and stared at myself in the mirror. My hair was wet, my face pale, but other than that, I looked normal. Like nothing had ever happened.

I knew it hadn't sunk in yet, that stuff would hit me later. The fact that things could have ended very differently, that it would be a long time before I'd want to close my eyes again. But for now I just wanted to get through tonight.

I slipped on Jilly's yoga pants and picked up my T-shirt. It wasn't as hideous as I'd remembered. I hadn't even had a chance to wear it yet. It was halfway over my head when I noticed something, or more accurately, smelled something. Strawberries. Jilly's shampoo. I pulled the shirt off and held it up in front of me. There was a lipstick smudge on the neckline and a hole under the arm.

Epilogue
 (two months later)

I
t's true what they say about time…that it heals all wounds. Of course some wounds need more than others—like Sam and Megan's. But for me, little by little, things were slowly returning to normal.

It had taken a long time to convince my parents that I was okay. I knew they meant well, but I found it kind of exhausting, the need to constantly reassure them. They couldn't seem to understand that just the fact that Mrs. Swicker was going away for a long time, whether it was prison or some mental institution, was really all I needed to know at that point.

“Don't you want to talk to someone, someone professional?” Mom had asked.

“Like a wrestler?”

Mom hadn't found that funny.

Now that I was back at school, I felt a bit more like myself—must have been the routineness of it all. It was almost a relief, walking out the door in the mornings, knowing I would be just one in a sea of fifteen hundred for the next seven hours.

This morning I lay in bed, face smooshed into my pillow, putting off getting up. My whole Sunday was going to be spent working on a Canadian history assignment. I felt tired just thinking about it.

My stomach grumbled so I headed down to the kitchen.

Jilly was sitting at the table,
trying
to do the crossword from the newspaper. Mom was going through the cupboards jotting down a grocery list.

“Hey,” I said.

“Morning,” Mom replied.

I opened the fridge and hung off the door, waiting to be inspired by its contents. Anything? Anything? Nothing.

“Lydia. Close the fridge,” Mom sighed.

“Sorry.” I swung the door closed and leaned my back against the counter. My eyes were immediately drawn to the spot on the floor. I blinked a few times until the image of Mrs. Swicker lying there evaporated. It may have just been my imagination but I could swear I could still see the stains, even after a million cleanings. Everyone had said how good it was that I didn't kill her. I don't think that's how I really feel, but I'll just keep that to myself. Mom would think feelings like that had
therapy
written all over them.

Dragging my eyes from the floor, I turned to the window. Sometimes I worried about these visions that kept flashing through my head, how real they seemed. My entire body would tense up, like I was living the whole thing over again. I told myself it was totally normal. I think I bought it.

I stared at the house across the street, now empty, and thought back to that night, the look on Sam and Megan's faces as they were taken away, the things they said to me.

After some time had passed and things settled down, we eventually got to see them, Sam and Megan. It was just a few weeks ago. The Kennedys invited us to New York for a proper thank you. The entire trip was a whirlwind. Every touristy thing imaginable was scheduled. Sam and Megan the whole time with forced smiles plastered on their faces—there's no way the visit had been their idea. We never got a moment alone to talk about what happened. I think it had been planned that way.

Now we were home and no one talked about it here, either. But that was probably because of me. I certainly wasn't about to strike up any conversations about it.

“Mom, can I use your computer to check my email?” I asked.

“Sure. Just that, though, nothing else.”

I ducked into her office and, not bothering to sit down, typed in my password. Impatiently I waited for my inbox to pop up. I had sent three emails to Megan over the last week. She hadn't replied, not once.

“One new message,” I whispered. It was from Megan. Slowly I sat down, sort of afraid to click on her name.

Hi Lydia. Sorry I took so long. Wasn't really sure what I
wanted to say. It was weird when you came to visit. Did you
think that too? Maybe we should have waited longer. When I
saw you again, it made me remember everything. I don't think the
Kennedys thought about that when they invited you. And I know
this is totally chickening out, telling you this in an email instead
of to your face, but I was so ashamed of myself. I'm really sorry for
all those things I said that night. I know Sam is too. I wanted you
to know that, in case you didn't hear from me for a while. Another
thing I didn't say to you was ‘“thank you.” Guess I should start a
list. :) That's all I got for now. Megan. p.s. I attached the photo
Jilly wanted.

I sat quietly for a minute, rereading Megan's words, wondering if I'd ever actually hear from her again. I opened the attached file. It was a picture of Jilly holding a giant cardboard cheque. Reward money from the Kennedys, presented to us when we did an interview on
The Today Show
.

The Today Show
…now and forever referred to as “
The Today
Show
Fiasco.” Even though part of me wanted to forget that whole morning, the other part wished Megan had sent more pictures. I barely remember a thing except for being so nervous I could barely talk. I had to keep clearing my throat over and over again—it must have sounded like I was trying to hack up a hairball. Dad kept checking his armpits for perspiration stains. We actually lost Mom at one point when she found out Sting was the musical guest. And during the interview, Jilly mentioned Vivian's name but practically shouted it into her microphone (Vivian made her promise), which caused wicked feedback and everyone in the studio cringed in pain.