The rain started after dinner. The sky turned dark too early, and we watched old episodes of shows we’d seen five years ago. But neither of us laughed or smiled at the right spots, so I’m pretty sure she wasn’t watching, just like me. She was keeping an eye on me.
We stayed up late enough that sleep should’ve come fast, but the rain wouldn’t stop. And it wasn’t soothing, not for me. It reminded me of that night, when I ran, with blood on my knuckles, under my nails, on my arms. My chest. Everywhere. When I hid under the boardwalk pier and the rain fell through the cracks but didn’t do anything to wash off the blood.
There was too much blood.
The rain didn’t stop that night, and it didn’t stop this night either. Not until morning. The sky was still dark. Dark and heavy, the humidity filling up the living room. Pushing us tighter and tighter until Mom broke first and said, “Let’s get some lunch.”
We drove to the diner that Reid had taken me to, just a mile down the road. It was packed. Cars were lined up in rows on the grass, and some were just parked on the side of the road, half on the pavement, half in the weeds. But they all had that red parking permit in the back window, for Monroe.
I didn’t get out of the car. Mom seemed to sense something was a little off—or a lot off—and that maybe this wasn’t the right time for us to descend upon the diner on wheels. But she also didn’t turn around. She just sat, engine idling, chewing the inside of her mouth.
Finally she said, “Stay here. I’ll go in.” She left without asking for my order.
The inside was packed, but the outside was busy too. People holding candles, even though it wasn’t dark, or night. The candles were totally unnecessary. And this wasn’t where he had died either. I was guessing half the people here didn’t even like him. Maybe even more than half. It was more like everyone was just looking for something to do.
My phone made a tiny chime from my bag, a notice that my text had been sent to Colleen. I wanted to grab my phone and write more, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the crowd. I searched for Reid, wondering if he was here. Mourning, maybe, or maybe just participating. Being part of something. Like this was an event to attend off campus. Something to do.
Not the place for me to show up.
I scanned the crowd, but didn’t see him. But I did see a finger pointing in my direction.
I gripped the handle, thinking I should get out. Confront them. Defend myself. Say I didn’t do it. But the girl, I think her name was April, her teeth were clenched. And the boy holding her was staring as well. Same look. And then someone else looked. So I released my grip on the handle and stared out the front window. Very, very slowly, I moved my hand to the automatic buttons and pressed the Lock button.
The noise seemed to echo.
My heart sped up. I thought about mobs. This could so easily be a mob. One person yelling. One person telling others what to do. One idea, floating through the crowd. One call to action—something they’re looking for. They were looking for an outlet for their grief, or their fear maybe, and the candles didn’t seem like they were really cutting it.
April and that boy moved closer. The third one did too. Somebody said something, loudly, something like there or maybe her.
I closed my eyes and counted to one hundred, and I felt the air growing muggy, like it had the night with Brian, like the sky was about to break open.
Which it did.
Some people scattered—into cars, into the building—and the flames from the candles turned to tiny wisps of smoke. But some people stayed put, watching me through the rain. And then Mom was yanking at the handle repeatedly, trying to get inside.
I unlocked the door and she slid into her seat. She passed me the bag of take-out food and pressed the lock on the door again. She acted calm, easing the car out of the spot, but I could see her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. She turned right, heading back toward our hotel, and something hit the back of the trunk with a thud. She jumped and pressed down on the gas, and the tires squealed under the pressure, under the rain.
We ate in silence on the couch across from the dark television. She’d gotten me a grilled cheese, which actually wasn’t a bad call, except Reid had warned me the only thing worth getting was a hamburger. No cheese. I took a bite, and the cheese was thick, not gooey thick, fake thick. And anyway, I wasn’t really hungry.
Mom picked at her sandwich, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of the taste or a lack of appetite. Eventually, she wrapped her food up and put it back in the white bag, then rolled it all up into a ball. She stood and walked to the window. “We need to talk to the administration at Monroe.”
So she had sensed it too. The way the atmosphere had felt so charged, the air crackling with potential.
“And say what?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “They’re not helping,” she said, staring out the closed blinds. Staring out the crack between them, into the rain. “And they need to help.” I wondered who was in charge, whether the fact that Jason’s dad was part of the administration had something to do with their lack of help. And maybe Mom knew it, too, which is why she picked up her purse. “But lock the door behind me.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. It was like something had clasped me around the middle so I couldn’t take a breath. I put my hands on top of my head, like I did when I was out of breath, only I tried to do it casually, so she wouldn’t be able to tell. I turned around and sucked in a deep breath. I only said one syllable, so she wouldn’t hear my voice waver. “Mom.”
She gripped her purse with both hands and closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ll take care of this,” she said.
Then she walked toward me, fumbled around in her bag, and pulled out a small container of pepper spray, just like Colleen used to carry around. Her hands were shaking as she pressed it into mine. She squeezed her hands over mine, and I could feel them shaking still. “Take it,” she said.
When she pulled her hands back, mine were shaking too, and this time I couldn’t keep the waver out of my voice when I said, “Mom.”
“You will be fine,” she said. “I know you will.” And then she was gone.
And like she asked, I turned the lock behind her.
Then I perched on the edge of the sofa and stared at the dark television screen, trying to steady my breath again. I heard her car come to life and fade into the distance. I turned the pepper spray over and over in my palm, wondering what Mom meant when she said she knew I’d be fine.
And then I heard another car door. A gentle click, under the sound of the steady falling rain.
I glanced toward the crack in the curtains, wondering if it was Reid coming to see me. I jumped up and faced the door, but then I heard the steps on the sidewalk. Familiar somehow. Not Reid.
No, they were the footsteps following me home the night of the party. The way the heel dragged along the ground a second before the step. Scuff, step. Scuff, step. I took a step backward, but the footsteps got closer. I wanted to run to the door to check the lock, but I didn’t want to get any closer. And besides, would a lock stop something that wasn’t real?
I saw a flash through the gap in the curtains. Blond hair. Lanky build. And the hairs on my arms each stood on end. And then I felt the buzzing in the room, like I used to feel in the kitchen at home.
Not real, I thought. He’s not real.
Except I held the pepper spray forward and flipped the red switch to the unlocked position. I pointed it at the door. The canister was shaking.
Then the door handle moved gently side to side, like someone was testing the lock. I closed my eyes and thought not real again. But I could still hear the jiggling of the handle.