One night, p.14
One Night, page 14
It’s a delicate situation, as if this whole night doesn’t already feel like one big stack of dynamite ready to explode. “No, Mom,” Sam tells her, gently. “She didn’t.”
“She split up our family.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. But you and Dad, even before Meghan died, things weren’t going so well.”
“He should have never left us for her.”
“He didn’t start dating Rebecca until after the sentencing.”
“It was too quick,” Alice says. “You know it was too quick.”
“But, Alice, you were fine before,” Sam says. “I mean, we got to know her. We’ve spent time with her. It’s been okay, hasn’t it? I thought it was okay.”
Alice doesn’t respond. She lowers her chin and nuzzles the top of Bella’s head.
That night at Christmas had been fun—it had been fun until everything was disrupted, Alice and Geoff standing in the garage and arguing. Her sister told them she was leaving, and she walked past Sam, casting her a look, as if she had something she wanted to say, something she wanted Sam to know.
But Alice didn’t utter a word, she didn’t stop, not even when Sam reached for her. Her sister pushed past Rebecca to get to the door, and she remembers Alice knocking against their stepmother’s shoulder. Rebecca staggered back. Sam thought it was because Rebecca was in the way, that it was an accident.
Sam says, “You and Rebecca…did something happen at Christmas?”
“That night was about Uncle Geoff,” their mom tells her.
Alice mumbles, “Besides, he’s not my uncle.”
Sam shouted for her—she ran after Alice, into the street, across the frozen pavement, the snow drifts piling high on either side of the road. The party lights hung in a sparkling gold row behind them, the chilled air breaching Sam’s lungs.
But Alice didn’t slow down. She took off, her brake lights disappearing around the curve. It was weeks before she talked to Sam on the phone.
We used to tell each other everything.
“Alice, if you don’t want to talk about Rebecca,” Sam says, “then tell us what happened with Uncle Geoff. You’ve been so upset. We’ve been worried about you. We’ve missed you. We’ve missed you so much.”
Her sister’s eyes redden. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve already told you that I’m sorry.”
“You want your space,” Sam presses on, “and I get that. We’ve always tried to give you space. But you’re still so angry about everything, and now you’re acting so cold toward Rebecca. Whatever is going on, we want to help. Please let us help.” Sam flicks her eyes to their mom. “Do you know what’s going on?”
Their mom knocks back the rest of her wine.
Alice says, “He upset me, okay? He told lies about Meghan.”
Sam halts. “About Meghan? What did he say?”
“He thinks he knows her, but he doesn’t.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Their mom takes Bella from Alice’s arms. She places the dog on the floor, forcing Alice to look at her. “What did he say about your sister?”
Alice mumbles. “Something about what she was getting up to before she died. And it pissed me off. He thought all of you knew and you never said a word to me. I was furious about it. I thought you were shutting me out. I didn’t understand why you would do that.”
“Alice, we would never do that to you,” their mom says. “We would never shut you out. Tell me right now. What did Geoff say about your sister?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
Sam says, “You almost didn’t come here tonight because of him. Whatever he told you, it kept you from coming back home. You never used to be this way about him, Alice. Remember how much you loved Uncle Geoff? How much we all loved him?”
“We thought he was a hero,” she says. “But he’s not what we think.”
Their mom presses her hands against the counter. “I could kill him. How could he say anything bad about Meghan?”
“It’s not worth getting you upset about,” Alice says.
“We didn’t see you for two years. Two years. Do you know what that does to a mother? And it’s because of him. Whatever he told you, I need to know.”
“I’m here now, okay?” Alice fiddles with the stem of her wineglass. “Everything is going to be fine. I’m figuring things out. I’ll take care of it.”
“With Uncle Geoff?” their mom asks.
Alice pauses. “With everything,” she answers.
Their mom lifts her sister’s chin with the tip of her finger. “Whatever it is, Alice, let me help you. We can help each other. You know you’ve always been able to rely on me.” She flicks her eyes to Sam. “You too, Sammy.”
Cal
Seven years ago
June 10
Dear Mrs. Chisholm,
I hope you don’t hate me. I think about Alice and Sam I hope you’re doing okay, Alice and Sam too. They must miss their big sister so much. I know you miss your daughter so much too.
I dreamt about Meghan last night. We were supposed to go to homecoming together. She bought a dress, didn’t she? I wanted to see it but she told me I had to wait, that it would be a surprise. She never got to show me. She said we wouldn’t be going together anymore and I think you had something to do with that, didn’t you?
Have you kept the dress, Mrs. Chisholm? Will you keep it for Sam to wear her senior year? Sam will look so pretty when it’s her turn. I only wish Alice would change her mind about going. She would be so beautiful too.
I’ve been wanting to ask for a long time, but do you remember what you said to me at your house? Does Meghan know? You were so angry At the bonfire, Meg was so upset too, but there was something else going on. I couldn’t figure it out and she wouldn’t tell me. She kept saying I wouldn’t understand but I think you know.
Mrs. Chisholm, why were you telling Meghan to break up with me?
Cal
CHAPTER 17
Rebecca
The wind no longer rips through the trees, but the downpour is strong enough that it’s difficult for Rebecca to see out the car windows. The cloud cover and absence of a moon have turned the forest into a dense shadow.
Rebecca makes out one section of black asphalt at a time, the SUV’s headlights lighting their way, a flash of pine trees as they pass, the tree trunks vanishing into a wall of black behind them.
Rebecca tries to spot the neighbor’s house, but she can’t see anything. The house was visible earlier with its gravel drive, but now it’s shrouded in darkness. The stream of water rushing along the road isn’t helping conditions either and is quite possibly flooding and covering the driveway. Any sighting of the neighbor’s porch is cloaked in rain.
But Geoff doesn’t look for the house. He stares straight ahead, his face peeking between them and their seats, his breath reaching Rebecca’s neck. She shifts to one side to gain some distance.
She reminds herself there is a reason she’s here. She needs to be with Paul. She wants to hear what he and Geoff will discuss.
She also needed to get away from Alice.
“We should be getting close,” Geoff says. “We won’t miss the wreck.”
“How much farther do you think?” Paul asks, keeping his hands clocked on the wheel, the windshield wipers powering back and forth as the rain beats the glass. Water splashes away from the car.
Rebecca leans forward, but there’s no sign of a fallen tree or crashed vehicles.
“Not much farther,” Geoff says. “It was around that turnoff.”
“You dragged him all this way?” Paul asks.
“I had to. I stumbled into the ditch a couple of times, that’s where all the mud came from.”
Rebecca shifts her gaze. It’s interesting he feels the need to explain what’s caked on his jeans, the pungent smell that makes her feel nauseated.
She grips the handrest, her palm wrapping around the smooth leather of the car’s interior, her nails digging into the upholstery.
Alice’s eyes blazing on her: What were you doing in the park?
Rebecca tugs the seatbelt at her chest. She wasn’t supposed to be there that night. She shouldn’t have stayed out there so long.
You had a flashlight, and you were sneaking around.
Alice saw her…but how? It’s impossible. She was so sure. They both were.
“Wait,” Paul says. “Is that it?”
The road curves ahead, and at the bend, their headlights light up a shape that’s fallen across the asphalt. It’s a shore pine, toppled to the ground; a thinner, younger tree if Rebecca had to guess, which would make it easier to knock over during a crash. But the trunk is wide enough to block their path, and even with the SUV, they won’t be able to drive over it, or around it. The tree’s mass is in the way with branches sticking straight up and sideways; the other branches gnarled and smashed to the ground.
Paul crawls to a stop, the headlights illuminating broken pieces of bark and pine cones, pine needles scattered in every direction with a steady stream of rainwater carrying some of the other debris away. The branches weigh heavily into the earth; the ground on either side of the road is soaked. There’s that ditch and mud that Geoff was talking about.
And on the other side of the tree are the wrecked cars. The hood of Cal’s truck is crumpled in, the front bumper crushed. One of the headlights is broken and a chunk of plastic has cracked off and landed on a branch. Against the pine needles, the plastic is an odd sight, red and orange bits cracked with knife-sharp edges. It’s as if the scene has been decorated for an eerie, early Christmas, the macabre remnants of a car crash.
Broken glass glints among the pine needles. One side of the windshield has blown out, deep lines etched across the other side in a chaotic pattern. The truck looks well-driven; it’s an older-model Toyota Tundra with a shorter cab, unlike the newer versions she’s seen around town. It must be what Cal drove in high school, the one his parents must have kept for him, the truck with the dented rear bumper. She startles. It’s what he drove Meghan in the night she died.
Rebecca looks past the broken windshield to the passenger seat. She imagines that’s where Meghan sat. Did she know what was going to happen to her that night? Did she have any type of warning?
She surveys the truck. The driver’s-side door is open and the rain pours into the cab. The interior will be ruined, but that’s pointless since the rest of the vehicle is unsalvageable. Someone will have to tow that truck away when they clear the tree.
This is where Geoff pulled Cal out and toppled him to the ground. Or this is where he pulled him from the driver’s seat and dragged him to safety. Another glance at the man in their back seat and she still can’t make up her mind.
Behind the truck is Geoff’s green Ford Bronco, but at this angle, it’s mostly hidden from the wreck. The hood of the vehicle is smashed into the truck bed.
Paul says to Rebecca, “Stay here.” He leaves the engine running while he cinches the hood of the jacket. He says to Geoff, “Let’s go.”
They clamber out of the car and slam the doors, the car rocking side to side with their movements. Rebecca keeps her seatbelt on. Even though they’ve stopped, she is clutching the strap again. The windshield wipers swish back and forth, water spraying on either side.
I want to know what you were up to.
Alice could not have seen.
Geoff approaches the truck while her husband runs to the passenger side. He wrenches it open. They inspect the cab with both flashlights, the beams of light circling the dash, the front seats, the small bench seat in the back. The SUV’s headlights shine upon them, but Rebecca squints. It’s difficult to see everything they’re doing.
She sits up straight. Shouldn’t they have checked Geoff’s car first for the first-aid kit? If they’re so intent on helping Cal, that should have been their top priority, not looking in his truck. Unless they’re searching for his phone. With the rain bucketing down, maybe they want to secure it before there is more water damage.
There’s no one talking to him. There’s no one helping him. That’s what Geoff said. And yet, he searches. Her husband does too.
The windshield wipers squeak across the glass, and with each swipe, her view clears for a few seconds before the rain obscures what they’re doing again, the truck and men disappearing behind a blurry, watery scene.
The wipers swipe, and a flashlight beam swirls. It’s her husband, twisting his body to investigate another part of the truck. She hopes he doesn’t cut himself on any of the glass.
Rebecca raises herself higher, aiming for a better look. Geoff steps down from the cab, and his feet land next to large shards of glass that busted from the windshield.
Her eyes lock in on his shoes. He’s wearing boots—not loafers or casual sneakers that so many people seem to favor, casual dress on a Friday. If Geoff drove straight here from school, why is he wearing heavy-duty work boots? Perhaps he went to his apartment first and changed clothes. But he told Paul he didn’t have much time and would rush to meet them after his last parent-teacher conference.
He’s wearing jeans, they all are, but the brown leather boots stick out. They’re thick soled and scuffed like something you’d wear for a long trek through the woods, what you’d wear when you want to have something sturdy. Even with the mud splashed across the front, she can tell they’re old and not appropriate for school, especially when you’re a faculty member hosting parent meetings.
Raindrops splatter against his shoelaces. They’re similar to the laces she tugged and pulled from Cal’s boots, the mud caked to them as she picked at the knots. In the chaos earlier, she hadn’t noticed Geoff’s shoes. His rain-soaked jacket, yes. The mud that was splayed to his knees, that too. But everything else happened so quickly: Cal’s body and all that blood, Maureen asking Geoff if he’d already been to the house. Just tell us, okay? Tell us what the hell is happening.
A prickle runs down her neck. With those boots it’s as if Geoff knew he might be out in the rain, that there was a chance he would be clambering around in the dirt. That he might have to walk through a downpour and didn’t want his feet to get soaked.
Paul asked, You dragged him all this way?
She considers what her husband has on: sensible leather loafers, what he normally wears for road trips because they’re easy to slip on and off. But the leather loafers are ruined from the rain, from his sprint to the back of the house.
She returns her gaze to Geoff. Maybe she’s reading too much into this. Maybe he keeps a pair of boots in his car, and as he approached the coast, he saw how bad the weather was getting, and he pulled over and put them on. Maybe.
Rebecca looks to the sky, at the lightning that is dissipating, the thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance. The storm could be moving inland. But at the next boom of thunder, the sky rocks behind them. Another wave of weather could be on its way, and it’s hard to tell in the dark. The woods are thick with their maze of snarled branches.
She lowers herself in her seat, feeling exposed and alone. As she crouches down, her heart pounds in time with the rain smacking against the roof.
But she doesn’t see any downed power lines or telephone poles nearby, which means whatever caused the house phone to stop working, or the electricity to go out, must have happened farther ahead, the power lines toppling closer to town. Regardless, the outage is widespread. There’s no sign of a streetlight, not a spark of electricity from another building. No porch lights blinking behind the swaying branches of a tree.
The forest lies ahead of them, on either side of them. Behind her, the churning, menacing waves of the Pacific Ocean, the sea smashing against the surf. A family also waits inside a house, the house resting near the cliff’s edge.
Alice waits for her there too.
Paul climbs out of the truck and slams the door. Geoff does the same, but the driver’s side won’t shut, and it locks on its hinges. He leaves it open. The truck is ruined with the rain filling the floorboards.
The men scurry to the Bronco next, and they’re hidden behind both vehicles. She lifts higher, suddenly tempted to get out of the car for a better look. She has on her rain jacket and could check, but her body is glued to the seat, her hand once again gripping the seatbelt.
One of the flashlights shifts, illuminating a clump of blackberry bushes before it circles back around again.
The night my sister died. Near the bonfire.
Rebecca insisted to Alice, I didn’t know any of you.
And Alice smirked. Oh, I think you did.
The flashlights stop, one of the beams disappearing altogether, and Rebecca bolts upright. Something has happened to Paul.
She whips off her seatbelt, cranking the door open. She steps from the SUV and the rain smacks the top of her head, running to her neck. She rushes from the car, leaping over the tree, and screams her husband’s name. When she lands, her shoes crunch on broken glass.
Geoff’s face appears, then her husband’s. They’re at the back of the Bronco with the trunk door lifted. Paul keeps the second flashlight lowered in his hand.
He shines the beam at her. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“I-I couldn’t see you. I was worried.”
“You’re getting soaked, Bec. Go back.”
She lifts her hands to her head. She forgot to raise the hood of her jacket and the rain is drenching her short blond hair and dripping past her chin. But she doesn’t care. She wants to see what they’re doing. She needs to make sure her husband is okay.
Geoff sorts what’s in his trunk. Stuff has flown everywhere: papers and folders, a backpack that is flipped upside down, fast-food bags catapulted to the front. He shoves aside textbooks, bolts of twine, and trash.
