Frayed (13 page)

Rafe took my hand in his and pulled me to his side. He didn’t speak, just let the silence we knew so well roll over us. I rested my head on his shoulder, staring out over the valley. Eventually, he would take me back down to Circling Pines, and I would have to face reality once more. Running away from my problems was pointless, even though every particle in me wished I could.

It was hard to recognize such beauty when I was so miserable. And yet, the glistening valley stretched out before us, the colors deepening, becoming hard to see. The sun dipped even lower, the stars becoming more defined, and I realized this peace wasn’t going to last forever. Because I knew that even the most beautiful flower would wither and eventually die.

I sighed, barely audible, and we sat side by side like that for the rest of the evening.

It’s hard to be bad if you care too much about the consequences. Every single decision we make holds a consequence. Like the night I tried to kiss Rafe. Looking back, I’m glad Rafe didn’t let it happen then. Jackson’s betrayal was too fresh for me to understand what that kiss would have meant.

The rest of that night was nice. Peaceful even. Although those days, “peaceful” was a relative term, because those dark, terrible memories were always lingering just below the surface.

You know, Kesley, I still remember the day they told us you were dead.

Dead. Gone. It was late afternoon, just as the sun was beginning its descent. Just before the policemen knocked at the door, I was the happiest girl in the world. Can you believe that? Just before my life came thundering down, I had actually been happy. That was all Jackson’s doing, of course. Before things went so horribly downhill, everything seemed perfect. Pristine. He had been over that day, and the blossoming red flowers he’d given me sat in a vase on the table, catching the last rays of light streaming through the windows.

Then came the knock at the door.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. It was just a neighbor, maybe the old lady from across the road who wanted some company. But something didn’t seem quite right. It wasn’t a woman speaking. The voice was masculine, deep and full of sadness.

I remember standing at the end of the corridor, listening. Hushed tones and whispers. I couldn’t see much, but the policeman’s badge caught the light, winking at me as if beckoning me forward. And I remember this…feeling rising up inside me. I couldn’t place it then, but I can now. Fear. My breath caught in my throat, and I grew light-headed. My heartbeat thrummed in my ears as all the blood rushed to my face. It’s nothing, I told myself over and over again. It’s nothing, it’s nothing, it’s nothing. But the last time I’d seen you was the previous night. When you didn’t come back, we filed a missing persons report. The police had asked us where, if anywhere, you might have been. I looked up at the officer and said, voice trembling, “She loved Lake O’Hara. Maybe she’s there.”

I wish I’d been wrong.

And that was when our mother started to cry, and my breathing froze, and I realized it wasn’t just “nothing.” I think one of the policemen noticed me standing motionless at the end of the corridor because I remember him saying my name, though I didn’t know how he knew it. I never had a chance to ask.

In his hand was a blue ribbon. Remember that one?

But this time, it wasn’t like I remembered. It frayed at the edges, dirt covering its glossy layer. It had been split in two, and it was curled and stiff. As if it had been soaked through with water and then left out in the sun to dry.

Everything after that turned into a blur of emotion, colors, and sounds. It all blended so seamlessly together over those past few weeks that it was hard to tell each day apart. But I did remember the loneliness. The sitting in the dark every night waiting, just waiting. I don’t know what I was waiting for; I knew you were dead. But some part of me hoped they were wrong. That you would stroll through the door any moment and proclaim it all a joke.

You never did…

Lia and Jackson had no problems flaunting their newfound relationship at school on Monday. Hand in hand and displaying their relationship as if I hadn’t been with him just a few days ago. Neither of them so much as looked at me, which I was fine with. Besides, I wasn’t sure I could keep a strong handle on my anger, and I didn’t want another Amanda incident. I’d managed to fly somewhat under the radar since then. Pitying looks were cast my way all day, and it was almost a relief to duck into the room designated for that afternoon’s detention.

I didn’t speak to Rafe that day.

I left school an hour later, and the sharp scent of cleaning agents assaulted my senses as soon as I stepped through my front door. The sound of my mother’s soft crying came from the living room, and I knew it was going to be one of those days where it seemed that nothing would ever be okay again.

Diana never cried until Kesley died.

Even during the funeral, when I was racked with grief, she spent more time comforting me than crying. At night, she’d wait until she thought I was sleeping, and then I’d hear her crying through the walls.

Tonight was one of those nights where she just couldn’t hold it in any longer. As I walked into the living room, it wasn’t hard to guess why. “…Barely two months have passed since the tragic and brutal murder of Kesley Hale, and police still have no suspects. Kesley was an adored member of the community with a bright future ahead of her. Police are urging members of the public to report any suspicions sightings from that night.”

I didn’t want to listen to any more.

I reached over, found the remote, and flicked it off.

My mother looked up when silence fell. Her eyes were red and puffy, the lines of age more prominent tonight. I’d never thought of her as being old—she dyed her hair, which obscured most of the gray—but tonight, she just didn’t look her age. She looked fed up, as if she wanted to crawl into bed and not get out for weeks. I knew that feeling all too well.

She wiped her eyes and took in a deep, shuddering breath, then smoothed back her hair like she did when she was nervous.

“Ava, sweetie, I didn’t hear you come home. Do you want something to eat? There are some leftovers…” She trailed off. I just shook my head and sat beside her. She dropped her motherly facade when she realized it wasn’t working on me. The tears that still streaked down her face were enough to tell me she needed me here. And I needed her.

“I just miss her, that’s all,” she said, her voice cracking.

“I know. I miss her too.”

We were both silent for a moment. Then she said, “I was just thinking about Kesley and how she loved music.”

My mother’s eyes had taken on a faraway quality, the peacefulness marred by the sorrow that hung like mist in her eyes. “She used to play so much. Remember that? The house is so quiet now. Too quiet. Every day, the first thing she’d do after school, before even touching her homework, was practice her piano.”

Despite everything, I felt a smile on my lips. It hurt, but it was a good sort of hurt. I wanted to cling to every memory of Kesley I could and guard them closely. I was so afraid that one day, when I was older, I would forget the small things about her. Like the jasmine scent of her perfume or the way her hair caught the light when she stepped in the sun. Or the way she used to play the piano.

“I remember,” I said softly. “‘Für Elise’ especially.”

“And ‘Moonlight Sonata.’ She loved that one too.”

“She did,” I agreed, at a loss for what else to say. We’d never really talked like this before. Not so openly, not so honestly. I stared at my hands.

The days had passed, and the sorrow held a tight grip on us. And when I did begin to realize this wasn’t a dream, I had to find a way to deal with it. We both did.

I still didn’t know how. How was I supposed to let go of someone, when once, my whole existence had revolved around her?

My mother sighed. “I still remember it, clear as day.” She’d stopped crying now, but a pained expression twisted her lips into a grimace.

I was so deeply embedded in my own thoughts that my mother had to say my name twice to get my attention.

“Ava? Ava, honey, I saw Jackson today.” My mother spoke softly, carefully. Like she was tiptoeing around a sleeping bear.

I blinked. “Oh. How is he?”

From the corner of my eyes, I saw my mother purse her lips. “He was with Lia. He looked…” She struggled for words. “Happy,” she finally concluded.

“Good for him.”

When I said nothing more, she asked, “Are you two…together anymore?”

I couldn’t ignore a direct question, but I still kept my response short. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Jackson has some issues with monogamy,” I replied, averting my eyes. I didn’t want her to see how much that still hurt me. The hurt wasn’t just coming from Jackson but Lia too, and that just made things twice as bad.

My mother said nothing more on the subject of my personal life. Perhaps she’d sensed the stiffness radiating from me when she asked me those two simple questions. Perhaps she could see how much I still hurt from them. Instead, she asked me if I wanted some tea, and we spent the rest of the evening in silence. Finally, she said she had to get up early for work, and she left me for bed.

I stayed on the couch after that. I switched back on the television in a futile attempt to stop my somersaulting thoughts. I flicked aimlessly through the channels, feet curled underneath myself, until a news report caught my attention. An image of Circling Pines’s mental health clinic took up most of the screen. It was a large, white building. Paint was crumbling from the walls, revealing the old, tired brick lying beneath. From the shot given, I could see sunlight gleaming off shattered glass littering the bushes below the windows. What was valuable enough in there to steal?

The reporter was saying, “Police have confirmed the mental health clinic was broken into last night and several patient documents stolen, but so far, no perpetrators have been named. Eyewitnesses claim they saw three figures running from the scene, but this has yet to be confirmed by the police.”

Why would someone steal patient documents? I narrowed my eyes at the screen as it flashed to a commercial, then just switched it off. Nothing, it seemed, could stem the flood of my thoughts tonight. I felt miserable but comforted myself with the thought that at least my night couldn’t get any worse.

Of course, I was dead wrong.

• • •

The doorbell rang an hour after my mother disappeared upstairs.

I wasn’t in any hurry to see who it was, but it rang one, twice, three times, so I slid off my seat and headed to the door, opening it a crack. Before I could pull the door open, someone pushed their way through and golden-brown curls filled the doorway for a moment. I stood there, stunned, before my feet propelled me forward, and I blocked her way. A strong smell of alcohol washed through the air.

Something had snapped inside Amanda. Her face was tear-stained, makeup running down her cheeks in black streaks, but she didn’t seem to care. Pity curled around my heart as I watched her, unsure what to say. She’d been nothing but a bitch to me ever since I’d known her. Yet she had chosen to come here to me.

“Do—do you need something?” I whispered, swallowing. She looked so vulnerable, so cracked, so broken. So much like…
me
.

“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked, surprising me.

I glanced up the stairway, the darkness telling me my mother was still sleeping. Amanda noticed my hesitant expression, and her eyes grew pleading.

“Okay,” I relented. “Do you want some tea? Or coffee? I have coffee.”

“Tea, thanks,” she whispered.

I poured Amanda a cup of steaming water five minutes later. She sat at the table, staring at the marble countertop, though not really looking at it. Pain was etched into every feature on her face—from the sharp chin to the sunken eyes to the clenched jaw. I recognized that look. It was a look of hurting. She hadn’t said anything, just let the tears run down her face in rivulets.

Is this about Kesley?

I chose a tea bag from the cupboard and dangled it in the hot water. Pushing it toward Amanda, I said, “Take it out whenever it’s strong enough. I like it strong, but…” I trailed off, watching her. Her hands were lying on the table, and she looked lost.

“She did some awful things,” said Amanda, “but she never deserved to die because of them.”

“Kesley?”

A glint of familiar irritation crossed Amanda’s features; it was almost a relief to see that. “Who else? Yes, I mean Kesley. I knew one of us would be really in deep shit for what we’ve done, but I never thought it would be
her
.”

“Who did you think it was going to be?” I asked.

“Me,” she said simply. There was no fear, no apprehension. She was only stating a fact. And this, I thought, was the first time I’d seen a glimpse past that facade Amanda thrust up for everyone to see. This was the first time I’d seen the true person. I wondered what May, Abbey, and Riley were all hiding beneath their facades.

Amanda raised a shaking hand to her lips, taking a sip of the scalding liquid. She averted her eyes from mine. Did she regret coming here? She put the cup down so it clattered loudly on the marble countertop. I cast a nervous glance toward the door, where the stairs were.

“Sorry,” Amanda said, bitterness sharpening her voice. “Don’t want your mother to see me here, do you?”

“Something like that,” I murmured.

Amanda laughed, though there was no trace of humor on her face. “You know what?” she told me. “You have it pretty good, Ava.”

I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from rising. “I have it good? Do you really think that having a dead sister who I barely understood is having it good? If the definition of ‘good’ has been changed to ‘pretty shitty’, then yeah, I guess I do have it good.” My voice was harsher than I meant it to be. Amanda tipped back the cup and took a short drink of the tea. Her face wrinkled—I guess tea was an acquired taste—her eyes narrowing almost to slits.

There was a cold, tense silence.

Amanda toyed with one of the metal rings she wore on her middle finger. “You wanna know how I got mixed up in all this stuff?” she asked me. I nodded. She said, “You’re okay here, aren’t you? You have a nice foster family—”

“It used to be nice,” I cut in flatly, “before my sister was murdered.”

Amanda held up a hand. “Don’t interrupt me, thanks. The vodka is going to fade any moment, and you’re not gonna get another chance to hear this.”

She was probably right about that, so I stemmed the flood of accusations that wanted to be heard. “Okay, sorry. Go on.”

“I’m not so lucky. I
wish
I’d had a mother like yours. She would actually care if you didn’t return home for days and came back stoned and drunk, wouldn’t she?” When I didn’t answer, she continued, “If you were to die, your mother would notice. I doubt mine would. Sometimes, she doesn’t even remember my name. She was so drunk before she left tonight that she called me ‘Miranda’ until I corrected her, and even then she still looked at me like I was a stranger. Sometimes, I doubt whether she knows her left from her right.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“My father happened,” Amanda almost growled.

“I’m no stranger to parent issues,” I promised her, and this was true.

“You are to ones like mine.” Amanda fiddled with her hair, twirling it around and around her fingers. “He left my mother when I was about—oh, I don’t know—thirteen. Sometime around then anyway. Only it wasn’t like they had some massive fight. He just didn’t come home from work one day. It was pretty scary, actually. He’d never done this before. Leave like that, I mean. My mother got worried, so she called the police and filed a missing person’s report. And they contacted her the next day and said, ‘You want the good news? He’s alive. And the bad? He left you for another woman.’” Amanda spat on the countertop, her face twisting with anger.

I flinched and dropped my gaze, unwilling to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

She laughed, but it was bitter. “You don’t
need
to be sorry. I learned long ago that when people say that, they don’t mean it. They say it because they feel like they have to.”

I didn’t say anything, because I understood perfectly what she meant. I thought back to the funeral and how all the apologies had begun to sound hollow after a while. “That still doesn’t explain how you got on the wrong side of the law,” I said.

“Oh, right.” She paused, perhaps collecting her thoughts, and continued. “Well, life was pretty shit, like I said. Still is sometimes, but with the KARMA girls it’s always much easier. That’s why I joined.” She paused to untangle a stubborn knot from her hair before she went on. “I didn’t know Kesley that much before. She was just that pretty, perfect girl I walked past in the hallway, you know? The one who looked like she’d never touched a hair on anyone’s head, the one who had boys drooling at her feet.”

Yeah, I knew that girl.

Amanda continued, “But she found me crying one day in the bathroom. She said she wanted to help me.”

“Help you? How?”

“Have some fun. Break some rules. Get drunk. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, but you know, a few times, we got close to getting caught.”

“You were caught,” I reminded her. “Heaps of times.”

A smile curled at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, sweetie, you don’t know the
half
of what we’ve done.” And I suspected I didn’t
want
to know either. “That was when it was just Kesley and me. It was cool then, but she suggested we should find more people like us. Who didn’t give a damn about rules. Who just wanted to run wild for a bit.”

I sank down low in my seat, pressing a hand to my forehead. “That doesn’t sound like Kesley,” I whispered. “She wasn’t like that.”

“Just ’cause someone never shows you a side of themselves doesn’t mean it’s not there. You have a habit of underestimating people, don’t you?”

That stung. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not all people are two-dimensional, you know. All you could see was the perfect boyfriend who wouldn’t dare to cheat on you, right? Well, it’s the same with Kesley. To you, she’s the role model student who would do anything for her little sister. Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe there was part of you that was always holding her back.”