Complicit Page 9

  “Well, I had no idea. I mean, it must have been terrible for you. A terrible time.”

  I shrug. Of course it was terrible. It’s not like something like that can have an upside.

  Jenny presses her cheek against my shoulder. “I wanted to ask you about it last night, when we were in Berkeley. But you were already sort of upset. And—”

  I bristle. And what? And now she’s drunk and doesn’t care about upsetting me?

  But Jenny runs her fingers along the line of my chin, very gently, thawing me a little. “And I wanted you to have a good time. I didn’t want you to be sad.”

  “I was having a good time. It’s just…” Right then it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her. About how almost maybe running into Cate is what set off my panic attack last night. About the weird phone calls and messages. About those emails I read.

  But I can’t get the words to form.

  “It’s hard to talk about,” I say, at last.

  “Are you going to see her now that she’s out of jail?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want to see her?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what I want. That’s the truth. I don’t know.”

  “Well, it’s okay not to know, right?”

  “Is it? That’s something else I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s okay not to know!”

  “Hey!” Jenny says sharply. “Stop that.”

  I blink. “Stop what?”

  “This.” Jenny reaches up and pulls my hand from my brow. I’m stunned. I’m pulling hairs again.

  Without even realizing it.

  I writhe away from Jenny, sliding her onto the ledge beside me. Then I sit facing forward. I hang my head in my hands and stare at my shoes in the dirt. My feet are huge compared to Jenny’s. Monstrous even.

  “You’re stressed about your sister,” Jenny offers.

  I nod.

  Jenny rubs my neck. My heart thumps in its dramatic-erratic kind of way, and I can feel myself getting worked up. That’s not a bad thing, but the thought that’s rattling around inside me, twisting my gut and stirring up dread, is that I don’t want my hands to go.

  Please don’t let my hands go.

  “I know I can’t exactly understand,” she says. “But I do know what it’s like to have someone you love get locked up. I’ve got a brother, Tobin, he’s twenty, and he’s had issues since he was a kid—acting out, having rages, unable to control himself. He saw all kinds of doctors, got all sorts of diagnoses, but we had to put him in a residential home when he was seventeen, on account of my parents couldn’t control him anymore when he got mad. He even hit my mom once, gave her a black eye and a concussion. He felt bad about it later, but still. We didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Jenny. I didn’t know that. That’s really sad.”

  “Yeah, it is. It’s really fucking sad. At least your sister got out. My Tobin’ll be in there forever.”

  Cate wouldn’t be out yet if it weren’t for me, is what I want to say. She shouldn’t be out. She’s dangerous in all her witchy ways, and maybe confession is what my soul needs. Maybe then I’d feel less weighed down by sorrow and shame. But I don’t say those things. I don’t say anything because Jenny keeps rubbing my neck and her hand’s creeping down my shirt, toward my chest, and even lower. I sit very still while she does this, but then she’s laughing again and her breath reeks of booze so I turn around.

  “I should get you home.”

  Jenny makes dreamy eyes at me. Either she’s half asleep or she wants me to kiss her. I should probably know the difference, but the sad truth is, I don’t.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She nods. Then shakes her head.

  “I don’t feel so good.”

  “You want to go?”

  “Yeah,” she says. Then: “I can’t walk.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  Jenny huddles in the passenger seat. She’s shivering something awful so I put the heat on high. Then I put my jacket over hers. I don’t have a blanket or anything.

  “Tell me if you’re going to get sick, all right?”

  She smiles at me. “I’m just cold. And tired.”

  I nod, putting the Jeep in reverse and backing up. “Good thing we’re getting out of here anyway. These things never end well. Look at that.”

  Jenny’s gaze follows where I’m pointing. In the icy night air, juniors Nicky Johnson and Matt Calvin are squaring off in a drainage ditch, throwing punches at each other. Both have their shirts off and it’s like they think making a spectacle out of beating up someone else will give them power. I guess they don’t know it’s the crowd cheering them on that has the power, not them. A bunch of varsity athletes, including that asshole Dane Parker, who must be back visiting his girlfriend, are all standing around with their phones held up, recording the whole thing.

  “Remind me not to drink again, okay?” she says.

  “I sure will.”

  “I feel embarrassed.”

  “Don’t.”

  “You’re so nice, Jamie. Greta says you’ve always been shy on account of your sister, but you don’t seem shy to me.”

  “What do I seem like?”

  She snuggles close, leaching my warmth. I put an arm around her as we start to drive down the mountain.

  “You seem good, Jamie. Real good. You make me feel safe.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Of course Jenny does get sick on the ride back to Danville, somewhere near the base of the mountain before we get back to town. I pull over and help her. I hold her hair. She cries a little bit, which makes me sad, but I can’t make her feel better. She has to learn her limits the hard way. I don’t hold it against her. It’s how I learned, after all.

  The first time I drank, I was fourteen and Scooter stole a bottle of Jose Cuervo from one of his dad’s pool parties. We mixed it up with red Gatorade and took turns doing shots in his bedroom while watching Iron Man. At some point during the night we decided it would be a good idea to wrap Scooter in aluminum foil and crash a Sayrebrook party down the street. The only thing I remember is walking into a house packed wall to wall with people I didn’t know, and getting separated from Scooter. Next thing I knew, I was lying in my own bed with the morning light trying to burn holes through whatever brain cells I had left and Cate was standing over me with a funny smirk on her lips.

  “You are so busted,” she told me.

  I groaned and pulled the covers over my head. “Go away. I feel awful.”

  “How much did you drink last night?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Yeah, well, Angie’s pissed. Nice going. Now you can deal with her shit instead of me.”

  I peeked out from under the blanket. The sunlight hit my eyes like daggers. “Angie knows?”

  “Yup.”

  “How?”

  “Mmm, I think the fact that someone puked red stuff all over the entryway when they got home last night might’ve tipped her off. And by someone, I mean you.”

  “I did that? Are you serious?” The thought made me want to puke red stuff right then and there. All over my bed. “Oh, God.”

  “Completely serious. Like I said, nice going. I’m probably supposed to give you a lecture on the dangers of underage drinking, but why bother? She’s going to kill you. That rug’s an heirloom, by the way.”

  “I’m dead. So dead.” I flopped back. “And what happened to you last night?”

  “What do you mean? I was at the Young Equestrian awards ceremony with Angie last night. I was on my best behavior, too. Snoozefest, but whatever. I got a new dress out of it. Shoes, too.”

  I shook my head, then quickly regretted the motion. “No. I saw you. Last night. I could’ve sworn I did, at a party down on Donegal Way.”

  “Wasn’t me,” she said.

  “Yes it was.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  We stared at each other.

  “So how’re things going w
ith Dr. Waverly?” I asked weakly.

  “Things are going swell, Jamie, love. Really, really swell.”

  “She’s helping you?”

  “Hmm. I don’t know if I’m supposed to say that. It’s not empowering, right? I’m supposed to say that I’m helping myself. That’s the correct way to phrase it, isn’t it?”

  I swallowed. She was right. That was exactly what Dr. Waverly would say.

  “Did she end up giving you any medication?” I asked, thinking about the pills I’d found in her bathroom. I’d looked them up online. They were for treating bipolar disorder. And psychosis.

  “What would I need medication for?”

  “For whatever you’re, uh, seeing her for.”

  “I’m seeing her because of Angie’s insecurity that I won’t turn out like her perfect little Madison. That I might want to be my own person someday. That I might want you to be your own person, too.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  Cate stared at me. “What kind of medication do you think I should be taking for all that?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t say anything.

  “What’re you reading there?” she pointed to a magazine lying beside my bed. “Graduated to Playboy yet?”

  I squirmed. “It’s The Believer.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve found religion.”

  “It’s a literary magazine.”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind.”

  She frowned. “You know what your problem is?”

  “What?”

  “You care about things that don’t even matter. Like, you really, really care. But none of it matters. Nothing you know means anything, Jamie. Remember that.”

  The weight of her gaze was too much. I looked away.

  “So wh-what’s up with you and those girls from the barn?” I stammered.

  “What girls?”

  “I just heard that you’ve been doing things. In the woods.”

  “Doing things?”

  “You know, teaching your, uh, friends, how to do … stuff. And other stuff.”

  Something dark came over her. “Who told you this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Was it that stick-up-her-ass Sarah?”

  I said nothing, but a bloom of dread was already working its way through my veins. I didn’t have to answer or nod or admit anything. Cate could read my mind. Always.

  She swept her hair into a ponytail with a huff. “I gotta get down to the barn. Dressage this morning.”

  “You really weren’t at the party?”

  “I really wasn’t. Now sleep it off. I think you’re still drunk. And Jamie—”

  “Yeah?”

  She headed for the door. “Let this hangover be a lesson to you. You’re too fucking young to be this stupid.”

  I collapsed with a wince. All the muscles in my body felt stiff and sore like I’d been run over by a truck. I closed my eyes and slept for another six hours. When I finally got up and hobbled downstairs, I didn’t get the expected Angie lecture on “being a responsible member of this household.” I didn’t get anything. That’s because Angie was on the phone trying to calm down Penny Parker. Penny was hysterical because someone had slashed the tires on Dane’s precious Porsche Boxster overnight and pried the hood open to pour sand into the engine. Later there was talk, of course, that Cate had done it. But no one could ever prove that she hadn’t been exactly where she said she was that night.

  Least of all, me.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Once I get her back in the car, Jenny goes to sleep. It’s a true sleep, she’s not unconscious or anything. I keep driving, staying under the speed limit, with both hands firmly on the wheel. I feel totally sober but getting pulled over would not be good. To say the least.

  Of course, I remember the way to Jenny’s house because I was only there last night. But when I turn into her court and roll to a stop at the curb, I don’t shake her awake or sit her up. Instead I throw on the brake and sit behind the wheel with the engine idling and the heat still going. The porch light is on and her parents seemed nice, but also kind of strict and most likely disapproving of any or all peppermint schnapps consumption, and I guess it comes down to the fact that I can’t just leave her here to get busted. That protective male urge. I mull it over. I could take her back to my place. She’d be safe there with me. Angie and Malcolm would never hear us come in, and if they did hassle me, well, I’m sort of pissed at them right now anyway.

  For once in my life, I’m in the mood to break rules.

  A real sea change.

  I twist the wheel and turn the Jeep around. I’m a quarter mile from home when my phone rings.

  I pull off the road before I answer this time.

  It’s after midnight.

  I know.

  THIRTY

  “Jamie,” Cate says in a sort of a whine. “I miss you, little brother.”

  “Where are you?” This feels like an automated response by now.

  “I’m close. Really close.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Wherever I can.”

  “Well, don’t burn any barns down, okay?” Oh, God. I’m feeling sort of crazy when I say this. I don’t know why I say this.

  “What? What was that? Did you say something about barns?”

  My neck goes stiff. “Nope. No way. I said, uh, don’t forget to stay warm.”

  “You said barn.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  I opt for a subject change. “Cate, I saw the emails you sent Angie. I saw them on her computer. She didn’t tell me you were getting out.”

  There’s silence.

  “Hello?” I say.

  Nothing.

  Damn it.

  “Cate?”

  “I’m too angry to talk right now, Jamie. I think you said something mean about me.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “I’m still angry.”

  “Don’t be, Cate. I want to help you. I want to understand. Everything.”

  “I don’t believe you. You don’t care about me. You never wrote while I was gone. You never visited.”

  “You told us not to visit! You wouldn’t let us! And I did write. At first.”

  “Not enough.”

  “Well, you never wrote back.”

  “That shouldn’t have stopped you.”

  “Whatever,” I say, because although she’s right, it’s not like I was having such a great time, either.

  “Hey, Jamie?” she asks softly.

  “What?”

  “Do you remember that time Angie stole something out of my room? I’m not talking about you finding that photo of us as kids—yeah, I knew about that. I mean earlier. When I broke her vase. That handblown glass one.”

  I lean my head back against the seat. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Do you know what she took from me?”

  “Um … drugs?”

  “No, dickhead. Well, that wasn’t the only thing. She stole pictures of our mom! I had pictures of our real mom.”

  I freeze.

  My hands go.

  “Jamie?”

  I manage to keep the phone gripped between my ear and my shoulder, but my head spins and my lungs burn, like they’re conspiring against me.

  “Why didn’t I know that?” I squeak. “Why haven’t I seen them? Cate, it’s our mom. You know I don’t remember her.”

  “You haven’t seen them because I didn’t have them anymore. Angie took them from me after I told her I was going to bring your old memories back, and that once I did maybe you’d stop loving her.”

  “What? Why would you tell her that? Shit, Cate, my hands! I can’t feel them.”

  “I told her that because she didn’t listen to me! Every time I missed our mom or wanted to talk about our past Angie wouldn’t let me. She’d yell or ignore me, or worse, she’d cry. I felt bad at first but you can only feel bad for so long when someone else’s pain
is hurting you, too. After a while it kind of pisses you off.”

  I make a mewling sound. What Cate did to Angie, what she said to her, God, it’s so mean.

  My sister’s voice drops to a whisper. “Angie sent me the photos after I emailed her. She apologized, but she also told me not to come home. She’s scared I’m going to ruin you next. And you know what? Maybe she should be.”

  “Ruin me how? I want to see those pictures!”

  “Meet me tomorrow then. But don’t tell anyone. You have to promise.”

  “Where?” I say. “When?”

  “Crap. Someone’s here. I gotta go.”

  “Cate, wait! Don’t—”

  “Later, kid.”

  Click.

  The phone slips from my ear and my stomach starts to cramp. I try to hold it back, but I know I’m going to puke. Like, right now. Only I can’t open the car door. My goddamn hands. I make a frantic jab at Jenny with my shoulder, to see if I can wake her up, but then I have to use my elbow and body weight to roll down the driver’s side window. Half strangled by the seat belt, I stick my head out just in time to throw up onto the street. Loudly. Then I throw up some more and it’s terrible. This is way worse than the Gatorade-tequila time because I don’t think I’m going to forget this.

  I know I won’t forget.

  This is awful,

  awful,

  awful.

  Finally I bring my head back inside. But with my hands dead, I can’t move any more than that. I’m stuck behind the steering wheel of a car I can’t drive. I am utterly helpless.

  Beyond helpless.

  I’m hopeless.

  Damn.

  I close my eyes.

  Cate has pictures of our mom.

  Angie stole them from her.

  To keep me from seeing them.

  None of this makes sense.

  My sister is crazy.

  Totally crazy.

  This is all my fault.

  “FUCK!” Twisting with all my might, I slam my left shoulder against the door as hard as I can. The Jeep rocks and bright stars of pain ricochet back up to my skull. I groan and rear back to do it again.

  “Jamie?” a voice says, halting me mid-flail.

  My heart flutters. Oh, Jenny.

  “Jamie, are you okay?”