But she wasn’t going to get a chance to say anything to me. Not this night.
Zell started to speak, but I held up my finger, silencing her. I patted the ground where I was sitting, right by the pond in the front yard that she and I had made together. She tried to talk again, but I shook my head hard and pointed in the direction of Mr. Doyle’s house. I put a finger up to my lips, as she finally noticed what I’d been sitting there watching. I felt it was right to be silent as the funeral men in their black suits loaded Mrs. Doyle in the back of the hearse. Neither of us said a word as we watched Mr. Doyle wrestle Jesse back into the house after the hearse drove away. We didn’t say anything long after the neighborhood quieted down and the light faded. We just watched the night take over.
AUGUST 2014
BRYTE
Bryte let Christopher go with the girls into the pool, then took her spot with the rest of the group, clustered in their usual area—a hodgepodge of lounge chairs, coolers, towels, and bags forming a base camp. Food and drinks covered the available surfaces, all in various stages of being consumed. Bryte loved being part of the jumble of voices and activity.
But today Zell’s chair remained empty. Cailey had come with Jencey and Lance for the last several days. Bryte missed the older woman, always doling out advice and saying funny things, but she sensed something was going on and hoped that, whatever it was, it would blow over and Zell would return. Jencey and Lance had been mute about it. But as of today it was August, and time was running out; their summer was dwindling. She remembered the early June afternoons, how summer had unspooled before them, a bright ribbon of days to come. They’d run out of days far too quickly.
“Is Zell OK?” She broached the subject with Lance when Jencey took the girls to get soda from the machine.
He blanched, nodded curtly, and looked away, pretending to be interested in the children going off the diving board.
“Lance,” she said. “What?” Zell was, after all, his next-door neighbor. He was most likely to know if there was a reason she wasn’t there.
He glanced over at the clubhouse Jencey had disappeared into with a panicked look. “I’m not sure she wants me talking about it,” he said. “She’s still pretty upset.”
Bryte wrinkled her brow. “Jencey is upset? With Zell?”
He shook his head. “No, not with Zell. But with her son. So it’s . . . complicated.”
Bryte was thoroughly confused. Jencey’d had very little—if anything—to do with Zell’s sons, either of them, then or now. What could she possibly be upset at one of them about? She pressed Lance for more information. “What happened? You have to tell me.”
She had a déjà vu feeling, hearkening back to the many afternoons with Everett and Jencey spent at this same pool. Jencey and Everett were the couple then, but she’d talked to Everett every chance she got. She could only dream back then that she’d be the one married to Everett. She thought of her looming meeting with Trent, of risking the very thing she treasured most, if Everett ever found out.
Jencey, done buying the sodas, got stopped by a neighbor, buying them time because the woman was notoriously long-winded. Lance looked over and saw her stop as well. He took a deep breath. “I should let her tell you.”
Bryte shook her head, dislodging thoughts of Everett. “She won’t tell me. She’s pretty . . . guarded. With me.” Jencey kept their conversations at surface level—kids, weather, the latest headlines, and celebrity gossip. Bryte liked to believe they would move past it someday.
“She’s guarded with everyone,” Lance agreed.
Bryte kept her mouth shut, waiting for Lance to go on.
“I’m sure you knew the circumstances that surrounded her leaving here back when you guys were kids?”
Bryte nodded, thinking of going to visit Everett as he recuperated. He had a broken rib, a black eye, stitches in his lip. And Jencey had left him like that. Bryte had sat with him instead, slipped her hand into his as he slept, trying to make sense of her best friend’s departure. He and Bryte had grown closer as he recovered; she’d felt those first glimmers of hope that something might happen between them, eventually. She just had to be patient, give him time to forget Jencey. The ugly truth was, despite her fondness for her friend, Bryte was glad to have Jencey out of the way.
“The stalker,” she said now, to Lance, who she could see clearly loved Jencey. Bryte recognized the look he wore, the way he watched after her. She looked down at his hand and noticed he was still wearing his wedding ring, too. She’d talked with his wife some in the past, made idle conversation when monitoring children in the pool or passing each other on the street while walking. His wife had gotten into running, lost a lot of weight, and looked terrific when she’d left him.
“Yes, well. We found out a few days ago that the stalker was actually Zell’s son.”
“John Junior?” she asked, thinking of how large Zell’s oldest son had been, how menacing. He used to tell them that there was someone in the woods, chase them around and scare them when they were little.
“No, the other one. Ty.” Bryte flashed back to one of the last times Jencey and Everett went to the hideaway. Jencey had been so spooked by then, scared of her own shadow and jumpy all the time. It was Everett who’d asked Bryte to come with them, to stand guard outside and keep an eye out so they could have some alone time. Jencey and Everett were going away to college together; at least that had been the plan. Bryte felt they’d have plenty of alone time then. But Everett had asked, so she’d said yes. She’d sat outside the hideaway with a flashlight, feeling like an idiot. She and Everett had never discussed that night, how ridiculous she’d felt, how jealous she’d been that Jencey was the one inside with Everett and not her.
She remembered, with the shock of realization, the pieces falling into place after all these years. Ty, quiet and unassuming, had happened by as she kept watch. She’d suspected nothing and, desperate for attention from a male, had been receptive to his attempt to strike up a conversation. Jencey had heard the two voices and sent Everett outside to see what was going on. Seeing Ty there, he’d smiled at them and left them to talk, disappearing back inside the copse of trees, but not before giving them a thumbs-up. Ty had kissed her that night, his hands groping and grabbing, growing more urgent. She’d pulled back, shocked at what was happening and how fast. She’d said his name, her voice seeming to break him out of some sort of trance. He’d stood up quickly, stepped away from her, apologizing as he backed farther and farther away, then turned and ran.
Now she tried to remember, had he seemed angry when he’d seen Everett, given any indication of what was to come? Days later, Everett was blitz attacked by someone in a ski mask as he ventured into the woods to meet Jencey. Jencey returned home only to hear what had happened hours later when Everett’s mom called her from the hospital. A few days later, Jencey was gone. Leaving, she’d said, was the best thing for all of them.
She’d made out with Jencey’s stalker. Had she told Jencey what had happened with Ty? Had they giggled about it afterward, mused over whether something would develop between them? She couldn’t remember. Did Jencey remember that? She wanted to excuse herself and go throw up in the pool bathroom. Lance was staring at her.
“I’m just remembering . . . that time,” she said.
“I think Zell just feels weird, you know, coming around since what happened.”
“She didn’t do anything wrong.” Bryte felt defensive of Zell, of herself, of everyone who’d been inadvertently involved with the situation.
“Oh, we know that, and there are no hard feelings. It’s just . . . awkward. The police are involved, and I just think until it gets resolved, she’s keeping her distance.”