“Really?”
She let go of her hair. “Yep. He just always looks so intense, like . . .”
“Like one night with him would change your life?” Calla suggested with a grin. “I’m pretty sure I’ve said the same thing about him.”
I wouldn’t know since I hadn’t made it that far with him, but what I had experienced with him really backed what Calla was saying. I turned my gaze to the tea, oddly proud that I could sit there and call him mine, which was weird. I never felt that way before about someone.
In the silence that followed, I knew what everyone was thinking about. Debbie. Even though we all could talk about other things and laugh, what had happened lingered at the edge of every thought.
“I don’t know why she did it,” I said, only realizing I said it out loud when both girls looked at me. “I don’t understand.”
“Sometimes you never understand,” Calla said, stretching out her legs. A pinched, sad look crossed her face. “More often than not, it’s not just one thing that sends a person over the edge. It’s several things.”
Avery nodded as she fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist. “It’s true. A lot of stuff builds up and while it might be one thing that topples the person over, it’s really a lot of things, big and small.”
“I get that, but Debbie was a happy girl. Except for breaking up with Erik, she was okay.”
“But how happy could she be if she stayed with him so long?” Avery asked. “And I don’t mean she was bad for being with him, but that’s how many years of being treated like that?”
She had a good point.
“We don’t know what other issues she might have had.” Calla paused, casting her attention to her hands she folded in her lap. “My mom killed herself.”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my chest as I exchanged a look with Avery. “What?”
Calla ducked her chin as she nibbled on her lower lip. “Well, not like Debbie. She didn’t do it just one night. She did it over the course of several years.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that, Cal.” Setting the tea aside, I picked up a pillow and pressed it against my tummy. “How?”
“She drank and drugged herself to death. It wasn’t an accident,” she said, looking up. “My mom didn’t want to live. She just chose the passive way out. Anyway, no one really knew she was like that. She had everyone fooled. I’m not saying Debbie wanted out for a long time, but you just don’t know.”
I wanted to ask her more questions, but her stiffness told me she was done sharing for now. “I just don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“When does something like this ever feel right?” Avery asked softly.
Again, good point, but as I trekked through my memories of that night, I knew I was missing something—something forced out of my head by the trauma of it, and that had been pretty damn traumatizing.
Then it hit me as I lifted my gaze and met Calla’s. I started to rise as my heart pounded in my chest. “Oh my God.”
“What?” Calla stood too, even though she looked confused. She looked at Avery, who was also starting to rise. “What?” she said. “What the hell, Teresa?”
I shook my head as it sunk in. How had I forgotten this? “Pink scarf.”
“Huh.” She looked at Avery again.
“There was a pink scarf on the dorm door!” My legs gave out, and I plopped back on the couch. “Holy crap . . .”
“Are you okay?” Avery grasped my arm, her fingers cool. “Should I call Jase? Cam?”
“No! But I need to go give my statement! I need to do it now.” I felt sick. “I need to go to the police.”
“All right.” Calla grabbed her keys. “We can take you, but you have to tell us what the hell is going on.”
“The pink scarf—Debbie always hung a pink scarf on the door whenever Erik was there and they wanted privacy,” I explained in a rush, my hands shaking. “She hung that damn pink scarf when she didn’t want to be interrupted.”
“Okaaay.” Avery drew the word out.
“You don’t understand.” I took a shallow breath. “There was a pink scarf on the door when I got there. I thought she was in there with Erik and they’d gotten back together. That pink scarf means Erik was there earlier!”
Twenty-three
Avery and Calla got what I was saying to them, that Debbie hadn’t been alone at some point during the evening, but it didn’t seem to register on the importance scale for them.
But it did for me.
My brain was not willing to accept the idea that Debbie committed suicide. It wasn’t that I was naive and didn’t believe that it was possible, but Erik had been there and to me, it made more sense that the fucker lost his temper and—and really hurt her.