To the right, the hills meet, closing off the valley. To the left the valley dead-ends into another, forming a T in the earth. A choice of direction. Upriver or down. Uphill or down.
My friends’ voices float down the tree line and Nathan’s laugh rings across the hills. Its echo seems mocking. Everyone else has gone on, down the trail to the next vantage point, leaving me alone on this small outcropping. If Eagle Point is the beak, this is a wing bone, protruding like a fossil over the treetops below. My shoe dislodges a pebble. Sends it flying over the cliff. I listen to it clatter down the rock face, unable to tell when it reaches the valley floor.
The straps of my pack dig into my armpits, making me sweat despite the chill. I should have just put some supplies in Matt’s pack and been done with it. But I don’t want him carrying anything for me.
All this time, I thought I was just a friend. And Matt thought I could be something more—“his girl.” I don’t mind when Nathan says it affectionately. I’d be … slightly annoyed but also sort of happy if Andrew said it.
But I am not Matt’s girl. Not like that. He’s supposed to be my friend.
And if Matt’s not my friend, who is?
I drop my backpack, just to make myself feel lighter. My toes line up with the treacherous, crumbly edge. The wind buffets me, trying to tip me over the edge, and I press against it to prove I’m tougher.
“Raychel,” Andrew says, startling me. “Sorry, didn’t want to scare you.” His hands steal around my waist, underneath my sweatshirt to the thin fabric below, and stop. Left or right. Up or down. He’ll choose whatever makes me squirm most. Whatever gets me the most bothered.
I turn around and he’s ready, face already lowering toward mine. His breath is sweet, minty and not labored from our hike.
I put a hand between our faces. “We have a small problem.”
He pulls back. “You regret it.” At my confused expression, he adds, “Last night.”
“What?” I shake my head. “No.” A terrible thought occurs to me. “Do you?”
“Hell, no.” Andrew looks over my shoulder and tugs me away from the edge.
“Well, that’s a relief.” He tries to kiss me again but I stop him. “I think telling Matt is going to be harder than we thought.”
He shrugs. “He’ll get over it.”
“No—I mean…” There’s no good way to put this. “I think he tried to kiss me this morning.”
Andrew rubs the back of his neck, staring out at the trees below for a long minute. “Did you want him to?”
I step away, insulted. “Maybe when I was fifteen, but not now.”
He grabs my hands. “I didn’t mean—I just wanted to make sure, you know?”
I do know. That’s what I love about Andrew. We understand each other, which has been the blessing and the curse all along.
But he still looks confused, so I stand on my tiptoes and bust out the cheesiest line I can think of. “I’m only interested in kissing one person these days.”
He grins and starts to answer, but a branch snaps. We jerk apart.
MATT
I know Raych didn’t really want to hike today, but everyone has an element, a place where they belong. Raychel’s has always been the woods, and so has mine. So I wait and watch, hoping her shoulders will straighten and her face will open up, but she stays closed, small and quiet.
After we talk, I’ll send her home with the photo album that’s hidden in my trunk, my apologies and promises folded into the last page. I wrote them out at four thirty this morning. Then I’ll let her make the next move.
Everyone else has headed down the trail, hurrying toward the big crag, but I hang back. I wait to stand by myself for a minute, breathing in the crisp air. It’s refreshing, almost purifying.
But the sound of voices disappoints me. I start to move on when I realize it’s Raychel and Andrew, and push aside a branch to join them.
RAYCHEL
Matt’s mouth hangs open and when he looks at me it’s shock, but when he looks at his brother, it’s a pure rage I’ve never seen on his face. “Matt—” I start, but he’s advancing, coming at us, and Andrew backs up.
“You said you weren’t screwing her,” Matt says, his voice low. Flat. Like a snake you can’t see in the grass until it’s too late. And it makes me angry—angry that he thinks he has the right. Angry that Andrew and I didn’t tell him weeks ago. Angry at my luck and myself and most of all, the fact that he’s blaming his brother and ignoring me.
Andrew takes another step back. “Bro,” he says, hands up, “it’s not—let me explain.” He looks to me for help and I reach out, but Matt keeps advancing on him. “Matt, wait,” Andrew says.
MATT
“You said you weren’t screwing her.” If I could growl like a dog, like a wolf, I would. I’d tear his throat out. I’d tear his mouth off for having touched her.
“Bro,” he says, hands up, “it’s not—let me explain.” He glances at Raychel, who’s reaching for him, and I want to tear his eyes out for looking at her. “Matt, wait,” he says, stepping backward, buying time. “Hang on—”
His eyes widen, then go wider, almost comically.
And then they disappear.
He doesn’t even scream.
But Raychel does.
RAYCHEL
“Hang on—” Andrew says.
But that’s all he says. Because he falls.
He steps backward and it’s too far.
He falls.
PART II
AFTER THE FALL
“Is that how we lived, then? But we lived as usual. Everyone does, most of the time. Whatever is going on is as usual. Even this is as usual, now.”
—The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
MATT
My fault. My fault. My fault.
RAYCHEL
The service is ridiculous.
Nothing the minister says has anything to do with Andrew, whose name is like punctuation between Bible verses. A few friends take turns sharing memories, but they’re sanitized. Stripped of life.
As dead as Andrew.
No one says anything about the real Andrew. He was annoying. Never knew when to quit teasing. Merciless at Mario Kart. Amazing at kissing. Preferred homegrown to Mexican. Bottled beer to kegs. Loved sports. Sucked at pool. Wanted to grow up, in lots of ways.
These are the things that matter and no one will say them. Least of all me.
Matt sits beside me. He doesn’t take my hand. I don’t take his.
Keri sits on my other side. Tears flood her face, over her chin, down her neck, into her dress. She makes no effort to dry them.
I don’t cry. Even when Matt breaks down in great silent sobs, I remain dry-eyed. I sit in silence, taking the pain as penance.
MATT
My fault.
My fault.
My fault.
RAYCHEL
We form a line in the aisle, like the world’s unluckiest bridal party at the world’s worst wedding. We take turns saying farewell to the shell that’s no longer Andrew.