“As in, played-baseball-with-Julian Max.”
“As in, Caleb’s best friend?”
“Yes, they’re one and the same, Mom. Which you know.”
She rubs her temple, closes her eyes. “It’s not the person, Jessa. It’s the lies. We’ve given you time, and space, and I can only imagine what it’s like….” She trails off. Then regroups, says what she’s been meaning to say. “But I won’t stand for the lying. I won’t stand for the sneaking around.”
“Mom, please,” I say, because I can’t even focus. My whole body is thrumming.
“I’ve let you do whatever you’ve needed—a week home from school; quitting the team; ignoring us all—” She shakes her head before continuing. “But I can’t say nothing when you stay home from school and then disappear. I’m worried. And I’m angry. I know I’m not supposed to say that, with everything you’re going through. But there it is. You were gone, and Caleb’s mother came by today and—”
I stand straight. Shocked silent. “Caleb’s mom was here? Eve was here?”
“Yes, Jessa. She was looking for you.”
“The room is finished,” I say. “What did she want?”
“Well, I wasn’t about to twenty-question the poor woman. I told her you were at the library with Hailey, but that’s obviously not where you were, now, was it?” She eyes me, like she isn’t sure what to do with me. I can’t remember Julian ever being grounded. But I can’t remember Julian ever being caught in a lie, either. Maybe he was just better at it than I am. “She asked if she could wait for you, but I had to pick up dinner.”
Eve, asking to come into this house. What does she want with me? She has my number. She could’ve just called….
“Mom,” I say, dropping my voice, “something happened. Something’s wrong, about what they say happened to Caleb.”
She shuts her eyes, takes a deep breath. “Don’t do this, sweetheart.”
“Something’s wrong in that house. Something’s wrong with that woman.” I’m shaking my head, the confession making it all become real, out in the air. But she puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Jessa, please.” She tries to pull me toward her, in an embrace, as if to calm the illogical from me.
I feel like I’m so close, that I just need a little more time. And a little more space, from this, and from Eve. I don’t feel safe in my own house, not after Eve has been here. I can’t be here, not with that pocket watch, with his mother dropping by. I can’t go to the police, not without dragging Caleb back to whatever he was running from.
But a plan forms, even as the anger rises.
“I want to go visit Julian,” I say.
Her breath releases. Yes, this is something she can manage, that she can count on.
“Of course,” she says. “It would be good to get away. I’ll call him now, to make sure he’s free this weekend.”
“I do know how to call my brother,” I say.
“Right, I just, I want to talk to him anyway.” She’s backing away already, and I set my jaw. My teeth press together until the pain radiates to my jawbone. Of course she wants to talk to him first. Discuss the point that I am unwell, make sure he looks after me. Responsible, predictable Julian. His sister stuck in a stage of grief: denial.
I’m leaving straight from school. I just have to get through the day. I’m safe here, surrounded by people. Though everything sets me on edge. A door slamming down the hall. A person walking too closely behind me. The sound of the bell, signaling the end of class. I’m grateful for lunchtime, the halfway point, knowing that I only have to get through three more classes and then I’m off. Hailey sits beside me, grabs a fry from my plate since it’s obvious I’m not eating mine.
Hailey taps my tray, to get my attention. “So? Are you finished? Packing that room?”
“Yes, I’m done,” I say. I remember that Hailey’s address was written on Eve’s papers, and I want to cut the conversation short, keep her safe and at a distance.
And then Brandon from the cross-country team leans over and says, “Are they having a garage sale or something?”
I’m not sure whether they’re having a garage sale, or selling things online or through a secondhand store. But his interest, the way he’s practically salivating, is off-putting.
“I assume she’s selling some stuff. I don’t know how, though.”
“Do you think you could put something on hold for me?” he asks. People are jerks, I decide. Or their memories are short-lived.
“No,” I say, the venom rising in my voice. Apparently his good looks have kept him relatively protected from any requirement of manners. He bats his eyelashes once, pouts.
He pouts.
Ugh. I don’t understand his appeal at all.
Then he puts his hands up toward me, palms out, as if I am an animal about to pounce, and maybe I am. I certainly feel like I am. “Okay, okay,” he says. “I’d pay good money for the camping gear, is all I’m saying.”
I go through the contents of his room in my mind once more. “His boots?” I ask. I knew they were expensive, but I doubted Brandon couldn’t have just bought himself a pair if he wanted.
“No, the sleeping bag. It’s pretty sick, all-weather. They cost a fortune, though, and my parents think it’s unnecessary.”
I think again, shake my head. I run through the list of things found in his closet. Under his bed. “There’s no bag,” I say.
“Check the closet,” he says with a shrug. “It’s the type you’d want to keep hanging up. All-down filling, you know? Like I said, pretty sick.”
Something hanging. Something large.
The sound of the hanger swinging in the attic makes me sit straighter.
“How do you know he has this?” I ask.
He takes a bite of his food, talks around it. God, how does anyone find him attractive, honestly? “Ran into him at the outdoors store,” he says. “My dad and I were getting some fishing poles. He was in the camping section checkout line. Had that sleeping bag, one of those waterproof duffel bags, too. Shame if he never got to use them.”
The spot on the attic floor, empty of dust.
I grab his wrist, and he looks startled. “When?” I say.
Brandon shakes free of my grip, makes his eyes go wide and looks around the table to see if anyone else is watching. There’s no need. Everyone else is watching. Jessa Whitworth is losing her mind. But I don’t care. I prefer this Jessa to the one who disappeared along with Caleb.
He rubs his wrist, making a big show of it. “I don’t know. End of the summer sometime? Geez, Jessa. Sorry. It was just an idea.”
I push back from the table in a rush, off to find Max. But he’s nowhere to be found. He has class this period. Lab, I think. But I’m not sure of his schedule, and as I race through the halls, peering in the class windows, I don’t see him anywhere.
I send him a text: I know what was in the attic.
I get no response.
—
Instead, I race for my car, alone. Bailing on my afternoon classes. I picture Caleb again that day at my race. Standing there, watching us. The rain coming down, faster, heavier. Now, he thinks.