I make a little sound in my throat. A piece of shit. That’s how I make him feel.
Jesse’s eyes are dark in the half-light. “I never cheated with anybody before. I mean, I’m no saint or anything, not saying that, but I don’t screw around. I always said I never would.”
I swallow down an acid taste, getting it now, why he’s been running so hot and cold. “You have a girlfriend.”
“Huh? No. I’m talking about you and Shea.” All I can do is blink. “Come on. He told everybody about the Fourth, how you guys finally did it up at the quarry. Surprised he didn’t put up billboards, telling everybody what a stud he is.”
This isn’t exactly news, but I still flush all over, not sure if I’m ashamed or just furious. I try to keep my voice level. “What’s that mean?”
“He’s wanted you forever. He always says—well, he talks about what he’d like to do to you, with you, whatever. Says you like him, too, that you flirt and come on to him all the time.”
“I do not.” I spit it out, thinking of the Fourth, what I can remember of it: drinking way too much, until I was fighting to keep my head up, and then Shea beside me, smiling with those good white teeth and tawny eyes, being all nice, for some reason. I knew what he was about—how he and some other boys threw rotten crabapples at Rhiannon and me in seventh grade and ruined Rhiannon’s new white hoodie, how he’ll say or do any mean thing to get a laugh—but that seemed pretty fuzzy right then. I can’t say if I flirted back, but if I did, I was mostly joking, even when he started kissing my neck. The first time he asked me to go for a walk with him, I said no; the fourth time, I caved, grateful when he put his arm around me to keep me steady. I didn’t plan to have sex. That’s not why I went out there. “I never led him on, that’s crap.” I’m choking on my words. “I bet Mr. Big-Badass-Stud didn’t tell you that I never even called him after, that I don’t want anything to do with him.” Jesse’s quiet. “Yeah. Didn’t think so.”
“What about in the barrens? You guys are always going back and forth, giving each other hell.”
“So?”
“So I figured that meant you were still hanging out.”
“You mean hooking up.” I stuff myself back into my bra. “No. We fight all the time because he’s an ass. I told him I’d out-rake him, and his ego can’t handle it.”
“You can’t win.”
“God, Jesse. Thanks for having my back.”
“No, you don’t get it. You can’t beat him.” When I look at him, his head’s down, his fists resting on his thighs. “Duke . . . helps him out every harvest. He messes with Shea’s numbers, gives him credit for more boxes than he actually raked. How do you think Shea affords the payments on that crotch rocket of his?”
I just stare. Shea’s Ninja, black-and-poison-green, waxed to a shine. I look down at my clenched fists. “How long have you known?” My voice is soft.
“Since the first week of raking this harvest. He told me and Mason, made us promise to keep our mouths shut.”
I nod slowly, working my fists, letting my nails bite into my palms. “No wonder all the guys have been laughing at me.”
“Nobody knows but us, Darcy. Even that was a mistake, I think. He got so caught up in bragging about all the money he’s making that he let it slip.” A weak laugh, like maybe I might join in, like we might still be in this together.
“The Wardwells got no idea?”
“Bob trusts Duke. End of harvest, things don’t quite match up, they blame it on miscounting, scales being off, whatever. All part of the business. Duke never takes enough off the top to get anybody worried. I guess he thinks he’s helping out his nephew.”
I breathe out through my nose. “And you’re okay with this?” My voice is almost a whisper.
Jesse shrugs. “No. But what am I gonna do, tell on them? Duke’s got kids and bills and everything, and he’s on layoff most of the winter. He needs what he makes harvesting. Mason and me aren’t gonna be the reason he gets fired. And Shea”—he looks over, but I won’t meet his eyes—“we been friends since we were twelve. I know he can be a douche. But with you and me . . . I mean, I already thought you were cute and all, and when it seemed like you liked me . . .” He gives up on catching my gaze and looks out at the night, his voice flat. “But Shea, he’s in love with you.”
I laugh harshly, startling him. “Oh, yeah. He loves me.” Me, kissing Shea in the dark, running my nails over his back, laughing a little and not taking it seriously. “That’s gotta be it.” Things moving faster, too fast, us on the ground and him reaching under my skirt and tugging down my underwear, pushing my legs up before I can stop him. “That’s how come he calls me a slut, and trash. That’s how come he treats me so good.” I can feel Jesse’s surprise and I can’t stand it, won’t wait for him to ask questions. I won’t answer his damned questions. “Take me home.”
He begins to say something, then swallows his words and starts the engine. I face the window rigidly the whole way, watching woods and lit houses stream by without really seeing them. Shea, loving me. Jesse, not loving me at all.
When we reach my house, he leans over, saying, “Don’t go yet,” like it’s still not too late, like we can save this.
I shrug him off. “No. I thought you were . . .” Somebody different. I shove the door open. “I’m done.”
I cross the yard, breaking into a run, getting one clear image of Nell’s cards scattered all over the table by the wind before I’m through the door, with the sound of his engine roaring away in my ears.
Upstairs, I fall asleep in my clothes, my mind raging, headphones on, and the stuffed dog I’m too old for squished under one arm. Nobody comes to check on me, and I’m glad.
Around one a.m., I thrash awake, sure that the car is out there again, positive that if I’d opened my eyes a second sooner, I would’ve seen the headlights track across my wall. I go to the window, but when I part the curtains, there’s nothing out there but the night.
EIGHTTEEN
RHIANNON’S WAITING FOR me at the kitchen table the next morning. I sink into a chair, puffy-eyed from a bad night of sleep, and see her splashed all over the front page of the American again.
A Year Without Rhiannon. That’s the headline, with a smaller one underneath: Twelve Months After Her Daughter’s Disappearance, Sasanoa Mother Seeks Answers. There’s a big photo of Rhiannon’s mom staring off down Route 15 with the barrens behind her, the snow fence unraveling to the left. Charlie Ann looks older, and I think she might be getting her hair dyed at Great Lengths now, because it’s a brassier shade of auburn than I remember. So it’s almost the anniversary. Crazy to think that this time last year, I was picking up the phone and hearing Charlie Ann’s voice. Did Rhiannon stay over? Was there a party?