“How the fuck do you think I feel, Becky? Jesus.”
Jenna turned away, her hands shaking as she pulled the car door open and climbed in. When she sped off, she hoped she hit them both—Becky and her juvenile sidekick—with the gravel the tires churned up.
CHAPTER FOUR
They moved toward the bedroom, Tabitha and Jared.
His gut burned as they held hands, walking down the hallway again, and the contact between his skin and hers, the intertwining of their fingers, sent surges of something close to electricity up his arm and into his chest. Jared guided her to the bed, where she sat down and slipped her hand out of his. He sat down next to her, studied her face in profile as he had so many times over the past few weeks.
Tabitha still seemed closed off but not exactly angry. They’d never had a fight or disagreement of any kind. But it was hard to fight when they were almost never really able to do anything. Tabitha’s father enforced a strict curfew, so their time together was limited to the moments after school before he came home from work. They’d never had a weekend night together. They’d never even gone on a real date to a movie or a basketball game or even a trip to McDonald’s. Jared kept hoping it would happen soon, that her old man would loosen up the longer they lived in Hawks Mill.
“Okay,” he said. “I told you how my mom’s friend disappeared.”
Tabitha looked him in the eye, her gaze piercing and intense. “I don’t know how that could be your fault.”
When Jared was seven, his appendix became inflamed. It felt as if someone had taken a blowtorch and lit it inside his body. He writhed in his bed, sweat pouring down his face.
He felt the same way inside when Celia’s story came up. Except he knew the feeling wasn’t his appendix. It was guilt. Burning, searing guilt. He tried not to think about it, tried to push it aside like the remnants of a bad dream. But it always came back. A burning in his gut. A sick taste in his mouth as if he was about to puke.
“My mom was supposed to meet Celia, like I said, but my mom ended up running late. My mom always runs late. She doesn’t do it for work, although she always cuts it close, but for everything else—going to meet a friend, going to a movie, whatever—she runs late. And it used to drive Celia nuts. Really nuts. It was the only thing they fought about. So Mom was determined to be on time that night. She told me she absolutely didn’t want Celia to have to wait. And she made it. She was ready to walk out the door right on time.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Jesus, it’s so stupid.” He remembered the night well, felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment just thinking of it. “You know my friend Mike. He’s a little wild. He’s a jerk sometimes, to be honest. He got ahold of this bottle of whiskey. I think he stole it from his dad. He wanted us to drink it that coming weekend, me and him and our other friend Syd. But Mike couldn’t keep it in his house, so he gave it to me to hide.”
“And your mom found it?”
“She came in to say good night and the damn bottle was sitting out. I’d taken it out of my bag for just a minute, and I forgot to hide it. She saw it sitting there and started asking me a bunch of questions. You see, she can be cool about stuff like that. She trusts me. I told her the truth. I said it was Mike’s. She believed me, but we still had to have this talk about alcohol and responsibility. She wanted to cancel her plans with Celia, you know? She said she didn’t feel right running off with this hanging over us. But I told her to go, even though she was late.”
Tabitha nodded, her gaze still locked on his. “You were holding something for your friend. It’s not a big deal.”
“I know, but I think . . . I think about it. She beats herself up over Celia, and it was me who caused it.”
Some of the burning in his gut eased. A little of the pressure lifted. Tabitha’s understanding washed over him like a cool rain.
“Have you talked to her about it?” Tabitha asked.
“I should, but I’m always afraid to bring up the whole thing. I don’t know if she wants to talk about it, or if she wants to pretend the whole thing isn’t happening. Even though it is.”
“It’s sweet that you worry about her like that,” she said. “It really is. But I’m sure she understands.”
“Do you know she never told the police about it? Nobody knows but her and me. I lied to Mike about it. I told him I got caught, but not that night.”