“Sonia, she came to me in a dream the other night. I don’t think she’s really gone.”
My eyes widen. Gretchen’s mom has always been pragmatic, businesslike. If we skinned our knees when we were little, she would give us a bandage and send us on our way. When Gretchen’s cat was hit by a car in fifth grade, she simply said they’d get another. The funeral and reception have been planned to the last detail, like she had some kind of contingency plan for losing one of her daughters. But there’s a hint of something strange and desperate in her eyes and I’m not sure it’s simply a haze of sedatives.
Kirsten takes her arm. “Mom, the mayor is waiting.”
Something snaps back into place in Mrs. Meyer’s face and she turns away. Dina calls my mom over to speak with Principal Bova, but I hang back, watching the procession of people offering sympathy and words of comfort. After a minute or two Gretchen’s mom has regained her poise and the whole thing seems like a non-incident. Kirsten stands by her side, thanking people for coming in a way that strikes me as so self-possessed, it sends a tingle up my spine. Gretchen always knew the right questions to ask and the right answers to give, while Kirsten mostly improvised . . . badly. It drove Gretchen crazy.
If she could see her sister now.
“I can’t look at you here without expecting her to come bounding into the room.” Mr. Meyer joins me. His voice is sad, but lacks any hint of bitterness.
I’ve hardly ever spoken to Gretchen’s dad alone. For someone so powerful, he’s not a big man, but I find myself tongue-tied whenever he speaks warmly to me.
“It’s hard to be here without her,” I say to the floor.
“I hope you won’t change your plans, Sonia. She wouldn’t want you to. She was so proud when you got that scholarship.”
I weave my fingers together and nod. Gretchen and her dad were close—closer than she was to her mother. But I’ve often wondered if either of them truly knew her at all.
An older man approaches with a well-preserved blonde in Chanel. “Carlton, if there’s anything Mindy and I can do . . .”
Mr. Meyer gives my arm a reassuring squeeze, and as he walks away I watch, confused, wondering exactly who should have been comforting whom.
A familiar figure catches my eye across the room. Aisha’s brother lurks just outside the main group of football players. I dart over, glad for the chance to talk with him alone.
“Hey, Tyrone.”
“Sonia.” He’s wearing a dark suit that looks like it’s probably his dad’s. The expression on his face makes me think he can’t wait to take it off.
“It’s good to see you again.” I’m still unclear why he’s home from college, and though Aisha swore he was holed up in his room all Friday night, there’s no way she could be sure. She was still at Brianne’s party when I left. “So, how was freshman year?”
He lowers his voice. “Aisha probably told you what happened.”
“She . . . didn’t,” I say, a little afraid to ask.
Tyrone shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing at his parents standing by the dessert table. “It didn’t really work out with Notre Dame.”
“Oh. No.” I open my mouth, not sure if I should ask why or just say I’m sorry. But then Aisha comes up beside me, wrapping me in a quick hug.
“Hey. It was really nice, what you said at the church.”
“Thanks.” I flush, unable to recall anything but the parts I’d like to forget.
“Can you believe Marcus showed?” Haley whispers. “If he is guilty, that took major balls.”
Tyrone clears his throat. “I’m heading home. Aisha, you ready to go?”
She shakes her head. “I’ll stay for a bit. Derek can walk me back.”
Tyrone gives a wary look over his shoulder at Derek, who’s loading up a huge plate of food in the next room. “Text me if you need me to come get you.”
She nods. Tyrone looks at me once more, lingers over a framed photograph of Gretchen on the piano, and disappears without another word.
Aisha frowns.
“Is he okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, he’s . . . just taking all of this really hard.”
The expression on her face is so conflicted, I’m not sure if she means Notre Dame or Gretchen.