Complicit (12 page)

“You are so busted,” she told me.

I groaned and pulled the covers over my head. “Go away. I feel awful.”

“How much did you drink last night?”

“I don't remember.”

“Yeah, well, Angie's
pissed.
Nice going. Now you can deal with her shit instead of me.”

I peeked out from under the blanket. The sunlight hit my eyes like daggers. “Angie knows?”

“Yup.”

“How?”

“Mmm, I think the fact that someone puked red stuff all over the entryway when they got home last night might've tipped her off. And by someone, I mean you.”

“
I
did that? Are you serious?” The thought made me want to puke red stuff right then and there. All over my bed. “Oh, God.”

“Completely serious. Like I said, nice going. I'm probably supposed to give you a lecture on the dangers of underage drinking, but why bother? She's going to
kill
you. That rug's an heirloom, by the way.”

“I'm dead. So dead.” I flopped back. “And what happened to you last night?”

“What do you mean? I was at the Young Equestrian awards ceremony with Angie last night. I was on my best behavior, too. Snoozefest, but whatever. I got a new dress out of it. Shoes, too.”

I shook my head, then quickly regretted the motion. “No. I saw you. Last night. I could've sworn I did, at a party down on Donegal Way.”

“Wasn't me,” she said.

“Yes it was.”

“You're wrong.”

We stared at each other.

“So how're things going with Dr. Waverly?” I asked weakly.

“Things are going swell, Jamie, love. Really, really swell.”

“She's helping you?”

“Hmm. I don't know if I'm supposed to say that. It's not empowering, right? I'm supposed to say that I'm helping myself. That's the correct way to phrase it, isn't it?”

I swallowed. She was right. That was exactly what Dr. Waverly would say.

“Did she end up giving you any medication?” I asked, thinking about the pills I'd found in her bathroom. I'd looked them up online. They were for treating
bipolar disorder.
And
psychosis.

“What would I need medication for?”

“For whatever you're, uh, seeing her for.”

“I'm seeing her because of Angie's insecurity that I won't turn out like her perfect little Madison. That I might want to be my own person someday. That I might want
you
to be your own person, too.”

“Oh,” I said.

Cate stared at me. “What kind of medication do you think I should be taking for all that?”

I shook my head. I didn't say anything.

“What're you reading there?” she pointed to a magazine lying beside my bed. “Graduated to
Playboy
yet?”

I squirmed. “It's
The Believer.
”

“Don't tell me you've found religion.”

“It's a literary magazine.”

“A what?”

“Never mind.”

She frowned. “You know what your problem is?”

“What?”

“You care about things that don't even matter. Like, you really, really care. But none of it matters. Nothing you know means anything, Jamie. Remember that.”

The weight of her gaze was too much. I looked away.

“So wh-what's up with you and those girls from the barn?” I stammered.

“What girls?”

“I just heard that you've been doing things. In the woods.”

“Doing
things
?”

“You know, teaching your, uh, friends, how to do … stuff. And other stuff.”

Something dark came over her. “Who told you this?”

“I don't know.”

“Was it that stick-up-her-ass Sarah?”

I said nothing, but a bloom of dread was already working its way through my veins. I didn't have to answer or nod or admit anything. Cate could read my mind. Always.

She swept her hair into a ponytail with a huff. “I gotta get down to the barn. Dressage this morning.”

“You really weren't at the party?”

“I really wasn't. Now sleep it off. I think you're still drunk. And Jamie—”

“Yeah?”

She headed for the door. “Let this hangover be a lesson to you. You're too fucking young to be this stupid.”

I collapsed with a wince. All the muscles in my body felt stiff and sore like I'd been run over by a truck. I closed my eyes and slept for another six hours. When I finally got up and hobbled downstairs, I didn't get the expected Angie lecture on “being a responsible member of this household.” I didn't get anything. That's because Angie was on the phone trying to calm down Penny Parker. Penny was hysterical because someone had slashed the tires on Dane's precious Porsche Boxster overnight and pried the hood open to pour sand into the engine. Later there was talk, of course, that Cate had done it. But no one could ever prove that she hadn't been exactly where she said she was that night.

Least of all, me.

TWENTY-NINE

Once I get her back in the car, Jenny goes to sleep. It's a true sleep, she's not unconscious or anything. I keep driving, staying under the speed limit, with both hands firmly on the wheel. I feel totally sober but getting pulled over would not be good. To say the least.

Of course, I remember the way to Jenny's house because I was only there last night. But when I turn into her court and roll to a stop at the curb, I don't shake her awake or sit her up. Instead I throw on the brake and sit behind the wheel with the engine idling and the heat still going. The porch light is on and her parents seemed nice, but also kind of strict and most likely disapproving of any or all peppermint schnapps consumption, and I guess it comes down to the fact that I can't just leave her here to get busted. That protective male urge. I mull it over. I could take her back to my place. She'd be safe there with me. Angie and Malcolm would never hear us come in, and if they did hassle me, well, I'm sort of pissed at them right now anyway.

For once in my life, I'm in the mood to break rules.

A real sea change.

I twist the wheel and turn the Jeep around. I'm a quarter mile from home when my phone rings.

I pull off the road
before
I answer this time.

It's after midnight.

I
know.

THIRTY

“Jamie,” Cate says in a sort of a whine. “I miss you, little brother.”

“Where
are
you?” This feels like an automated response by now.

“I'm close. Really close.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Wherever I can.”

“Well, don't burn any barns down, okay?” Oh, God. I'm feeling sort of crazy when I say this. I don't know why I say this.

“What? What was that? Did you say something about
barns
?”

My neck goes stiff. “Nope. No way. I said, uh, don't forget to stay warm.”

“You said
barn.
”

“No I didn't.”

“That's not funny.”

I opt for a subject change. “Cate, I saw the emails you sent Angie. I saw them on her computer. She didn't tell me you were getting out.”

There's silence.

“Hello?” I say.

Nothing.

Damn it.

“Cate?”

“I'm too angry to talk right now, Jamie. I think you said something mean about me.”

“I didn't!”

“I'm still angry.”

“Don't be, Cate. I want to help you. I want to understand. Everything.”

“I don't believe you. You don't care about me. You never wrote while I was gone. You never visited.”

“You told us not to visit! You wouldn't let us! And I did write. At first.”

“Not enough.”

“Well, you never wrote back.”

“That shouldn't have stopped you.”

“Whatever,” I say, because although she's right, it's not like I was having such a great time, either.

“Hey, Jamie?” she asks softly.

“What?”

“Do you remember that time Angie stole something out of my room? I'm not talking about you finding that photo of us as kids—yeah, I knew about that. I mean earlier. When I broke her vase. That handblown glass one.”

I lean my head back against the seat. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Do you know what she took from me?”

“Um … drugs?”

“
No,
dickhead. Well, that wasn't the only thing. She stole pictures of our mom! I had pictures of our real mom.”

I freeze.

My hands go.

“Jamie?”

I manage to keep the phone gripped between my ear and my shoulder, but my head spins and my lungs burn, like they're conspiring against me.

“Why didn't I know that?” I squeak. “Why haven't I seen them? Cate, it's our
mom.
You know I don't remember her.”

“You haven't seen them because I didn't have them anymore. Angie took them from me after I told her I was going to bring your old memories back, and that once I did maybe you'd stop loving her.”

“
What?
Why would you tell her that? Shit, Cate, my hands! I can't
feel
them.”

“I
told
her that because she didn't listen to me! Every time I missed our mom or wanted to talk about our past Angie wouldn't let me. She'd yell or ignore me, or worse, she'd cry. I felt bad at first but you can only feel bad for so long when someone else's pain is hurting you, too. After a while it kind of pisses you off.”

I make a mewling sound. What Cate did to Angie, what she said to her, God, it's so
mean.

My sister's voice drops to a whisper. “Angie sent me the photos after I emailed her. She apologized, but she also told me not to come home. She's scared I'm going to ruin you next. And you know what? Maybe she should be.”

“Ruin me
how
? I want to see those pictures!”

“Meet me tomorrow then. But don't tell anyone. You have to promise.”

“Where?” I say. “When?”

“Crap. Someone's here. I gotta go.”

“Cate, wait! Don't—”

“Later, kid.”

Click.

The phone slips from my ear and my stomach starts to cramp. I try to hold it back, but I know I'm going to puke. Like, right now. Only I can't open the car door. My goddamn
hands.
I make a frantic jab at Jenny with my shoulder, to see if I can wake her up, but then I have to use my elbow and body weight to roll down the driver's side window. Half strangled by the seat belt, I stick my head out just in time to throw up onto the street. Loudly. Then I throw up some more and it's terrible. This is way worse than the Gatorade-tequila time because I don't think I'm going to forget this.

I know I won't forget.

This is awful,

awful,

awful.

Finally I bring my head back inside. But with my hands dead, I can't move any more than that. I'm stuck behind the steering wheel of a car I can't drive. I am utterly helpless.

Beyond helpless.

I'm hopeless.

Damn.

I close my eyes.

Cate has pictures of our mom.

Angie stole them from her.

To keep
me
from seeing them.

None of this makes sense.

My sister is crazy.

Totally crazy.

This is all my fault.

“FUCK!” Twisting with all my might, I slam my left shoulder against the door as hard as I can. The Jeep rocks and bright stars of pain ricochet back up to my skull. I groan and rear back to do it again.

“Jamie?” a voice says, halting me mid-flail.

My heart flutters.
Oh, Jenny.

“Jamie, are you okay?”

No, I'm not, I think. I am not okay. But as usual, I can't
say
it.

“Did you get sick, too?” she asks.

“Uh, yeah. I got really sick.”

“Poor Jamie.”

I grunt.

“Wait, where are we?”

I open my eyes and look over at Jenny. She's blinking and sitting up. She's still got my jacket wrapped around her and I want her so bad that a little part of me wishes I were dead. A little part of me wishes my life weren't like this. Terrible.

But just like clockwork, the voice inside my head whispers,
You reap what you sow, don't you, Jamie?

“My hands are messed up,” I tell Jenny, because I don't know what else to do. “You want to come over to my place for the night? I was heading there so that you wouldn't get in trouble with your folks. But now, I sort of need your help.”

Jenny smiles drowsily. “Sure.”

“I hope you don't mind walking the rest of the way,” I say.

 

 

Jenny texts her parents that she's staying with Greta.

Half an hour later we lie face to face in my bed. Jenny's got my sweats on and she even helped me get my jeans off and my teeth brushed. She's falling asleep while holding on to my hands and rubbing them, and even though I can't
feel
it, just seeing her touch me is turning me on. I watch her. I watch her because she's so pretty and sweet and watching her keeps my mind off Cate.

She keeps touching my hands.

My heart keeps aching for things I can't have.

Like a clear conscience.

Like inner peace.

“Tell me again,” she whispers.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me that name you called me. Back up on the mountain.”

I say it in her ear. “You're my Jenny bird.”

2

STRAIGHT, NO CHASER

THIRTY-ONE

Okay, here's the thing about what my sister did. I didn't know about any of it. I swear—at least, not
before
the Ramirez barn burned and Scooter's poor luckless Sarah Ciorelli ended up in the hospital burn unit, fighting for her life.