Complicit (6 page)

He was standing in my bathroom with the mirrored medicine cabinet open.

“What are all these pills for?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I need them to go to sleep.”

“Says who?”

“My doctor.”

Cate flounced in then, hair pulled back. She had her riding pants and boots on, and she reeked of horse. She sat down on the edge of my bathtub. Peered at the row of orange pill bottles with a frown.

“You don't need anything, Jamie. You'll sleep fine on your own if you just try.”

“But I don't want to have nightmares.”

Cate shook her head, then leaned down and ran the tap. Splashed water on her face and neck. “It's too hot in here. Hot as balls.”

Scooter laughed, but I blushed. I didn't like bad words.

“You have nightmares, you come to me,” Cate said, her voice all echoey, with her face pointing down at the drain. “That's what you used to do, you know. Until Dr. Waverly butted in.”

“Who's Dr. Waverly?” Scooter asked.

“The doctor who gives me the pills.”

Scooter closed the medicine cabinet and took out his toothbrush. “You have nightmares from when you lived with your real mom?”

“I guess. Sometimes they're hard to remember.”

“My dad says living like that can give you trauma and mess up your brain like when soldiers go into combat.”

“Scooter,” Cate said in a low voice. She sat up but the water kept running.

“He says Richmond is basically a war zone. All those gangs. You're lucky to be alive.”

“Shut up!” Cate snapped, green eyes flashing.

Scooter looked at me. “You said she did drugs and stuff, right?”

I shivered. “Yeah.”

Cate got to her feet. “
What
did you just say?”

“I said ‘yeah.'”

She grabbed my arm. Roughly. “What did you say about our mom?”

“Nothing. I mean Scooter knows what happened to her. That she did, you know, drugs and brought str-strange men home. And that's why she got killed.”

Cate's mouth fell open. Then she punched me. Right in the face.

Scooter yelped and jumped back.

I fell to the bathroom floor and curled up, holding my bleeding nose. “What'd you do that for?”

“For being stupid!” she screamed.

“Mom!” I yelled. “Mom!”

“That's not your mom,” my sister said. “That's Madison's mom. And Graham's.
Not
yours.”

“Shut up! Get out of here!”

“Gladly,” Cate said. But before she left, she whirled to face Scooter.

His face went white with fear.

“I'm watching you,” she snarled. “Remember that.”

FOURTEEN

When I open my eyes the next morning, I feel deprived. Not only of sleep, but of pleasure. Cate was in my dreams, not Jenny, and this fact torments me in more ways than one. I resent my sister's ability to worm her way into my mind, but it also feels like even my subconscious doesn't think I should have nice things.

Hell, maybe it's right.

Despite my frustrations—physical, mental, otherwise—when I get up, I know what it is I need to do. I throw on clothes and use fingers to smooth my hair. Then I look around for my wallet. It's nowhere to be found. I tear my room apart, searching for the khakis I wore the night before. No luck. Mild swearing ensues, but when I walk outside in the cool December morning, my wallet's right there, lying in the dew-damp driveway, totally visible from the street.

Relieved by my own carelessness, which is a strange way to feel good, I don't bother going back inside. Instead I slide behind the wheel of the Jeep and back right out of the driveway. As usual, it feels like I've gotten away with something, and seeing as I never called my neurologist to make an appointment like I told Angie I would, I guess maybe I have. I eye my hands warily.

“Behave yourselves,” I tell them.

They don't answer.

I head over to the Ramirez ranch, which sits at the bottom of Oak Canyon and happens to be the place my family's black-bottomed pool overlooks. But don't think they're beneath us in any way more than altitude; Ramón Ramirez is one of the most renowned horse trainers in all the state, maybe even the country. His reputation and wealth are the envy of Danville.

I bounce along the gravel drive getting my ass smacked with every groove and divot. Then I park the Jeep between the swollen creek bed and a patch of manzanita before heading up past the main barn, which has since been rebuilt to something far more than its former glory. I don't much like looking at it, though, so I keep my head down as I pass by.

It takes about five minutes before I find Hector in the round pen with a lip full of dip. He's working with a dun-colored filly. She trots nervously, faster and faster, throwing her head in the air as I approach, and it's like we both know I don't care for horses.

Or any animals, for that matter.

“Jamie Henry,” Hector says, snapping the whip in his right hand. He's got black jeans on and a basketball jersey. “How ya doin'?”

“Not good.”

“Why's that?”

“I saw your brother Danny yesterday. In Berkeley.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I think he was with Cate.”

Hector doesn't respond at first. He snaps the whip again and the filly breaks into a lope. Her hooves kick up clouds of dust.

“You think?” he asks finally.

“It was hard to tell from a distance.”

“You mean you didn't go over and say hi to your own sister?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I—I couldn't.” I turn and look at the woods behind the horse ranch. The cottage where Danny used to live sits up that way. Cate practically lived there with him while they were dating, when she couldn't stand to be around our parents and they couldn't stand her, either. “He still keeps in touch with her, though, doesn't he? That's how you knew she was out?”

Hector spits in the dirt. “Maybe.”

“Hector…”

“If it were up to me, he wouldn't have anything to do with her. But my brother doesn't think rationally when it comes to your sister. He never has. Guess Danny's not so smart for a college guy, is he?”

“He loved her. Maybe love's not a rational thing.”

“She burned our barn down. She hurt that girl.”

“I
know
that.”

“You'd better.”

I straighten up. Nod at the filly. “This your horse?”

“Yup. My dad gave her to me. Not five minutes after she was born, she walked into a split piece of wood that was sticking out of the barn. Lost vision in her right eye. They were gonna put her down, but I told my dad I wanted her. Should be able to ride her soon. She's a good girl. Real good.”

“What's her name?”

“Luna.”

“Whatever happened to that horse Cate used to ride? Can't remember what it was called.”

“Cricket.”

“That's it.”

“Ask your folks.”

Yeah, right.

“Danny still ride?” I ask.

“Nope. Danny goes to
school.
He's studying political science. Political science don't tell you much about raising horses, though, now does it? Or about being
rational.
”

I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. What do I know about raising horses? “Hey, you got his number? I want to be sure about what I saw last night.”

Hector shakes his head. “No way. You want to stalk your sister, Henry, do it on your own time. Leave my brother out of it. He doesn't need to worry about that girl any more than he already does.”

“Fine,” I say, but my cheeks feel hot. What harm could it do just to
talk
to Danny?

“Kind of strange, though, isn't it?” Hector says.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it's kind of strange, you going out and
happening
to end up right near where Danny goes to school. You sure your running into him was just some random, chance encounter?”

Now my cheeks burn even hotter. Yeah, I get what he's hinting at, and no, I don't believe in coincidence, but it's not like I was out there looking for Cate. Definitely not.

“Of course it was random,” I tell him. “What else could it be? Berkeley's a big place.”

Hector spits again. “Not that big, apparently.”

FIFTEEN

I drive away from the ranch and don't look back.

My whole body feels jittery. Unhinged. I stare through the top of the windshield out at the tree-covered hills. The vast California wilderness. Sweat gathers in the small of my back and I press down on the gas. I'm eager to get the horse ranch out my sight. My memories of it are confusing, not good. This is Cate's place.

Her realm.

It always has been.

 

 

From the day we moved in with the Henrys, Cate spent every moment she could down at the barn, riding. Angie loved it. Angie encouraged it. At least, at first, before things turned bad between them. It's where Angie kept her own show horse and Madison's old pony boarded.

For years Cate dedicated herself to the sport, taking lessons almost every day of the week. She graduated from walking over ground poles and
cavalletti
to jumping real fences in front of judges and bringing home trophies. But right from the start, I hated going down to that ranch. The horses scared me and the deerflies bit me and it felt like Cate was taking her life into her hands every time that damn pony hurled itself into the air with her on its back. The funny thing was, as we grew older, more and more, Cate wanted me there with her, watching. I preferred to spend my time hanging out with Scooter, and once, when I was eleven or twelve, I told her so.

At that point, Cate still stood taller than me—she was leggy then, thin, sparse, and only just starting to grow the kind of curves that would eventually drive the local male population crazy, much to my brotherly irritation. “What's so great about Scooter Murphy? He's boring. He's a total loser.”

“No he's not. He's my
friend.
”

“You mean he plays Pathfinder with you? Is that what a friend is?”

“At least he doesn't punch me in the face!”

My sister blazed. “That was
your
fault, you know. You shouldn't be telling lies about Mom!”

They're not lies,
I thought, but said nothing.

Cate softened. She took my hand. “Come on. Angie's at the store. Come with me to the barn. Please? Pretty please?”

“Oh, okay.” We got our bikes and our helmets and raced down the winding country road, past miles of elm trees and estate homes and people out walking their pedigreed dogs. Chin riding mere inches over my handlebars, and with the rhythmic tick-tick-tick of rubber kissing macadam echoing in my ears, my mind clicked back in time to root around in our years spent in the Iron Triangle. Richmond wasn't far from here. I'd looked it up online. It was maybe thirty miles east as the crow flew, but people from Danville didn't go to places like that. Richmond was in the news all the time, for bad reasons: cast as a town on the edge, full of violence and crime and constant fear. A bridge led out of the area, across the Bay, into richer, nicer places, but only the Richmond side had a toll. Nobody had to pay to get in. Poor people had to pay to get out.

Cate and I had gotten out, of course. But we'd paid more than most.

I pedaled harder, following behind my older sister and her long black hair that flowed out from under her helmet. My legs spun and spun, as if generating their own kind of magic. And that's when they came to me: The memories, those memories of our mom flooded into my mind with dam-burst force, all of them, all at once. The sweet, sweet scent of cigarettes on her clothes. The way her hair tickled me when she wanted me to laugh. But the bad moments came, too. Those things Cate didn't want me to talk about: the drugs and the men and our mom's moods and Cate's tears and being hungry and not having the right clothes to wear when the weather turned cold.

I shivered, filled at once with both longing and rage. Maybe it'd be easier if I could only have the good memories and forget the bad. Maybe then I wouldn't feel so
awful
when I thought about my mom and the way I loved-hated her for having me and leaving me all at once.

But I couldn't forget those faint, rare wisps of half-formed memory. I just couldn't.

Not even if I wanted to.

They
defined
me.

My mind cleared as we rounded the drive into the ranch, throwing our bikes down and bolting up toward where Cate's horse was boarded. I waited outside the barn and threw rocks in the creek while Cate went in.

Five minutes later she came out with the animal on some sort of a long nylon leash. I gaped. Was she going to walk it like a dog?

“What's its name again?” I asked.

Cate sighed. “This is Cricket,” she said, patting the brown horse's side. The animal snorted in return.

“Cricket, uh, looks bigger than I remember.” I actually wanted to say
fatter,
but didn't know if horses were as sensitive as girls on that issue. “And wasn't she black before? And had spots?”

“That was Mr. Pebbles. God. I've had Cricket for like a
year.
”

“What happened to Mr. Pebbles?”

“Angie sold him.”

“Oh.”

Cate reached for my hand. “Come on. You're going to ride her. I'll teach you.”

“Oh, no. No, I don't want to.” I dug my heels into the ground. Felt my insides flop over.

My sister's eyes widened. “You're scared, aren't you?”

“A little, yeah. I don't like horses. You know that.”

She squeezed me. “I won't let you get hurt. Don't you trust me?”

“I don't trust
me.
Or … or Cricket.”