I Swear (21 page)

“Jacob Walker,” I said.

“What is your relationship to Leslie Gatlin?”

“I’m her . . . ,” I started, but somehow I didn’t know how to finish. What was my relationship to Leslie Gatlin? What was I doing here? What was her relationship to me? I had just sworn to tell the truth—the whole truth. The whole room seemed to zoom in toward my eyes—like in space movies when a ship enters warp speed and the stars blur into streaks.
What am I to Leslie Gatlin?
What was I? I was the guy who wanted her more than anything else in the world—and not just her body or her lips, or her arms around me. I wanted her to feel safe when I held her hand in mine. I wanted her to smile when she heard my name. I wanted to be the one person she could tell anything to.

And in that moment—the second question—I realized I couldn’t answer truthfully. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know.

I could say “friend,” but it was so much more than that. I was staring right at Kellan, frozen in this instant. If I said “friend,” that wasn’t honest at all, but I had no idea what to say, because Leslie had taken so long to be honest with me.

“Mr. Walker?” Kellan finally looked up from his papers.

“I am her . . . 
was
her . . . ,” I stuttered.

“Yes?” He peered at me from behind his rimless glasses.
His eyes were blue, but not ice-cold. This was the blue from the heat at the center of the flame. He was hungry, and seemed to be waiting on my answer to begin devouring me.

“I don’t know.”

The words tumbled out of my mouth softly and seemed to snap the warp speed of the room into a jerking reverse. Patrick was sitting in the chair between Jillian and me. He swiveled toward me slightly, his head cocked like Brad’s beagle, Shamus, when he was waiting for his food.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Walker,” Kellan Dirkson sighed. “You appear to be confused. I simply need for you to state for the record what your relationship was to Leslie Gatlin.”

I hate it when adults get that bullshit tone—the one that says that they know everything and you know nothing and that they’ve got something better to be doing or someplace more important to be than right here in this moment dealing with you.

“I’m not confused,” I said slowly, trying to tamp down the anger that had crawled up the back of my neck and was beginning to tighten the muscles in my throat. “I just want to answer honestly, and I am not sure how to say what our relationship was.”

Kellan blinked at me like a furnace. “Perhaps I can help you narrow that down. Were you dating her? Were you sleeping together? Had you ever met? Were you lab partners? You know, just humor us and pick something. These are not difficult questions.”

Lauren Wolinsky took a deep breath and shifted in her seat as she shot Kellan a look. She flipped a strand of hair over her shoulder and scribbled a note on her legal pad before looking back at me, her lips pursed.

“Young man,” Kellan said, “if you require me to provide multiple-choice suggestions for each answer I need from you today, this deposition may take quite some time.”

For some reason, every frustrating moment of the last three weeks—of the last four years—shot into the center of my stomach and rolled over one another until they thundered into my chest and out of my mouth.

“You fucking asshole! Leslie is dead!”

“Jake!” Jillian and Patrick said it at the same time.

“What?” I shot back at them. Patrick tried to put a hand on my shoulder and I stood up like someone had sent a shock through my ass, pushing the white leather swivel chair with a clang into the glass wall that separated the conference room from the hallway. I leveled a look at Jillian that warned her to stay out of this.

“Mr. Walker,” Kellan said loudly, sternly. “Kindly take your seat. Stop acting like a child, and answer the question.”

“C’mon, buddy,” said Patrick quietly, grabbing my chair, pushing it back toward the table, and putting his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m not your fucking buddy,” I said softly. Then I leaned over the table toward Kellan Dirkson. “I am not acting like a
child. In fact, I’m not acting at all. I loved Leslie Gatlin. I loved her enough to actually be her friend—even when nobody else would. I came here to tell you what fucking happened to her, not to be talked down to.”

Everyone stared at me in silence. I sat down in the chair and rolled back up to the table.

“I was Leslie Gatlin’s friend,” I said. “But for the record, I was more than that.”

“Thank you,” said Kellan Dirkson quietly. “I apologize if you felt my tone was condescending.”

“I don’t care about your tone,” I said. “I care about whether you actually want to know why Leslie died.”

“That’s why we’re here, Mr. Walker.” Kellan’s eyes matched the intensity of the heat in my gaze.

“Then maybe you could act like somebody is dead,” I said. “Instead of like you’re bored and upset that you’re missing happy hour.”

Lauren Wolinsky covered her mouth as she coughed for a moment, then gulped a long swallow from a bottle of Fiji water in the center of the table. Kellan Dirkson took a deep breath, eyes trained on a piece of paper on top of a manila folder. When he looked up, he fixed me with a faint smile.

“Mr. Walker, would you kindly tell me when the last time you spoke with Leslie Gatlin was?”

“The night she died,” I said.

“According to police reports of the incident, it appears that
you were the last person to speak with Miss Gatlin before she died. Where did this conversation take place?”

“At her house,” I said.

“How long had it been since you talked to Leslie?” Kellan asked.

“About three months. Maybe four.”

“Mr. Walker, you just finished telling us that you ‘loved’ Miss Gatlin.” Kellan’s eyes sparked. “Why hadn’t you talked to her in three or four months?”

“She didn’t want to be with me.”

“So you stopped talking to her?”

I swallowed hard. I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. “It was too hard,” I said.

“So how is it that you decided to show up on the night before she was found dead in her garage?” When I met Kellan’s eyes, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“We’re waiting, Mr. Walker.”

“Someone left Leslie’s necklace on the pillow in my bedroom the night before she died,” I said.

“Her necklace?” asked Kellan. “How did you know it was hers?”

“Because Jillian and I were with her when she bought it. We all bought necklaces together.”

“How did Leslie’s necklace end up in your bedroom, Mr. Walker?”

“Macie Merrick put it there.”

“How do you know that?” asked Kellan.

“There was a note in Macie’s handwriting with the necklace.”

“What did the note say?” asked Kellan.

“It said, ‘If I can’t have what I want, you can’t have what you want.’”

“What do you think the note referred to, Jake?”

“Macie was always upset at Leslie because I wanted to go out with Leslie and not with her.”

“Did you see Miss Merrick leave the note and the necklace?” asked Kellan.

“No,” I said.

“So you found the necklace and decided to go to Leslie’s house?” Kellan was making a note on a legal pad.

“Yes,” I said. “The necklace was hers, and I wanted to return it.”

“You must’ve had a great deal to catch up on after not speaking for three or four months,” Kellan said. “Especially since you loved her and all.”

I looked toward the sky outside the conference room windows. I could see the Space Needle from here, and I wanted to be standing on top of it with the wind in my hair. I wanted to be far away from this room and Kellan Dirkson.

Suddenly an image of Leslie flashed into my brain. We were partners for the leaf collection we had to do in biology our sophomore year. I pictured her laughing as we traipsed
around the Bloedel Reserve picking up leaves and snapping pictures of the information plaques with our phones.

I remembered sitting next to her on the bench at the edge of the Reflection Pool. The air was cool and moist. She was chilly and I’d put my arm around her as she pulled her jacket closer. There was no one else there inside the hedge that ringed the long, square pool of still water. It was so peaceful. Leslie had taken a deep breath and turned her face up toward the sky. It was overcast but bright—no rain—and the light bouncing off the water almost seemed to make her glow.

I wanted to keep this picture of Leslie in my mind. I wanted to remember her always alive, and fresh, and lit up with the possibility of one more deep breath.

Instead I was here with Kellan Dirkson, being reminded of all the ways I had failed her.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Leslie and I had plenty to talk about.”

“Please, enlighten us,” said Kellan. “We’d love to hear all about it.”

•  •  •

As I walked up the steps at Leslie’s front door, I knew I couldn’t ring the doorbell and wake up her parents. I texted her:

Dude. At your front door.

Finally, she opened it. Something was different. Was it her eyes? I’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was, but something was wrong.

“Jake? What’s going on?”

“You tell me,” I said, and reached for the necklace in my pocket. I stopped. Leslie was holding a duffel bag.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Portland.”

“What? Tonight?”

“Shhhh,” she said. “Mom just went to bed.”

“You’re driving there tonight?” I asked again.

“Yeah,” she said. She seemed sort of afraid, sad even.

“When are you coming back?” I asked, and as I did, I felt a strange drop in my stomach.
She’s not telling you everything.

“I’m just staying with my aunt Laura for a while. I have to get out of here.”

“I’m coming with you,” I said.

“It’ll just be easier if you’re not involved, Jake.”

“But I am involved.”

She sighed and looked down at the floor. I hooked a finger under her chin and gently pulled it up toward my face. One more time I leaned in close to her. One more time I tried to kiss her. One more time she pulled away.

“Jake, don’t.”

I stepped back and shook my head. “I don’t get you.”

“I know,” she said.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing, Jake. Everything is right with you.”

“Then why won’t you kiss me?”

She didn’t have an answer. She never did. I remembered
the necklace and pulled it out of my pocket. When she saw it, she frowned and took it from me.

“How did you get this?” she asked.

“Macie left it on my pillow tonight,” I said. “The wolf pack is all over at my place with Jillian.”

She turned the tiny silver anchor around and around in her palm, like she was looking for some sign, an answer, the missing piece.

“Leslie, why did Macie Merrick have this necklace?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, and it was only then I realized she was crying.

“Did you know it was missing? Did she steal it from you?”

“Jake, you have to go.”

“Why won’t you talk to me?” I asked. She was shutting me out. “Look, I’m so sorry that I haven’t been in touch as much since that night at Scarecrow.”

“Shh!” She smiled and reached up to place a finger against my lips. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m not upset with you. It’s just that nobody can stop what’s been going on except me. Not even you. Go home. I have to get going.”

“Why are you being like this?” A pulse of anger surged through me.

Leslie looked up at me with tired eyes. “Jake, I’m sorry. I just need a break from the whole thing with Macie.”

“And me, I guess?” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.

She shrugged and nodded.

I paused on the front porch and turned back to her.

“Remember that night on the beach in Cape Cod, right before our freshman year?”

“Jake, please don’t be angry with me.” She had tears in her eyes.

“What happened to that girl?”

Leslie looked down at the necklace in her hand. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “She’s gone, Jake. Sometimes I don’t know if she ever existed.”

My frustration boiled over. “She did exist, Leslie. I remember her. She never shut me out like this.”

“You should leave now,” Leslie said softly.

There were so many words I wanted to say, but Leslie stepped back and filled the widening silence between us with two:

“Good-bye, Jake.”

Then she closed the door and left me standing on the porch. Alone.

•  •  •

“So why didn’t Leslie Gatlin make it to Portland?” Kellan Dirkson was shuffling papers again.

“I don’t know,” I said softly. “I was one of the last people to find out.”

Kellan had three pieces of white paper, which he passed to Jillian, then Patrick, then me. “Maybe the email you sent
Miss Gatlin after you left her house that night had something to do with it?”

I frowned at him, then looked down at the page.

In front of me was a printout of an email. It had been sent from my email account.

Leslie,

I’m tired of you turning me down. You don’t deserve somebody like me. You are pathetic and worthless. Maybe Macie is right. You should just kill yourself. Done trying,

Jake

Suddenly I couldn’t breathe, and slowly the letters on the page blurred in front of me. I was crying. I stood up, stumbling over the chair behind me as I backed away from the piece of paper that lay on the glossy white table. Kellan was asking me something, calling me Mr. Walker. Patrick was telling me to sit down and objecting about something. Jillian sat next to him, staring at the page in front of her, as white as the paper and the table and the chairs in the room. When she looked up at me, I knew.

“You?” I gasped. “You did this?”

She slowly stood up, and in the midst of Kellan’s shuffling
and Patrick’s objecting, all I could see was Jillian, looking toward me as I approached her. She was terrified. She was guilty.

“Please, Jake.” Her voice was coming from tin speakers someplace far below me. “Please! I didn’t—”

“How could you do this to me?” I choked out.