The Truth About Fragile Things (37 page)

I sucked in a breath of cold air and tried to make my head nod. “Aye,” I whispered.

When we crested the hill there was a police officer standing by the front gate, sweeping his flashlight across the cemetery and speaking into his radio.

“Don’t call for backup,” I uttered while visions of swat teams descending on us filled my mind.

His flashlight slashed across our faces and froze. We all winced and stopped walking.

“Raise your hands,” he called out. We all complied instantly as he approached.

“He doesn’t sound mean,” Charlotte whispered.

“What are you kids doing here?” He came close enough for me to the see the lines of his fatherly face. His eyebrows were stern, but flexible. I could imagine his face contorting from fierce to friendly in moments. “This is a closed graveyard and you are trespassing.”

His radio screeched unintelligible words next to his ear and he responded by giving a fast description of us. “You can put your hands down now,” he instructed us, but I noticed he followed Phillip’s every movement.

“This isn’t anything bad,” Charlotte told him. “My dad is buried here and I had to tell him something. These are my best friends.”

The officer’s face warred between sympathy and suspicion. “What’s your name?”

“Charlotte Exby. My father was Bryon Exby. His grave is on the other side of the hill. You can go look.”

“We honked to see if anyone could open the gate for us,” Phillip explained. “We weren’t trying to do anything wrong.”

“Come back to my cruiser,” the officer said as another police car pulled up behind Phillip’s parked car.

I closed my eyes and took a few faltering steps. I worried I might throw up. Because the gate was still locked we had to climb the short fence again. It would have been funny to watch the policemen grunt as he followed us if there was any cell of my brain that could spare a spot for humor. There wasn’t. The two officers spoke to each other for a minute before the first one opened his notepad and asked for our names, parent’s names, and phone numbers.

Tears slipped down my face when I told him my parents were Michael and Elizabeth Riddick. Just hearing their names while the lights flashed across our faces and passing cars slowed to stare made composure impossible. “I’m so sorry,” I told him. “We really didn’t hurt anything.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” he said, giving me a gentle look. “There are no charges. I just need to call your parents and make sure the stories square.” I hung my head in despair and leaned against Phillip’s car for support.

He called Phillip’s home first. From the shape of Phillip’s mouth he was biting the inside of his lips and regretting his grand, romantic plan. The officer explained the situation, listened for several minutes and then passed the phone to Phillip, who nodded at whatever his parents said, unable to make words. There are moments when all bravado drains out. Eleven o’clock at night by a squad car is one of them.

It was Charlotte’s turn next. I wished I could hear anything but I had a feeling Dave and Melissa took it better than Phillip’s parents. Charlotte even managed a tiny grin by the end. And then it was my turn. I listened as the officer asked for my parents, heard him identify himself and for a terrible moment I knew my parents thought I was dead or dying. What else can a parent think when a policemen calls? I wanted to shout,
“Mom, I’m fine. I’m right here.”
I sagged in relief when he told them what was really wrong. He explained how he found our car outside the cemetery gate and that we had jumped the fence after hours. My hand shook from cold and terror as I took the phone.

“I’m sorry,” I cried before they could say anything. My sobs broke the words into pieces. “I am so sorry. We were trying to do the list. We just wanted to tell Bryon that Charlotte was in the play tonight.”

“Megan, Megan,” My father kept trying to interrupt but I didn’t stop. Finally he waited for my explanation to drain out of me. “Megan,” he tried again, his voice coaxing, “it’s okay. You’re not in trouble. Just come home.”

I think I scared the officer by the way I broke down. He put a tentative hand on my shoulder. “There’s no harm done,” he assured me. “You’re all good kids. We just had to be sure you weren’t vandalizing or running away. You can go home now. Straight home. Next time come back when it’s open.”

I nodded, thanking him profusely, my eyes glued to the cold steel of his handcuffs hanging from his belt.

Phillip opened the back door for me and squeezed my arm as I got in. “I’ll get them both home,” he promised. “Sorry,” he said one last time to the officer as he walked to the driver’s side. The police officer finally turned off his revolving light as Phillip started the engine. Silence reigned in the car. I was too shaken and humiliated for conversation.

After two quiet minutes Phillip was the first to speak. “So that didn’t go exactly as planned.” He inhaled in a loud hiss, letting the sound snake through the car.

Charlotte broke out of her stupor. “Are you kidding me?” Her voice crawled from her lips before expanding in the charged air. “This night is completely unforgettable. A standing ovation. The graveyard. Two squad cars!”

Phillip’s face brightened. “I thought you were going to say something about the kiss.”

Charlotte laughed and turned back to me. “Your crying bit was awesome, Megan. Did you see that cop’s face? He totally believed you. You are why he was so nice to us.”

A strangled croak squeaked from my throat. “No problem,” I sighed, my eyes still sore from the salt. I laid my head against the icy window and let the streaking snow blur in the lights of the highway. I realized more than ever that people would see what they decided to see.

I tried to apologize when we delivered Charlotte to her house, but Melissa waved away my explanation. “It’s fine,” she promised as she hopped from one slippered foot to the other in the gathering snow on the driveway. “I know why you were there.” She tucked Charlotte beneath her arm and took her inside, the porch light reflecting off the surrender in Melissa’s eyes. Probably a good thing Charlotte had a live-in therapist.

When Phillip pulled up to my house no one was standing sentinel to open the front door anxiously. I sat next to him, his hand on the stick shift looked foreign to me now that I knew it was the hand of Charlotte’s boyfriend.

“When was the first kiss?” I asked him quietly.

He bit down on his cheek, sharpening the lines of his face. “It was the last night of the campout when we were in the hammock.”

“When you ran away?”

He nodded and turned to me, shame and innocence strange dance partners on his face. “I tried so hard not to, Megan. I haven’t done it since. I just never felt this way.”

Between the lungs is an empty spot, a vacuum that aches in blackness. I felt the weight of it, as dense as the iron of the black cemetery gates. It was a selfish question that brought the pain: why could Charlotte break through Phillip’s defenses but I couldn’t breach Braden’s?

“Are you sad?” Phillip asked. “You always said you didn’t like me.”

“I always said I didn’t love you. Romantically. And I don’t. I’m sad about other things. Like looking at my parents and telling them why I was detained by the police tonight.”

He nodded sympathetically. “But in all honesty, it’s gonna be a pretty good story, right?”

I opened my door, the icy wind jumping into the warm interior. “You’re probably right. Thanks, Phillip.” I waved good night to him, watching his face through the frosted windshield. He looked different now that he didn’t belong to me. Possession, or lack of it, changes everything. The front door was unlocked and swung open with a creak when I pushed. The glow of the table lamp in the living room beckoned. They would be waiting for me there. I shuffled slowly, hoping they would be as merciful as Melissa. When I peered around the doorway I saw my father, alone, half of his body in deep shadow and the other half in the yellow circle of lamp light. He leaned forward, his chin resting on his templed fingers, not even a book or television to pass the time.

“Dad?” The single word said so much more.
What are you thinking? Are you mad?

The only things that moved were his eyes as they scanned my frightened face. “Your mother thought I should talk to you first,” he explained as I searched the room for her. “Are you okay?” His tone was steady, unreadable.

“I’m fine,” I whispered. I took a small step forward, wanting to touch his chin when it shook almost imperceptibly. Had I made my father cry?

“So.” His voice swelled, cut off quickly under the heavy word. And then his chin shook again, made my fingers do the same thing. But it wasn’t shaking with the emotion I thought. An irrepressible grin grappled its way to his struggling lips. “So you finally made some trouble?”

My blood pounded into my empty stomach, but the amusement in his eyes held steady, waited for me to believe him. As soon I understood I rushed toward the safety of his smile, feeling it the same way I felt the heat of the spotlight from two hundred feet away, the way I could feel the speed of the stars as they dropped from the sky. I lowered myself into his warm arms, curling up next to him like I was seven instead of seventeen. The cold snow, the shadowed graveyard, the flashing lights, the locked door beneath Braden’s hand, Phillip’s kiss landing on Charlotte’s lips all shook out of me as I laughed against his shoulder.

“You have no idea.”

“Y
ou told them everything?”
Phillip followed me into the girls’ dressing room backstage while the entire cast surged out to meet the waiting audience after the closing performance.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I told him as I grabbed a Kleenex to wipe off my brow lines. He joined me at the mirror, scrubbing viciously at his face. “Just the makeup, not your skin,” I reminded him.

“I hate this stuff. Are they really not mad you? Perfect Megan snuck out for a weekend with
me
and they still aren’t mad at you?”

“I didn’t go with
you
. I went with Charlotte. And since I made you behave while a beautiful girl went skinny dipping and kept you both out of trouble, then no, they’re not mad at me. They might be mad at you though. I think my dad is going to give you a talk.”

“Great. That’s just great. What is it going to take to get you in serious trouble?” He winced when he blinked. He’d scrubbed his eyelid too hard.

“You are a terrible friend.” I took a wet wipe and gently smoothed it over his face. It was a blur of brown and black and red when I finished. “There. You look as rugged and masculine as usual. But you’re still in the girls’ dressing room.”

“You were awesome tonight,” he told me as he backed toward the door, anxious for the glory waiting for him in the hallway.

“As good as Charlotte?” I’m not exactly sure why I asked.

His eyes squinted at my half-clean face. “Don’t fish. You know you’re better. You and I might not belong together anywhere else, but we belong together on that stage.” He said it with such assurance I was surprised when he paused and asked, “Right?”

I let the wet cloth hide my smile as I wiped off the red lipstick. “Definitely.”

“Are you coming?” he asked as he held the door open.

“In a minute,” I promised.

When the door closed it muffled the din of almost seven hundred people crowded body to body, each trying to speak above the noise of the others. I looked into the mirror, my face rubbed clean and pink, glowing with the applause like each clap was a star I collected and let melt into my skin. “Good job, Megan,” I said quietly. There was a tight vibration in my body, stringing across my limbs and spine. I sat straight and poised, closed my eyes to concentrate on the sensation. It was happiness. Moving and singing along every nerve. When I realized it, I dropped my head into my arms to hide the giddy sound that escaped my mouth. If I could have melted the snow and the distance and pulled the hot sun back into the sky and made my feet stand at the edge of the river right at that moment, I would have jumped in with Charlotte. I would have jumped farther.

Someone knocked on the door and I swiveled toward it, composed myself. “Yes?”