This Is How It Ends (16 page)

Fourteen-year-olds can be very cruel.

I looked away while she scooted up toward my pillow, buttoning her shirt, then hugging her legs to her chest. Neither of us spoke for a long time.

“Can I ask you something, Riley?” she said finally.

“What?”

“Have you ever . . . done it before?”

What?
I hadn't expected that one. “Not in real life,” I answered.

She laughed softly. “You know, a shrink might say you use humor to cover insecurity.”

“I prefer to think of it as lightening terribly awkward situations.”

She smiled. “That too.”

I hoped she wouldn't go into what else a shrink might say about my being here with her—Trip's girlfriend—the way his dad and my mom . . . Ugh, I couldn't even think about it.

“Why?” Sarah asked.

“Why what?”

“Why haven't you?” she said. “You're almost eighteen. You're smart, good-looking, nice—”

“You're making me blush.”

“You were already doing that,” she said, not letting it go. “You must have had the opportunity.”

I had, in fact, one night out with Trip. And as far as he knew, I'd taken it. We'd gone to a party at one of the houses on the mountain, some college girls here for the weekend. Trip had fitted their rentals, and one of them had invited him over later.

“Their parents'll be in Burlington for some dinner,” he said. “It'll be small—it's not like they know anyone here. They asked me to bring some friends.”

Trip knew I hated shit like that. Spoiled rich kids one-upping each other, pretending we were all pals, then laughing about us behind our backs. I told him that, and he said I was paranoid. “They can only laugh at you if you give them a reason to, Riley.”

“Come off it, Trip. They'll laugh at us either way. It's sport to them—ski during the day, make fun of townies at night.”

“Fine,” he said angrily. “Don't come.”

But I went, and I think the girls were honestly too wasted to make fun of us. We weren't there an hour before Trip was taking one to the bedroom.

“Good luck, man,” he said, and winked.

Her friend, who I'd been kind of talking to, grabbed my hand, tried to drag me up. “Lemme show ya round,” she slurred.

I followed her, knowing full well where this was going. We wound up in another bedroom, her beckoning from this massive bed. I went with it, and it got pretty hot, but when it came down to it, I balked. I'm still not sure why.

“You doan wanna?” she slurred.

“I do,” I said, because I did. And it would have ensured I wasn't
that
guy, Last Virgin Standing. Not that Trip wouldn't have found something else to rag on me about.

But this girl was a mess. “I just . . .” I hesitated, then told her the truth. “I don't really know you.”

She squinted at me like she couldn't believe it, then burst out laughing. “OMG, how
cute
are you?” She sat up, not bothering to straighten her clothes. “So this is where they keep all the gentlemen.” Only, it came out “gennelmen.” We ended up talking for a while because I didn't want to go back out there and look like a total loser. It turned out she was actually nice, and I was kind of sorry I hadn't done it.

I let Trip believe I had, and he congratulated me over and over on the way home. After telling me in agonizing detail about his adventures.

“It didn't seem right,” I told Sarah now.

She nodded, as if that were exactly the answer she'd expected. “Can I ask you something else?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. “I'm finding your questions rather forward.”

“How come you never asked me out?”

“See what I mean?” I said, hoping she'd drop it and spare me the agony. But of course she just sat there waiting. “You were going out with Trip,” I said finally. “I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have approved.”

“Before that,” she pressed.

I stared at her for a minute, then said, “I've been asking myself the same thing.”

Sarah nodded, looking at her hands, then back up at me. “I'm going to break up with him.” Which would have been great news if it had been anyone other than Trip.

“I . . . We . . .” I gestured at the space between us. “This still can't happen.” Going out with your best friend's ex was almost as taboo as what we were doing now.

“I understand,” she said. “It's not about that.” Sarah shook her head. “I mean, it is, but—”

“Think about it,” I interrupted. “Things are complicated right now. With Nat and everything. I'm not sure any of us are thinking clearly.”

She nodded, maybe realizing the same thing I had—that if she and Trip split up, it wouldn't be the five of us anymore.

“I'm not saying you shouldn't. Or that you should,” I told her. “Just be sure you know what feels right to
you
.”

She stood then, shivering a little in the chill of the room, and looked me straight in the eye. “What feels right is the thing I can't have.”

I didn't know what to say to that, so I told her, “I'll walk you down.”

“You don't have to.”

“Humor me,” I said. “Let me be a gentleman.”

Sarah smiled sadly. “You're rarely anything but, Riley Larkin.”

CHAPTER 25

MOOSE WAS AT THE DISHWASHER
unloading a mountain of silverware when I walked in. With all the reporters in town, the restaurant had been extra busy, which I guess was the silver lining of a local murder. If there is such a thing. He grunted when I approached, looking like he was half-asleep.

I had started the day with an ice-cold shower, so was wide-awake but not in an especially good mood. “Nice to see you, Moose,” I said, snapping on my gloves.

“Fuck off.”

“Hey.” I turned to him. “Enough with the attitude, okay?”

He whirled to face me, not that sleepy after all. “No, it's not okay. Thanks to you the cops have been all over me for the last few weeks.”

“Thanks to me? I'm pretty sure
you
chose your recreational activities, not me.”

“You didn't have to broadcast it to the fucking world.”

“I didn't,” I said, “but I wasn't going to lie to the cops. I told you that.”

“Whatever.” He flipped the back of his hand my way. But now I was pissed.

“Maybe I should just give them this.” I held up the baggie.

Moose looked shocked, reaching for it, but I pulled it away. “Where'd you get that?” he demanded.

“At the trailer,” I said quietly. “By the sofa where Nat's dad was shot.”

Moose's eyes went wide. “What?”

“You heard me,” I said. “You told me yourself you were up there that night.”

Moose glanced around. The kitchen was empty, and I was practically whispering, but I could understand why he was scared. He had reason to be. “I guess I dropped it.”

“I guess so.” I stared at him staring at me. Maybe I should have been scared myself, but more than anything, I felt massively disappointed. I didn't want it to be Moose, didn't want him to be another deadbeat, go-nowhere Buford loser rotting in jail. But I couldn't change what he'd done. “So,” I said finally. “Are you going to turn yourself in?”

“For what?”

“For murder.”

“What?” Moose turned white. “No!” He lowered his voice, whispering furiously, “I told you before, I didn't do it. Why do you keep trying to pin it on me?”

“Moose. I found this up there.”

“So?”

“It was on top of the bloodstains. Look.” I held the baggie up again, pointing to where Randall Cleary's blood had dried. “It was lying in blood.”

Moose frowned, not getting it.

I sighed. “There was blood
under
it, Moose, but not on top. That means it was dropped after the blood,” I explained. “After he was shot.”

His eyes bugged out, and he held up his hands. “No. No way, man. I told you I was there, but he was definitely not dead. There was no blood—” Moose was babbling, words tumbling out. “You gotta believe me. Maybe I dropped it and someone else kicked it into the blood later or moved it there on purpose. I don't even think I had it that night,” Moose said, a weird look on his face. “Maybe I left it somewhere or someone's trying to frame me.”

I thought there was a lot of that going around for such a small town. It couldn't all be true. “What were you doing driving past his trailer on Monday?” I asked, switching gears and feeling a little like bad cop Lincoln Andrews doing it.

“What're you, following me?”

“No. I was inside the trailer. I saw your car. Monday?” I said. “Around five?”

He glared at me, angry, then spat, “I was going to the Miloseviches'. I visit them every now and then.”

“What? Why?”

“Everyone knew last year,” he said bitterly. “I guess most people have forgotten by now.”

“I know who they are,” I said crossly. “Richie plays football, his sister OD'd.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That's all anyone remembers about her. But her name was Jessica. And she was my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend?” I said stupidly.

He nodded, slamming the dishwasher shut and hefting the bucket of silverware and napkins. “Yeah. And sometimes I miss her. So I visit her family 'cause they do too, and no one else seems to give a shit.”

He pushed through the swinging doors, probably thinking he was getting away from me. But I followed him.

“Why were you on probation last year?” Moose shot me a dirty look and kept walking. “When the police first came to question us? After Mr. Cleary was killed? You were sweating it out because you're on probation,” I reminded him. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” he said. “For drugs. They got me with some last year, around the time Jessica . . .” He trailed off, shrugging.

“But what were you so worried about? If you didn't shoot him and didn't have anything—”

“Look, I stole something from the trailer while Cleary was taking a leak, okay? It wasn't drugs, and I needed money and figured he owed me, you know?”

I stopped, suddenly getting it. “The vase,” I said. What did that mean? Had he pawned it? Given it to Galen? Or had Galen been with him?

“How the fuck do you know all this stuff?” Moose asked, incredulous.

“Was Galen Riddock with you?”

Moose smirked. “Hell, no. I just put it under his name 'cause he's an asshole.”

“Uh-huh.” I was starting to understand why the police always seemed like they didn't know what they were doing. It was mind-boggling trying to put all the pieces of this stuff together. “So the Miloseviches live near the Clearys, right?”

Moose looked over his shoulder, turning away again. “Yeah.” He hefted his bucket onto table one.

I leaned against the next booth and took a shot in the dark, “I've heard they were really pissed at Mr. Cleary.”

“Wouldn't you be?” Moose said, not looking up.

“But you still went there. To him. After.”

He turned to face me then, taking a step closer. His jaw was clenched. “Listen. I don't know where you get off playing Mr. Righteous or the Hardy Boys here, but what I do or don't do is none of your business. If you're dancing around whether I had anything to do with your friend's shithead dad getting killed, the answer is no. Neither did Jessica's parents. The Miloseviches,” he added, glaring at me. “So Fuck. Off.”

Moose whirled back to his silverware, knocking the rolls he'd already done onto the floor. He cursed and kicked the leg of the table.

I decided to take his suggestion, making myself scarce for the rest of the shift. But it wasn't Jessica Milosevich's parents I was thinking about. It was Richie.

***

After work I swung by the track to get Tannis so we could meet everyone over at Trip's to talk about Nat's dad. Our Saturday night command performance. She was still racing laps, so I stood by the chain-link fence, watching the blue Thunderbird fly around the loop.

“Well, well,” a deep voice said from behind me. “Riley Larkin.”

I turned to see Tannis's brother striding across the gravel lot. “Hey, Jed.” I shook the hand he offered, forcing myself not to wince. “I never got to tell you how much we enjoyed kicking your butt at the Dash.” He squeezed harder, smiling when I yelped. I rubbed my hand gingerly when he finally let go. “What are you still doing here? I didn't know the marines gave so much vacation.”

Jed nodded, the blond hair he'd always worn shaggy when he lived here now buzz-cut, military style. “They usually don't,” he said shortly.

I nodded toward Tannis, who'd pulled over by the pole and was out of the car, talking to her dad. “She ready for the race tomorrow?”

“I guess.” He shrugged. “My dad says her times have been off. And she's been acting weird. Weirder than usual, I mean.”

“How so?”

“I dunno.” Jed leaned over and spit something onto the dirt. “Crying and shit. Freaking out if I move her bag from one place to another. Just . . . weird.”

“Well, it's been a weird few weeks here.”

“You can say that again. Crazy shit about Randall Cleary, huh?”

Tannis's dad climbed behind the wheel and drove slowly toward the garages. Tannis pulled off her helmet, shaking her blonde hair and seeing me and Jed for the first time. She waved. “Be there in a few, Ri,” she yelled. “I'm just gonna change up quick.”

“'Kay!” I yelled back.

As she disappeared down the grandstand tunnel, I could feel Jed eyeing me.

“What?”

“Dude. Are you dating my sister?”

“No!” I squawked. “I mean, not that there's anything wrong with her or whatever. I'm just giving her a ride.”

I cringed, but Jed ignored the obvious joke. “Okay, man.” He smirked. “But if you're the reason she's acting like a freak, I'm gonna kick your ass, 'cause it's making life hell.”

“Seriously, Jed.”

“Hey.” He held up his hands, grinning. “None of my business, you know?” He smirked again. “Gonna go help out the old man.”

Jed hoisted himself over the fence easily, tall and athletic, like Tannis and the rest of their family.

He'd reached the track's infield when Tannis reappeared, looking . . . well, shinier than usual. Jed saw her and turned back to me, still close enough that I could see his self-satisfied expression. “Yep,” he called. “Have fun tonight,
friend
.”

Tannis paused when she reached him, talked for a few seconds, then gave him a playful shove before continuing my way. She was wearing her usual ripped and faded Levi's, but some kind of silky shirt instead of the sweatshirts and fleeces I was used to seeing her in. And makeup.

“You finally do the wash?” I asked when she got to the dirt lot where I was waiting by my car.

“What?” She looked down at herself, plucking the shirt. “You mean this?”

“It's rather, uh, feminine for you,” I said.

“I
am
a girl, Riley.” She thrust out her chest, adding archly, “In case you haven't noticed.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I said, feeling heat on my cheeks. I opened my door so I wouldn't have to look at her.

Tannis grinned at my embarrassment, yanking open the passenger side and sliding in. “Anyway, you don't wash silk, dumbass.”

“Wow. And a domestic goddess, too. What a wife you'll make someday,” I said as I started driving, and then realized immediately that if Jed were right and Tannis liked me, that'd be a really uncomfortable thing to say. I changed the subject. “You ready for tomorrow?”

Tannis frowned. “I guess.” She seemed like she was going to say more, but rolled down the window instead.

“D'you mind?” I said, glancing over. “It's, like, twenty degrees out.”

“Sorry,” she said, not rolling it up. “I'm feeling a little queasy.”

“You need me to pull over?”

She didn't answer. I slowed down. But then she shook her head. “No, I'm good.” She rolled up the window.

“You sure?”

She nodded, and I hit the gas. Jed was right. She was acting weird.

“Jed's been back for a while, huh?”

“Yeah.”

I pulled onto the bypass road toward Trip's. “Doesn't he have a wife and, like, a job down in Virginia?”

“I guess his job's flexible. And his wife's a bitch.
She's
probably why he's here so much.”

“Oh.”

“I wonder about that, you know?” Tannis said, obviously feeling better. “How people wind up with other people who seem like, just, the wrong match for them.”

“Uh . . .” Where was this going? Her and Matty? I'd seen them talking in the halls a few times, and I'd always felt like I was having an out-of-body experience, seeing two separate worlds colliding.

But instead she said, “Like Trip and Sarah.” That caught me off guard, but then Tannis added what I prayed she didn't know and would never say. “I know you want her, Riley.”

My breath caught, and I felt hot, my palms and armpits sweaty. I pretended I hadn't heard, frowning at the radio, changing the station.

“You get all awkward when she's around.”

I scowled at Tannis. “I do not.”

“You do,” she said. “Don't worry, She probably doesn't notice because you're
always
that way with her.”

I flicked on my turn signal, nearing Trip's house. I was itching to tell her Sarah probably noticed everything, and, oh, by the way, she hadn't seemed to think I was awkward when we'd kissed. Though it was plenty awkward after that. “She's Trip's girlfriend,” I said instead.

“Yup,” Tannis said softly. “That she is.”

We drove silently for a minute through the dark fields, the grass flat and barren in the sweep of the headlights. This was my least favorite time of year, everything dying and dull, not the bright greens of summer or the clean white of the snow. Just dead broken stalks of corn and browning brush.

Once when I was fourteen, my mom surprised me with tickets to a Red Sox game. Play-offs, no less. We escaped the house like that a lot then. It was this same time of year, but riding the train, it seemed like the closer we sped toward the city, the more alive things were, till we sat staring at the vibrant green infield of Fenway Park. We lingered after the game, getting food in a diner nearby, even trading our train tickets for a later ride home. “It'd be fun to live somewhere like that, wouldn't it?” she asked when we finally boarded our train after eleven.

I nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement through my sleepiness.

“Maybe someday we will,” she said thoughtfully.

We never went back, though. Never talked about it again. Not after her visits to Dr. Williams became routine.

“Do you really think Trip's all that into her?” Tannis asked as we turned onto his street.

Trip and Sarah had been going out for over a year now. At first he'd told me everything. More than I wanted to know, really. How far he'd gotten with her. What she'd done to him the first night they'd hooked up. I don't know why I was his confidant. Maybe because I was so much less experienced than his football pals and it was safe to tell me stuff. Or because I'd been there when he'd decided to ask her out. After a while he stopped talking about that stuff. Then other things followed. College. Plans for next year. It was funny, because there'd been plenty of days in our lifetime of friendship when I'd wished Trip would just
shut up.
But once he did, I realized I missed it. Just like I'd missed him those first years of high school when he'd cut me loose. Not that I'd ever tell him any of that.