Tragedy Girl (10 page)

“Right,” Lauren says, nodding firmly. “Look, I’m so sorry I repeated those rumors. Anne, forget I said anything. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s ridiculous to—”

I breathe out through an O in my mouth. “I need some air … ”

“We’ll come with you … ”

“No, I’m good.”

I jump out of my seat and head out of the cafeteria with my head tucked almost into my chest, my untouched tray of food still at the table.

“Anne? Are you okay?”

I glance up at Garrett just as I reach the hall, my head still spinning.

“Oh, hi … ”

“Do you need to sit down?” he asks me, then takes my arm and starts guiding me back into the cafeteria.

I gently shake free. “I’m fine, really. I just need some air. I feel a little lightheaded … ”

Blake walks up just as I’m about to bolt again.

“Are you okay?” he asks me anxiously.

“She’s feeling lightheaded,” Garrett tells him.

“Get her a chair,” Blake says, but I shake my head, cringing amid all the attention.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I tell them. “Really. I’m much better now. It was just a passing thing.”

“It’s those stupid notes,” Blake fumes, but I shake my head again.

“I’m
fine.
I didn’t have much of an appetite at lunch, so I didn’t really eat anything, and I think I stood up too quickly … ”

“Can I get you some water?” Garrett asks.

“No. Really. I’m okay. I just … I’ve got to get to class early so I can get some studying done. You guys go enjoy your lunch.”

Garrett gauges Blake’s reaction, then says, “If you’re sure … ”

I nod briskly, then manage a weak smile. “Thanks, though.”

“Sure,” Garrett says. “Well … take care of yourself, okay?”

He starts walking into the cafeteria, then turns back when Blake doesn’t join him.

“You go on ahead,” Blake tells him, still glued to my side. “And hey, I’ve got a yearbook meeting after school, so tell Mom I’ll be home late.”

Garrett pauses, then nods warily and walks inside.

“Baby, I can’t stand to see you so upset,” Blake coos, pressing me into a hug.

“I’m okay, really,” I say, trying to extricate myself as discreetly as possible. “I just need a little air, a little space … ”

“Baby, you and I need some time to get away from all this insanity and clear our heads. Let me take you to the beach after school.”

My eyes narrow. “I thought you had a yearbook meeting.”

“I just need to be alone with you,” he says, caressing my cheek. “Please? Just the two of us?”

I hesitate.

“There
are
a few things I’d like to ask you about,” I tell him, my voice slightly trembling.

“Of course,” he says, leaning into my face. “You can ask me anything. I know the rumors have been flying since I made a scene at the locker. That was so stupid of me. I’m so sorry, babe; I just couldn’t hide my anger when I caught Natalie red-handed. Knowing how much those notes upset you and Jamie … I just blew my top. Genius move, right? I couldn’t have gotten tongues wagging any more if I’d shown up to school in the buff. I’m sorry.”

I study his face for a moment, then ask, “Do you have any idea what other girl Natalie might have been talking about this morning? I really got the feeling there was more to the story than … ”

“Natalie is full of crap,” he says. “She’s been obsessed with me since middle school. This is just her latest strategy for glomming onto my life. Plus, I heard she took off right after getting caught planting the note. She was loving the drama as long as she could skulk behind the scenes to do her dirty work. Once everything was out in the open, she turned tail like a sniveling coward.”

I cringe a little. I don’t know why it bothers me to hear Blake talk so harshly about Natalie; he certainly has every reason to be bitter. But she’s so clearly fragile that his anger seems outsized, disproportionate, almost cruel, like swatting at a moth that doesn’t have enough sense to give you a wider berth.

“Did Natalie know Cara?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I think they met once or twice. She’s always trying to run in the same circles as me. I think she managed to crash a couple of parties. But Natalie was
nothing
to Cara, just like she’s nothing to me.”

Blake catches my eye, then leans in closer.

“I’m sorry, baby … did I upset you?”

I shrug. “Natalie only has as much power as you give her. The fact that she gets such a rise out of you … it just seems like a waste of energy and kinda … mean, you know? It’s like I told Melanie: Natalie’s insecure, not vicious.”

He runs his fingers through my hair. “I don’t ever want you to think I’m mean, baby,” he says, lowering his head until his eyes are level with mine. “It’s just … the way she talked to you that night at the bonfire, then the stupid notes. That’s not okay.”

I nod. “I know, I know … It’s just hard not to feel a little sorry for her.”

“It’s not hard for me. But you know what? I’m not wasting another second thinking or talking about that girl. After what happened this morning, I’ve got a strong feeling she’ll be a non-issue from now on. But even if she writes a goddamn unauthorized biography about me, I’ll just take a cleansing breath and let it roll right off my back. Just for you.”

He flicks his index finger across my nose, and I smile.

“Hey, if I’m taking that kind of a bullet for you, I’ll need a bigger smile than that,” he says playfully, and I force a wider smile.

He leans in and kisses me.

“We’ll drive to the beach right after school,” he says. “We’ll get away from all this craziness and have a chance to catch our breath. And you know you can ask me anything. Anything you like.”

My eyes flicker in his direction. “You’re okay with going to the beach?” I ask gingerly.

He ponders my question, then sets his jaw stoically. “I can’t stay away from the beach for the rest of my life,” he says. “And I know I can handle anything with you by my side.”

I hesitate, then nod, averting my eyes. “I’ve really got to get to class … ”

But Blake takes my arm as I begin walking away. “Anne?”

I glance at him. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Eighteen

“This is where it happened.”

A sea breeze wafts through our hair as Blake and I stand at the shore, distant thunder churning in a slate-gray sky and waves nipping at our bare feet. We’ve walked silently on the sand for about three-quarters of a mile, but now that we’ve approached a rocky outcrop of the beach, Blake has stopped abruptly.

“Right here,” he repeats in barely a whisper, peering out into the ocean and swallowing hard.

I reach for his hand and our fingers enfold. “Is this the first time you’ve been back since … ”

He nods, and I squeeze his hand harder.

“It was so
senseless
,” he says, his deep blue eyes sad and angry at the same time.

A smattering of other people dot the shore, and we’ve passed a couple of swimmers, but I feel oddly secluded, as if the weight of the tragedy is closing in on us like a fog. As jolting as this day has been, this particular moment seems disembodied … gauzy and disconnected, with everything around us dissolving except for doleful stirrings from the sea. God … a poor girl
died
in that sea just a few short months ago, stupid rumors notwithstanding, and seeing Blake’s expression now, I don’t doubt that’s exactly what happened. I’ve stood a dozen times or more on the roadside where Mom and Dad took their last breaths, and I’m all too familiar with the disbelieving look in Blake’s eyes, the quickened breaths emanating from somebody whose body otherwise seems petrified, encased in grief.

Yes, I know the look. The way that Blake is staring into the ocean is the way I’ve stared at the asphalt where the drunk driver ran the stop sign and T-boned my parents’ car. I’ve felt like if I stared hard enough, or long enough, I could make sense of the fact that my parents could be perfectly healthy one minute, dead the next, just as Cara was. It can’t be that easy for life to be snuffed away, can it? Shouldn’t the process of death be more mindful, more deliberate?

But destiny can’t deliberate, and as much as I wish otherwise, destiny didn’t give me the opportunity to intervene the night my parents were killed. It must be even harder for Blake. He
tried
to intervene, yet failed. He and Jamie. They had a chance to rescue Cara, the briefest window to change the course of history, to save a life. No wonder they’re so wounded, so captive to the pain that binds and repels them simultaneously.

The waves are skittering up to the silver-speckled rocks. When high tide hits an hour from now, the water will pummel the rocks, smashing against them and leaving frothy spittle behind. Most of the rocks are jagged and uneven, but one is smooth and flat enough to sit on. I gently pull Blake toward it.

“Let’s talk a minute … okay?”

He nods and follows me to the rock. We sit in silence a few moments, still staring at the sea. A couple of raindrops skim our noses, the kind of raindrops that could be either a fleeting annoyance or the opening salvo of a pelting storm. I shiver even though the air is warm and muggy.

I inhale deeply, then say, “I know it’s hard for you to be here, Blake, but I heard a few things today that kinda spooked me.”

Another raindrop flecks my upper arm.

“That’s why we’re here, baby. I told you: you can ask me anything.”

I nod and stare at my hands. “I don’t want to upset you, but … can you tell me what happened that night?”

My hands clench as I wonder anxiously whether I should disclose what I already know, or at least what I
think
I know. Is it some kind of betrayal that I’ve googled the accident, that I’ve collected bits and pieces of information here and there? Or is that a no-brainer, something anyone else in my position would do? I don’t know; I just don’t ever want Blake to think I’m sketchy. The way people are reacting to me these days, I barely trust myself to utter a word about
anything
. But even as I’m deliberating, I can tell he’s collecting his thoughts. I stay quiet and wait for his response.

He takes a deep breath and rubs the back of his neck. “A few of us decided to have a little party on the beach,” he says, his gaze still fixed on the ocean. “It wasn’t even a party … just a get-together with a few of Cara’s friends. My friends could come too, of course, but these were mostly people from her school … everyone except Jamie and me.”

A seagull squawks nearby, skimming the surface of the water.

“Cara and I got to the party around nine that night. I think we were the last ones to get there,” Blake continues. “Somebody had already built a bonfire, and people were roasting marshmallows, playing guitars, throwing Frisbees … ”

“Were they drinking?” I ask hesitantly “Were
you
?”

His eyes turn flinty for a nanosecond, but then they soften again. “I
never
drink,” he says firmly. “When you survive cancer, you never take anything for granted again, and you’ll be damned before you’ll voluntarily screw up your own health. I’m sure other people in the group were drinking, but—”

“Was Cara?” I interject.

“No,” he says. “She didn’t drink either, and she definitely wouldn’t drink on a date with me. I take my responsibilities very seriously when I’m with a girl. I take good care of myself and I take good care of the people I’m with.”

I tighten my lips, wondering if the irony is striking him, but he seems unfazed. I’m also a little put off by his machismo, but he’s probably just trying to impress me … right? This is something every dad would like to hear when his daughter goes on a date, I guess. Blake seems very smooth about those kinds of things.

Uncle Mark’s words echo in my ear—
almost too smooth
—but I shake them impatiently from my thoughts. I’m clearly overthinking again.

“So, yeah, I guess some people were drinking, and somebody probably passed around a joint or two at some point, but nobody was wasted or anything. Cara and I were totally sober.”

“Were any of them swimming?” I ask haltingly.

“Swimming? No. Well, yeah … of course. I mean, we were at the
beach
in the middle of June, for crying out loud. Every once in a while, somebody would jump in and take a swim.”

“And that’s what Cara decided to do?”

“Yeah.”

I detect the slightest edge in his voice. Am I going too far, asking too many questions? Is this even any of my business?

“I told you, Anne, you can ask me anything,” he says, softening his tone as if he’s reading my thoughts. “Yes, she decided to go for a swim. Yes, I beat myself up every day for letting her do it.”

Letting her do it.
My stomach clenches a bit.

“But what was the big deal?” he muses, more to himself than to me. “You’re at the beach, you jump in for a quick swim … ”

“So you guys were all sitting around, then she … ”

“Um, Cara and I had actually gone off alone to take a walk,” he says, “just the two of us. We’d been hanging with the group all night and wanted a few minutes alone. We walked for a while, then she said, you know, she wanted to cool off, jump in the water, take a little swim … ”

“So she was wearing her bathing suit?”

Again, his eyes turn flinty. “No, Anne, she was wearing a parka,” he snaps. “I mean, it was
June
, after all.”

I feel my cheeks turn warm, and he reaches abruptly for my hand. I instinctively pull it away, but then I reluctantly let him take it.

“I’m sorry, baby. Geez, why do I sound like such a jerk sometimes? It’s just … the guilt does such a number on me.” He takes another deep breath. “She had her bathing suit on under her shorts and T-shirt. She asked me to hold her clothes.”

I nod, and he continues. “We were right here, right around these rocks, and I waited on the beach while she took a swim. The surf was rough—I didn’t know
how
rough until later. The water looked calm enough, but apparently there was a strong undertow. I didn’t know that … but even if I had,
I don’t think I would’ve really been concerned. She was a good swimmer—we’d been swimming in undertows our whole lives—and besides, I figured she’d just jump in and jump right back out again.”

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and more stray raindrops graze my face.

“When did you realize she was in trouble?” I ask, my heart rate quickening as I contemplate that she was just a few yards, maybe even just
feet
, from where I’m sitting now. How could Blake not have noticed things were going wrong?
How could he not have gotten to her quickly? Yes, it was dark and the surf was rough, but sitting here now, my vantage point seems so different than the vague images conjured up by the
story
of a drowning. The impact hits me with a thud: This was no story. This was a girl’s
life
.

And death.

“I never saw her go under,” Blake says quietly. “Like I said, I thought she was basically going to jump in the water then jump out again, so I wasn’t thinking, ‘I can’t let her out of my sight for a second.’ It wasn’t like that. It’s like if somebody goes to refill a drink at a burger joint, you’re not going to sit there and watch her the whole time.”

Right … except that it was dark and the surf was rough …

“So, you know, she wades into the water, turns around a couple of times and waves at me … ”

Blake’s voice breaks and he drops his head, emitting a choked sob. I press my palm against his thigh.

“We don’t have to talk about this,” I tell him in a whisper.

But he holds his head back up, his eyes moist but resolute. “While I was waiting for her, I texted my mom …
Hey, Mom, love you
… then she called me. Does it sound crazy to talk to your mom on a date? I dunno … it’s just the kind of relationship we have. Mom called and we talked for a couple of minutes—five tops. I told her we were having a good time, that I’d be home soon, that I’d get up early the next morning to take her to church … ”

The waves are crashing closer now, the larger waves spraying us with fine mists of seawater as the tide closes in.

“And when Mom and I finished talking,” Blake says, his muscles tensing, “I looked back out into the ocean … and she was gone.”

He pauses and looks deeply into my eyes. “Just like that. She was there … then she was gone.”

Tears spring to my eyes. “That’s … that’s awful.”

He nods and swallows hard. “I stood around for a couple of minutes waiting for her head to pop up out of the water, and when it didn’t happen … ”

“You went to get Jamie?” I prod tentatively.

Deep breath. “Yeah.”

“And you were still holding Cara’s clothes?” I ask.

Blake’s jaw drops.
“Jesus
, Anne!”

I sputter, trying to form a response, but nothing really comes out.

“You just don’t get it,” he says, a touch of contempt in his voice. “I was worried about a girl’s
life
and you’re wondering if I remember holding on to her clothes or dropping them on the beach?”

“I … I didn’t mean … ”

“Jesus, even the
cops
didn’t get that specific,” he snaps, and I fleetingly wonder why not. Because Blake’s so wholesome? So believable?
Almost too smooth …

I meet his eyes for the first time since his story began, suddenly feeling the slightest bit indignant myself. My composure seems to deflate his haughtiness. He stares at the sand and continues his story in an almost whiny voice.

“So I ran to get Jamie,” he says.

“Jamie was still with the rest of the group?” I clarify.

Blake nods. “Yeah. He was still at the bonfire, a half a mile or so that way.” He points in the direction we walked from.

“So you went and told everybody she was missing?” I ask, my muscles tensing as I contemplate whether I’m consciously trying to catch him in a lie.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then Jamie and I hopped on the jet ski to look for her.”

I bite my lip. “And I guess everyone else was looking for her too? Running up and down the beach? Jumping in the water?”

He studies my eyes, then looks out at the sea again.

“No, just Jamie and I went looking. There was no point in a lot of chaos or having other people risk their lives by jumping into the ocean.”

But hadn’t he just said … ?

I sit up a little straighter. “So … you
didn’t
tell everybody right away?”

He shrugs. “I guess not. I guess I just pulled Jamie aside at first and told him.”

“But … but if you’d told
everybody
, at least they could have followed you to where she was swimming and stood on the shore helping you and Jamie look for —”

“No, Anne, that’s not how it happened.” Irritation flashes in his eyes.

Pause. “Okay.”

He wipes a raindrop from his brow. “Like I said, I didn’t want a lot of chaos, and, you know, for all I knew, maybe Cara had gotten out of the water while I was on the phone with my mom and I just hadn’t noticed. I really expected to pass her on the beach when Jamie and I went looking for her, heading back to the bonfire and wondering why in the world I was worried.”

His face crinkles like a leaf and his head drops into his hands. He sniffles loudly, then looks up again.

“So, no,” he continues, his voice still shaky, “it wasn’t like I was screaming and waving my arms like a maniac, shouting for the entire group to start a search party.” He shakes his head ruefully, then adds, “Christ, when I say it out loud, I’m like, ‘Idiot, why
didn’t
you do that?’”

“I get it,” I say unconvincingly, not sure if I’m consoling or humoring him, not sure how I feel about
anything
at this point. “It can be hard to know how to interpret a situation,” I continue, “and until you’re clear on what’s going on, you don’t want to overreact … ”