across the room. “Lots of people were there—at the party.”
I don’t say anything. He stands by the window, looking at me, waiting for me to say something. Waiting for me to tell him the truth. The low evening light shines through the window, illuminating half his face.
“A deer jumped out in front of the car, Matt. It was slipperyand late. That’s it.” It is a colossal lie, a stupid fake lie, but it is too late now. It is out. And I am not backing down.
Silence stretches out between us like the widest part of the lake, deep and blue.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know you,” he says softly.
It isn’t an accusation and it isn’t a threat. It’s just Matt trying to put into words how he feels. But that doesn’t matter to me. He might as well have launched a missile at my heart.
“Then maybe you should just stay out of my goddamn life.” I spit the words out, my whole body trembling. I want to snatch them back that very instant, but I can’t. It’s like hitting the tree; it’s done, over. There is nothing I can do to take them back.
The hit is hard. Matt stares at me, mouth half-open, but no words come out. It is as if I am Scott and I’ve just pushed his head into that snowbank all those years ago. He blinks, lets out a quick breath, and turns on his heel.
Then he is gone.
“Matt!” I call after him.
But he doesn’t come back.
* * *
I stare at Matt’s house, at the kitchen door, hoping it will swing open and he’ll come back out, come back and say he knows I didn’t mean it. It has been an hour since he left and disappeared into his house.
The phone rings. I jump and run to the top of the stairs, but my mother calls out that it is Stan; he wants to see if I’m all right.
“Tell him I’m fine,” I say. “Tell him I’m asleep.”
I go back to my vigil. Soon it will grow dark, and Matt’s light will shine in his room. Maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of him. See if he is okay.
Below, in the driveway, is Ron Bailey’s truck. I can hear my mother talking to him downstairs, their voices muffled. Alec told the lie—or let it stand, anyway. But if I see Ron now, I have to let him believe it. Keep believing it. Can I play my part? Will he see the guilt in my eyes? “Please don’t make me face him,” I whisper, and curl up on my bed, eyes still glued to Matt’s house through the open window.
Footsteps come up the stairs, then down the hall, and pause at my door. A knock. I sit up. “Come in,” I say, my voice weak.
Ron stands at my door and looks at me with his gentle eyes. “How you doing, sweetheart?”
“I’m okay.”
He nods, his eyes still on me. It is clear that I am not.
“Listen, if you need anything—anything at all—you just give me a holler, okay?”
He won’t leave until I nod my head in agreement. “Okay, Ron.”
“Okay then, take care of yourself.”
I stare out the window into the dark. The lie is fixed now; it is fact. The truth? I feel like I don’t know myself anymore, either.
14
A week passed and I’d barely moved. I ate in my room, I slept there, I went nowhere. A cluster of maple leaves tipped with orange hung outside my window. Fall had arrived.
Cassie came to see me the minute her plane landed, before she’d even slept, insisting her parents drop her off at my house before she went home. She burst into my bedroom, tripping over a pile of dirty dishes. But it was the sight of me that stopped her cold. “Oh my God, Kay,” she said, her face grave. Her red hair had been cut short around her ears. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”
That was the first thing out of her mouth. It was so Cassie to apologize for something that wasn’t her fault. As if she should have known I’d be crashing a car so she could cut her trip to England short.
“You didn’t know . . .”
“I just mean . . .” She shook her head, her face pale under her freckles, her words tumbling out. “My mom said you both couldhave
I don’t say anything. He stands by the window, looking at me, waiting for me to say something. Waiting for me to tell him the truth. The low evening light shines through the window, illuminating half his face.
“A deer jumped out in front of the car, Matt. It was slipperyand late. That’s it.” It is a colossal lie, a stupid fake lie, but it is too late now. It is out. And I am not backing down.
Silence stretches out between us like the widest part of the lake, deep and blue.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know you,” he says softly.
It isn’t an accusation and it isn’t a threat. It’s just Matt trying to put into words how he feels. But that doesn’t matter to me. He might as well have launched a missile at my heart.
“Then maybe you should just stay out of my goddamn life.” I spit the words out, my whole body trembling. I want to snatch them back that very instant, but I can’t. It’s like hitting the tree; it’s done, over. There is nothing I can do to take them back.
The hit is hard. Matt stares at me, mouth half-open, but no words come out. It is as if I am Scott and I’ve just pushed his head into that snowbank all those years ago. He blinks, lets out a quick breath, and turns on his heel.
Then he is gone.
“Matt!” I call after him.
But he doesn’t come back.
* * *
I stare at Matt’s house, at the kitchen door, hoping it will swing open and he’ll come back out, come back and say he knows I didn’t mean it. It has been an hour since he left and disappeared into his house.
The phone rings. I jump and run to the top of the stairs, but my mother calls out that it is Stan; he wants to see if I’m all right.
“Tell him I’m fine,” I say. “Tell him I’m asleep.”
I go back to my vigil. Soon it will grow dark, and Matt’s light will shine in his room. Maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of him. See if he is okay.
Below, in the driveway, is Ron Bailey’s truck. I can hear my mother talking to him downstairs, their voices muffled. Alec told the lie—or let it stand, anyway. But if I see Ron now, I have to let him believe it. Keep believing it. Can I play my part? Will he see the guilt in my eyes? “Please don’t make me face him,” I whisper, and curl up on my bed, eyes still glued to Matt’s house through the open window.
Footsteps come up the stairs, then down the hall, and pause at my door. A knock. I sit up. “Come in,” I say, my voice weak.
Ron stands at my door and looks at me with his gentle eyes. “How you doing, sweetheart?”
“I’m okay.”
He nods, his eyes still on me. It is clear that I am not.
“Listen, if you need anything—anything at all—you just give me a holler, okay?”
He won’t leave until I nod my head in agreement. “Okay, Ron.”
“Okay then, take care of yourself.”
I stare out the window into the dark. The lie is fixed now; it is fact. The truth? I feel like I don’t know myself anymore, either.
14
A week passed and I’d barely moved. I ate in my room, I slept there, I went nowhere. A cluster of maple leaves tipped with orange hung outside my window. Fall had arrived.
Cassie came to see me the minute her plane landed, before she’d even slept, insisting her parents drop her off at my house before she went home. She burst into my bedroom, tripping over a pile of dirty dishes. But it was the sight of me that stopped her cold. “Oh my God, Kay,” she said, her face grave. Her red hair had been cut short around her ears. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”
That was the first thing out of her mouth. It was so Cassie to apologize for something that wasn’t her fault. As if she should have known I’d be crashing a car so she could cut her trip to England short.
“You didn’t know . . .”
“I just mean . . .” She shook her head, her face pale under her freckles, her words tumbling out. “My mom said you both couldhave
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