In Search of the Rose Notes (27 page)

“I see,” I said. “Well, that all sounds understandable.”

I wasn’t entirely sure of what I was saying. I’d remembered something. Something about being in this room with Charlotte, with her picking my brain as she always had. Something I’d somehow forgotten to think about for a very long time.

Charlotte sighed and lowered herself onto her pillows, closing her eyes again. After a few moments, I thought she was sleeping.

As I listened to her breathe, I thought again about the last time I’d been in this room with her. We were eleven. I think I’d been looking at that same stupid picture of Easter Island. I’d thought myself an Easter Island statue. Except I hadn’t a clue what secret I was supposed to be keeping. I knew only that if I stayed silent and special, it might keep Rose sleeping soundly—keep us all in the quiet, comforting dark.

“It’s too bad,” Charlotte piped up—although she didn’t open her eyes. “It’s too bad you never gave me any credit.”

Last to see her alive. Datsun versus Dodge.
The words in my head nearly drowned her out.

“Credit?” I repeated, confused by the word. “For what?”

“Well, maybe ‘credit’ is the wrong word. I mean, it’s too bad you never trusted me. You thought I felt nothing of what you were feeling. But I did. Maybe I didn’t know how to help you, and trying to get you to talk was all I could think of. You forget that I was only eleven, too.”

“Eleven?” I said, barely following her now.

Last to see her alive. Last to see a-liiiiiive.
It was a kid’s voice singing the words. Teasing, almost.

“I mean after that, too,” Charlotte continued. “When we were a little older. The best friend you’d had, and you couldn’t trust me. And you never thought I might need someone to talk to as well? But you didn’t trust anyone enough to talk. You isolated yourself. You were like a wounded animal half the time, scared of anyone talking to you. Not just about Rose after a while. About anything. It got so pathetic. It was really sad to watch you. But I didn’t know what to do.”

Last to see her alive. Last to see her alive.
It wasn’t Charlotte who’d driven me crazy with those words. Of course. It was Toby.

Charlotte blinked at me now, looking concerned. “Nora?”

“Yes?”

“Are you angry?”

“No,” I said, just barely.

“I guess I shouldn’t have said ‘wounded animal.’ I shouldn’t have said ‘pathetic.’ ” Charlotte’s voice was sleepy now. “You’re angry.”

“Not at all,” I said, rising again. “I know exactly how I was.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes were still closed. She didn’t appear aware that I was leaving the room.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I’m freaking exhausted, Nora. I’m punchy. I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point. I—”

“Charlotte,” I interrupted her. “Don’t worry about it. But I think I have to go somewhere for a few minutes.”

“Good. That works. Because I think I need a nap for even longer than that. If you promise you’re not mad.”

“I’m not mad,” I said softly.

I watched her nuzzle her pillow, then roll away from me, toward the wall. Five minutes later I was in my car, speeding back downtown.

Chapter Seventeen

May 27, 2006

I parked in the Dunkin’ Donuts lot and crossed over to Deans’ Auto Body.

Toby was working with one other guy. Each was tinkering under a different raised car.

“Hi, Toby,” I called over the whir of the other guy’s drill.

“Hey, Nora,” Toby said, poking his head out from under a teal sedan.

“I need to talk to you,” I said. “About Brian Pilkington’s accident.”

Toby let his hand fall to his side, his small wrench tapping the side of his work pants. “What about it?” he said, screwing up his face.

“You know… what
really
happened.”

Toby glanced back up at the car above him, as if it were listening to us. The other mechanic’s drill whirred again.

“Is it really urgent? I’ve got a customer waiting on this.”

“Well…” I said reluctantly.

Toby was slapping the wrench so hard against his thigh that it must have hurt. “What’s really going on, Nora?”

The drill stopped, and the other guy peered at us.

“You okay, Toby?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Toby said, then turned back to me. “Go to the waiting room. I’ll get you after I finish this.”

Twenty minutes later after he’d rung his customer out, he led me outside and behind the building.

“You’re the one who just came in here out of nowhere,” he said. “So maybe you ought to talk first.”

I took a deep breath. “You knew about Brian’s accident, didn’t you?”

“What about it?”

“That Rose and Paul and Aaron Dwyer were involved.”

Toby tried to narrow his eyes at me—though his weak eye didn’t fully cooperate. “How were they involved?” he asked, his voice flat.

“Are you saying you don’t know? I think you know. Because you said ‘Dodge’ when you meant ‘Datsun.’ You mixed them up because you knew that both types of cars were involved. Which means you knew there were two.”

“I’d never mix up a Datsun and a Dodge, Nora.”

“You’d never mix them up if you were talking about real cars you’d seen. But you might if they were just cars in a story, or words on a piece of paper. I know you said Dodge when you meant Datsun. Maybe you just didn’t remember who was driving which.”

Toby folded his arms, clasping both his elbows. “Where is this all coming from?”

“I just saw Brian and Sally,” I said. “They explained what happened. And they had this letter—”

“Nora,” Toby said, letting go of his elbows. “Is there something specific you want to ask me?”

“Well, to start… how did you know? And why didn’t you ever tell anyone? Did Rose tell Joe? And Joe told you?”

“No.” Toby’s mouth straightened into a line, losing its amused expression. “This has nothing to do with Joe. Joe never knew.”

“But how could… Did Aaron tell?”

“Nora, is that all you wanted to ask me about? Brian’s accident?”

“
All?
A kid was paralyzed.”

“I don’t mean to downplay that. But it was seventeen years ago. And the way I read it, maybe the kids were all just fooling around. I’m not saying it wasn’t tragic, that the kids in the other car shouldn’t have felt like serious assholes, but— What’s the matter?”

“Toby.” I lowered my voice. “You just said ‘the way I read it.’ ”

Toby hesitated, considering his own words. “I did, did I?”

“Yeah,” I replied, my heart racing now. “You’ve seen the letter?”

“Isn’t it funny,” he said icily. “How I keep wanting to tell you things? When you always seemed the least able to handle it?”

“I can handle it,” I said defensively. “I’m different now.”

Toby took his keys out of his pocket and studied them. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” I said.

He shrugged. “Isn’t it funny when you get something you always wanted a little after you’ve stopped wanting it? Just a few days or a few months or a couple of years after you’ve given up? Don’t you hate it when that happens?”

I didn’t reply.

“Nora,” he said, finally looking up at me. “What do you want from me?”

“Well…” I said. “First of all, I’d like to know if you’ve seen that letter. Where? When? How? If it wasn’t through Joe, then—”

“I told you, it has nothing to do with my brother!”

And with that, Toby turned and rushed back into the garage. Before I had a chance to react, he was outside again, trudging to his pickup truck, which was parked alongside the building a few feet away.

He got in, started the engine, and revved it a couple of times. Then he wheeled the car around in a circle so his open driver’s window was facing me.

“I’m going home,” he said. “I asked Jake to call one of my other guys to come in for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t talk here.”

I hesitated. “So we’re talking?”

“If that’s what you really want. You can follow me home. But you’d better be sure. Last time I checked, you weren’t sure. But you’re an adult now, and I assume if you show up and start asking me these kinds of questions, you actually want to hear the answers.”

“When we were kids, Toby, I didn’t—”

“Shh. I said I can’t talk here. You can follow me home if you want. But then, whatever I tell you, you can’t decide you don’t want to know. On the other hand, you can just get in your car and drive the same way back to Charlotte’s and I would never blame you. Think about it, will you?”

“But, Toby,” I said. “What do
you
want me to do?”

Toby’s good eye looked sad and his bad one tired.

“I stopped wanting you to do anything a long time ago,” he said. “You’re the one who showed up again after nine years. I wasn’t expecting you. So don’t ask
me
what you should do.”

Then he hit the gas and left me in the parking lot.

Not a minute after his truck had disappeared, I knew I’d be going after him. But I felt that doing so might be a betrayal, unless I did something else first.

I pulled my cell out of my purse and dialed home.

“You sound weird,” Neil said after we’d greeted each other. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” I admitted.

“What happened? Is it the car?”

“No. It’s… Waverly. It’s this place I’m from.”

“You’re tired of it, sounds like. Well, if I were you, I’d have just stayed a weekend.”

“Tired? No.” I walked across the parking lot and got into my car as I talked. “Neil, have you ever wanted to come back here with me? To see where I’m from? Because I’m starting to realize, there was never anything wrong with Waverly. It’s actually kind of cute. Perky little neighborhoods. Pretty old town green, town library. Everyone seems nice enough. There’s nothing wrong with the place. It could be any nice little town.”

“Where is all this coming from, Nora? I thought you hated it there.”

“I didn’t hate it here,” I said. “I didn’t ever hate it here. I hated myself here.”

“Yeah, well,” Neil said after a moment’s pause. “I hated myself in high school, too.”

“Who said anything about high school?”

“I just figured that’s what you were talking about.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’ve always been weird about high school. Ever since we were in college. Your stories about high school are always kind of vague. Or about other kids, not you. There was one story you told that I’m pretty sure actually came from a John Hughes movie.”

“And this has never bothered you?”

“No. Why would it? Who the hell cares about high school? I always hated those girls who were always telling boring stories about their old drama-club friends.”

“So what do you think I was like in high school?”

“Based on what I’ve gathered from your mom, I figured you were kind of goth.”

“Shut up. Goth didn’t even exist when we were in high school.”

“Of course it did.”

“Not really. It didn’t have a name yet, I don’t think.

“So you weren’t goth? What are you about to tell me? That everyone hated you?”

“No.”

“Because I don’t care if they did. They were stupid if they did.”

“It wasn’t like that anyway. People didn’t hate me. No one bothered to hate me. I was nobody.”

“Well.” Neil sighed. “Everybody’s nobody in high school, really.”

“No,” I said. “No, that’s not true. Let’s not bullshit here, okay? I mean I really wasn’t there. I was silent. I was afraid to speak, till it seemed like there was truly nothing to say. Silent at school, silent at home. I tried to join clubs, but it seemed like you had to talk too much in them all. I’d have friends for a little while, but I could never keep them. It seemed like if I got too close to anyone I’d have to say too much—too much of what, I don’t remember.”

“Nora, are you crying?”

“No,” I said, my voice breaking. “Well, maybe.”

I started my car so I could close my window.

“And this went on and on,” I continued when I caught my breath, “until it seemed like I might have to say or do really, really stupid things just to know I still existed in some real way. Until I
did
a stupid thing or two. And I wish I could remember how it started. How I came to be so dumb as to make myself so miserable, and how I came to blame this place as if there were something in the water. Because it wasn’t that way always. Not when I was a kid. Something happened to me in between that I’ve never understood. I’d always been quiet, but I just became scared and
silent
all of a sudden, which is something entirely different. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Neil said. “But you turned out okay, so what does it matter now?”

“But, Neil, I didn’t just hurt myself doing this. I hurt other people. Because there were things I could’ve said, things I could’ve done, people I could’ve listened to, conversations I could’ve had, if I’d trusted myself enough. ”

Neil hesitated. “I’m not sure I totally understand everything you’re saying, but if you’re saying there’s someone you need to apologize to, then do it. I get that. I’ve felt that way about those years. If there’s someone there you hurt—are you talking about Charlotte?—then all you can do now is say you’re sorry. Honestly, people probably don’t care anymore nearly as much as you think they do. It’s been quite a few years. But you’re there now. So if it’s important to you, say sorry if there’s someone there you think deserves it.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking of doing that,” I said. “That’s kind of what I was hoping you’d say.”

“Okay,” Neil said, sounding a little perplexed.

“And when I get home,” I added, “I’ll explain it better.”

“Sure. Or you could just tell me a story from
The Breakfast Club,
for old times’ sake.”

“Right,” I said, laughing a little.

It was an appropriate reference, since the story I’d be telling him was mostly a typical one about teen angst. But connected to it was a much sadder and more consequential story—about an older girl whom I’d loved and who’d gone missing and died. Maybe it was just sheer timing that I’d ended up tangling the two in my head, and found myself unable to tell either one for so long.

“But don’t let me do that, Neil,” I said, sniffling as I put the car into gear.

“Okay. I won’t. If you insist.”

“I insist. But I have to go now,” I said. “I’m driving.”

Hauntings:

December 1990

We had to ring twice. Toby’s mouth was hanging open when he answered the door.

“We came to record for paranormal activity,” Charlotte announced. “May we come in?”

Toby hesitated, wedging his head between the door and the doorframe. “Umm. Right
now
?”

“Is this a bad time?”

He swiveled his head around, looking into the house.

“It’s just the girls. Nora and Charlotte,” he said, then turned back to us. “You want something to eat?”

“Can we come in, then?” Charlotte asked, nudging the door open farther.

“I guess,” Toby said, shrugging, letting go of the door.

Charlotte went in first, and I followed. I wiped my feet on the green Astroturf of the mudroom before entering the Deans’ TV room. The warmth of the room brought out the distinctive smell of the Dean house: mildew, mothball, and Hamburger Helper. Joe was on the couch watching
Donahue,
scrunched down so far his neck nearly touched the seat cushions.

“Hello, just the girls,” Joe said, without looking away from the television.

I sat on the other end of the couch, figuring that, without any parents around, no permission to sit would be needed or granted. I balanced the black books I’d brought along on the arm of the couch.

“Nora tells me there’s a room upstairs you think might have a ghostly presence,” Charlotte said, keeping things professional.

“Don’t you want something to eat first?” Toby asked.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Charlotte replied, shaking her head.

“What’ve you got?” I asked.

“A few different things. Want me to show you?”

“Okay!” I consented eagerly, suspecting that the Dean family offerings contained several snack items that weren’t allowed by my mother’s budget or philosophy.

Charlotte tapped her foot on the hardwood floor, her lip twitching disapprovingly for just a second. “If you don’t mind, I’m just going to head right on up to the room in question.”

“By yourself?” I asked.

“It’s the third room on the left upstairs,” Joe chimed in. “Then you go through that room to get to the stairs up to it.”

“You go through one room to get to the other room?” Charlotte said.

“Yep. That’s what makes it a secret room. The people who built this place—you kind of have to wonder what they did with that room. That’s what makes us think it might be haunted, see?”

Charlotte wrinkled her nose at Joe for a second, then turned and marched up the stairs.

Toby waved me into the kitchen with him.

“There’s these cookies,” he said. He opened a cabinet, and a moth flew out. “But I think maybe they’re stale. And—oh, look! You like cheese curls?”

He produced a fresh, unopened bag from behind a few tattered cracker boxes.

I didn’t much like cheese curls, but since he seemed excited about them, I answered, “Sure.”

Toby waved away another moth and produced a blue plastic mixing bowl from another cabinet, then filled it with curls.