Ripple (25 page)

I'm relieved watching Tessa drive away—even as my hands are handcuffed by one guard, and I'm surrounded by two more. I struck a deal with Fogerty 2. And tonight, I broke that deal.

Fogerty 2's going to have a field day when he sees me all bound and surrounded by security officers.

“What were you doing in here, kid?” one of the guards asks.

“Late-night stroll. Wait. Isn't this the park?”

A second guard frisks me. The third draws his gun, though I know it isn't loaded.

“Cops are on their way,” the first says.

When Fogerty 2 shows up, he looks me over, silently gloating, like he knew he would eventually bust me. Then he shoves me into the back of his vehicle. As he drives us back to the station, he says, “The guards said there was someone else with you.”

“Nope. They're mistaken.” I stare out the barred window at the barely lit buildings. “Might have been a shadow. Or just a ghost of craziness past.”

Fogerty 2's silent for a minute, dropping it like I knew he would.
He's already gotten what he came for. Then he says, “You know what this means.”

I take a deep breath. “I've broken our unofficial parole.”

“That's right, Dalton. Ms. Barnes had her turn and couldn't control you. So now you're mine.”

From the rearview mirror, his dark gaze spears me, and for once, I doubt if I can talk my way out of this one.

I pull Jack's Dart into my driveway. All the way home, I imagined Jack being slammed against a wall. Handcuffed. Hauled to the police station. I hated abandoning him. It was stupid to go into that facility. But he wanted to. Needed to, I guess. To deal with everything that goes along with his mom and her mental illness.

My house is quiet. Only the living room is lit. My stepdad is passed out on the worn green sofa. He reeks of alcohol. The TV murmurs with a British sitcom on PBS.

A note from my mom sits on the counter.

Tessa, a fellow teacher is having a birthday. I'll be out with my coworkers until late. I'm sure Seth fed you, but there's casserole in the fridge for you and Willow.

I sigh. Fatigue grips me, all the night's events catching up. I hate the thought of the name-calling and dirty looks I'll have to face on Monday morning, and I can't get the image of Jack in some jail cell out of my head.

But my stomach growls. I didn't eat much at the restaurant before the dance. Simone and her friends were at a table close by, so I had no appetite. I reach into the fridge to get the food Mom made. It's untouched. Willow hasn't eaten yet even though it's getting late.

I head down the hall. “Will, do you want any food?” I call outside her bedroom door. When I knock, she doesn't answer. I open the door, but her room is dark and empty.

So is the bathroom we share. In thirty seconds, I've checked the rest of our tiny house. She's nowhere.

I dial Willow's number on my cell. It rings forever, until voice mail picks up. “Please leave a message for . . .
Willow
.”

“Willow, where are you?” I wince when I hear how controlling my tone is. “Listen, I don't know if you cleared it with Mom that you'd be gone, but call me to let me know how long you'll be . . . please.”

I hang up and listen to my stepdad start drunken-snoring in the next room. I'm sure he has no clue Willow's even gone. She probably just took off without telling anyone.

I dial her again, prepare to leave a message about how her self-centered bitchiness isn't fair to Mom or Dad. But Willow picks up.

“What, Tessa?” Behind Willow's voice burst the riotous sounds of a party.

“Where are you?”

“Out with friends. Hey, over here!” she shouts to someone. “I'll take one!”

Something thuds.

“Here, beautiful,” a guy drawls.

“Thanks,” Willow says, kind of flirty.

“Willow!” I spit.

“Relax, Tessa.” Her casual tone is annoying. “No worries. I'm at Baker's.”
Simone's after-homecoming party,
I think.

“Does Mom know?”

“I told Dad I was spending the night here.”

“Dad?” I glance toward the living room “Was he sober when you asked him?”

“Not my problem.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “How did you even get there?”

“Ty Blevens picked me up.”

A chill sweeps through me. I try to keep my voice even. “Will, just come home. What if Mom is worried you're not here when she gets back?” I hope guilt can convince her.

She's silent, like she's thinking. “I might, but after I finish this drink . . . or the next one.” A smile enters her voice. I want to crawl through the phone and smack her.

“Willow, listen, you—”

“Whatever, Tessa.” She hangs up.

And I should leave her there, let her get in whatever trouble. But I picture Ty handing her drink after drink. Feel him pushing himself against me.

I throw Jack's car keys on my counter, grab my own from my purse, and peel down our dirt road to get my sister.

My cell phone, sitting on Officer Weinhart's desk, lets out the sound of a car horn honking, the signal I'm getting a message from Mom. I press my palms to the jail cell bench beneath me. I need to get back to Mom. She can't be alone this long. If she's texting, she's not sleeping. And who knows what state of mind she's in?

“Hey, Officer Weinhart?”

The broad-shouldered woman sits behind her desk reading the latest edition of the
Pineville Post
, ignoring me.

“Ma'am?”

“What do you want, Dalton?” She doesn't lower her paper, doesn't look over.

“How long do you think I'll be here?”

She finally glances at me. “That's up to Officer Fogerty. He seems to have plans for you.” She lifts the paper higher, like a wall between us.

“Has he contacted my mom?”

“Can't say.”

The silence stretches for a long minute. The first message unacknowledged, my phone sounds again with Mom's tone.

“My brother died.” I say it all abrupt, like a slap. But it works.

Officer Weinhart lowers the paper. “I heard about that.”

I crinkle my forehead, purposely let some of my pent-up emotions flood my face. Officer Weinhart watches me. “It ripped my mom apart. She's always thinking something's going to happen to me any second.” I look at her meaningfully. “Do you have kids?”

She nods, her pale lips spreading into a thin smile. “Two boys. Both grown and moved out of state now. I don't see them enough.”

“My mom's texting.” I nod at my phone. “She's worried. I can feel it.”

Officer Weinhart's gaze flits to my cell. The screen has gone black, the message hidden.

She sighs heavily. Then brings my cell over to me. “I'll let you see the message and text one back, but Officer Fogerty said no communication for you to anyone outside until all his paperwork is written up, so don't you dare tell him I broke the rules. I'm only doing this as a favor from one mom to another.”

I give her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

I type in my security code, and Mom's message pops up on the screen.

Jackie, I don't know if you are able to get this but I see your car next door and I know HE must have gotten you. Hold on, honey. I'll get you out. I love you. Mommy is coming to get you.

My breath halts. My heart feels crammed in my throat.
Holy shit!

I reread her words.

HE must have gotten you. Mommy is coming to get you.

I think of my options. I could tell the police now. Or I can hope
no one is home at Tessa's. Or I can wish and pray that Mom snaps out of this before Tessa's family sees how far gone she is.

Or my best choice might be to try to talk myself out of this mess with Fogerty 2. I've done it before. I need to do it again tonight.

Hands shaking, I type a message before it's too late.

Mom, I'm totally fine. Stay right there. I'll be home soon.

I pass Officer Weinhart the phone.

She looks at me. “Did you make her feel better?”

“I always do,” I say, but my voice sounds small and far away, like it's stuffed in a metal box, a lifetime of solitary confinement.

I only have a vague idea of where Simone and Baker live. Seth mentioned once that Simone was in Hickory Hills, a mega-upscale neighborhood in the north of town. When I pull in, the houses loom three times as big as mine. Some of the lush lawns, I'm sure, are irrigated by my stepdad. No doubt, their dirt has come home smeared all over him, the dry bits cracking against our floors.

I stop my car and wait for a sign of where in the neighborhood to go—loud music, drunk kids wandering. A pickup skids around the corner, peeling past me. Guys crammed inside howl. I go after it, turning the corner to see a lit-up house with people streaming in and out.

The house is massive, of course. The stone fascia lit up. Cars line the curb. I park six houses down. I follow the clump of people up the brick front steps and into a foyer. A crystal chandelier dangles sixteen feet high. A wide staircase curves into an upstairs off to the right. To the left, a sitting room is heavy with the smell of beer partyers everywhere.

I look for Willow. And look out for Simone and Ty. And Seth.

I edge past chatting girls in the hallway, walk into the kitchen. The keg there curtained by partygoers, plastic cups stuck in their hands. Willow isn't here. And she isn't in the family room with the bodies gyrating to music or outside with the smokers on the massive back deck.

My frustration builds, my heart beating faster. Simone's house is the last place I should be. A confrontation with Simone or Seth could get ugly. But I need to make sure Ty is nowhere near my sister. I have no idea what he might do to her. I just need to get Willow and get the hell out.

I push toward the staircase to the upstairs hallway, where it's dim, all the doors closed. I walk to the end of the hall, wondering if I should check inside each room. I risk Simone, Ty, or Seth being in them. But then I hear my sister's voice behind the door next to me. “Oh, God.”

I grab the handle, but it's locked. “Willow,” I say, knocking hard. “Unlock this door.”

In a second, the lock clicks and the door swings open. Willow crawls on hands and knees back to the toilet, where she hovers her sweating face.

I close the door, then kneel by her. “Will?”

She shakes her head. “Drunk.” And she moans again.

I pull her hair back gently, grab a couple tissues from the counter close by.

Willow plants her forehead against the toilet seat, says as slow and sloppy as honey into the bowl, “I might . . . have had . . . a little too much . . . to drink.”

“Oh, God, Willow.”

“The party was fun . . . until this.” And Willow hurls hard into the toilet bowl. I cringe, but rub her back until it's over.

“Oh, God.” She swallows. “Thanks, Tessa. . . . I mean . . . for helping me.”

I wipe her face and mouth with the tissues. “You're my sister, Will. I love you.”

She looks at me through half-closed eyes. “Are you a skank?”

“What?”

She tries to shrug, but just twitches, then lays her head back onto the toilet seat. “Baker and Simone told me . . . you screwed that Ty kid. . . . They said if you did it once . . . you probably skanked-out with others, too.”

I knew Baker might tell her nasty things about me, but my little sister questioning if I'm a skank stings so much more than random people at school doing it.

“I didn't screw Ty Blevens, Will. But I do maybe need to get some help learning how to be more confident and respect myself.”

She raises her head. “You should . . . Tess. Because . . . you're too pretty . . . and too smart to be . . . a skank.”

I let a laugh and tears out at the same time. “Thanks, Will.”

“Welcome,” she says.

“Are you ready to go home now?”

She gives a long, slow smile. “I am.”

•   •   •

I'm practically carrying Will's wobbly body down the hallway toward the stairs when Simone appears.

Her eyes narrow. “What are you doing here? This party isn't for whores.”

“We were just leaving,” I say.

But Simone doesn't let me by.

“Before you go,” she says, “let's talk about how your life at school is about to become the absolute fucking worst.”

I think about asking to call Mom, but I usually can't calm her down by phone. I need to be there with her.

My adrenaline is so high. I pace back and forth in the tiny cell and think about what Mom might do. Tessa's stepdad is so much bigger than she is. He could hurt her easily. And he has every right to defend himself if she attacks him.

But what if Tessa gets in the way? What if
she
becomes Mom's target?

Shit.
Maybe I should have told Tessa about my mom's obsession with her family. Maybe I should have called Dr. Surrey. I really need to get the fuck out of this police station.

Fogerty 2 finally appears in the hall. My first instinct is to lunge at the cell door and scream, “I need out of here!” But Fogerty 2 and I don't work that way. So when he stands in front of the bars, I say, “You know, these vertical blinds you had installed are broken.” I tug at the bars and fake a groan. “They don't move at all.”

His thick eyebrows slam together. “Dalton, I don't think you quite understand the gravity of what you've done tonight.”

I'm sitting in a jail cell, so I sort of do. But I listen anyway.

“You are about to be charged with a breaking-and-entering offense. Not to mention trespassing.” He shakes his boulder-size head. “And that's aside from the vandalism of public property conviction I'll push for because of how you befouled Pineville's deer signs and because you broke our arrangement with Ms. Barnes over at your school. So you can keep pulling on those bars all you want, but you're not getting out of here until all the charges are officially filed and you give me some explanation of what you were doing on Clement Valley's property.”

My anxiety builds, but I keep my expression even. “You do realize,” I say, “that holding me here means no doughnuts tomorrow morning. It's Sunday. Doughnut day.”

“What were you doing in Clement Valley?”

“Country line dancing.”

“Clever.” He sighs. “Keep dancing, Dalton, because since you'll be locked up for a while, you'll need some kind of hobby to keep you occupied.”

He's not kidding. I realize I have to try a different approach. I choose a little more honesty.

“Look, it was an innocent dare,” I say. “I would have been in and out. I took nothing. Hurt no one.”

Fogerty 2's face peers between two bars. “Nothing innocent about what you did tonight. And you can't talk your way out of this one.”

I can feel the concrete, the metal, Fogerty 2's face, his hot breath pushing in on me. I stumble to sitting and brace myself on the bench. My head sags. Mom's “lost” face floats in my head.

“I can't be here.” My voice comes out thin and actually quaking. “I have to get out of here.” I shake my head for a long minute.

When I look up, Fogerty 2 is staring at me, his mouth open,
his expression confused. He's stepped away from the bars like I've become something otherworldly.

“What did you just say?” He eyes me.

I stand and grip the bars. “I have to get out of here. I need to go.”

His expression tightens. He crosses his arms over his beefy chest. “Why?”

“I have something I need to deal with.” I sound like what I am—a scared kid.

Fogerty 2 cocks his head. “You know, Jack, you have everything I never did.”

WTF?

“You've got brains and skills that some people would give anything to have.” He sniffs with contempt. “But you're pissing them away.” He shakes his head.

I smooth my tongue along my lip ring, thinking about what to say next. But all that comes out is the truth. “Officer Fogerty, please. I have to take care of something before it gets really out of control. It's nothing illegal. It's personal. I really just need to go. You can come after me later. Hell, I'll come back willingly. But right now, I can't be here.”

He shakes his head. “I can't do that. You did this to yourself, Jack. Just accept it.”

But with Mom so far gone and me so used to pulling her back from the edge, I can't accept it. “I'll confess to everything.”

Fogerty 2 lifts an eyebrow.

“I'll tell you all the things I've done, not just in Pineville but in Hallend, too, and you can bust me all over the place.
If
you let me handle this right now.” I never thought I'd make a deal like this. But shit's gotten so serious that I'll do anything.

Fogerty 2 takes a deep breath in, thinking it over.

“You know where I live,” I tell him. “I'm not fleeing to Mexico or anything. I just need to check on . . . my mom.”

His bulky body freezes for a second. Then, slowly, he nods his huge head. “Okay, Dalton. But you only have two hours. Then I want you back here.” And unbelievably, he pulls out his keys, inserting one into the cell door lock.

“Thank you
so
much.” My tone is sincere. But Fogerty 2 doesn't answer. So before he declares this some cruel joke, I walk out the open cell door.