Swallowing Stones (11 page)

But on this particular night in late July, Michael found that even sitting on the floor across from Amy, drinking root beer and playing Scrabble, was not enough to quiet his mind. No one had shown up at his front door yet, but he knew it could happen any day if what Josh said was true.

“I don’t think
quitch
is a word,” Amy told him.

Michael stared down at the board. The Scrabble piece he was holding felt sticky. “Are you going to challenge it?” he asked.

Amy watched him closely, as if she was trying to gauge his mood. “Well, it
is
a triple word score. That’s a lot of points.”

“So challenge it.” He was hardly able to keep the irritation out of his voice, although he knew it wasn’t Amy he was upset with.

Amy stared down at her lap. She was sitting cross-legged on one of the couch cushions they had put on the floor. “I guess it could be a real word. I mean, I’m not doubting you or anything.”

“Jeez, Amy. This is a game. People make up words if they think they can get away with it.” Michael swung his hands out, palms up. “They want to win!” He reached over and snapped up the dictionary from the coffee table. “Doubt me,” he said, handing it to her.

Amy took the dictionary without looking at him. She seemed to take a long time fumbling through the pages. Then Michael noticed the surprised flutter of her dark lashes, and when she looked up, her delight was so open and childlike that
he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she understood. He was not to be trusted.

“It’s a real word,” she said softly. “I should have believed you.”

Michael’s jaw tightened. He had had no idea that
quitch
was a real word. He thought he had made it up. He took the dictionary from her. Sure enough, there it was. Quitch was a kind of grasslike weed. He closed the book and let it rest heavily in his lap. Finally he said, “I thought I made it up.”

“But it’s okay, because you didn’t.”

“No, it’s not okay. I was trying to cheat.” Michael was growing agitated. He needed to get away from Amy. “Look,” he said, getting to his feet, “I’m pretty tired tonight. We’ll finish this some other time, all right?”

Amy didn’t say anything. She lifted the Scrabble board from the floor, careful not to jar any of the letters, and gently set it on the coffee table.

Michael was already walking toward the door. Amy crossed the room and stood in front of him. She rested the palm of her hand against his chest, as if she were trying to feel his heartbeat. “You never try to kiss me,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on her hand.

Michael’s body tensed, filling with desire. He told himself that he did not want this to happen. He told himself that Amy was just a good friend.

“That time in your garage,” Amy said. “At your birthday party …” She sucked in her breath, as if that might give her the extra courage to somehow get through this. “Didn’t you like kissing me?”

“Sure.” Michael covered her hand, the one still touching his chest, with his own. He could feel the chemistry between them. His heart was racing.

“Then why?”

He thought of Darcy suddenly. She had been in Ocean City with her parents for two weeks. But she was supposed to have gotten home that day. Michael wasn’t at all sure what Darcy would do if she found out he’d been spending so much time with Amy. Probably break up with him. And really, wasn’t that what he wanted? Wouldn’t it be easier for her if she was the one to break it off? Still …

“Amy …,” he began, about to remind her of Darcy. But she was looking up at him now. Waiting. Suddenly there didn’t seem to be anything he could say. He leaned forward, pulling her body as close to his as he could, breathing in the scent of her hair, brushing his lips against her ear, her eyelid, her cheek, as if he could never get enough of her. And as his lips came to rest on hers he realized he’d been fooling himself all along. Now, for the first time, he admitted to himself how much he really wanted her.

“Amy,” he whispered, “I have to go now.” If he stayed another minute, it would be too late. He reached behind her and fumbled with the doorknob.

Amy had her head tilted to one side, watching him, as if she was trying to understand something. “Then go,” she said simply, stepping aside and helping him to push the door open wider.

Each casual step down the front walk cost him; the strain of keeping his body loose and unhurried was unbearable. He would have run if Amy hadn’t still been standing at the door.

How had he let this happen? Darcy was probably back and waiting for his call. He had enough problems to deal with. The last thing he needed was to get tangled up with another girl. And not just any girl, Amy Ruggerio. Yet even as her name entered his thoughts the intense feeling he had experienced at
her front door only moments earlier spread through his body like wildfire.

He took a deep breath. Whatever was going to happen would happen. There was no point in fighting it. He understood that now. Because this was a world where things you never thought could happen to you did. And where you didn’t always get to choose your fate, or the people you loved. Sometimes it just happened.

a
few days later Michael took another driver’s test. This time he passed. At least he could put an end to that small web of deceit, although it brought him little relief. Other webs had already sprung up in its place.

Since Darcy had returned from Ocean City, Michael had somehow managed to put their relationship on hold, talking with her only at the pool or on the phone. But it had been more than a week and she was growing impatient.

When Darcy finally did confront him, it was just as he was leaving work. She was sitting on the hood of her father’s Taurus, sipping slowly from a bottle of natural spring water. Michael’s first thought was that the hood of the car had to be about five hundred degrees. He wondered how she could sit there so patiently, looking so deliciously cool in her red shorts and flowered top. Her sandaled feet hung over the side, exposing her bare thighs to the scorching metal. And she never even flinched, just lifted her hand and waved him over.

Michael came to stand in front of her. Waiting. He knew what was coming. It had been coming for weeks.

“You haven’t said anything about Kim Cohen’s party,”
Darcy said, taking another swallow of water. “I just wondered if we were still going.” Her lips were stretched in a tight smile.

When Michael didn’t say anything, she added, “It’s tonight, remember?”

He felt the familiar thickness in his throat when he looked into her soft hazel eyes. “Darcy,” he began, his voice husky. But she held up her hand to stop him.

“Wait, let me guess,” she said. “You’ve had a tough day at the pool and you’re too tired to party, right?” She slid off the hood of the car. The soles of her sandals smacked against the blacktop. “You’re starting to sound just like my dad.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Fine. Tell me what it is, then.” She emptied the bottle and tossed it into the backseat of the car.

Michael took her hand and held it for a minute, rubbing his thumb back and forth across her smooth skin. How could he tell her that he couldn’t be around her right now? He didn’t want to be around anyone. It was too difficult. Even being around Amy was hard.

“It’s not you,” he said softly, staring down at the light freckles that covered the back of her hand. “It’s me. My life is really screwed up right now.”

“It’s true, then,” Darcy said, snatching her hand away from him.

Michael thought his heart had stopped. He wondered if she could have possibly found out he had killed a man. He shook his head, fighting to keep his face expressionless. “What’s true?”

“That you’ve been getting it on with the slut.”

It took him a few seconds to realize Darcy was talking about Amy. “I’m not ‘getting it on’ with anyone,” he said, trying to keep the mounting anger out of his voice.

Darcy yanked open the door of her father’s car and climbed behind the wheel. “We saw you.”

“Who saw me? What are you talking about?” Michael’s fingers gripped the top of the car door, keeping her from closing it. He knew he and Amy had never gone anywhere together. No one could have seen them.

Darcy gave the car door a futile tug, but Michael held on. With an angry snort, she shoved the key in the ignition and started the engine. “Allison, Kim, and I were out driving around the night I got back. We saw you.”

“Saw me what?”

“Saw you turn down Amy’s street.”

“So?” He wondered how Darcy or the others had known it was Amy’s street. “I was out walking. Big deal.”

Darcy stared down at the steering wheel. Her long red hair fell forward, hiding her profile. “Do you think I don’t know something’s wrong, Mike? I mean, we hardly ever see each other anymore.”

Then it came to him, like a rush of hot air from an open oven door. It all but slapped him in the face. “You were spying on me,” he said, his voice barely audible because the full weight of this fact hadn’t quite sunk in yet.

“I had to know if you were seeing someone else.” Darcy lifted her chin defensively. “You sure as hell weren’t going to tell me.”

“You and your friends were tailing me.” He shook his head in disbelief.

Darcy had begun to cry. Tiny ribbons of mascara snaked down her cheeks.

Michael reached down and turned off the ignition, then came around to the other side of the car and climbed into the passenger seat. Darcy’s hands were clamped around the steering
wheel as if she were holding on for dear life, and all the while she kept up her steady hiccuplike sobbing.

“It’s not what you think,” he told her. “Amy and I are just friends.”

Darcy hiccupped another sob. “Oh, right.” She swatted at the brown streaks on her cheeks. “What kind of an idiot do you think I am?”

“You don’t have to believe me,” he said. “I just wanted you to know. It has nothing to do with you. With us.”

Darcy slit her eyes at him. “Get out of my car.”

This was not how he wanted to leave her. In fact, he really wasn’t sure if he even wanted to leave her. Everything was so screwed up. Still, it had finally come to this. There was no way around it without confessing everything.

For one brief moment he thought of telling her the truth. He tried to imagine how Darcy would react. Would she try to comfort him? Tell him Charlie Ward’s death was an accident? Would she tell the police?

Would he be telling her the truth just to save her pride? And what would that buy him? He knew he couldn’t go on seeing her, anyway. Because this breakup wasn’t about Amy or Darcy; it was about carrying a secret so terrible that it shut him off from the rest of the world.

Michael unfolded himself from the passenger seat and came to stand by her window as Darcy started up the engine again. “Why her?” she said as she began to back up. “That’s what I’d like to know. Is it because I said I wasn’t ready yet? You couldn’t wait?”

“Darcy.” He almost moaned her name.

“She’s such a pig.”

Michael surprised himself by reaching into the slowly moving car and grabbing Darcy by the shoulder. Her foot hit
the brake instinctively, and the car rocked back and forth. “Amy Ruggerio is one of the most decent human beings I know,” he said, clenching his teeth. “She’s been a good friend to me. A friend, period. You can believe whatever the hell you want. But nobody calls a friend of mine—any friend of mine—a pig.”

Darcy gave him a look of pure hatred. Then she lowered her jaw to his hand and, before he had time to react, bit him as hard as she could. When Michael yanked his hand back, startled, Darcy stepped on the gas and peeled out of the parking lot, spitting tiny stones from beneath the tires of the Taurus.

He stared down at his throbbing hand. She hadn’t broken the skin, but he had no doubt that she would have if he hadn’t pulled away when he did. He didn’t blame Darcy, although he was badly shaken by her behavior. After all, he had made a complete mess of things. He hadn’t been honest with her. What was she supposed to think?

Still rubbing his sore hand, he watched her tear down the road. Then, because there was nothing else he could do about Darcy, he headed for the library. He still went almost every night to see if there were any new developments in the Ward case, especially now. He knew the police had continued going door-to-door the past week. So far they had not been on his street.

It occurred to him, as he climbed the stone steps to the building, that he had
wanted
Darcy to be the one to end their relationship. He had let it come to that. As he reached for the doorknob he saw the deep tooth marks in his hand and the swollen, red skin. If he had stayed with her, he would have only hurt her even more in the end, when the truth finally came out.

The end, he knew, would come when the authorities discovered that all their evidence pointed to one killer: Michael MacKenzie. And even though Joe was still convinced they were both practically in the clear, Michael knew better. He knew it was only a matter of time.

t
he night the police came to the MacKenzies’ front door was the same night a renegade tornado tore the rooftops off fourteen units in the apartment complex behind the A&P. It peeled them right off like an old brown banana skin, and no one saw it coming.

On that particular night in early August, the sky was the color of an oxidized penny and the air was deathly still. Michael answered the door because his mother was at the mall and his father and Josh were right in the middle of
Jeopardy!
Even a tornado advisory, had it been bleeped in bold white letters across the bottom of the screen, would not have interrupted their game.

Michael knew the two men who stared back at him through the screen door. The younger, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, was Doug Boyle. He had been with the police force for only a year. Michael and his friends had nicknamed him the Hangman because he made his reputation catching kids who were drinking in the park, then booking them. Sometimes he waited, patient as a cat, in alleyways between the shops in town so that he could nail kids for speeding down Main Street.