This Is How It Ends (15 page)

CHAPTER 24

SHE WAS BACKLIT BY THE
streetlamp between our house and the McGintys', the mist making the air behind her foggy and ethereal. It was on her skin too, a fine sheen of moisture.

“Can I come in?” she finally asked, when it became obvious I had no manners.

“Of course. I'm sorry.” I stepped aside to let her pass, my heart racing. “I thought you were my mom.”

“I didn't realize we looked so much alike.”

“No. I mean, she just left for work, and—”

I saw Sarah looking at the fire and the candles. She turned back to me, eyebrows raised. “Am I interrupting something?” She glanced past me, down the hall. “Do you have company?” Her smile faltered. “I had no idea—”

“No one's here,” I said. “Or coming over.”

“Oh.” Her smile faded a little. “Well, I, uh—I hope it's okay that I stopped by.” She paused a second, suddenly nervous. “I had a thought.”

“If you were Tannis, I'd say congratulations.”

Sarah smiled, looking around for the light switch. She crossed, flipped it before I could tell her not to bother.

Nothing happened, of course.

“It doesn't work,” she said.

“Not at the moment.”

It only took her a few seconds. “Your electricity was shut off.”

I nodded.

“Because you couldn't pay the bill.” Her voice was gentle. I had never, ever talked about my financial situation with Sarah, but she wasn't stupid.

“It'll be back on soon.”

Sarah swallowed hard. “God, Ri,” she said, her voice tight. “I'm sorry.”

I wanted to tell her it wasn't a big deal—my own stupid decision—but I didn't want to explain the whole thing.

I saw her eyes sweep the living room. I never minded it much. It was comfortable enough, but to her the water stain on the ceiling and the peeling paint by the mantel must have looked very different. She turned back to me, her jaw set. “How much is the bill?”

“Not much,” I said, glancing away from those searching eyes. “It's not a big deal.”

Sarah reached out, touched my arm so I'd look at her. My skin tingled with the feel of her hand. “Riley.” Her eyes, deep and dark, held mine. “How much?”

“Eighty-three dollars,” I said hoarsely.

“Let me float you the cash.”

“No,” I said instantly. “I mean, thank you. That's really, really nice, but—”

“Look, I'm not going to tell anyone,” she said.

“I know.” I took a breath, not wanting to say it but knowing it was better than having her pity me. “My mom's getting the money tomorrow.” From her boyfriend. Who just happens to be my best friend's married dad.

Sarah's eyes darted around the room again. “Okay,” she said hesitantly.

“So . . . you wanted to talk?” I smiled wryly. “Before we were so rudely interrupted by my lack of electricity.”

Sarah smiled. “I've been thinking about Galen and who might have framed him.”

“So have I,” I told her. I watched her for a second, deciding to come clean. “I found something at the trailer.”

Her eyes went wide, then sharpened. “On the floor,” she said. “Just before we left, right?” I nodded. “What was it?”

“A lighter,” I said. “It's Moose's.”

“Who?”

“Moose Martin. I work with him. He's in our class.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I checked the yearbook.”

“No, you dope.” Sarah swatted me. “That it's his lighter.”

“I just know,” I told her. “The way it's worn down . . .”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure. It's upstairs.” I turned, not expecting her to follow, but she did, pausing just inside my room while I crossed to the dresser. She shined the flashlight around the small space.

“I like your room,” she said. “It's very ‘you.'”

I glanced at the walls, blank except for an old Fenway Park poster; my dresser and shelves, stacked with books; the quilt my grammy had made. “Nerdy?” I smiled.

She grinned back. “No. Basic. Solid. The things you need and nothing more.”

“Uh-huh.” I liked that she thought of me that way. I pulled out the baggie I'd sealed the lighter into. I'd been careful not to smear or touch it but should have left it at the scene, I knew. It was probably worthless as evidence like this.

She studied it, nodding, clearly seeing what I meant about it being recognizable, just like his car.

“I saw him drive by the trailer the day we went up with Nat,” I told her. “I'm wondering now if maybe he'd heard the cops had released the crime scene. Maybe he was going back for this.”

“But . . . wouldn't the cops have found it?”

“I guess not.”

“Did he know Nat's dad?' she asked.

We sat then, Sarah at one end of the moonlit bed and me carefully at the other, and I told her everything. About the time I'd gone up there with him, how I'd told the police at the restaurant and how pissed Moose had been. About how he'd admitted going there the day Nat's dad was killed.

“Wow,” she breathed when I finished.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Wow.”

“Do you think he did it?”

“I don't know. I hope not,” I said, adding, “he's too short, if what we mapped up there is right.”

“If,” she said.

“Yeah.” It's what nagged at me, as much as I didn't want it to. “This is definitely his. And it was on top of the blood.”

“Should we tell the police?”

“Probably,” I said. “But I'd like to talk to him first. I feel like I already ratted him out once.”

“Riley, if he's the killer, it's not ratting him out.”

“Yeah, I know. I just . . .” I didn't know how to explain how I felt like Moose always got the shitty break. How George always treated me better at work. The way guys like Trip and girls like Sarah ignored him, didn't even know who he was. I knew what that felt like a little. I'd gotten a taste of it every now and then, growing up with Trip around. I guess I wanted to give Moose a chance on his own. Just him and me. Just in case things weren't what they seemed, because lots of times they weren't.

She nodded. “Okay.”

I put the lighter back into my top drawer. Sarah stood, stretching, her hands over her head. It tugged her shirt up, and I could see where her jeans hung loose around her hips, the top of her panties, black and lacy. I looked away, my ears hot.

“The binoculars,” she said, noticing the case, also in my top drawer. “Have you looked in them again?”

“I've thought about it,” I admitted. “But, no.”

She nodded, picking up a picture from the top of my dresser. It'd been there so long, I'd forgotten all about it. “When was this?” Sarah asked, studying it. Me and Trip in front of our tent. The camping weekend when his dad had fed my mom marshmallows. I was surprised I hadn't burned it. Maybe I would now. Just toss it into the fire downstairs.

“A long time ago,” I said.

“I can tell.” Sarah smiled. “You guys look so cute. What are you . . . ten? Eleven?”

“Something like that.”

“You've been friends for a long time,” she observed. It made me wonder if Trip had ever talked to her about how we'd grown up together. Or if he'd boxed most of that up with his Pokémon cards and car magazines.

“Since we were born, pretty much. Our parents were friends.”

“Are they still?”

“Not since my dad died,” I said.

She nodded but didn't say anything, which I appreciated. Some people feel like they have to rush in with “I'm sorry” or platitudes, but it's just better when they act like it's no biggie, because it really isn't. I mean, it
is
, but I've lived with it every day for the last four years. Just because someone's never talked about it with me before doesn't make it new news.

“I've never had a friend like that,” she said, flopping back onto the bed. “We moved around so much when I was younger. This is the longest we've lived anywhere.”

“How come?”

“Mostly it was my mom,” she said. “She was the kind of person who'd have three projects going and still be looking for the fourth, you know?” I nodded. “She was always doing something new, learning something else. My dad tells this story about when he was in grad school. She was an undergrad, double-majoring in engineering and physics.”

“Um . . . wow?”

Sarah smiled. “Right. Anyway, he was doing his dissertation on brain function, dormant sections, hypnosis, stuff like that. She got interested in it, but it wasn't like she just asked about it or read a book or two. She read them all.” Sarah laughed softly. “By the end, he always says, she could have written his paper better than he did.”

“She sounds kind of brilliant.”

“She was. Is,” Sarah said. “Brilliant and flighty and a little bit nuts. In a good way,” she added wistfully.

“I see you got one of three.”

“I'm not
that
flighty,” Sarah said, grinning.

“Not the one I meant. I've seen your mad skills.”

She laughed. “But to get back to your question,” Sarah said more seriously. “My mom liked to see new places. Do new things. It was like an itch to constantly go, do, explore. In some ways it was great.” Sarah smiled fondly. “When I was little, we were always running off to museums and exhibits and parks. She taught me to bike and swim and play tennis. Or, if we were at home, we'd have a soufflé baking at the same time we were making a sodium chloride volcano.” She bit her lip for a second, then added, “But it wasn't great in the way that made us move every time she got bored. I used to wish we'd just stay put, you know? Just for once not constantly have to make new friends.”

“I can't imagine you ever had much trouble,” I said, grinning.

But Sarah didn't smile. “Please. If it weren't for Natalie, I'd probably still be skulking around the corners of school. You know, Vermont isn't the most welcoming place.”

Yeah, I guess I did know that. We all did.

“Of course, if I'd have known that the price for staying somewhere was her leaving, I'd have pulled that wish back in a second,” she said quietly. “I'd do anything to have her back.”

I didn't say anything at first. I didn't like talking about my dad, but I knew what Sarah was feeling—that intense, hollow gap; the feeling that some vital part of you was missing—and it seemed like she wanted to talk about it.

“What happened?” I asked. “With her and your dad?”

She got that wistful look again. “They were quite a pair,” she said. “The absentminded professor and the mad scientist.”

“Who was the scientist?”

“She was. It's what she did for work,” Sarah said. “But it was also her passion at home. She had botany projects and chemistry, and of course, a spot for tinkering wherever we lived. All those plants in our house?” I nodded. “They were hers. Grown from seed, varieties she'd cultivated . . .” Sarah trailed off. “I've been keeping them alive, because if it were left to my dad, they'd be deader than doornails.”

“Why did she . . . like, when she went away . . .” I fumbled for how to ask it.

Sarah knew what I was getting at. “When my mom got into something, she was all in. Like with my dad's dissertation. Unfortunately,” Sarah said wryly, “that applied to people, too. She met a guy at work.” She looked away and I could see her fighting tears. “And that was that.”

I didn't know what to say. Her mom sounded like all the things Sarah had said, brilliant and flighty and a little bit nuts. But not in a good way at all. I knew Sarah didn't see it that way, though. People rarely do when it's someone they love.

“She wanted me to go with her, but my dad wouldn't let me,” Sarah said softly. “I think he hoped if I stayed, she would.” She shook her head. “After almost twenty years with her, you'd think he'd know better.”

“I'm sorry.”

“She told me she'd be back.” Sarah shrugged sadly. “I guess she's just been too busy with another guy or an important project.”

“I can't imagine what would be more important than you.” It slipped out before I knew it. The words were right, but I could tell I'd said them too honestly, with too much of my own feeling. I felt my face redden.

Sarah met my eyes. “Thanks, Riley,” she said after a minute. “That's sweet.”

I didn't know what to say, so I kept quiet. The silence lingered in the stillness of my house. Sarah was close enough that her bent knee touched my leg just barely, but it felt like that spot was lit with a neon heat. I'd been working really hard to ignore the charge between us, the inescapable memories of how it had been to kiss her last time. I was trying to be good, do the right thing.

But then Sarah moved, pressing her leg against me so gently, I might have thought it was unintentional, except for the way her eyes held mine. A tingling raced up my thigh like a trail of sparks. I made some sort of sound, my breath tight and short, and then I was leaning toward her, eyes closing as our lips touched. Everything beyond was gray and dark, my focus totally narrowed to the feel of her cheek brushing mine, breath on my ear making me shiver. We fell back onto the bed, and her hand was on mine, guiding it to her buttons, then moving lower as I fumbled with them, opening her shirt. I sucked in my breath at the sight of her pale skin.

And then I saw her necklace. Light glinted off the locket Trip had given her last year, a picture of the two of them inside.

“Oh God, Sarah.” I pulled back, away from her. I kid you not, it was probably the hardest thing I've ever done. “I can't. God knows I want to.”

Fool!
my inner fourteen-year-old screamed.
How long have you been waiting for this? You're blowing it, you idiot!