27

Johnny

Becca, I want you to tell me something,” I say as we lie in her bed. It’s the only time she seems to be in the moment with me and lets down her guard.

“Okay,” she mumbles, rolling onto her side, and it’s so sexy I almost don’t want to ask. I want to go for round two instead.

“When did you first decide to take Ethan?” I ask, toying with a lock of her hair to distract her. “Did you plan it the entire time?”

“I had everything planned out the entire time,” she says without wavering.

It’s not the answer I was hoping for.

I let her words roll around in my head for a while until it all begins to make sense. The way we met. How perfect it was. The timing. The mood. The circumstances. I question if I was part of the plan from the very beginning.

“Me too?” I ask, wanting to get to the truth. “Was I part of your plan?”

“Of course,” she says, and I let her hair slide from my fingers.

“What do you mean, of course?” I try to keep the hurt from my voice.

“Well, that’s how it started. I thought we’d make a good team. But this?” she says, pointing to the two of us in bed. “This is something I couldn’t have ever predicted.”

I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. But the fact that she thinks it’s no big deal that she befriended me for this plan? That she tricked me? She doesn’t get it. She honestly doesn’t get it, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to explain it to her.

“Did you pick me because I’m an easy target?” I continue to push, sitting up now. “Easy to control?” I ask.

Because I’m stupid?

“No, I picked you because he hurt both of us,” Becca says. “I knew you were in as much pain as I was. The only thing good that’s come of this.” She runs her hand down my arm. “Us. I’m not ashamed of reaching out to you. It was the best thing I ever did. The smartest move I’ve ever made.”

Again, she’s so confident, so sure. It’s hard not to believe her.

“You don’t get it, Johnny.” She puts a hand to my chest, and it’s both comforting and irritating. “You have all the power now. You know all my secrets. I’m here, in this crazy situation, for you.”

And then she kisses me.

Becca is making us sandwiches downstairs in the kitchen when her parents get home. Mr. and Mrs. Waters are The Walking Dead. Each evening, they shuffle in. They grunt and groan, occasionally throwing in a one-syllable word.

I think Cass has it wrong. I think Becca’s parents want to send her away because they can’t be bothered to take care of themselves, let alone their messed-up daughter. I think she’s become a painful, living reminder of all they’ve lost.

Mrs. Waters wears an ugly brown cardigan. She has it gathered in the middle, secured with one button. Except it’s in the wrong hole. She works at a bank, and Mr. Waters works at the courthouse. He’s just as unkempt as the missus, with coffee stains that trickle down the length of his shirt.

I welcome them home. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Waters.”

“Johnny,” Mr. Waters grunts as he throws the keys in a dish on the table.

Mrs. Waters brushes past me to pat Becca on the head. Her hand strokes, bats, and misses, like a blind woman trying to locate her seeing eye dog.

Pat.

Pat.

Her pinkie finger pokes Becca in the eye.

Becca doesn’t acknowledge her parents.

“Come on, Johnny,” she says. “Eat up. We need to get going.”

We move out to the front stoop and stuff our mouths with PB and Js. I eat two to Becca’s one. We need our strength; there’s another long night ahead.