Gwen’s upstairs a long time. I hear her murmuring to Percy, the sound of running water, his voice, high and boyish, more murmurs. Then, gradually, silence.
I’m sitting on the living room floor, my knees drawn to my chest, still in my wet, dirty clothes. I know I should leave. Go home. Disappear. But I can’t bring myself to move. I’m not even drunk anymore, it’s not that. In fact, I feel almost too clearheaded. Clearheaded enough to know what I’ve done, and to feel terrible about it.
Gwen comes downstairs. A look of surprise, then anger, crosses her face. “What are you still doing here? Why don’t you get the hell out?” As she moves across the room, I notice that her limp is more pronounced than it’s been lately. She’s gripping the cane tightly.
I have no answer for that. Instead I say, “Percy’s arm … ?”
“Not broken – no thanks to you.”
I heave a sigh.
“What the hell were you doing?”
“I –”
“You nearly got my brother killed, you realize that?”
“No, I –”
“Taking him up on the mountain – after dark – stumbling drunk! You’re crazy. You’re a maniac.”
I curl over my knees. “I didn’t mean to …”
“Who gives a damn what you meant? You got him lost! What were you doing with him, anyway?”
“Trying to make him feel better.”
“Feel better?”
I look up. “He wanted to go. He asked you, but you said no –” I stop abruptly.
Gwen takes a step closer. “How do you know that?”
My cheeks grow warm. “I … heard you … heard the two of you arguing …”
Gwen glares at me. “You sneak! How dare you eavesdrop on us!”
“I didn’t mean to. I was just there.”
“It’s none of your business!”
I know she’s right. I know I’m wrong. But then I think of Percy’s voice when he pleaded with her, his face when I said I’d take him. “At least I paid attention to him. Which is more than you did.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been around. I see. You’ve been too busy sitting in your chair, feeling sorry for yourself.”
“It is so. That’s why Percy turned to me. It was all about your dad.”
“My dad?” Gwen looks startled. Her face goes pale. “What are you trying to say?”
“Percy wanted to see where it happened, so he could feel closer to your dad. Because he misses him. And worries about him.”
As I say these words, I realize something. In all the time I’ve been around since the fire, I haven’t once heard Gwen mention her dad. Talk to him on the phone. Ask a question about him.
I add, “Which is more than I can say for you.”
“What?”
“I thought you cared about him.”
“I do!”
“Loved him.”
“I do.”
“Well, you’re sure not acting like it. For God’s sake, Gwen, he’s suffering.”
“I know!” A wail.
“For all you know, he could be dying in Vancouver –”
I’m not prepared for Gwen’s reaction. She jerks as if she’s been shot. A look of terror comes over her face. “Don’t say that!” she screams. Then again, quieter, pleading, her voice breaking, “Don’t say that.”
My mind starts jumping around. Gwen’s dad. His injuries. Her injury. Gwen on the mountain, kneeling at the avalanche site, screaming. The way she’s gripping the cane. This terrified look on her face.
Somehow I know there’s more to this. I don’t know what. It’s not even a clear thought, just a feeling, a knowing, in my gut.
I jump to my feet, seize Gwen by the arm. “Something happened up there, Gwen. What was it?”
Dropping the cane, she covers her eyes. “I can’t,” she says into her hands.
“Tell me!” I shout. Then, more gently, “Tell me what happened, Gwen.”
“No …”
“Gwen.”
“Oh God, oh God –” She doubles over, clutching her middle, then sinks to her knees, just like on the mountain. “It’s all my fault!”
“What, Gwen?”
“I made him get hurt. It was me!”
“What was you?”
“My dad – the avalanche – oh God –” She leans back into a sitting position, pulls in her knees, wraps her arms around them.
I kneel beside her. “Tell me.”
She shakes her head. “It’s too terrible.”
“Tell me.”
She searches my face as if she’s looking for something. Then, as if she’s found it, she starts speaking.
“We had a big fight … . I – I wanted to go to Dancemakers – oh, I wanted it so bad –”
She hunches her shoulders and sobs onto her knees.
I wait.
“But my dad said no … and I shouted at him … and he said we should go down … but I wouldn’t – I was so mad, I wouldn’t listen – and then … then … the avalanche came –”
She sits up, putting her hands over her face. “Oh God, it was so terrifying, the noise and wind, this wall of snow – and he said, ‘Gwen, ski!’ – he wanted to save me!” She gives a cry.
“And the snow swept me away … and the last thing I saw was my dad’s body thrown down the mountain and buried.”
She wails, holding herself. “And he got hurt so bad … and he might never get better … and it’s all my fault!”
“Gwen –”
“And I hardly got hurt at all!” She strikes her leg as if trying to inflict more pain.
“Gwen, stop it.”
“It’s so unfair –”
“Gwen –”
“I can never make up for it. Never!”
I don’t know what to do to get her to stop, so I do the first thing that comes to mind. Grab her shoulders and shake her. “Shut up!”
She looks at me, stunned.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“No –”
She shakes her head. “I don’t care what you say, I know what I did.”
“You didn’t cause the avalanche!”
“But I wouldn’t come down.”
“So? Would it have made any difference? If you came down when your dad said you should, would you still have got caught in it?”
A pause. I watch her eyes flick back and forth, as if she’s replaying the scene, calculating. “Yes.”
“See?”
“But – but it’s not fair that he got hurt so bad and I didn’t.”
“Yeah. It’s not.”
Gwen nods. “That’s why I –”
“You’re not God. It’s not your fault your dad got it worse.
Things happen.”
Gwen’s eyes fill with tears. “But if I hadn’t –”
“Enough already. Stop blaming yourself for something you didn’t do.”
This look comes over her face. A lightening. A lifting. It’s as if I can see inside her head. I can see her mind go toward that thought, then skitter away, afraid to trust it.
“There’s only one way to get over this, Gwen,” I say.
“What?”
A pause. “I can’t.”
“You’ve got to.”
“But he’s – he’s not well enough.”
“No excuses, Gwen.”
“But – but what if he won’t talk to me?” Then, softer, “What if he doesn’t forgive me?”
“He will.”
I can feel her holding her breath. “Do you really think so?” It’s a whisper.
I nod.
Her face cracks. It melts. Then, without warning, she throws her arms around me and starts sobbing. These are sobs from deep in the belly, wracking, grunting cries. She clings to me, and I cling to her, and then I’m crying too. I’m bawling, pressing my face into her skinny, frail shoulder.
“Oh, Molly … Molly …” she gasps.
She cries, her slender body shaking until, gradually, her sobs lessen and hush and finally stop. Heaving a sigh, she pushes herself away. Her eyes are red, her nose is running, tears cling to her lashes, but she gives me a tremulous smile.
“Molly?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Embarrassed, I wave a hand. “I didn’t –”
I stand. Put out my hand and pull Gwen up. I can see that there’s a lightness, albeit a tired one, about her – and I’m happy for her, really I am, and I’m glad I helped. But at the same time, I feel funny. Now what? Where do I stand? Are we friends again? Or will we go back to the way it was? And what then? What if Gwen turns away again? Who do I have?
I feel that yawning hole again. The emptiness.
I put my hands in my pockets and feel a paper there. I pull it out. It’s the form from Cal.
I’m free, I think bitterly.
“What’s that?” Gwen asks.
“My release form. Saying I’ve served my probation. Finished my community service work. I’m through here.”
Yeah, I’m free all right. I shove the paper back in my pocket.
Gwen’s face hardens. “So go,” she says harshly. “I’m not keeping you.”
“What?”
“Go,” Gwen says again. “You’ve done your time. You have the paper to prove it.”
“Gwen –”
“You don’t want to be here, Molly. So just go back to your new friends!”
I jerk.
“They’re waiting for you to have fun, right? And I’m no fun, remember?”
She glares at me. I turn and run out of the house. But once on the porch, I can’t go any farther. I collapse on a chair and bury my face in my hands.
Gwen sank into a living room chair, heartbroken. She had thought that she and Molly were pulling back together. Molly had reached out to her, and Gwen had confessed her darkest secret and cried on Molly’s shoulder. And now, all Molly cared about was that she was finished with her community service work and didn’t have to stick around any longer.
Tears stung Gwen’s eyes. Stupid, she scolded herself, to let this hurt all over again.
Wiping her eyes, she heard something. Percy? No, quiet upstairs. Seemed to be outside.
She listened. A bird? An animal crying out?
She crossed to the kitchen door and opened it. A shape huddled in the dim light.
“Molly!”
She was curled on a chair, arms wrapped around her legs, sobbing.
Gwen reached out a hand. “Molly, what – “
Molly pulled deeper into herself.
“Molly, what is it? What’s the matter?”
Molly jerked away. Deep wrenching cries came from her.
“Molly, please … I’m sorry I said that about your friends.”
A wail. “I … have … no … friends.”
Gwen hesitated. Then she lowered herself onto the chair, squeezing beside Molly. She put her arms around her. She didn’t say anything, just held Molly as she cried.
Finally Molly began to speak. She told Gwen about how much fun she’d been having, how she’d thought she was part of the group, how she’d felt even more in the thick of things when she’d found them a place to party.
“Oh, Gwen, I’m so sorry about the cabin!” she said, weeping again.
Gwen waited.
“When the fire started, I was so panicked, I didn’t know what to do. We just had to save the cabin – I couldn’t let it burn down! – but it spread so fast … and they didn’t do anything. They were so freaked out … . They batted out a few sparks, but then they just took off.” Molly sniffled. “I was so hurt. I mean, they left me there in the flames! But at the same time, I couldn’t blame them. It was terrifying. I was freaked out too.”
After her arrest, Molly explained, she kept waiting for the others to come forward and share the blame.
“No one did,” she said in a heavy voice. “No one even called to say they were sorry or see how I was.” She dashed tears from her eyes. “But I told myself they were just afraid. I mean, Tony had been busted before, and Zach had been picked up for underage drinking, so they couldn’t risk getting in trouble again. I told myself they were just lying low, that as soon as my probation was over they’d all come back, and it would be just like before.” Tears filled her eyes. “But today …” Her lip trembled. “Today …”
“What, Molly?” Gwen touched her shoulder. “What happened?”
Tears rolled down Molly’s cheeks as she told Gwen what Constable Sawchuk had said. “They never cared about me, Gwen! They were never really my friends. I was just someone to party with … someone to find them a free place to get drunk in … and then … forget about.” She put her hands over her face. “Oh, Gwen, how could I have been so stupid?”
Gwen stroked her shoulder. “You’re not stupid.”
“I am!” Molly moaned. “And now … now …” She pulled her legs up into a tuck position, lowered her head to her knees, and sobbed, “ I have no one.”
Gwen waited until Molly’s cries were stilled. For a brief moment, she thought about what her other friends would say. Carley and Susie and Janelle would think she’d gone off her rocker, hooking up with Molly again. But she didn’t care. They all used to be friends. Maybe they could be again. In the meantime, it didn’t matter. Molly was back. That was what mattered now.
“Molly,” she said softly, “you have me.”