Chapter Seventeen

 

My feet pounded down the sidewalk. Home was only a short run away. And when I got there, what would I do? Hide the journal. Pretend I'd never been there. Pretend I'd never seen.

But Nick would tell, wouldn't he? He'd have to tell the police I'd been there, and they'd come to my house, and they'd knock on my door, and they'd wake up my mom—

Footsteps pounded behind me.

"Kira!" Nick called. "Wait up."

I slowed, my shoes still slamming into the sidewalk for several more steps. Then I felt Nick's hand on my shoulder. He spun me around to face him.

"Where are you going?" he said.

We were both panting, from the running, from the smoke, from finding the body. And I looked down at Nick's hands, and found he'd already hung up the phone.

He wasn't supposed to do that. He'd told the operator he'd stay on.

"Just don't tell them I was here, okay?" I said. "Tell them you drove by, and you stopped, and you heard the car, and you found him. Don't tell them it was me. Don't tell them about the journal."

Nick's hand ran down my forearm, and then his fingers laced through mine.

My heart pounded. Maybe he'd been trying to take the journal and grabbed the wrong hand.

Shut up, Kira, I thought. A guy doesn't hold your hand on accident.

He squeezed my hand. "You promised you were going to tell me what Haylee wrote. Remember?"

"You," I said. "I said I'd tell you. Not the police." I shook my head. Too hard.

Nick's fingers tightened around mine. "You're shaking," he said. "You're really that afraid of people reading what's in there?"

I took a deep breath, then nodded. "Everyone will believe her," I said.

Nick looked over his shoulder, back at the house. I couldn't hear sirens. Would they use sirens, if they were coming for someone who was dead?

"Okay," Nick said. "Okay. We don't have to stay."

"He's your uncle," I said. "You have to go back."

"He's dead. You're—" He took a deep breath. "Let's go. We can read the journal together."

"Now?" I asked.

"Now," he said. He pulled me toward his car, which was parked still farther down the street.

I had no room to argue with that.

We reached the car, and Nick opened my door for me. When I sat down, I squeezed the journal between my knees and put my head in my hands.

He closed my door, and then he climbed in on the driver's side and started the car.

I heard the sirens now, far off.

Nick pulled onto the road, and drove in the other direction. I felt like the car was barely crawling forward, but when I looked over at the speedometer, Nick was driving at the speed limit.

"Do you want to read it to me?" Nick asked. "Or just tell me what it says?"

Where should I begin? Should I prepare him first, or let him read it for himself? I looked down at the smooth edge of the journal's spine.

"Not here," I said. "Can we go somewhere?"

"Like where?"

"I don't know." We couldn't go to my house, or his, without waking our families up. Besides, someone would call his mom eventually. The police would know it was him who called 911.

I looked at the clock. It was midnight already. Hopefully Mom hadn't woken up when I left, or she'd have the police after me. "We could go to a park."

Nick nodded. "There's one this way."

Of course there was—the one that I'd been to with Bradley, where we'd apparently had sex right there in the trees.

I didn't want to remind Nick about that. I thought it might occur to him that I'd want to go somewhere else, but in minutes, I could see the treetops of the arboretum in the yellow park lights.

"This okay?" Nick asked.

"Fine," I said, though the other F word was really the one I meant. I wondered how people would react if I said that every time they asked me how I was doing. Lately, it'd be closer to the truth.

"They'll be looking for you, won't they?" I asked. "The police?"

"Not here," Nick said. "I'll just tell them you got scared, and I took you away to calm you down."

That wasn't too far from the truth. But it was still a lie. Nick had just offered to lie to the police for me. I guessed I shouldn't be surprised. That was the sort of thing a protective big brother might do.

Nick pulled into the parking lot and flipped off first the car, then the lights. Fluorescents shone from the corners of the parking lot, flooding the journal in my lap with yellow light. I pulled it out from between my knees.

I should tell him, so he heard the story my way first. Not in Haylee's words. I couldn't let her convince him.

But the words stuck in my throat. I couldn't get them out.

Nick pulled out his penlight, his keys rattling in his hand.

We sat in silence for another moment. Nick was still waiting for me to decide what I wanted to do. The police had to have found Aaron by now. Or the paramedics. Or the firemen. They'd be looking for us—for the people who called.

"They might trace your phone," I said.

"I shut it off. If they call, they'll get voice mail."

I shut my eyes. I had to tell him. But my mouth wouldn't form the words. "Let's just read."

Nick leaned over my shoulder. His breath tickled my ear. I opened the book to the first page, which was covered in Haylee's loopy handwriting.

She hadn't dated the entry, but her scrawl looked even messier than normal. She wrote:

Behold, people of my native land

I wend my latest way:

I gaze upon the latest light of day

That I shall ever see;

Death, who lays all to rest, is leading me

To Aecheron's far strand.

That sounded like it came from one of Haylee's plays, but I couldn't place it.

"Do you want to read it out loud?" Nick asked.

The book shook in my hands, and I didn't trust my voice.

I flipped the pages, but none of the entries were dated.

I wanted to rip the book in half at the spine. Had she written any of this in the last days of her life? How would I ever know?

His hands ran up her thighs. She'd written the words in the very center of one page, leaving the facing page blank. Now his hands are tied. He runs only with his eyes.

My face flushed. I turned the book away from Nick, gripping it tightly.

"Hey," Nick said. "If you're not going to read, at least let me see."

"Wait," I said. "Give me a minute to find it." I read on.

She doesn't know what to be for him. Which her is she? Who will she be today?

The fragments went on for pages; all of them were like that. Just words strung together.

He wants her to forget. And she tries and she tries and she tries. She wants to bleed it out, but it sticks like fat to her veins.

I scanned through looking for names. Mine. Haylee's. Bradley's. But she'd strung together sentences full of pronouns like identical beads on a string. Who could ever tell what this meant?

I grit my teeth. No one would recognize me in this. No wonder Hazel had been clueless.

Haylee left us nothing.

"Hey," Nick said again, nudging me.

I flipped more pages. Haylee said she'd written about me. Had she only said that to bother me? Because this was gibberish. Haylee left a journal, but she didn't leave me any answers at all.

I slammed the book closed, tossing it away. The corner of it hit the windshield and it bounced off, landing on the dash. The journal was nothing. Haylee left me with nothing, only the promise of an answer that would never come.

Nick put his hand on my arm, but I scrambled for my seatbelt, shoved open the door, and staggered out of the car, tripping over my own feet. I launched myself to the path under the trees, not seeing where I was going, or even trying to look.

I didn't realize Nick was following me until he grabbed me by the shoulder, spinning me around, momentum crushing me into him. I didn't realize I was crying until I was sobbing against him, the zipper teeth of his hoodie digging into my cheek.

"Hey, it's okay," he said in my ear. "It's going to be okay."

And I knew that he couldn't be sure of that, but I didn't pull away. As my sobbing slowed, Nick pulled back, brushing my hair out of my face. I looked into his eyes. I expected to get that feeling, the rush of knowing that he was about to kiss me. But he just kept looking at me, maintaining his distance.

My breath was all jagged from crying, and snot collected in my nose, and I didn't know what to do.

So I kissed him.

Nick's lips felt soft against mine, and my knees dissolved. Nick supported me, our arms tight around each other's shoulders. And since he moved so slow, and so carefully, it took me a second to be sure he was kissing me back.

But the moment after I felt his mouth move, Nick pulled away, pressing his forehead against mine. "I don't—" he said. "I can't—"

I closed my eyes, waiting for the words I knew were coming: You're like a sister to me; it's like kissing my cousin.

His voice was anguished. "I don't want to be the guy you use to get over Haylee."

My eyes popped open. "No!" I said. "It's not like that. Not with you."

His eyes searched mine. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said. "Yes, yes."

His arms shifted downward, and his hands curled around my waist. "The timing is suspicious. Especially with . . . what we found."

Ugh. There were enough bodies between us to open a morgue. His arms remained around me, so close I could feel his heart beating in tandem with mine.

"Seriously," I said. "Screw the timing."

Nick kissed me like a man drowning in the ocean, who'd only now fought to the surface for air. This time, I had no problem figuring out what to do with my hands. Our bodies locked together, his arms pulling me tight against him, my elbows resting on his shoulders, my fingers in his hair. The kiss deepened, and I barely felt the cold night air around us. The world blurred, like we were the only two people in it, but somehow, this thought burst through: this guy had never thought of me as his sister.

When we broke apart, I curled against Nick's body, my forehead pressing against his neck. I wasn't the only one out of breath.

I lifted my chin and kissed him gently on the collar bone, right under the ribbed neck of his T-shirt.

Nick moaned softly. His lips pressed against my ear. "We should have done this years ago."

"You mean when I was twelve?" Gah. Nice, Kira. Remind him.

But Nick didn't seem phased. "That's when I first felt this way," he said. "I should have told you, then."

My twelve-year-old self wished he had. The me-now knew this was better. Still. I leaned back, looking into his eyes. "Why didn't you?" I asked. "In three years?"

And Nick Harbourne, his face deadpan, actually said these words to me: "I never thought you were interested."

The laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. I dissolved against him, a giggling, sniffling, gasping mess. In all the times I'd imagined kissing Nick, I'd never pictured it like this. But his arms stayed firm around me. We twisted together in one smooth motion, Nick turning me around and guiding me to the ground, so we sat on the sidewalk, my back tight against his chest.

"I've always liked you," I said. "Always."

He leaned forward, his chin on my shoulder, his nose brushing my ear. "But Haylee said . . ."

The earth seemed to sink out from underneath me, and I clung to Nick's arms. I already knew how that sentence would end, but I needed to hear it.

"What did she say?" I asked.

He sighed. "She said you were way too good for me. She said we were practically related. She called me a . . ."

"A what?"

"A perv."

I closed my eyes, tasting the betrayal.

Nick swore. "If you liked me, she must have known."

"She knew," I said. "She always knew." All the times she'd shrugged when I asked if Nick liked me. "And she knew you liked me back."

He nodded, resting his forehead on my shoulder. And we were both quiet.

Haylee had been keeping us apart.

"She was scared," Nick said finally. "She thought if we were together she'd be the third wheel, and she'd lose us both."

"Does that make it cut less?" I asked.

"No," Nick said. "But I wish it did. I don't want to be mad at her now."

That was the trouble with anger toward a ghost. There was no one to yell at.

Nick slid his palm under my chin, guiding my mouth back to his. This time his lips were hungrier. His tongue brushed gently against mine. I lifted myself onto his lap and turned into him. Our fingers laced together.

When we pulled apart, Nick pressed his forehead to mine. "This is better."

"Lots better," I said.

"And you don't think of me as family."

I laughed. "Definitely not." Even my mom seemed to like Nick. Though she wouldn't when she discovered where we'd been. I leaned back. "We need to get going," I said.

Nick groaned. "Do we?"

I wrapped my arms around him and leaned into his shoulder, squeezing him tight. "Tell me you won't regret this tomorrow," I said.

"I regret the last few years," he said. "But not this."

"It's not your fault," I said. "Haylee—"

"No," Nick said. "This is on me. I didn't have to let her scare me. I didn't have to listen."

I nodded. I didn't, either.

Nick helped me to my feet, and I sniffled. Nick reached into his pocket and pulled a piece of white cloth, handing it to me.

"What on earth is that?" I asked.

"It's a handkerchief."

"Well, yeah. What are you, eighty-five?"

We both smiled. I took his handkerchief and wiped my face, and then stuffed it into my pocket. I'd wash it before giving it back.

And then Nick pulled something out of his jacket pocket and held it up to me.

The journal.

"Are you ready to deal with this?" he asked. "Because you don't have to if you don't want to."

I sniffled. "There's nothing in it," I said. "It's nonsense."

Nick pulled out his penlight and motioned to the side of the path. "Can I look?"

I nodded. "Sure."

Nick led me over to the same low wall I'd sat on with Bradley, but this time I wanted to be there. Nick wrapped one arm around me so the journal spread open in front of both of us. I liked the way I fit under his arm, the barrier between us broken for good.

Nick's penlight flipped over the loopy writing, and I followed the words.

And after a few pages, I started to pick out the pattern.

He says he's sorry, Haylee wrote. But the plate, once broken, will never be whole again.

And then later: If she can't forget, she'll be alone. She speaks, but there's no one to hear. She flails, but there's no one who sees.

Nick flipped pages, reading faster and faster, as if he just wanted to be done, but couldn't stop until he got to the end.

But he turned all her Raggedy Anns into Barbies. Show me where he touched you on the doll. But it's the wrong doll all together. It's not the right doll at all.

And the pieces of the puzzle floating in my mind snapped together as if drawn by magnets. It wasn't a code, but it wasn't gibberish, either.

A horrible sick feeling settled into my gut. "It wasn't me," I said.

Nick stopped reading. "What?"

"Haylee accused me of the things that happened to her." The words were out of my mouth before I realized fully what they meant. I stopped, the rest of the thought hanging in the air, waiting for me to finish.

It was clear to me now. The words in the journal were thoughts Haylee had as she tried to process what was wrong with her. She left out the proper nouns because she couldn't bear to write them down, the way I couldn't tell Nick my whole story in coherent sentences.

"What did Haylee accuse you of?" Nick asked.

"She said she wrote that Aaron . . ." I couldn't say this. My lungs wouldn't draw air.

Nick tightened his arm around me. "If it's not true, it can't hurt you."

My heartbeat seemed to slow. I counted five arduous beats, and then sucked in a slow breath, all the way down to my toes. The words came out in a rush. I didn't dare pause between them, for fear I wouldn't be able to finish. "ShesaidAaronwasinterestedinme."

Nick pulled back, trying to look me in the eye, but I turned away, pressing my cheek against his chest. I sniffled again.

"Interested in you," he said.

I wilted against him. "You know," I said. "Like . . . sexually."

Nick pulled away a strand of hair that had glued itself to my wet face. "But nothing ever happened."

"Nothing!" I said. "I mean, not to me."

Nick drew a deep breath. And I wished that the cold breeze would blow away the things we were going to say next, so I'd never have to hear them.

"You think that Aaron abused Haylee," Nick said.

I did. It was a horrible, twisted thought, but I thought it all the same. And my face burned as I thought about everything that meant. Everything that could have happened to me, even though it didn't.

"Tell me I'm wrong," I said. "Tell me I'm imagining it. Tell me Haylee was writing about something else."

"Actually," Nick said, "it makes a lot of things make sense."

My head spun, and I clung to Nick's side so I wouldn't sway right off the wall. "It does?" I asked.

Nick nodded, his eyebrows knitting together. "My mother wouldn't let my sister go to Haylee's house alone," he said. "She's ten—old enough to ride her bike over like we did. But she's not allowed to go unless we go with her."

"She's a lot younger," I said. "She wouldn't have much reason to visit Haylee alone."

"But that's true of all of our cousins," Nick said. "And once, I heard my mother say . . ."

His mother. She was Haylee's aunt. If she knew, she could have done something. "Do you think—"

"She knew," Nick said. "I think she knew."

But if she did, she would have done something. She would have saved her. Wouldn't she?

I was her best friend. I should have known. "If she knew, then Hazel knew." And if anyone should have protected Haylee, it was her own mother.

Nick seemed to deflate, his weight bearing down on me. We clung heavily to each other. And I let myself dwell on this one thought: Hazel knew, and she still encouraged Aaron to coach me. The road trips, the tournaments, the hours alone in the yard.

She knew, and she let it all happen. She knew, and she stayed.

"The divorce papers," I said. "This is why Hazel was filing for divorce."

"If it's true," Nick said, "she should have done that before."

Long before.

Why didn't she?

I thought of Haylee, her voice cold as ice, as she told me what her father wanted to do to me. How many years had she lived in the house with her own abuser? How many years had she lived with that fear?

"They sent her to a doctor, like she was the one who needed fixing," I said. "But it wasn't her. It was him."

The leaves rustled in the trees above us. Nick shut the journal and pocketed his light. And we spent several minutes in silence.

"What do we do?" I said finally.

"What do you mean?" Nick asked.

"There has to be some justice for her."

"She's dead," he said. "He's dead. What kind of justice can there be?"

If Hazel knew, and she did nothing, she should pay.

"Come on," Nick said, standing off the wall and pulling me up by my hands. "Let's go home. We can get some sleep, and figure things out in the morning."

I couldn't imagine that things would make more sense then than they did now, but I followed Nick anyway. We walked slowly back to the car, like neither of us wanted to reach it. Nick held my hand, tight like I might slip away. And I squeezed back, so he'd know that I had no intention of letting go.

We rounded the bend, leaving the arboretum behind, but when the parking lot came into view, I stopped short.

There, on the far end of the lot, a car had parked in the shadow beneath a draping eucalyptus tree.

A car that belonged to Bradley Johansen.