I woke and extracted myself from Audrey’s arms. The bright day chiseled at my head. I felt poisoned. I got in the shower and stood under the water until it ran cold, then dressed in jeans and a blue cowboy shirt with white birds embroidered above the pockets. My skin felt sensitive. I moved carefully around the apartment, brewed a pot of coffee, gathered up last night’s clothes from the middle of the living room floor. I was pulling on my boots when Audrey awoke.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.”
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her beauty seemed magnified in the morning light, her makeup smeared, her hair disheveled. I didn’t know what to say to her. I felt impaired, awkward.
“Do you want some coffee?” I said. “Or a shower? You can take a shower if you want. I’m going out for cigarettes.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I slid sunglasses on and walked to the gas station five blocks away. There was a closer store, but I needed the time away, and the space. I’d never been with a girl before, not like that. I didn’t know what it meant or how to act. I wondered what she was thinking. Everything felt out of context. There were no boundaries anywhere. My regular life, work and running and hanging out with Michael, had gotten so far away. None of it was possible now.
I smoked on the way home, taking my time. The cigarette made me feel dirty. Upstairs I was relieved to find Audrey was in the shower. I sipped coffee. The caffeine only reactivated the coke, agitating me.
Audrey came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, an opened beer in her hand.
“Found it in the fridge,” she said. “I love drinking beer in the shower. I felt like shit when I first woke up, did you?”
“I’m still a little shaky,” I said.
“Here,” she said, handing me the beer, still half full. “This will help. Can I borrow some clean clothes?”
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you want.”
After a few sips of beer I started to relax and my headache eased up. Audrey emerged from my closet in a yellow sundress, and it gave me a feeling of déjà vu. Something about drinking in the morning, the way the light came in the window.
“Danielle used to always borrow my clothes,” I said.
“Yeah, mine, too. She was like a poacher. Of tank tops.”
“She used to live here, you know.”
“What?” Audrey said. “In this apartment?”
“Yeah. A couple of years ago. Before prison and all that.”
Audrey looked around in wonder. “How long have you lived here?” she said.
“Since middle school. It was my mom’s place. I inherited the lease.”
“I’ve never lived anywhere a whole year,” she said. “Don’t you get tired of it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think about it. There was never a reason to move, you know?”
“The memories don’t bother you?”
“Wouldn’t I still have memories if I moved? I’d have the same brain.”
“No, you get a new brain when you sign a lease,” she said. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that.”
“In that case I should definitely move. Not all the memories are bad, though.”
“I hate to think about the past,” Audrey said, finishing the beer. “Even good memories make me sad. “Cause they’re over.”
“I see what you mean.”
“Do you want to go get breakfast?” She picked up a pink barrette of mine and stuck it in her hair.
“I don’t think I can eat,” I said. “Not yet.”
“Poor baby, still feeling bad? I guess we drank a lot.”
“And the coke,” I said. “I’m not used to it.”
“I had fun last night, though,” Audrey said. She smiled at me. “Let’s split another beer.”
“Okay.” I got a beer from the fridge and lit a cigarette while she loaded her one-hitter.
“This will make you feel better, too,” she said, handing it to me.
I took a hit and held it, watching her in the yellow dress. My apartment felt less stable with her in it. Less like mine. She reminded me too much of Danielle. It was unsettling.
“That dress looks awesome on you,” I said. “You should keep it.”
“Don’t be silly, I’ll give it back. I like wearing your clothes, though.”
“Really, why?”
“I don’t know. They’re cute. They smell like you.”
“Fabric softener.”
“Is that what it is? I like it.”
“It’s pretty attainable. I buy it at the grocery store.”
She laughed, leaned over, kissed me on the mouth. Again I was shocked by her softness and her delicate lips. Electric flashes from the previous night shot through my body. I recoiled, my head spinning.
“Sorry,” I said. “I feel sick.”
“Okay, I’ll go. Call me later, okay?”
I let her out the front door. It was a relief to be alone and have some time to think, to get organized. I drank a glass of water, ate a piece of toast, and took my clothes to the Laundromat. I sat on top of a washer while a handful of Mexican kids played and shrieked around me. Every few minutes they would assemble to work out some new rules to their game, which involved jumping out from behind the machines and growling like lions. A girl my age called out to a little boy. She gave him a cup of applesauce and he sat on the floor to eat it. She folded a sheet into a sharp square and picked up another. I wished I could fold myself up that neatly.
I thought about Audrey. She was so good at distracting herself from Danielle. I didn’t understand how she did it. The drugs helped, obviously. Sex and drugs. But still, I couldn’t get Danielle out of my head. I couldn’t stop wondering who killed her, or thinking about those pictures of her, or the videos. It was all jumbled up in my head, along with what Detective Ash had suggested that night at House of Pies—that maybe I had something to do with it. It didn’t make sense, but it kept nagging at me. I transferred my clothes to the dryer and called him.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hey, it’s Charlotte,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“I just wondered if you found anything out. About Sally? Or her brother?”
“Yeah, we did. I was meaning to call you. We checked up on him. We found out this morning, the uncle’s out of the picture.”
“Are you sure?” I said.
“Positive. He’s been in prison for three years. Good alibi.”
“For what?” I said.
“For rape,” he said. “He was doing it out there. In Colorado. They finally caught him.”
“Oh my god,” I said.
“So it’s not him. And he won’t hurt any more little girls. He’ll be locked up a long time.”
“What about Sally?”
“I told you before, we’ve been very thorough, we haven’t found anything that leads us in that direction.”
“But it’s so much money, and they always fought. And the timing of it—”
“Charlotte, right now you need to just sit tight. Be patient. We will be making an arrest fairly soon, I think.”
“Who?”
“I can’t talk about it. But be careful. Steer clear of Brandon Young.”
“You think it was him.”
“I’ll let you know when we have something definitive.” He hung up.
Back home I put my clean clothes away. I began to tidy my shoes, lining them in pairs on the floor of the closet. The corners of the closet were dusty, so I got the broom and dustpan, and then the trash needed taking out, and I spilled coffee grounds on my shirt. I took it off to try to wash it in the sink and I tripped over a pile of shoes I had moved in order to sweep, and banged my knee against the bed. “Motherfucker,” I said aloud. I kicked the shoes into a corner, the shirt with it, and started to cry.
If I had said something years ago, when I first found out about Danielle’s uncle, if I had convinced her to go to the police, then maybe he would have been in prison a long time ago. I never thought about it at the time. But I should have. How many girls had he hurt in Colorado?
I put on running clothes and went out in the heat of the day. I circled the zoo and the fountain, feeling the toxins sweating out of my body. I was punishing myself. I ran alongside the art museum. Its cool stone rose from the sidewalk, making me feel small and ephemeral. Usually it was a nice contrast from everything that was cheap and new, from brainless nights of television, takeout dinners from the strip mall, the irritating whine of mosquitoes. But today I didn’t find it comforting. I wondered if Danielle had even known her uncle was in prison, and if she did, how she felt about it. She and Audrey both were good at making light of serious things. Maybe that’s why they liked each other so much. They could just do drugs and hang out, gliding along the surface.
I never got addicted to drugs when Danielle did. After a couple of days of being high, I wanted a break. I craved order, time alone, exercise. Danielle just wanted more pills. I knew it wasn’t any kind of strength of character. I wasn’t better than her. We both did whatever we felt like. It was only luck that what I wanted was not as dangerous. I used to think she was the lucky one, with her rich mom, her fancy house, her beauty and popularity. Things looked different now. Poor Danielle. The thing with her uncle, getting addicted to dope, even getting caught, all of that was bad luck. There were plenty of illegal things I had done, but I never went to prison. And now the murder. It was like she was cursed.
I slowed to a walk for the last half mile, breathing hard, feeling weak and thirsty and sad, but calmer. Until I saw Michael sitting on my steps. An iced coffee sweated in his hand. He was wearing sunglasses. I couldn’t see his eyes.
“Hey,” he said.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I said.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“You could have called.”
“I didn’t think you would answer the phone,” he said.
He was right, I wouldn’t have. I shrugged, stepped past him, and unlocked the door. He followed me inside. In the kitchen I drank a glass of water and filled it again from the tap. I splashed water on my face.
“So, you’re here. What do you want?” I said.
“I missed you,” he said. “I wanted to apologize for the way I’ve handled things.”
“What things? You mean cheating on me? And dumping me? To go back with the girl you said was too self-involved to be in a relationship. Too immature. Y’all had nothing in common. That’s what you told me.”
“I’m sorry, really I am. You’re great. I love you. I wish this had never happened.”
“Tired of her already?” I said.
“It’s not that.”
“Does she know you’re here?”
“Actually, no.”
“Huh. Interesting.”
“Charlotte, I realize you’re mad. You have a right to be.”
“I’m not mad,” I said. I tried to call up my feelings when he’d first told me about her, and when I saw them together. I had been hurt, and yes, angry. It was only last week but it seemed so long ago. I didn’t feel much now. Sad, maybe.
He picked up a bracelet from the coffee table and played with it, spinning it around his finger. It was Audrey’s, she must have left it. I had such a hard time imagining the two of them, Michael and Audrey, occupying the same world. I wondered what he’d think of me if I told him about her. About me and her. I blushed. Suddenly I couldn’t stand him being in my apartment.
“Put that down,” I said. “Let’s go outside.”
We wandered down the block and turned on Binz, retracing my jogging route. It was a relief to see him, in a way. He was familiar, even if he was an asshole. He was part of my regular life, before all this Danielle shit. I felt almost normal.
We went on, past the corner store and the chicken place and the Jamaican restaurant, and gradually the cracked sidewalks gave way to newer pavement. Landscaped shrubs and lawns replaced the patchy grass and garbage. On the next block lights illuminated the children’s museum’s bright cartoon caryatids. I lit a cigarette.
“Look, I made a mistake,” he said. “It’s not working out with her.”
“That was quick. Hardly worth all this drama, really.”
“I know,” he said.
“Is she still too immature for you? Or maybe you liked fucking her in secret. It’s not fun now she’s your actual girlfriend?”
“It’s not that. It’s you. I can’t stop thinking about you. The other night at the bar, seeing you—”
“Look, I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I wasn’t at my best.” I didn’t tell him the rest, getting pulled over, all that. It seemed so long ago.
“It was my fault,” Michael said. “We shouldn’t have gone there.”
“Why not?”
“I knew it was your favorite place. I guess we should have discussed it ahead of time, to avoid running into each other.”
“Bar custody?” I said. “Jesus, that’s sad.”
“Well, it’s too small a town. We should have talked it over.”
“There’s six million people here,” I said.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.”
“I hate that I hurt you,” he said. I could tell he meant it.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m over it.”
“What’s going on with you?” Michael said.
“What do you mean?”
“I guess I thought you’d be more upset with me. At least a little more.”
“A lot’s happened,” I said.
“You met somebody.”
“That’s actually none of your business, at this point.”
“Seriously? Already? Not that idiot you were with at the bar?”
“Michael, stop it.”
“It is him. That guy? Fuck.”
“No, it’s not. It’s not what you think, okay? Danielle, my old friend, remember her?”
“The stripper? What about her?”
“She died. Compared to that, I kind of don’t give a fuck about you and your little girlfriend, or who you’re fucking, or whatever.”
“Oh my god, Charlotte, I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She was murdered,” I said. “I’ve had to talk to the cops. I’ve visited her mother. I went to the memorial service. At a fucking church. That’s what I’ve been up to while you’ve been fucking around with your ex-girlfriend.”
I turned around and walked back the way we came. He trotted behind me to catch up.
“Michael, I’m going home,” I said.
“Okay.”
“I don’t want you to come with me.”
“Charlotte, if I’d known you were dealing with all this—”
“Then what? You wouldn’t have told me about what’s-her-name?”
“No, I—”
“You would have kept lying to me a little longer?”
“Charlotte, I care about you. I love you. I want to be your friend, I can be here for you, will you stop?”
I was walking so fast I might as well have been running. He was sweating through his T-shirt. He reached out to grab my shoulder. I stopped and closed my eyes, trying not to cry. He stepped close and hugged me. I felt crushed, not from the pressure of his embrace, but some other force. It was like my chest imploded and my arms hung loose from an empty frame. We stood together, breathing, on the street in front of the muddy ditch.
“Charlotte, I’m sorry,” he whispered into my hair.
“I know,” I said.
“Let me walk you home.”
“No. It’s too late,” I said. “Or too soon, or something.”
He nodded. “Will you be okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Don’t worry about me.”
I left him standing on the sidewalk. I passed the new townhomes with their Home Depot lanterns and then the dingy apartment complexes on my block. I went up the steps and inside. I thought about the mornings Michael used to stay over. We’d sit on the couch facing each other, drinking coffee, and he would put his bare feet on top of my feet and we’d talk about what we had to go do that day. It was nice. He was pleasant to be around. Still, half the time I wished he’d leave so I could be alone. He didn’t understand certain truths about life—its sadness. Its difficulty. He’d had a happy childhood. He didn’t know the way I’d grown up. I never told him about it. No one knew, except my mom, and Danielle. Only dead people.
I felt worn out, thinking of all the people whose lives were suddenly intertwined with mine: Audrey, Brandon, Sally, Danielle. What did any of them have to do with me, really? I ought to try to get my job back. Or some job, anyway, maybe a different one. I vowed to do it tomorrow. Either call my boss or go fill out some applications. I got a beer from the fridge and watched some crappy TV, relieved to be by myself and not think.