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I need to be careful to play this right. Need to be careful to make sure Sandy thinks I’m upset without going so overboard she sees right through me.
I muster up a few tears. Nothing over the top. She still hasn’t let me go from her wrestler-strength hug, so I just need to shake my shoulders some and make a few small sobbing sounds. Sandy really is crying, which makes me feel guilty. Like I’m tricking her or something. The truth is I just need to figure out what Sandy knows, or what she thinks she knows.
Mom isn’t dead. This isn’t wishful thinking. I know it. I remember something ... I have no idea what it is, but if I can get Sandy to keep talking, I’ll figure it out. I have to.
“What happened?” I keep my voice small and force a little tremor.
Sandy gives me one last squeeze then pulls away. “I think you should probably ask your dad about that.”
I shake my head, trying hard not to let her guess that Dad is the very last person I’d trust to tell me the truth right now. “I want to hear it from you,” I state.
Sandy heaves a sigh. She’s still holding my hand in hers. I give it a squeeze and try to look both thankful and needy.
“Well,” Sandy begins, “do you remember your senior trip?”
I nod. I don’t have time for her to fill me in on inconsequential details. Who knows how long we’ll have to talk in private, just the two of us? So I pretend to recall more than I do. “We went to the cabin,” I answer. “Mom drove Chris and me.”
When I say Chris’s name, something in Sandy’s expression changes. It’s slight. Hardly noticeable. Except I do notice.
Sandy straightens out her flowery skirt, focusing for a few seconds on one of its more prominent wrinkles. “Do you remember what happened once you got there?”
“We got things ready and waited for the rest of the group to show up.” I don’t know if I’m just making an educated guess or relying on some sort of latent memory that remains locked up in my brain.
“It happened right before noon.”
I lean forward. There’s something familiar about Sandy’s words. I remember. I ... I think I remember.
Maybe I remember remembering?
I have to focus. Need to pay attention to each syllable she speaks.
“You were ...” Sandy’s voice falters. “You were attacked, sweetie. You and your mom both.”
I pretend to give a little cry. Pretend like I’m absorbing this information for the first time. But I know that I remember something. Do I just remember Sandy telling me this same story before, or is there more to it than that? If I could just clear up this stupid headache ...
I need more pain meds or something, but I can’t stop right now. I have to play the part. Have to act like the girl who’s just found out her mom has been killed. Sandy believes every word she’s speaking. I know she does.
But I don’t.
It didn’t happen that way.
You don’t have to cry, I want to tell Sandy. In a way, I feel like a monster allowing her to grieve over my family like this when I know it didn’t happen the way she said it did.
An attack at the cabin. That part doesn’t sound familiar. At least I don’t think it does. I was attacked. Mom was too ...
No, it didn’t happen that way.
Which means my mom isn’t really dead.
Which means that someone is lying to me. And that same person has lied to Sandy too.
A question bursts through the surface of my mental fog. “What about Chris?”
Sandy shakes her head. She looks so pitiable, I feel awful, like I’m the one breaking her heart with my questions. “Maybe we should wait for your dad,” she whispers.
“Please.” I don’t need to pretend to beg. Don’t need to pretend to act desperate for this information. “I want to hear it from you. Dad never liked Chris to begin with. What happened to him? Please tell me.”
Sandy sighs. “Honey, Chris disappeared. He took off, and the police still haven’t found him yet.”
This comes as a surprise. “Was he kidnapped or something?” My heart is racing. This wasn’t what I was expecting Sandy to tell me.
She’s hugging me again. What is that smell? Some kind of flowery perfume. Or maybe it’s her shampoo. The scent is nauseating and makes my headache even worse.
“Sweetie, this isn’t going to be easy for you to hear,” Sandy says. “But the police believe Chris was the one who attacked you.”