Lettie
Sadness burrows into my chest as I watch snow fall outside the kitchen window. The flakes are big and fluffy, easily blown around, blanketing the town in white, as if Meadowbrook were encased in a snow globe. It’s a picture-perfect scene, unlike the holidays themselves.
In another life, my dad and I would have made a snowman. Now we’re fighting about college. Mom’s still drinking. Riley’s still popping pills. Dylan tried to kill himself. And I still feel responsible.
The doorbell rings and Zoe goes crazy. I’m sure she thinks it’s the UPS guy, who always brings dog treats, but this time I’m surprised to see Riley standing outside. She looks an absolute mess—her hair flaked white with snow, face pale and drawn, eyes red and swollen. No question she’s been crying.
“Can we talk?” Riley asks. “Sorry, I would have texted, but I still can’t find my phone.”
“Sure,” I say. “Come upstairs.”
My mom wants to know who’s at the door.
“Riley,” I yell as we hurry to my bedroom.
I close the door and Riley sits on the bed. I grab my desk chair, swiveling it to face her. Riley’s looking around—checking out my space, seeming perplexed by the lack of mirrors and makeup products, not to mention the anime decorations adorning my walls.
“How are you holding up?” I ask. The answer is obviously “not very well,” but what else am I going to say?
Riley surprises me yet again. “We broke up,” she says as tears spill out her eyes.
I get up to give her a hug, and she sobs in my arms.
“The older guy?” I ask.
She can’t speak. I worry she’s going to start hyperventilating. I ended the year with an ambulance ride and don’t wish to start the new one with another.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, not meaning it at all, but I’m trying to de-escalate the situation. I have to force myself not to say “I told you so.” Instead, I ask, “What happened?”
Riley continues to heave and sob, her face buried in her hands, trying to collect herself. Eventually she gains enough composure to speak. “He told me that what we’re doing is wrong and we can’t be together anymore. He says that he loves me, he really, really loves me, but that it has to end, and I don’t know what I’m going to do now. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
I get that she’s hurting, but the melodrama is off the charts. Even so, I keep my real feelings hidden so I can be a compassionate friend.
“What did he mean wrong? What’s wrong? Is it the age difference?”
“No,” Riley says. “It’s more … complicated than that.”
“Complicated how?”
“Lettie, don’t be dense,” Riley snaps.
“Are you pregnant?” I whisper.
She rolls her eyes at me. “No,” she says. “He’s married.”
“Oh shit, Rye,” I say. “What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking, Lettie. It’s love. We’re in love. It just happened.”
I suppress a groan while somehow managing to keep my expression utterly blank. “Falling in love with a married guy doesn’t just happen, Riley,” I say. “I believe it takes some effort.”
Riley bites her bottom lip. More tears pool in her eyes. “But he’s not happy,” she says. “He’s told me a million times that he’s going to leave his wife for me. We’re going to have this amazing life together. We’re supposed to travel the world. He wants to take me to Paris.” Her voice cracks with anguish.
Now it’s my bullshit detector that’s going off. I don’t have much experience in the world of adult lies, but I’ve seen enough crappy TV shows to know that Riley’s been fed a buffet of them.
“Riley, you’re better off,” I tell her. “Let him go. You’re young, beautiful, brilliant…”—okay, that one was a stretch, but I’m trying to make her feel better—“and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. It’ll feel crappy for a while, but eventually you’ll be better.”
This is a lot of worldly knowledge for a girl who’s never had a boyfriend, but I think I’m doing pretty well.
Riley isn’t convinced. She shoots me a look that could cut flesh. “This is harder than you can understand.”
Okay, condescending much? But whatever. She’s upset. I let it go. “Does he have kids?”
Riley returns a grim nod.
I’m sure my look is disapproving.
“Please, don’t judge,” she begs. “I don’t expect virginal Lettie to understand—” This time at least she catches herself. Her expression is mildly ashamed. “Sorry, that wasn’t fair,” she says. “And you’re the only one I can talk to about this. You’re the only one who knows. I’m just really upset.”
“It’s okay.” I remind myself that the married guy holds most of the responsibility here. “It’s a lot for you to process right now, on top of Dylan’s overdose. It’s too much for anyone to handle.”
“Thanks, Lettie.” Riley looks at me like I just endorsed her behavior, which I have not. I’m feeling sorry for her, is all. She has a lot on her plate.
She needs to know that more might be added to it, and soon. “Riley,” I begin, clearing my throat, “I hate to even bring this up, but you should know that the police found an empty prescription bottle on Dylan last night.”
“Do you know what he took?” she asks.
Her pupils are enlarged. I’m wondering what she took.
“The bottle, it, um, well … it had your father’s name on it.”
Riley blinks rapidly. “My father’s name? Shit. Shit.”
She flies off the bed, heading out of my room, moving faster than Zoe chasing a squirrel. “I’ll be right back,” she calls.
From my bedroom window, I watch Riley streak across Alton Road, her feet slipping for traction on the ice. She heads straight for her car, which is covered in snow. She vanishes inside her vehicle and emerges a moment later, holding her bag. I can’t see her face from this distance, but as she nears my house, it’s clear that she’s deeply troubled. “Distraught” might be a better description.
I’m at the door to greet her when she returns. She pulls me outside. The cold air squeezes my chest, a feeling compounded by the look of fear in Riley’s eyes. Snow falls on my eyelashes, causing me to blink.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“The pill bottle isn’t in my purse,” she practically yells, holding up her designer bag for me to see. “And it’s not in my car, either.”
“You think Dylan went through your purse and took it?”
“Lettie, you have to help me,” Riley says. “And yes, I think Dylan took the pills at Teagan’s party.”
“Okay,” I say, “just relax. You don’t have to tell your parents about your … habit. Just talk to Dylan. Maybe he’ll say he got them from your house one day. But, Riley, you do have to stop taking drugs. What are you taking, anyway? What are these pills?”
“It’s OxyContin mostly, but forget the drugs,” Riley says. Her face is bright red, and I’m sure it’s not from the cold. “If he took those pills from my purse—do you know what that means? Do you?”
“Um, that he got oxy from you. But like I said, you can still dodge this bullet.”
“NO!” she shouts. “It means he must have taken my phone, too. He took my phone and the pills. Lettie, we have to get it back. This is an emergency. We HAVE to get my phone!”