Lettie
Dylan is finally home from the hospital. I’m nervous to see him. I feel sick to my stomach all the time. If he had ended his life over the breakup with Riley, it would have been my fault, and nobody knows the truth but Jay and me.
Maybe someday I’ll find a way to forgive myself, but I’m not there yet. And it appears that I’m not done inserting myself into other people’s problems. I’ve got a new mission now: get Riley’s phone back from Dylan, who we suspect took it when he also took the pills from her purse. That phone must have images and messages that Dylan shouldn’t see, things that might send him over the edge, maybe trigger a second attempt. That’s all the motivation I need to stay involved.
I march across the street to Aunt Emily and Uncle Ken’s house. No need to knock, I’m family, so I let myself inside before calling out my arrival.
Aunt Emily approaches from the kitchen. Her smile has dimmed, but she still greets me with a big hug, just as she would on any other day. She asks if I’m hungry and I tell her no, that I came to see Dylan.
My cousin Logan has come and gone, here for a few days at the start of the crisis. Still, I feel his presence lingering. Every room is something of a shrine Uncle Ken has erected to honor the one I suspect is his favorite son. A trophy case in the hallway is filled with hardware, most of which belongs to Logan. Gracing the walls near Uncle Ken’s first-floor office are plaques and photographs honoring Logan’s numerous athletic feats.
I want to believe other issues caused Dylan to take an overdose. Like that awful toast my uncle made on Christmas Eve, which symbolized the way he’s treated Dylan his whole life. Less than. Not worthy. Falling short. Never good enough. That’s why he took the pills, or so I tell myself. But I know better. I see the real reason every time I look in a mirror. He did it because of me. I messed up his life.
“I hope you can get him to open up,” Aunt Emily says. “He barely speaks to anyone and hasn’t said a word to his father since the—incident.”
I note how she can’t bring herself to name what he did. “I’ll do my best,” I say, and head upstairs.
I knock on Dylan’s bedroom door.
“Come in,” he says.
I enter to find Dylan lying on his bed, eyes glued to a phone. I’m hoping it’s Riley’s, that would make things a lot easier, but then I recognize it as his.
“Up for a visitor?” I ask, standing awkwardly just inside the threshold. I close the door behind me so we’ll have privacy.
“Sure,” Dylan says with indifference.
His room is quite neat, neater than mine by miles. His collection of sports memorabilia from the Boston teams—signed balls, posters, and cards—is displayed in glass cases, hung on his walls, or perfectly arranged on his bookshelves. There are no clothes on the floor, which is a bit unsettling. In my room, clothes are both carpeting and something to wear.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. The bottomless pit in my stomach won’t go away.
“I’m okay,” he says. He’s already thanked me for saving his life, told me to thank Jay as well, but he didn’t sound particularly thankful.
I smile at him, but really what I want to do is cry. He looks so sad, utterly broken. He may be breathing, thank God for that, but there’s no life in his eyes. It’s as if someone has pulled up the drain stopper, letting out all the things that had made up Dylan. He’s not the same as he was. There’s no lightness to him anymore.
“Why, D?” My voice cracks. “Why’d you do it?”
Dylan lets go a shaky breath. “I shouldn’t have told them it was intentional,” he says, irritated. “I didn’t leave a note. It could have been just an accident. Now everybody knows.” He sounds more upset about that than about having nearly died.
“D, everyone loves you,” I say. “We just want you to be okay.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” he says bitterly.
I sit down on the edge of his bed so our faces are closer. “Is it about Riley?” I ask. “The breakup? Or your dad? What happened at Christmas, I mean.”
Dylan laughs harshly. “Lettie, just let it go, all right?” he says. “This isn’t your problem.”
It is, but I don’t go there. Instead, I slide a bit closer to him. I want to hold his hand, though I don’t dare touch him. He’s so fragile, I’m afraid he’ll break.
“I care so much about you,” I say. A lump lodges in my throat, tears squeezing at the corners of my eyes.
“I’m okay,” he says. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
“Let me help,” I say. “You’ve got to talk to someone. It’ll be between us. I won’t tell a soul. If you keep everything bottled up, I’m worried you’re going to burst from all the pressure. You need to release it.”
Dylan doesn’t take my bait, but I’m undeterred. I feel like I’ve been helpful to Riley, at least with the Wookiee, so maybe I can help Dylan as well.
“Just so you know, I think it sucks, what Riley did to you,” I continue. “Cheating on you like she did.”
Dylan keeps his chin to his chest, won’t make any eye contact.
“You deserved better than that.”
“Yeah, well, what’s done is done.”
“I know you don’t believe it, but Riley really cares about you. She really does.”
“How would you know? You two barely talk.”
Dylan pauses, looks as if he’s putting two and two together but it’s not adding up to four in his head. “That day I confronted Riley at school,” he says. “What were you doing with her? You were in the staff bathroom together. Why?” Instead of avoiding my gaze, his eyes bore into me.
This is my shot—my opening. “I’ve been helping Rye with something,” I say. “Something personal, not related to you.”
“What?” he asks—demands is more like it.
A warning bell is going off in my head. I hesitate a good long while. I shouldn’t betray Riley’s confidence, but I love my cousin, and I hope it will ease his mind.
“She took a home DNA test and found out that Evan isn’t her biological father.”
“Whoa!” Dylan bolts upright in bed, his eyes wide.
“It’s true,” I say. “Her bio-dad is a musician named Steve Wachowski, but everyone called him the Wookiee. Anyway … he’s dead. Motorcycle accident.”
“Damn.” Dylan’s expression turns somber. He’s thinking something through or maybe feeling something deeply. I can’t say for sure, because he’s gone quiet on me.
Eventually he speaks. “She knew all this before she started seeing that guy?”
“Not all of it,” I say, “but she definitely knew that Evan wasn’t her father.” Maybe I’m stretching the truth, but it might help Dylan to think Riley was in crisis when she cheated on him.
“I’m only telling you this because I don’t want you to think the breakup is all about you. Riley’s going through a lot right now, and she’s not handling it well at all.”
Dylan’s demeanor shifts, seemingly for the better—not a lot, but a degree, maybe two. I’m encouraged.
“She’s struggling, but I can promise you—and I know this, because I’ve been part of her struggle—that she’s much, much better now because she’s not keeping it all to herself anymore. I really think you should do the same and tell me what’s really going on.”
Dylan rises from his bed and goes to his closet. He comes out holding a gorgeous necklace with a big green pendant dangling from a silver chain. I’m thinking it’s something he bought for Riley—an emerald, of all things—but never gave to her. “I took this from my mom,” he says, handing me the necklace.
I’m confused. “What? Why would you do that?”
“Because I need to pawn it,” he says. “I need money, and fast.”
“What for?”
Dylan lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m being blackmailed.”
“Blackmailed?” My eyes go wide. “For what?”
“Something I did,” Dylan says. “Something I wouldn’t want anybody to see.”
“What is it?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he snaps. “I’m not interested in talking about it. It’s something bad, really bad, something I wouldn’t want anyone to know about, and that’s why I need money—fast.”
“Is that why you took the pills? Because of this blackmailer?”
“It was stupid and impulsive,” he admits. “I grabbed them from Riley’s purse at Teagan’s party. I was drunk and feeling sorry for myself. I just—I don’t know, it just seemed like the only solution.”
I get the sense that’s not all there is to the story, that Dylan’s holding back, something big. But I’m not going to press my luck.
“Suicide is never the answer,” I say, bold enough to take his hand. “It’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem. You have to believe me. We love you, and we’d all be so devastated to lose you.” He shouldn’t need to see my tears to believe me, but out they come regardless.
“I’m not going to try again, if that’s your worry. I’m done with that—I promise.”
“Dylan,” I say, “when you took the pills, did you also take Riley’s phone? She can’t find it. She’s got a new phone now, but she’d like her old one back.”
He nods. I get that hint again of something more.
“Yeah, I took it, but I don’t know where it is,” Dylan grumbles. “I was pretty high, so who knows. Maybe I tossed it into the woods. Can’t say. But I don’t have it anymore. You can tell her that for sure.”
“Okay, okay.” I give him what I think is a tender smile. “What are you going to do about the necklace?”
“I need to sell it. I feel horrible about it, but what else am I going to do? I have to pay up—or else.”
I go quiet. Soon an idea comes to me. Will I ever learn? But I blurt it out anyway.
“Hold on to that necklace,” I tell him. “Don’t sell it. We can make up a story about finding it later after we fix your problem.”
“The blackmailer?” Dylan asks. “How can you fix that?”
I smile at him, give his hand a squeeze. “I know someone who can figure out who’s behind it,” I say, thinking of Jay and his scorpion tattoo. “He’s great with computers, and badass enough to make whoever it is stop, and stop for good.”