Текст книги "The Secrets We Keep"

Автор книги: Trisha Leaver

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

24

I walked the two miles to the cemetery. To my sister’s grave. To my grave. It was cold and starting to rain. I’d left my coat at home on the kitchen chair, but none of that mattered. I didn’t feel it—not the sting of the rain as it turned to ice or my hands shaking as they hung limply by my side. I kept walking, oblivious to everything.

I knew where the marker was. It was buried five rows deep amid a couple hundred other stones. They laid it yesterday. My parents asked if I wanted to go with them to see it last night, but I didn’t. There was something about seeing my name carved into granite that I didn’t think I was quite ready to handle.

But I hadn’t come here today for visual proof of what I had done, of the finality of the lie I had spun. I’d come to talk to the sister whose life I was trying desperately to figure out.

“Hey.” I ran my hand across the smooth stone, taking with it a puddle of water. I studied it for a second, watched the drops roll off my fingers and onto the ground. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was cold and wet, if she had been cold and wet the night the paramedics pulled her from the heated car and into the dark night.

I looked at the ground, my eyes following the line of the grass. They’d put it back in place, like a carpet they’d unrolled, but it was dying, brown and brittle. The lines where they’d peeled back the original sod gaped, as if it was retreating into itself, as if the grass had tried and failed miserably at reseeding itself.

Kind of like me.

“It’s raining again,” I said as I sank to the ground. The wet grass soaked the legs of my jeans. I watched, mesmerized as the light blue faded to dark, the edges inching out until I could feel the cold settling into my bones. Only then, when a violent chill had me moving to my heels, did I speak again. “It seems like it’s always raining when I see you. Always cold.”

I hadn’t been here since the day of her burial. I had refused each morning when Mom asked me if I wanted to go. She thought it might make things easier, that perhaps it would bring me some closure. Closure wasn’t what I needed. Advice was.

“I went to school today. Alex is great. He’s helping me figure my way around the stares,” I said, leaving out the part about him trying to kiss me the night before. Dead or not, I wasn’t quite sure how to bring up that topic with my sister.

“I still don’t get why you hang out with Jenna, though. She’s selfish and mean, and I don’t think she even likes you. I’m quite sure she’s actually working behind your back to screw you over,” I said as if Maddy was sitting right there next to me, as if we were having a conversation about something as mundane as what flavor cake we were going to have on our eighteenth birthday. “Alex told me that her parents are going to lose the house and her brother had to drop out of school to get a job. That kind of sucks for him.”

I swallowed the tinge of pity I felt for Jenna. I didn’t want to understand her behavior. I had no intention of forgiving her for years’ worth of snide remarks and intentional cruelty. Family problems aside, she was still mean and selfish.

“I think you got an A on your Lit test,” I said, laughing. “No worries, that won’t happen again. I’ll be sure to make enough mistakes to get you a solid C next time around.”

“Next time,” I muttered to myself. Those two words sounded foreign and remote. I’d been so focused on getting through one day, one hour, one minute as Maddy that I hadn’t thought about the simple fact that I’d have to get up and do it over again at school, in public, tomorrow.

I paused, shaking my head in disgust as I realized what I was doing. I could almost hear her scolding me, going on about how if I wanted to, I could be as pretty and popular as her. I’d disagree with her, remind her that she was the beautiful one, always had been.

I thought about the first time we had that recurring argument. It was in freshman year and it lasted three days—until Mom finally stepped in and told us either to knock it off or risk losing our phones for a week. Dad pulled me aside that Saturday after dinner. He sat me down in his study and took out his wallet; he showed me the pictures he’d accumulated of us over the years. They were cheesy-looking school pictures with fake fall foliage or blue backgrounds. He had one for each year we’d been in school.

I’d flipped through those pictures, groaning at the one where a gaping hole replaced my two front teeth, then tossed them back at him, completely confused as to what ten years of school photos had to do with anything.

He put his wallet on the desk next to his keys and told me to think about what Maddy had said and the words she had used. I thought about it for a half second, then left the room vowing to hate her forever.

“I’m an idiot. We’re identical twins.” I whispered those words to her now, finally getting what both Maddy and Dad had been trying to say.

“I miss you. I know we weren’t getting along lately, but I figured eventually we’d work it out. I never imagined we wouldn’t get the chance.”

I picked up a strand of dead grass and started peeling the fine threads apart. When one was shredded, I tossed it to the ground and started on another. “Mom’s losing it, and Dad thinks I need to talk to a shrink. Alex agrees.”

There was her sweet voice again, as clear as day, asking me what I’d expected to happen. The few times I’d come to her with a problem, she’d done that—rolled her eyes and told me to open my eyes and watch, stop thinking so much and watch how other people did it, then figure it out.

“Mom had my drawings. She was trying to frame one. It was a crappy one I had left over from my application to art school.”

I thought about my mother’s tears, the look of pure anguish that had clouded her eyes. I’d done that. In every way possible, I’d done that to her.

“Dad’s working a lot,” I continued. “Both he and Mom think the three of us need to talk”—I paused and waved my hand around the damp ground I was sitting on, my eyes landing on my own name etched in granite—“about this.”

Her words echoed through my mind with bittersweet clarity. And let me guess, Ella. You don’t want to talk about it. You want to curl up with your sketch pad and forget it happened.

“You’re right.” Talking about it wouldn’t make it go away, wouldn’t bring Maddy back. It would only make the pain clearer.

I reached out, my hand meeting the cold, hard side of the gravestone. “I don’t want to remember any of it,” I said, as tears pooled in my eyes. “I want to change it. I want you back.”

“Have you talked to anybody about it? Since the day you woke up in that hospital bed, have you spoken of it?”

My whole world stopped at the sound of his voice. Everything froze as I fought to speak the lie I’d entrenched myself in. “Josh, it’s not—”

“Don’t,” he said as he held his hand up for me to stop. “Don’t say that I’m wrong or that I don’t know who I’m looking at.”

I shook my head, not knowing what to say. “I can’t do this now. Not with you.”

“Not with anybody if you have your way.” Josh backed up and pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket. His gaze was fixed on mine, like he was giving me one last chance to say he was wrong. He mumbled something under his breath when I stayed quiet, then dropped the piece of paper and walked away.

25

It was wrinkled, like it had been crumpled into a ball, then smoothed out and neatly folded. The paper was thin, blue-lined, the jagged pieces from where it had been torn from a notebook still hanging on.

I carefully unfolded it and smoothed it across the granite marker. The dampness started to seep through the paper, curling the edges and blotching the middle. But I didn’t need it to be perfect to recognize it. I knew what it was—a crude drawing I’d made thousands of times before. I didn’t remember sketching this particular version, but I recognized the length of the lines, the gentle curve of the strokes, the darkened pressure marks where each line started. It was one of my drawings, no question about that.

I wondered where Josh had gotten it and why he was carrying it around. I had fifty of these at home, each one better than this. Why would he bother to keep this one?

“Maddy?” I swung around at the sound of my father’s voice. “You okay?”

No was the truthful answer, but I shrugged. “I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. I tried Alex’s first, thinking maybe you would’ve gone there when you left the house.”

“I didn’t,” I said. Alex’s was the last place I would go. He was half the reason I had left school early—I couldn’t figure him out and was terrified I’d screw up.

“I passed Josh on the way in,” Dad continued. “You know he comes here every day like me.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. I knew Dad stopped here on his way home from work. As for Josh … well, I wasn’t exactly surprised.

Before the accident, I’d hardly ever lied to my dad. Now it seemed all I did was lie to him. To everybody. “Josh wanted to talk to Ella,” I said, vaguely sticking to the truth.

“Is that why you’re here? To talk to your sister?”

“Yes.”

“I was hoping maybe you could talk to me,” he said, “but you left before we had a chance.”

“Because there is nothing to talk about.”

Typical of Dad, he nodded and changed his line of questioning, coming at me from a different angle. “Everything okay at school?”

“Yup. I didn’t feel well, so I went home.” He knew that was a lie. I’d insisted I felt good enough to return to school last night when we argued about it. They wanted me to take a few more days, meet with the counselor before I went back.

“Your mother is worried about you. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine, Dad. Honestly. But I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.”

“Are you talking to Alex at least?”

Alex had stopped asking me about the accident after my first day home. I’d clam up or sometimes cry whenever he mentioned it at the hospital. By the time I’d gotten home, he probably figured it was safer not to ask. “Yeah. I guess.”

We stood there, neither one of us knowing what to say to break the heavy silence that surrounded us. The rain had nearly stopped, a few scattered drops staining the paper. My eyes drifted to the drawing I clutched in my hand.

“What do you have there?” Dad asked as he reached for the drawing.

I gave it to him and watched as he studied it. He folded it neatly and gave it back to me, his gaze turning to the gravestone behind us.

“She loved to draw. I swear she learned how to use a crayon before mastering a fork,” Dad said, chuckling. I hadn’t heard that sound in weeks. It made me smile and remember how when I was a kid, I’d made him enough drawings to completely cover his office walls. Every single one of them courtesy of Crayola.

“I miss her.” It was the first honest thing I’d said to him since I woke up in the hospital. I missed her hogging the shower in the morning and the smell of nail polish remover overtaking the bathroom. I wanted to hear her yelling for me to come down for dinner and teasing me when I tried to explain to Mom why I had no desire to go to prom.

And I missed me—Ella. I missed sitting at the lunch table with Josh, laughing to myself as Kim vied for his attention. I missed our Saturday-afternoon movie marathons and his moronic texts asking me how to handle Kim.

“I miss her too. More than you can ever know.”

Those last words were whispered. I don’t think he intended to speak them aloud, but they stunned me all the same. I couldn’t help myself—I asked, “What do you miss most about her?”

He stepped back, his face going pale. “I don’t blame you, Maddy. Nobody blames you. Please don’t think—”

“I don’t,” I interrupted. “I’m trying to figure her out. Ella, you know. What people thought of her. Who she really was.”

“Quiet,” was Dad’s first response. “Beautiful, and quiet, and so incredibly talented, but you already know that, don’t you?”

I thought about asking him what, exactly, he meant. Luckily, I didn’t have to. He answered before I could speak. “She was your twin sister, Maddy. I remember when you two were little. You were inseparable, even insisting on sleeping in the same room, in the same bed. You probably knew her better than anybody.”

“Umm, yeah, not so much anymore.”

Dad shook his head. He knew we’d grown apart these last few years. Everybody who spent any time with us knew that. “She’s the same Ella she was back then.”

“Maybe,” I said, hoping that was true, that somewhere beneath this lie was the real me. I picked at the tattered edges of the picture I was holding, mindlessly dropping the shreds of paper to the ground. “Dad, have you ever made a mistake, done something that you didn’t intend to but couldn’t take back?”

“Of course. Everybody has, but you can’t change the past, Maddy. You can’t change what happened.” He pulled me into his arms, and I knew he thought I was referring to the accident, that I was finally starting to talk. “You can’t go back. You have to try to make peace with what happened and move forward. We all do.”

His arms tightened around me as if he was willing me to believe him, to forgive myself and move on. I pulled away. It felt wrong to be forgiven.

“If you are looking to learn more about your sister, perhaps you should start with Josh. He was her best friend. He spent more time with her than any of us.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Go,” Dad said, nudging me toward the road. “Go talk to him. He’s hurting as much as you.”

26

I traced a circular pattern on the driveway with my foot. I could see the pavement through the spot I’d cleared, the puddle of rain trying to ease its way back as I continued to swipe it away. I’d been standing in Josh’s driveway for over twenty minutes trying to talk myself into knocking on his door, and I still couldn’t find the courage to move.

“Stop being a chicken, Ella. It’s just Josh.” I took one long, fog-filled breath and made my feet move, willed them to walk those last few steps up the slate walkway to his front door.

The bright motion-sensor porch lights came on as soon as I hit the bottom step, announcing my arrival to anyone sitting in the living room. I couldn’t even apologize to Josh in privacy.

Mrs. Williams opened the door as my hand was about to ring the doorbell. “El—” She stopped mid-name and took a step back, the color draining from her face as she grabbed the doorknob for support. I couldn’t blame her. The rain had washed any trace of makeup, and my hair hung in matted locks around my face. Like this, I guess I did look like me.

I should’ve said something, corrected her initial reaction or walked past her, but I couldn’t. I just stood there, my feet glued to the porch, my mouth forgetting how to form words.

“Maddy?”

I didn’t know whether she was asking me what I wanted or questioning who I was, so I opted for number one. “Hi, Mrs. Williams. Is Josh here?”

She stepped aside and motioned me in. “He’s upstairs. I’ll go get him.”

“No.” The last thing I needed was an audience. “I’ll find him.”

I made for the stairs, forgetting that Maddy had never been in this house. She’d picked me up here a few times. She would sit at the curb and honk her horn until I came out, but she’d never been closer than that. She wouldn’t know which room was Josh’s, never mind jog up the stairs like she owned the place. “Uh … which room is his?”

“Last one on the right. You sure you don’t want me to go get him?”

I shook my head and took the first few steps two at a time. “Maddy?” Mrs. Williams’s voice halted me, and I turned, my eyes dancing across the front door before settling on her. There was still time to leave, still time to walk out that door and keep pretending.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” she finally said.

“Me too,” was what I came out with—a weak, pathetic me too.

The upstairs hall was empty, the lights off except the one flowing out from underneath Josh’s door. I knew where the light switches were, knew that if I turned to my left there would be three switches, the middle one a dimmer. I didn’t bother to flick one on; I didn’t need it. This was my second home. I could navigate my way up the stairs to his room with my eyes closed.

I walked the hall on instinct alone, my feet knowing exactly how many steps to take, my hand automatically knowing which door to tap on.

“It’s open,” he called.

I slowly turned the brass knob. Part of me knew I would regret this—admitting to a lie I had every intention of continuing to live. The other part of me, the part guiding my hand, knew I owed Josh an explanation.

I opened the door enough to peek in, still wavering between staying and leaving. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his History notes sprawled out in front of him.

I shook my head in self-disgust. I’d spent countless nights here on that floor, in that exact same position, poring over Physics notes or copying Latin translations. This was the same Josh I had always known, the same one I went to in the past with stupid problems. Why did I want to hide from him now?

He looked up from his homework, his expression guarded. “Hey, Ella.”

I’d heard him utter my name a thousand times before. Heard him yell it at me last month when we were fighting over which indie film to feature in the anime club’s October newsletter, and whisper it to me the next day in school when he was trying to get my attention during class so he could apologize. But never before had it sounded so flat … so matter-of-fact.

“What have I done?” With those whispered words I lost it, the tears I’d been fighting finally fell, poured from my eyes as my entire body shook violently with sobs. Josh’s reaction was instantaneous. He got up and closed the door before dragging me close and pulling me into his arms. I didn’t fight him as he guided my head to his chest. I no longer had the strength or the desire to lie to the one person who’d ever truly known me.

The steady, rhythmic beat of his heart thrummed beneath my cheek as his palm moved soothingly up and down my back. His cheek warmed the top of my head and the constant lull of his voice was peaceful, perfect. For the first time since the accident, I felt safe and warm, and I wanted to stay here, locked in his arms, forever.

It seemed like hours before my sobs quieted to a whimper. His shirt was soaked from my tears, his hands shaking on my back. I didn’t pull away to see if he was crying. I didn’t want to know.

“You’re soaking wet,” he said as he brushed at his now-damp shirt.

“What?” Surprise and confusion swirled inside me. I had just admitted to pretending to be dead and taking over my sister’s life, and the only thing he thought to comment on was my wet clothes?

I stared down at my shoes. They were squishy, the leather strap leaving a smudge across the top of my feet. “I walked here. It was still drizzling when I left the cemetery, but it has stopped now.”

“Here,” Josh said. He stripped off his sweatshirt and gave it to me. “None of my jeans will fit you, but I’ve got a pair of sweatpants you can borrow.”

I took the sweatshirt, and he dug through his dresser for a clean pair of pants. He handed them to me and looked at the floor until I was completely changed.

On top of my pile of wet clothes, I laid the earrings and the locket I’d found in Maddy’s jewelry box, plus the five thousand silver bangles I’d put on this morning.

“You look like you now,” he said, and I smiled. For the first time in weeks, I actually felt like me.

“How’d you figure it out?” I asked.

“Figure what out?”

“How did you figure out it was me … that I was Ella and not Maddy? I mean, Alex hasn’t figured it out. Not even my parents have questioned it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Alex. Your parents…” Josh paused and shrugged as if he couldn’t explain that one. “They’re upset, probably grieving too much to look that closely.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, quite sure that wasn’t the case. They had the daughter they wanted, or at least that’s what I was telling myself. “But how did you figure it out?”

“You told me.”

“What? No I didn’t.” In fact, I had gone out of my way to make sure I hadn’t let anything slip in front of him. With the exception of that small slip of my voice in the stairwell today, I’d stayed completely in part.

“You have that drawing I left in the cemetery?”

“Yeah.” I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to him.

He unfolded it much the way I had, but using his leg to smooth it out. “This told me,” he said, waving it in my direction.

“I don’t get it. I’ve drawn hundreds of those. What’s so special about this one?”

“Exactly,” he said. “I … we have AP English in the same room as Maddy. One period later, after she has American Lit. I found it crumpled up by the desk you were sitting in. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but you’ve been drawing that same tree since the day I met you. You do it whenever you zone out.”

He was right. That gnarly old willow tree sat in my front yard. It had been beaten down a few times by winter storms and the occasional hurricane. That’s why I always drew it—it either cracked a limb or lost a branch every week. It was always changing, a constant, inanimate object that gave me something new to capture each day.

“You found this on the floor?” I remembered finishing my test early, rereading my answers, and still having a good ten minutes left to kill. I must have drawn it while I was waiting for the bell to ring, mindlessly putting pencil to paper.

“Umm hmm, and I’d like it back if you don’t mind.”

“Why?” I asked, handing it to him.

“Because right now, or at least until you change your mind about this game you’re playing, it’s the only thing I have left of you.”