Find Me Page 7

  Which is a ridiculous thought. I’m almost seventeen—way too old for this shit. I don’t need a father figure. I don’t need someone to confide in or anyone to cheer me on. I don’t need whatever Todd is or could be, but sometimes, in moments like these, I realize how much I want someone like him anyway.

  Stupid. Really stupid. Dangerous even, because he will only let me down. So I push the idea under, hold it until it stops thrashing.

  After my mom and all. Concentrate on that. There should be a good way to explain this. God knows I’ve had enough opportunities. Our community is pretty small, and after the newspaper ran a front-page article on my mom’s suicide, everyone talked about it. They wanted to know why she did it and how she could leave “her responsibilities.”

  I don’t think they ever understood that was the point. She couldn’t handle her responsibilities—that’s why she jumped. They never understood that they weren’t supposed to understand. It was something she felt she had to do, and it made sense to her. It’s been four years, and even though I’ve worked some stuff out in my head, I can’t express any of it.

  Except maybe this: Everything comes after “my mom and all.” That’s what comes from loss. There’s Before When You Had a Mom and then . . . Now When You Don’t Have a Mom. You don’t get over it, you just learn how to endure. It isn’t just the loss of your mom. It’s the birthdays she’ll miss. Your graduation. Your first date. All those little losses light up her absence with torches.

  You deal. I did.

  Tally will.

  I swallow. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I could do something good with everything that’s happened to me.”

  Not the worst lie I’ve ever told. Might even be a little true.

  But Todd’s still watching like he’s looking for cracks. I keep my face blank and shrug. “After all, I know how they feel.”

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  I would do anything for my sister.

  —Page 23 of Tessa Waye’s diary

  Usually Brandy, the Wayes’ housekeeper, opens the door for visitors, but this time it’s Mrs. Waye herself. She pushes the door wide, and for a second, I feel like I’m an eleven-year-old again, getting dropped off for a playdate with Tessa.

  I had forgotten how pretty her mom is, how Mrs. Waye can cry and still keep her makeup perfect.

  But it cracks around her strung-up smile.

  “Hi, Becky.” Todd runs one arm across her shoulders, pulling her into a brief hug. “How are you holding up?”

  Mrs. Waye doesn’t let him go. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “I’m glad we could be here.” Todd motions toward me and I catch Mrs. Waye’s attention, but I lose it even faster. Her eyes slide so smoothly over me it’s as if they were always on their way back to Todd.

  Did she recognize me? Maybe not. Five years ago, when Tessa and I made forts out of couch cushions, my hair was short instead of long. My clothes were dark instead of light. I had yet tosurvive Bren’s makeover. I thought my new clothes made me stand out, but maybe they actually hide me.

  Or maybe Mrs. Waye doesn’t care.

  We’re barely away from her before Todd is pulled to the side by another mother, leaving me to stand around and look at kids from my school I don’t know well enough to talk to. This is weird. On the way here, I was nervous as hell, but now I feel curiously . . . lost.

  And horribly sad when I see the pictures of Tessa scattered around the house. Most of them look like they were taken at the church Todd teaches at. There’s Tessa’s first communion . . . Tessa doing an art project with some younger children . . . Tessa smiling for the camera.

  I try to keep moving, but the whole house is super crowded, and between the sheer number of people and their palpable grief, every room is suffocating. I don’t see Tally anywhere, and it seems weird to ask strangers where she might be. I give up and return to Todd when a lone girl catches my attention. The diary tucked under my shirt trembles.

  Tessa’s younger sister, Tally, is looking right at me. Her eyes are a little glazy and her face is pinched. Everyone else is talking and crying, but Tally’s motionless, staring at me like I’m the only person who has ever mattered.

  Like I’m a hero.

  Tessa’s sister is sitting on an overstuffed couch between two overstuffed women. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d bet they were her aunts. And the way they’re crying over her head, I’d bet they’re self-involved aunts.

  One of them keeps plucking at Tally’s arm as she wails. The other keeps reaching across her. Yeah, I’d definitely say self-involved. Tally could be a stuffed animal for all the consideration they’re showing her.

  Tally looks like she’d probably agree with me. When our eyes meet, the girl’s mouth goes crooked, and I can’t tell if she’s holding back a smile or a scream.

  She slides off the couch, heads for a set of stairs to my left. I follow, half expecting someone to tell me to stop, but no one does.

  On the second floor, the master bedroom is off to my left. The door hangs partially open, revealing a collection of dark furniture and light-colored walls. Like the rest of the house, it’s immaculate and, for some strange reason, makes me think about how much Tessa loved to doodle and draw.

  She wouldn’t have fit in with parents like these. She would have always been reining herself in. And suddenly, I’m sad for Tessa all over again.

  I trail farther down the hallway, and it’s just closed door after closed door until I hit the end. Edging around the corner, I see Tally sitting on a flower-print bedspread, staring at the floor. She doesn’t move, and looking at her, you wouldn’t think she knows I’m here.

  But I know she does, because her hands roll into fists.

  “Tally?” I slide into the bedroom, nudging the door shut behind me. You can still hear the wailing from downstairs. It crawls up through the floorboards.

  “You came,” Tally breathes. The girl sounds . . . grateful, and it funnels my throat shut. How am I going to turn her down?

  “Yeah . . . I’m sorry, Tally. I know everyone probably keeps saying that to you—”

  “Doesn’t matter. You came. You’re going to fix this.”

  “I . . . I think there must some sort of mistake.”

  Tally twists her head to one side like she’s sure she didn’t hear me right.

  I hold up the diary, give it a shake. “Take it back.”

  There’s a moment of silence before Tally’s eyes spear mine. “No, I won’t.” She has Tessa’s mouth: thin and pale. It stretches across her face like a scar. “I shouldn’t have to. This is what you do, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The girl makes a strangled noise, like she’s choking, like my denial is some bone lodged halfway down her throat. “Liar. This is what you do. You find people. You uncover the truth for money.”

  My insides free-fall. “How do you know?”

  “Lily.”

  My sister? I didn’t even know Lily and Tally were friends, and even if they were, how could Lily have betrayed me?

  “Tessa was crying one day when she came to pick me up. I was afraid to ask what was wrong, but Lily wasn’t. Tessa told us it was “a boyfriend problem,” and Lily said you could fix it. She said you fixed a lot of women’s problems.”

  I stare at Tally, trying to break the situation down so it fits in neater lines. Fix her sister’s problems? Find her sister? Tessa is already gone. She’s already destroyed. You can’t fix this.

  I start to turn away and realize I, of all people, know the math doesn’t have to work—that you can still hope, even if everything’s ruined.

  “There’s nothing I can do, Tally.”

  “Yes, there is.” Her eyes turn huge and glazy again. She’s only a hairsbreadth from tears and now, suddenly, I feel like crying too. “We can’t save Tessa anymore, but we
can punish the man who raped her.”

  Raped her. The words sound awkward and practiced at the same time. “What are you talking about?”

  Tally swallows hard. “The man who made her jump. She wanted him because he made her feel beautiful, made her feel perfect. She wanted him, and my dad says girls like that deserve what happens to them, but Tessa didn’t deserve any of it—” Tally breaks off, shakes her head as she considers me. “You’re missing the most important part.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh yes, you are.” Tally jams one hand under her pillow, pulls out a fistful of torn papers.

  It’s the rest of the diary. She holds them out, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I’ve grabbed them.

  “You haven’t read this. It’s all about Lily.” He wants her. She’s next.

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  He’s done with me. I should be horrified,

  but I’m really just relieved.

  —Page 84 of Tessa Waye’s diary

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.” Tally’s gaze crawls over me, snags on my hands. She watches how they tighten. “Her name is right here.”

  Lily. I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything. I’m drowning.

  Tally nods like she somehow understands. “Page sixty-three. That’s the first time Tess mentioned Lily. Do you want to know why she’s in there?”

  Her eyes meet mine again, and I’m suddenly struck by how flat they look, how empty . . . how familiar. Tally looks like one of my dad’s junkies, the one who went on a four-day bender, coming down so hard she doused herself with gasoline and struck a match.

  “Tessa wrote about Lily in her diary because he thought Lily was beautiful.”

  Beautiful. Such a pretty word to have such a vicious slap. I’m supposed to say something, make some kind of response.

  But I’m silent. No, that’s not right, inside I’m screaming. But outside?

  Outside, all I can manage is the softest, “What?”

  Tally leans forward, scooting a little closer to the edge of the mattress. Her feet reach for the floor, and I retreat a step. She looks like she’s going to stand up, but her hands plunge fist-deep into the comforter.

  She isn’t going anywhere, I realize. She’s holding herself back.

  “The second time Tessa mentioned Lily it was because he had decided Lily was the One. I guess what he really meant was that Lily was the Next One, because you want to know what he said the third time?”

  No! Another step away. “Yes!”

  “She wrote about Lily because he had decided Tessa was going to help him.” For the first time, Tally’s voice cracks. She sucks in a breath, holds it, and then smiles. “Weird, isn’t it? That Tessa should spend so much time writing down Lily’s name, and never once did she write down his, even after he wanted to make her . . . make her a part of what he did. I wrote ‘find me’ because I thought you might be more likely to do it if you thought it came from her. You might think you were rescuing Tessa, but now . . . now you better do it to rescue Lily.”

  My shoulders are flat against the wall now, and it’s still not far enough away. “What guy are you talking about—the one from the beginning? You don’t have any idea who he is?”

  “I didn’t know this was even going on before she died, and I still don’t have a clue who it might have been.” Tally’s twisting the comforter with both hands now. Her forearms tremble with the strain, but her face stays serene. She’s still smiling. Anyone glancing in would think we were having a grand old time. “But I bet you can figure it out.”

  Tally’s smile freezes. The corners of her mouth draw in until her lips are only a knot. “Face it, you’ll have to figure it out if you want to save Lily.”

  “You should take this to the police.”

  “And let them see how perfect she thought he was?” Tally sucks in a rough-edged gasp and still sounds like she’s choking. “Let them see how she wanted him before it happened? How he told her all kinds of pretty things so she would trust him? They’ll look at Tessa differently. They’ll think she deserved it, just like my dad would.

  “And what good would it do anyway? Tessa told me all about your mom. How your dad used to beat her, how the police couldn’t help her, and now . . . now they can’t even find your dad.”

  Tessa still talked about me? My hand tightens around the torn pages. I would never have guessed. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who let our friendship slip away. Maybe I should’ve tried harder.

  “If you helped,” Tally continues, “maybe it would be different.”

  “Is that what you really think?”

  “Even if they have the diary, it won’t change anything. It’ll only hurt my mom and piss off my dad.” Tally gives me a knowing, bitter smile. “You know what he’s like. You remember. He finds out about all this and my life is over. I’ll never get away. Tessa’s dead, but I’m not. . . . If he knows what Tessa did, I’ll wish I were dead.”

  “Wicket?”

  We both jump. It’s Todd, calling me from downstairs. I’m thrilled. Grateful beyond measure, and I bolt for the door, Tally on my heels. It’s like being followed by Lily. Maybe all little sisters are like this. Maybe it’s because they’re used to their older sisters leading the way.

  But Tally doesn’t have a big sister anymore.

  Downstairs is exactly the same. The aunts are still wailing. Mrs. Waye still looks strung up. Todd still looks like a Ken doll.

  I’m being ugly. He looks like a hero. He looks like someone who could save you. Briefly, I think about telling him everything, launching myself across the room so I can press my face into his chest like the other women do.

  I’m scared.

  But because I’m scared, I can’t trust anyone else to do it but me.

  “You mind waiting by the car?” When Todd turns to me, his face is tight. My feet stall as I try to study him. Something isn’t right here. There’s a hush that’s fallen over the room, like everyone’s holding their breath.

  “I didn’t tell Jenna what happened to upset you, Jim.” Behind Todd, Mrs. Waye is crying again. She presses a tissue to her eyes, and it comes away black with mascara. “I didn’t think she would tell everyone like she did.”

  “Exactly, you didn’t think.” The voice is low and hateful . . . and familiar. I slowly pivot until I’m facing Jim Waye, but this is not the man I remember. There are smudges and sweat stains on his dress shirt, and his hair is standing on end. Everyone else looks close to coming apart, but Jim is coming apart.

  “She had a right to know,” Mrs. Waye continues, her voice climbing. “I told Jenna because she loved Tessa—we all did. The least I could do was be honest with my daughter’s friend.”

  Mr. Waye jerks, and for a second, I think he’s going to hit his wife, but then I realize he’s not going anywhere. Todd has Mr. Waye by his shirt.

  “That’s enough, Jim.”

  “‘That’s enough’?” Mr. Waye swings around, fists cocked. “I’ll tell you what’s enough. You. What the hell are you doing here after telling the police I was to blame?”

  Todd glances toward me. “Outside, please. I’ll only be another minute.”

  Like I want to be around Mr. Waye for a nanosecond longer. I spin around, and Tally follows me through the front door. We’ve barely reached the steps before I see a low-slung sedan parked on the other side of the street. My chest tightens before my brain even realizes it’s Carson. It’s too far away to see properly, but I think he nods at me.

  “Why’s he here?”

  “He comes by sometimes.” Tally’s hands are pinned behind her back, but she looks ready to run. “He came by a lot before Tessa . . . died. But every time I told my mom, he was gone by the time she came outside.”

  My insides leap. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” The girl’s mouth goe
s tight. “You think he cares about us? I don’t. No cops, Wick.”

  I fold up the diary pages, pocket them. “You know I might not find anything, right?”

  “I know.” Tally’s staring hard at the sedan sitting over my shoulder. She’s watching Carson watch us. “But for Lily’s sake, you better.”

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  Sometimes he cries. He says he never meant for

  this to happen, and he’s worried about what he’ll

  lose if anyone finds out.

  —Page 21 of Tessa Waye’s diary

  First comes the shouting. It’s loud, indignant, and definitively male. Mr. Waye says Todd should get the hell out of his house, and Mrs. Waye is begging them to stop. Something crashes.

  Then comes the smack of flesh on flesh.

  Next to me, Tally jumps. Okay, if I’m being honest, we both jump. Someone just got punched, and inside, I’m totally set to run.

  Except it’s Todd who flings open the front door.

  “Remember,” Tally says.

  Like this shit is something I’m going to forget. I follow Todd to his Range Rover, and when I look behind me, Tally’s gone.

  Todd shifts us into drive and we pull away from the curb, swinging around Carson like he doesn’t even exist. Maybe to people like Todd and Bren, Carson doesn’t.

  I study Todd from the corner of my vision. His breathing is shallow, and the hand curled around the steering wheel is swelling.

  “They teach you how to punch in therapy?”

  Todd looks down at his right knuckles, tucks his hand under his leg. “Not exactly.”

  “But you did it anyway.”

  Todd shoots me a quick look, something wordless clouding up his eyes. He’s trying to make a decision, and after another beat, he decides. “I did it because he was going after Becky again. Jim’s absolutely unhinged. He’s upset because she told Jenna without asking him first. He’s more upset about how Tessa’s death reflects on him than he is about the loss of his daughter. I punched him because . . . it needed to be done.”