Take the Fall(25)

Don’t text me.

I shut my phone off before he can answer. I’m working on my suspect list, but so far the only people other than Marcus with a clear motive to kill Gretchen are Tyrone, Kevin, Reva, and maybe Kip. I’m not even sure how to narrow down who might’ve left the photo in my locker. Whatever it is can wait. I don’t need my friends looking over my shoulder while I text a murder suspect.

When Aisha drops me at home, my mom and Uncle Noah are up front, arguing over how to change the receipt paper in the cash register we’ve had for ten years. They straighten, plastering on concerned expressions when I walk in, but I can’t help noticing my mom’s knotted fingers or that her bottom lip is chewed raw.

“How did it go today?” she asks.

“About the same as yesterday.”

“You could take the night off. Wednesdays are slow.”

“Who would cover my shift?”

“I will!” My little cousin, Felicia, pipes up from behind a milk shake in a booth. “Dad’s been showing me how to bus tables.”

I raise an eyebrow at Uncle Noah. “Ever hear of child labor laws?”

He chuckles. “She thought it was fun.”

“Nice try.” I kiss him on the cheek. “I need the tips.”

I run upstairs to change my clothes. There’s still enough time to finish my calculus homework if I’m quick. I swap my jeans for a denim skirt and pull a cardigan over my cami, but when I look in the mirror something seems off. I tie my hair back, add a little lip gloss. My cheeks still look hollow and no amount of makeup will hide the shadows under my eyes.

But that’s not it.

I trace the buttons of the black cardigan and let out a slow breath. It’s a hand-me-down from Gretchen and a little dressy for waiting tables. I think the last time I wore it was to my Penn interview. I pull the tag up behind my neck and squint at it in the mirror: Kate Spade. Gretchen culled her closet four times a year, with the seasons, and since we were almost the same size, she’d give her old things to me instead of taking them to Goodwill. She liked to joke that I was her own personal charity case. I never knew how to respond to that, so I would just say that I was probably the best-dressed waitress for miles.

But now the sweater feels wrong against my skin. I slip it off and pull on my Penn hoodie. Something in my body eases. I find a pair of cutoffs I bought at a secondhand store a couple of years back and swap them out for the skirt, which was also Gretchen’s, and then frown at my overflowing closet. The few clothes I’ve bought for myself might not be flattering or well made, but I can’t deny that I feel better in them.

My right hand goes to my wrist out of habit and anxiety creeps back into my chest. It seems silly to be upset about a tiny bracelet after everything else that happened Friday night, but I can’t help it. Gretchen bought one for each of us last September for our seventeenth birthdays. She wanted to make a statement about our friendship, but with something more grown-up than those cheesy broken-heart friendship necklaces. She found a style she liked—a black leather strap held together with a silver infinity symbol—and we’d been wearing them ever since.

It’s out in the park somewhere, I know it. I haven’t had the chance to go back and look—if I’m honest, I’ve been afraid to. Especially after finding the photo in my locker. But the sun is bright this afternoon, the birds are singing, and there’s still almost an hour till my shift starts. I know it’s a slim chance I’ll ever find it. But every time I look at my bare wrist my stomach turns.

I need it back.

I shove my pepper spray in my pocket and creep down the stairs, reminding myself there are always people in the woods during the day. Mom’s and Noah’s voices drift back from the diner, but their conversation seems to have returned to day-to-day business. I turn the latch on the security door and push it open.

“Where are you going?”

I turn. Felicia comes around the corner wielding a tub of dirty dishes.

“I just need a little air that doesn’t smell like french fries.”

She wrinkles her brow. “My mom said we can’t go outside because of Gretchen.”

I peer through the metal mesh of the door, my heart heavy. “Your mom is right, you should stay inside. I’m just running next door—to the flower shop. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh.” Felicia relaxes. “It does smell good in there.”

I hesitate as the door creaks open. Lying to an eight-year-old is easy, but somehow makes me feel worse. “Hey, Fe, don’t tell my mom. . . . I want to pick something for Gretchen myself.”

I hold my breath dashing across First Avenue—in part because I don’t want to be seen, but also because this is the first time I’ve crossed this pavement since Friday night, and it’s upsetting and surreal, retracing my footsteps in the sunlight.

The rush of water is just audible at the edge of the park. The path leading to Hidden Falls branches in two halfway down, and if you follow it to the right, you reach the playground and picnic area just upstream along Black River Creek. This was the place Gretchen and I always met until about seventh grade when it started to feel silly sitting by the toddlers on the swings. I can see the old equipment as I pass through the trees. Its peeling painted structures stand abandoned, awaiting the passage of time, and fear, for play to resume.