Take the Fall(46)

“Sonia, I’m so pleased you could come.”

Mrs. Meyer comes gliding out of the kitchen in a T-shirt and yoga pants, her fading yellow hair loose around her shoulders. For a second, I can’t think of a thing to say. I’m so used to her business suits and tightly sculpted bun.

“Kirsten said it was a little overwhelming trying to sort through everything.” I barely get my voice above a whisper. “I’m happy to help however I can.”

Mrs. Meyer gives me an overly mild smile and I wonder briefly if Kirsten was right about the painkillers. “The house has been so quiet . . . it’s nice to see you here again.” She smooths her hair like she can’t quite get it to sit the way she’d like. “Why don’t you girls go grab yourselves a snack and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

I swallow hard. That’s exactly the kind of thing she used to say when I’d come home with Gretchen after school. But back then she only had time to crunch a few carrot sticks and ask about our day before leaving for her next event.

Kirsten leads the way into the enormous gourmet kitchen, which has always been my favorite room in the Meyers’ house. The smooth granite countertops and stainless steel appliances seem so elegant compared to the restaurant’s commercial sink, deep freeze, and grill. Kirsten dumps a huge bag of Fritos into a bowl and offers it to me, but I hesitate.

“Oh wait,” she says. “I forgot. Would you rather have popcorn?”

She holds up a bag of Smartfood and my stomach turns. We did always have cheddar popcorn when Kirsten was around. She’s extremely lactose intolerant and Gretchen kept a big bag of it on hand specifically so her sister would have no reason to share with us. I actually can’t stand cheddar popcorn, but I never bothered to tell Gretchen that.

“No, Fritos are great,” I say. Normally I might even wolf the whole bag down. But right now I can’t even bring myself to touch them. We grab a couple of Diet Cokes and carry the food upstairs.

When we reach Gretchen’s room, Kirsten walks through the door without hesitation, but my breath catches and I linger on the threshold, trying to hold myself together. The white canopy bed has been disassembled and rests in pieces against the wall, the impressions where it once stood pressed deep into the pink rug. There are stacks of books piled on the desk, a laundry basket full of random items—a music box, a telescope, old horseback-riding ribbons. The tall white bookshelves are empty; the walls are bare. Nothing looks the way it should. Like it would have the last time she left . . . or when the intruder entered. I let out a slow breath to mask my disappointment. I’ll never find anything useful here.

Mrs. Meyer startles me, emerging from the closet. “I was just getting ready to tackle in here. Kirsten went through and took what she wanted already. Why don’t you have a look, Sonia, and pick the things you’d like.”

I know I need to answer, but I can barely speak around the lump in my throat. Everything about this is wrong. I should’ve turned Kirsten down when she asked me to come. “Are you sure that’s what you want, Mrs. M?”

“I’d much rather you have them than some other person shopping at Goodwill.” She bustles across the room, organizing and labeling boxes like this is just another auction or charity event. I bite back the sting, reminding myself that’s exactly the way Gretchen saw it. When she notices I still haven’t moved, she crosses her arms in front of her and looks at me with watery eyes. “Please, Sonia. I can’t have her spirit trapped here because of things she left behind.”

I look at Kirsten, who raises one eyebrow and shakes her head, then stuffs her mouth with Fritos and resumes organizing stacks of Gretchen’s paperbacks.

I place one foot on the carpet and wait for something to happen. Another foot and I’m in the room. I look around for—something, I don’t know. The space is familiar, and yet it isn’t. I give Mrs. Meyer a wary look, half convinced she’s right and Gretchen’s ghost is going to swoop down and haunt me. When it doesn’t happen, I take another step. By the time I reach the closet, I can almost breathe without gasping.

“I know Gretchen would want you to have this.” Mrs. Meyer stands at the dresser, a small object clutched in her outstretched hand.

She opens her fingers when I approach, and a familiar bracelet drops into my palm. The strap is black leather held together by a silver infinity symbol on one side and a delicate clasp on the other. My hand shakes as soon as I touch it. The metal burns cold into my skin as if it’s permanently chilled from the freezing waterfall. I was with Gretchen when she picked them out, when she laughed and declared our friendship infinite.

Kirsten knocks over a stack of books and curses behind the desk.

I shake my head, handing the bracelet back to Mrs. Meyer. “I shouldn’t—”

“Your friendship was everything to her.” She wipes a tear from her cheek and closes my fingers around the strap. “Please take it, Sonia.”

I think of my own bracelet, somewhere out there, and fight hard to swallow. I don’t know how else to say no, so I just say, “Thank you.”

She turns away and I look down, unsure what to do with it. It wouldn’t feel right inside my pocket, but I could never wear it on the same arm where mine goes. I fumble to slide it on my left wrist, but my hands quake so badly, I can’t get the clasp open. Kirsten comes over and clips it together with calm, steady fingers.