Take the Fall(7)

A muffled sob issues from the doorway. I open my eyes to see my mother wiping her face and I wish I’d spared her that detail.

“This was very helpful, Sonia, thank you.” The sheriff’s face softens as he pockets his notes.

I exhale. “I feel like I’m no help at all.”

“What you’ve been through, the fact that you’re even able to talk about this is huge.” He leans toward me. “I might send Amir over tomorrow. Maybe the two of you can work out a sketch of the person you saw.”

“But I didn’t see—”

“Sleep on it. You never know.”

I give in, sinking back into my pillows. “Sheriff?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have a list of other suspects?”

His forehead creases. “You leave that part up to me. I don’t want you worrying about it.”

I frown, a heavy feeling building in my gut. “Do you really believe it wasn’t Marcus?”

“Sonia, you know I can’t speculate about stuff like that.”

I tighten my fingers in my lap, but it’s clear he’s set on keeping me in the dark.

“Listen, I’m aware you and Marcus Perez don’t exactly get along—”

“It’s not that.” I fold my arms, though he’s right, partially. Marcus does hate my guts. It would be easier if I felt the same way. “Can you just stop trying to protect me? I was attacked by this person too, don’t I deserve to know who you think it was?”

He rests his elbows on his knees. “I’ll be the first to admit I’m trying to protect you. It is likely that the same person attacked you and Gretchen. And they’re still at large. I promise I’ll do everything in my power to get them secured behind bars, but you’re just going to have to trust me.” He rises, squeezes my mom’s shoulder. “Try to get some sleep, both of you.”

My mom sees him downstairs. When she comes back she lingers in the door, hugging herself. “I’ll ask the school to send your things over tomorrow.”

I look up. “Why would you do that? We still have class.”

“A few days off will do you good,” she says.

“But it’s almost finals.” My mouth goes dry. “I can’t afford to mess up my grades.”

“I don’t see how you can even think about grades right now.”

I straighten, prepared to argue, but think better of it. My mother always says she’s learned more from life than she could in any classroom; that college is a waste of time. But it’s wrong to lace that tired dispute into a night like tonight. “I just can’t lose my scholarship.”

She sits on the edge of my bed. “I don’t think the weight of all this has hit you yet.”

I clench my jaw, because if I don’t, I’ll scream. It hit me two nights ago as soon as I set foot on the bridge. It hit me when my face was shoved into the ground and I couldn’t breathe, when I ran for my life, imagining my mother finding me dead. But it hit me hardest in the cold light of morning, when Gretchen was found instead.

She takes my hand in hers. “You know, I’ve been saving a little money. I thought we could pack up, get out of town for a week. You’ve always wanted to drive up the coast, and—”

“You want to go on a vacation?”

Her chin trembles. “I just hate the idea that whoever did this is still out there.”

I swallow. “Does the sheriff think they might come after me again? Because if he does, he should’ve said so.”

She exhales. “I just thought some time away would be nice . . .”

Under the quilt, my fingers find their way to the cool skin of my left wrist, fumbling for the bracelet Gretchen gave me for my birthday. I haven’t seen it since that night, but I keep looking. I can’t stand the feeling of it not being there.

“Look, maybe I do need some downtime.” It takes effort, but I force myself to relax, lean into her. “But Gretchen’s funeral is Friday and I have to be there.”

My mother pulls the covers up, tucking them under my chin with tentative hands. “We don’t have to go on a trip. Just promise you’ll stay close to home. I don’t want you at school. I don’t want you out anywhere without telling me.”

“Okay.”

I take her hand, staring at the small scar on my knuckle from when I fell off Gretchen’s swing set when we were five. It used to seem big and ugly, but now I realize how small it is, and I’m afraid it’ll disappear, taking more of her away from me.

I fight the sting of tears, but then my mom leans in to kiss my cheek. Her touch is warm and comforting, and so mom-like. I curl into her, letting her stroke my hair, and for the briefest moment, I feel like I did when I was little. Like her kiss will magically make everything better.

“I just can’t believe she’s gone,” she whispers. “If you hadn’t gotten away—I don’t know what I would’ve done if it was you.”

I turn my head to one side, afraid to let her see that thought on my face. But when I close my eyes, my body feels cold and lifeless, like I’m floating in freezing water. I hug my mother tight, cling to her warmth, but no matter what I do I can’t seem to shake the chill.





THREE