Real Bad Things(33)
She knocked on the passenger window, and he rolled it down. “Are you sure everything’s okay? With us? I . . .” Words. Why were words so hard with him now? “I’m not gonna change my story, you know. I confessed. You don’t have to worry about that, okay?”
He turned to her but still didn’t really look her in the eye. More like a fleeting glance before shifting his gaze to the seat. Then he offered her his pinkie. “We’re good, Jane.”
She linked her pinkie with his and tried not to get all weird and emotional about it, but it was hard. “Good,” she added and paused. “I love you.”
He smiled, conciliatory. “I really do have to go.” He held up his phone as if a client was on the line right then, waiting. “Tell Mom I had to take off, okay? I’ll be in touch.”
Before she could ask him to promise, the window hummed, and she yanked her arm out before it closed on her. His car disappeared down the road toward wherever it was he called home.
She’d made the decision to confess. To save him from having to pay for her decision to antagonize Warren in the first place. If she’d kept her mouth shut like Warren and Diane had told her, maybe Warren would be alive. But she hadn’t. He hadn’t asked her to confess. But she had.
The knock had come seven days after Warren disappeared.
For seven days, Jane had waited.
For seven days, she wondered what had happened and why Warren’s body hadn’t turned up. They had expected him to be found soon—maybe even the next day—the explanation a boating accident. Or that he had tumbled into the lock from the bridge after a bender. She fought the urge to walk along the riverbank to see if his body was tangled among the driftwood and mud. Don’t go to the river, she told everyone. And don’t tell anyone what we’ve done.
They all went to school like normal. Jane fixed Jason’s cereal and supper. Gave him lunch money from what little she made at Family Fun. Angie didn’t wait for Jane or Jason to walk to the school bus, though. She didn’t save Jane a seat. She didn’t nudge her or walk alongside her in the hallways when everyone started whispering once word got out. Isn’t that the girl whose dad is missing?
Stepdad, she wanted to scream.
Georgia Lee tried to catch her attention before second period, but Jane rushed the opposite direction, as if everyone would know what they’d done if they saw them together. Georgia Lee resorted to calling the house repeatedly. But Jane didn’t have anything to say, so she didn’t pick up. Jane eventually pulled the cord out of the wall jack. She regretted that. She should’ve been more communicative, but she didn’t know how. Everything in her froze with fear about getting caught.
For seven days, her heart hammered at every sudden movement or sound, every glance her way. She tiptoed around Jason, wondering what kind of permanent psychological damage he’d suffer from what he’d done. Guilt and terror. That’s what she saw before he averted his eyes when she tried to talk to him.
Pretend nothing is wrong, she had whispered to him that terrible night and all the nights thereafter until she was gone. And hadn’t he gone and done that very thing?
Life was great for Jason Mooney. Sorry, Jason Tran. He’d gone to college, learned how to program software, and become a professional fighter, recognized in cemeteries around Maud. Probably the state. No doubt under all the svelte black clothing there were rock-hard abs. Sweat and occasional blood, adoring fans.
He’d done exactly what she’d wanted. He had a life.
She tried to bat away her shame at being a shitty person and the disappointment of comparison. She’d always seen them as a pair. Two orphans against the world. Boxcar Children. Bitter and wondering what their lives might have been like had they been gifted a different mother in the great game of Life. There had been comfort in shared sadness.
She’d never felt so alone.
After a while spent staring at the sky, she wandered back toward Diane and the grave site, where a smattering of people still hung around smoking cigarettes and chatting. Probably related to the gravediggers. But the reporters and the Ingrams were gone.
Diane looked Jane up and down. There were smudges on Jane’s pants. No telling what her face looked like. Finally, Diane ended her assessment and dug around in her purse for her keys while Jane shifted from one foot to the other.
“Should we head out?” Jane asked. The image of Diane standing there emotionless while Jane got kicked hovered in her mind. Diane would say she deserved it.
Diane scratched at the spot on her arm she’d been agitating all day. The skin responded in kind, angry and red. She settled her attention somewhere beyond Jane and got this look on her face Jane couldn’t interpret. “What is it? That guy you kept looking at?”
“He keeps bugging me.”
Jane didn’t see him among the crowd milling about or the backs of people walking toward their cars. “Did something happen?”
“No.” Diane glared at her. “And it’s no business of yours if it had.”
Jane launched her hands into the air. “Sorry. Okay.” She dreaded the ride home. The night she’d have to spend there. Maybe she could borrow the car, head up the hill to the mall in Maud Proper. Binge on soft pretzels and soda from the mall food court. She wondered if the movie theater was still open. She could gorge on popcorn and nachos, way better than a night alone with Diane in her grief and anger. A terrible thing to admit, but there was no one to hear that confession.