The Last Housewife (50)

SHAY: I was scared Rachel would come back from the bathroom and catch us talking.

JAMIE: You wouldn’t even acknowledge me. I kept saying, “Shay, it’s me,” but you wouldn’t speak.

SHAY: I needed you to go away.

JAMIE: Clem introduced herself, started talking a mile a minute, like she was desperate to connect, but Laurel told me to leave, sounded almost hysterical. I’d been trying to get in touch with you for over a year, and suddenly you were right in front of me. I had to plead my case. I couldn’t just let you go.

SHAY: You begged to talk alone. There’s no way I could’ve done that.

JAMIE: Your eyes were hollow. You were the ghost.

SHAY: Don came back while you were there, Jamie. Literally, the worst thing that could’ve happened, happened. Can you imagine if I’d acted interested, and he’d noticed you? What do you think would’ve happened?

JAMIE: I wish he’d noticed me. All I knew was this man rounds the corner, and suddenly you’re practically crying, running away from me like I’m a stranger harassing you. We’ve been friends since we were five.

SHAY: You weren’t my friend that day. You were a man who wasn’t Don—a threat.

JAMIE: I should’ve followed you, but I was just so stunned. It haunts me, what I should’ve done.

SHAY: Well, you got through to someone.

JAMIE: What?

SHAY: That night, when the three of us were in bed and the lights went out, Clem whispered, “That was the boy you told us about. Your friend from growing up.”

It felt like admitting something shameful, but I said, “Yes. Jamie.”

Clem thought it was strange I was afraid of you. She said, “He used to be your best friend. You told us how nice he was.”

But Laurel whispered, “They’re all nice until they get you alone. Don says every one of them’s hungry. Just waiting for their opportunity.”

Normally, Laurel alluding to her rape would’ve been enough to silence Clem. But she must’ve been determined, because she said, “I miss soccer. My coach keeps trying to talk to me, convince me to come back…” She whispered, “If I left, would you come?”

Laurel and I were silent in shock.

Clem said, “I’m going to tell my coach what Don’s doing to us. She’ll believe me. She’ll tell the dean or go to the cops. She’ll help us.”

Laurel said, “The cops?” She’d hated them since freshman year.

Clem said, “Whatever it takes. But I won’t go without you. I swear. I won’t leave you behind.”

She was actually serious. She had a plan.

I got scared. Maybe Don wasn’t perfect, but what if everything he told us was true, and life away from him was terrifying and unfulfilling? What if we could never come back to him, or from the things we’d done, and we were trapped in purgatory?

I was a coward. So when Laurel said, “If you say one more word about this, I’ll tell Don,” I fell in line. There was this moment of possibility, then the conditioning snapped back in place.

I said, “No one wants to leave, Clem, so drop it.”

I would give anything for those not to have been our last words.

But the next day Clem went to class and never came back. By nighttime, Laurel and I were reading in the living room, waiting for some sign of her. Finally, Don walked in and said, “Girls. A terrible thing has happened, and the police are looking for you. I’m afraid I can’t shield you. I’m taking you down to the station.”

The cops were the ones who told us what happened, that Clem had hung herself in the shower. They took us to identify her body, and that’s when I saw the words I’m sorry in blood, written on her arm. I understood then that the message was for us. She’d promised she wouldn’t leave without us, but in the end she had.

My guilt did something nothing else had been able to do: it woke me up. Gave me perspective. When Don and Rachel were out of earshot, I begged the officer to take us back to our dorm.

JAMIE: Did the officer ask why?

SHAY: No. But I knew it was our only shot. Don couldn’t cause a fuss in the station. And it would probably take another one of us dying before we ever came back. My heart was thundering when the cop said yes. I’m sure he had no idea he was causing this tectonic shift.

When Don heard we were going back to campus, he said, “Of course, whatever they want,” like it was a perfectly reasonable request and not against all his rules. His mask was so convincing. He didn’t frown. He didn’t even blink fast.

When the officer dropped us off in front of Rothschild, we flew to our suite and locked the door, shoved the couch in front of it, checked every window. Then we held each other in bed and cried.

JAMIE: What happened to Don?

SHAY: I dragged Laurel to the dean of students. She didn’t want to go, but I was terrified he’d show up any minute and force us back. We told the dean everything. She was shocked, said she’d alert the cops, make sure someone extricated Rachel. She assured us we’d be safe.

JAMIE: And did she call the police?

SHAY: I have no idea. All I know is days went by, and we didn’t see or hear from the dean, or the cops, or Don. He didn’t go to Clem’s memorial service. It was absolute silence, as if the whole thing had been a dream. Finally Laurel and I couldn’t take it anymore. We had to know we weren’t crazy, so we snuck back to his house to look.