What We Saw(70)

This video can’t show you the face of the young woman who knows that scar because she inflicted it. You can’t hear the strangled cry that escapes my lips. There’s no shot of me crumbling to the floor of Will’s bedroom or of Will racing to get my mom. He does his best to explain to her about the video, but he doesn’t notice the scar on the screen. Neither does Mom. Neither of them look closely enough to see more, and I cannot find the words to tell them.

No footage exists of me crying myself to sleep that night or of the tears that begin to flow again when I wake in the gray light of Saturday. I know I can’t return to Des Moines for the championship game, and Mom is so concerned about me she decides we will all stay home. Will watches the Buccaneers lose by six points on television and comes to my room to tell me the news. He finds me holding a piece of coral from my nightstand, desperate to go back to that day in September when Ben was only a childhood memory in my mind and a wish in my heart.

This video can’t explain to you how I cursed myself for falling in love. It could never show how much easier it would’ve been to simply keep nodding at Ben as we passed in the halls. It would’ve been easier to never have known the warmth of his love—the taste of his lips on mine, his body tangled up in my own—than to know all of those things, and then see him in the final frame on this screen.

The video doesn’t show you the texts I get that afternoon from Ben as he rides home on the bus from Des Moines. It can’t reveal all of the promises that are swept away today, or the hope that is buried once more beneath layers of lies, lost in the sediment of deceit.

In that sense, this video doesn’t really show you anything at all.

It does show you that my boyfriend was present in the room while his friends assaulted a girl he could’ve helped, but chose not to.

And in that sense, this video shows you everything you need to know.











forty-one


“THERE YOU ARE.”


I drove to Ben’s house propelled by an ironclad disbelief that melts into rage the moment I hear these words. The garage door is open, and he’s standing in the driveway shooting baskets.

He walks toward me slowly, the ball tucked under his arm. He leans in to kiss me, but stops. My eyes are puffy and bloodshot, leaking tears again now that I see him. For a moment, I wonder if I can bury this deep inside me and act as if nothing is wrong—keep it forever hidden from view by the force of my will alone.

“I’m sorry you lost.” These are the only words I can muster before my voice cracks and I cover my face with my hands, sobbing.

I feel his arms wrap around me. His lips on my hair.

Is this the last time?

He walks me up to the garage and grabs a bottle of Smartwater off a shelf between Saran Wrap and Sticky Tack.

“Hey, it’s cool,” he whispers. “Don’t cry.”

He twists off the cap and hands me the water, smiling his Irresistible Grin. “Duke is still gonna make me an offer. Silver lining, right? We’re gonna get outta here.”

“I can’t come with you.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“The video. I saw it all. To the end.”

His face goes slack. “What?”

“Will found it. It’s . . . out there.”

“So? What’s that got to do with us?”

The tears start again, streaming quietly this time. A vise on my throat makes it difficult to speak, but I force myself to say the word: “Everything.”

He tosses the basketball into a bin by the rec room door. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re in the video.”

He freezes for a split second, then reaches for me, trying to wrap his arms around me. “I promise,” he says. “I was only there to say good-bye and I—”

“Don’t.” I am crying so hard I can barely speak. I push a hand into his chest, holding him back.

“Kate, it’s no big deal. I just couldn’t—”

“Stop! You couldn’t what? Be honest? Tell me the truth? Couldn’t help Stacey?”

He drops back like I’ve punched him in the stomach. “That’s not fair. You know that’s not fair.”

“And what happened to Stacey, while you watched, was that fair? That I loved you while you lied to my face? Is that fair?”

“Kate, listen to me. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lie—not to you, not to anyone—but we have to keep this quiet.”

“No. We don’t. We can’t.” I shake my head. “You know who was there.”

“We’d had a lot to drink.”

“You can tell the police what you remember. You can be a witness.”

He laughs bitterly. “Witness? Against Dooney? And Deacon? I’d get run out of town.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” I snap. “To get out of here?”

“Not like that, Kate. I want you with me. Look! We can get out of here. Look at this. Look at me.” He turns around sweeping his hands toward Adele’s shelving, the garage packed to the rafters. “I can get away from this. Duke is happening. And you can come with me.”

“But who would I be coming with?” I ask. “Who are you? A guy who lies? Who lets his buddies get away with this? A guy who just stood by and watched?”