People Like Us(65)



I glare at her. “You can’t replace my coat. That was my brother’s coat. He’s dead. There won’t be another one.”

She pauses, then throws the Burberry coat on my bed. “I’m really sorry, Kay. It was an accident. You still need a coat. That other thing you traipse around campus in is barely a sweater.” She sits down next to me. “You’ve never mentioned your brother was dead. You talk about him like he’s still alive.”

“You’ve never mentioned your grandfather was dead.”

She rolls her eyes. “Everyone has dead grandparents.”

“I’ve got four. None of mine started a family civil war.”

She smirks darkly. “Oh, that. Well, when there are spoils to be had, there’s always war.”

I sit and place the coat on my lap. It’s a peace gesture. I should try to be gracious about it. “Were you close to your cousins?”

“They were basically my only friends. Before we lived here, we moved every three or four years for my father’s work. And my sister lives in her own perfect little galaxy. So my cousins were my only constant friends. But when the will dispute went down, things got ugly really fast. Actually, that started even before Grandfather died, because as soon as he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, Uncle Walt accused my father of convincing my grandfather to change his will. And then Uncle Edward’s lawyer said that none of the cousins should speak to each other until the dispute was settled, so that side of the family wasn’t allowed to have any contact with the rest of us. Edward’s daughter, Julianne, had been my best friend. And when I called her to say how stupid all of it was, she accused me of trying to sabotage their family’s legal claim and said I was selfish and greedy just like my Jew mother. So, that was the end of that friendship. We don’t speak to any of them now.”

“Wow. She went right for the swastika.”

“Yeah. Turns out my family aren’t nice people.” She pauses. “It’s not like you and your friends were so much nicer, though, were you?”

Slap in the face that I deserve. “I hope you’re joking.”

“Totally.” But her face is expressionless and her voice softly singsong, and I get the feeling she might be mocking me. It’s the first appearance of School Nola since we arrived at Tranquility. Then she smiles reassuringly. “Don’t give yourself too much credit, Kay. Your whole operation is small-time.”

I suddenly feel a little lucky to have my grief-stricken mother and pushy father, completely disconnected from me, irreparable as it sometimes seems. Even Aunt Tracy. She was there for us when we needed her, even if her idea of comfort and nourishment is soap operas and ice cream. That is comfort and nourishment for some people. Maybe some wallowing is healthy. It’s healthier than anti-Semitism and alienation.

“What about your brother?” Nola tries on a luxurious fur coat and settles herself at my feet.

“He was murdered.”

She slides the coat off. “Well. Now my family drama feels trivial. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe you never mentioned that.”

I kick at the pile of coats. “It’s not my favorite memory.”

“Can I ask?”

“What happened?” I trace a line on my palm absently. “He was dating my best friend. Ex–best friend. They both kind of ditched me for each other. Then they broke up and all these nude photos she’d sent him mysteriously got sent out to his friends.”

“And by ‘mysteriously,’ you mean he sent them.”

I sigh. “He said someone stole his phone.”

She chews her lip. “Not to speak ill of the obviously beloved dead, but stole it and cracked the password and knew exactly who to send the pics to?”

“I know.” I pause. “But that wasn’t my thought process at the time. So I told the police I was with him at the time and that he didn’t do it.”

Nola nods.

“Megan—my friend—never spoke to me again. Soon after that, she committed suicide.”

“Oh no.” Nola puts an arm around me.

“It looked like Todd wasn’t going to be punished, and Megan’s brother decided that couldn’t happen. So he murdered him.”

She squeezes me tightly. “That’s Romeo and Juliet–level vengeance.”

“Except Romeo never broke up with Juliet and showed Benvolio and Mercutio nude sketches of her.”

She looks at me oddly. “You do know some Shakespeare.”

“Only that play. It struck a chord.” Not the love-story part. The vengeance killings. The families who cannot forgive. The part where Romeo tries to make peace and ends up causing his best friend’s death.

“You’re missing out big-time.”

I don’t think so, though. There’s enough drama in my life. Love, loss, revenge.

And fatal errors.

I wish I could ever know what to think about the brother I loved so much, who defended me when anyone put me down. Who did one bad thing. One unspeakable thing.

Does someone who does one bad thing, even one really bad thing, deserve bad things to happen to them? Deserve to be murdered or framed for murder?

I can’t wrap my head around whether I’m still allowed to remember Todd the way I want to, as the brother I adored, or whether the shadow of what he did has to darken and twist that forever. I think that shadow might be darkening and twisting me, too. Because I can’t stop loving or missing him. Maybe my brain is broken, or my heart is rotten. I want to be a good person who only says and does good things and loves good people, but I don’t and I’m not. I wish I could call Brie right now. I feel like I’m disappearing.

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