Sweet Water(26)

The drugs.

I explained to Alton after we returned home last night that there was no way Finn was into that stuff, and I knew I sounded like every other parent in denial, but Alton knew it too. He’s been around Finn since he was a baby. Finn is so cautious, he didn’t jump into the swimming pool until he was in middle school. Spencer would cannonball like it was nobody’s business, even at the country club where splashing wasn’t allowed, but not Finn. He always used the ladder.

“Sometimes kids experiment, and they don’t know what they’re getting themselves into,” Alton said. “The pot could’ve been laced, and he could’ve thought it was just pot. That’s why he was so knocked out. Roofies can sometimes cause complete blackouts too, so when he says he can’t remember, don’t think he’s lying to you.”

I’m certain Finn wouldn’t lie to me. It’s someone else in this house who’s not being forthright. He’s done it before. I know he’s capable. But not in my wildest dreams did I think he could participate in something as malevolent as this.

I shake Finn’s pillow hard this time. In between phone calls, Martin tells me my one job is to get Finn up and dressed and sitting at the kitchen table with a hot cup of coffee—“presentable.”

They found Yazmin, your girlfriend, dead this morning, Finn. Please get up and brush your teeth and look presentable for the cops so they believe your lies.

What the fuck, Martin? How does he just expect me to snap to attention?

I’m trying to steady my breath again when Finn finally speaks. “Mom?”

His eyes are hazy, but he’s there.

Thank God!

I couldn’t find him yesterday in the pit of his intoxication, and all night I wondered if I lost him to it, the combination of Yazmin’s untimely death and whatever illegal substances he’d consumed killing his spirit, if not his actual body.

His body. I kept putting my ear to his chest last night to make sure he was still breathing. And I placed my fingers to his neck to make sure his pulse was still beating, unable to get the feeling out of my gut when I did the same to his girlfriend and came up empty.

I know it was the head wound that likely killed Yazmin, but a small part of me fears it might’ve been the drugs.

And that they might take Finn too.

“Finn, thank God.”

It was only because of Mary Alice’s lame examination that I didn’t drive him to the hospital myself. I rationalized there was no way Mary Alice would let harm come to her own grandson. As awful as the Ellsworths are, they love their grandchildren, and if Finn was in real danger, she would’ve gotten him proper medical care.

His face twists horribly, and he sits up slowly, grabbing his head. “Ahh.” His eyes cross. “Yazmin . . . is she . . . ?” He’s there. It’s really him. He’s not ruined by the drugs, but he might be by what I’m about to say.

“Oh, Finn. She cracked her head open hiking. They don’t know how. I’m so sorry, honey.” The words rattle out of my mouth as if they’re trying to escape. I can’t slow them down, and I don’t know if they’re true. But much like when I used the words Martin scripted for me when I texted Alisha, I use the ones he scripted for me to speak to Finn, because it’s easier than having to create my own. I don’t know how to tell Finn his girlfriend is dead.

“In the hospital?” he asks. His sentences are fragments. He must’ve hit his head good too, but it’s most likely still the effects of the drugs.

“No, sweetie, she didn’t survive the wounds,” I say.

Finn pulls in his shoulders. “No, no,” he says. He places his hands on his head, which is likely pounding. I wrap my arms around him and try to console him, but the only thing I can feel is the awful heat of deceit creeping up my skin as the minutes tick by.

We’re running out of time.

“I’m so, so sorry, Finny.” I’m so sorry, but I’m so glad it wasn’t you.

I need to get him up, showered, and presentable. He’s shaking in my arms, and I hate that I’m starting to think like Martin—tactical.

“I just can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Do you remember anything about what happened last night?” I ask. Please, God, don’t give me an answer I can’t unhear. I shudder.

“No, not really. I just remember . . .” His voice is muffled into my chest.

“What, Finn?”

“I remember Yazmin saying, ‘No, don’t.’ Yelling. But I can’t remember why.”

Fuck. That sounds bad. I look down at the little half-moons on his neck and can’t imagine a scenario where these two facts are not related. Did you try to do something to the girl, and she resisted? I taste salt in my mouth from biting my tongue. I don’t realize it’s bleeding until I do. I can’t handle the truth if that’s what happened.

“I know this is a lot for you to take in right now. Finn, we didn’t call the cops because Dad thought they’d haul you in right away, and we didn’t think you hurt Yazmin.”

“Didn’t think I hurt her?” Finn hasn’t looked at me with eyes that torn up since his pet terrier got run over by a delivery truck, but what he’s told me does not paint this situation in a good light. It’s impossible for me to imagine him hurting another kid, especially a girl. He was the kid on the playground who didn’t squish the bugs on the pavement like the other boys because he didn’t want to hurt them.