They Wish They Were Us(64)

I want to tell Jill so bad! She’s the only one who would understand, but in some ways that’s the reason why she can’t find out. We used to talk about losing our virginity constantly, what it would feel like, who we wanted to do it with. She’d be so mad that it already happened and that I didn’t tell her.

I thought it would make me feel bad . . . or dirty. But it didn’t. It made me feel strong, like I had power, like we were equals. Being drunk is fun, but being with a guy like that is the best high I’ve ever had.

I know I should break up with Graham, but I just . . . don’t want to. I like him, too. I like the way he looks at me and the way he puts his arm around me in the caf. I like what we have, and how easy it is for our families, and how our relationship makes Rachel like me even more, like I really belong. What am I going to do?



I’m rereading the letter for the third or tenth time when I hear a loud screech. The noise sends me lurching forward into the dresser and my heart lands in my throat. I look toward the window. It was just a branch, scraping against the glass. I try to steady my heartbeat, but I know I need to get out of here fast. It’s too dangerous to stay. I was so stupid to come in the first place.

I fold the piece of paper in half, and then in half again, and slide it into the pocket of my jeans. I creep to the door and turn around, taking one last look at Shaila’s room. The creepy stillness, the secrets she was keeping, it all makes me want to throw up. It’s like she could come home and flop down on the bedspread any second. But she won’t. She’ll never come back. Not to make a mess in here, or to tell me the truth—about who killed her and why exactly she felt the need to keep this massive secret from me. I would have understood. I would have been there for her. Instead she went to Kara Sullivan. Snooty, Upper East Side Kara Sullivan. I blink back tears and bite my lip hard.

I close the door and retrace my steps until I’m on the Arnolds’ back porch, shivering as I zip myself back into my parka and place the key back inside the lockbox. I inhale deeply and look up into the sky. It’s too foggy to see anything tonight, and the backyard is so black, my eyes start to hurt.

I disappear into the darkness.



* * *



—

When I get home, I read the letter again. And then again. And again and again until I’ve memorized the entire thing and can recite it by heart, without even thinking. It’s late now, past 1 a.m. The only thing I can hear is the howling wind and the slight pounding of rain that might turn into snow. When I read Shaila’s letter for a final time, I feel the tears start to build, threatening to fall and ruin Shaila’s thick bubbly script. I wipe my face with my sleeve, desperate to preserve her words, her scary, wild, rushing words.

I wish she were here. I want Shaila to annotate each sentence, to explain why she kept her innermost thoughts from me. Why she could share them so freely with Kara.

My head throbs as I try to make sense of all of this, of everything Shaila did behind my back, of who she really was. Did I know her at all?

But I don’t want to think about that now. I want to find out who the person she wrote about is and what he knows. What he did.

There’s only one person I can call.

Rachel picks up on the first ring.

“Do you still have Kara Sullivan’s number?” I ask, not even bothering to say hello.

“Jesus, Jill. I’m sleeping.” Her voice is hoarse and groggy.

“Ugh, sorry.” I rest my head back against my pillow and close my eyes. Suddenly, I’m so tired, too.

Rachel sighs. “Kara Sullivan? I’m sure somewhere. Why?”

“There’s a letter,” I say. “From Shaila to Kara. We need to talk to her.”

“Wait,” she says. “You actually went?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

I hear muffling, like Rachel is putting her hand over the microphone part of her phone. “Just a sec, babe.” Then the rustling of sheets and a few footsteps.

“Sorry,” I mumble again.

“It’s fine. Frida wakes easily, that’s all.” A door closes behind her. “What the hell, Jill? Tell me everything.”

“No one was home. So, I just . . . did what I thought Shay might do. Found the spare key. Went inside.”

“Bold.”

“It was addressed to Kara. Shaila must have forgotten to send it. Or decided not to. It’s dated just a few months before she died.”

“What does it say?”

“It’s true,” I say, breathless. “Shaila was cheating on Graham.”

“With who?”

“I don’t know. She doesn’t name him.”

Rachel is silent for a second. “We have to talk to Kara,” she whispers.

“I know.” The last time I saw Kara was at Shaila’s funeral. She wore a black silk dress that looked too fancy for the occasion. Her hair was perfectly set, falling down her back in waves, somehow untouched by the Gold Coast humidity. She was clutching a piece of paper. I remember that. Maybe it was another one of Shaila’s letters. “You guys go way back, too, right?”

Rachel doesn’t hesitate. “I’ve known her since she was born. Babysat her once or twice.”

“Can you find her? Can we see her?”

“The Sullivans cut us off after everything. But let me handle it, okay?”