Aftermath(28)



But Skye never cries. He can’t even picture it happening.

She did, though. She sat on his couch and broke down with his mother, and he was part of the reason for those tears.

He made her cry.

Guess Jamil’s not the one buying those pills these days, huh?

“Do you know how she was treated after she left Riverside?” his mother asks.

Better than she’d have been treated if she stayed.

He doesn’t say that – it would sound flip. But as much as thirteen-year-old I-feel-rejected Jesse resented Skye leaving, sixteen-year-old Jesse understands that Skye was better off elsewhere. Or so he thinks, until his mother directs his attention to the comment sections on old articles.

When he reads those comments, he can barely breathe, outrage and confusion choking him until he says, “But she wouldn’t have read those, right?”

“Does it matter? People may not have said this to her face, but this is how she was treated.”

He’s sick then. Physically sick. And not just for Skye, either. He knows how hard it would have been for his mother to look up those articles, to revisit the shooting. Yet she did it so she would understand what Skye was going through… and because Jesse himself couldn’t be bothered.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “That you… had to look…”

“I didn’t have to,” she says. “I chose to. Sometimes, showing compassion for others means doing things that are painful for us.”

He goes into the kitchen after that. Makes his mother tea and silently drops it off before he retreats to his room. He sits on his bed and thinks. Then he strides into the living room and tells his mom he’s going out.

“Can I expect you for dinner?” she asks.

“Probably not.”

There’s a pause, and he knows she wants to ask where he’s going. She won’t. That’s all part of giving him space. Showing they trust him. She only says, “Do you want to take my car?”

“I’m fine.”

A rattle of keys. “Take it. Just be home by dark. You don’t have enough experience driving at night.”

That’s the trick, then. Please take my car… because it guarantees you’ll be back by dark.

Not that he ever stays out late. Jesse isn’t exactly a party boy. That’s one part of Jamil’s life that his brother can keep.

He takes the car. He owes his mom that much, and he doesn’t expect he’ll be long.

He’s going to apologize to Skye. No more following her around, trying to work up the courage to say something. Twice now she’s had the guts to make that move. It’s his turn.

Skye

I just want to get home. I just want to get home. That’s been my mantra for the last twenty minutes, after humiliating myself at the Mandals’.

Except I don’t feel humiliated. Not really. I get the sense that I should, but for now I only feel wiped out. It reminds me of the last time I had food poisoning. I’d say I was poisoned – I made the mistake of accepting peace-offering brownies from a tormenter – but my guidance counselor told me I was being paranoid. My own stupid fault for accepting them, really, but that was in the early days, when I was still reeling, certain the bullying arose from a horrible misunderstanding and as soon as they got to know me, it’d stop.

Yeah, it’s like that speech Chris got in school. Just let them get to know the real you, and it’ll be fine. It wasn’t.

When I finished that bout of food poisoning, I felt like I do now. Empty and drained, but in a weirdly good way, shaking with relief, knowing I’ve gotten something toxic out of my system.

I take a cab home. Dr. Mandal insisted on getting me one and prepaying it. Arguing would have only increased the likelihood of Jesse showing up.

I text with Gran and Mom on the ride. Then I return to an empty condo with a note on the table, Mae saying something came up at work and she didn’t want to disrupt my visit by texting.

I take off my jacket and open the closet door and…

My boots are outside the closet.

That gives me pause. I’m wearing sneakers, as I have all week. I wanted to assess the fashion choices at RivCol before reverting to my favorite footwear. So my Docs have been in that closet since I unpacked them.

Now they’re outside it.

So? They must have been blocking a pair of shoes Mae wanted, and she forgot to put them back. I pick them up… and a clod of dried mud falls off one.

I flip the boots over. The soles are caked with mud, and I know I cleaned them before putting them into my suitcase.

I start a text to Mae: hey, did you wear my Docs today?

That sounds accusatory, which isn’t what I mean at all, so I change it to: noticed my Docs are out. Looks like you…

Looks like you what? Wanted to see how they’d pair with your business suit? Decided they looked perfect for your morning jog?

There must be a rational explanation. I should just call and ask Mae.

And what do I say when she tells me she hasn’t touched my boots?

Okay, thanks. I found them sitting out with mud on them, and I know I haven’t worn them since I got here, so I was just checking.

That sounds crazy. But what other explanation is there? That somebody broke into Mae’s condo and borrowed my Docs to tramp through the mud?

The door was locked when I arrived. There’s a security alarm that came with the place, but Mae hasn’t used it since I arrived.

Kelley Armstrong's Books