Come Find Me(49)

“Well, be careful, Kennedy. That’s all I wanted to say. That kid? Nolan? Two years ago, his brother disappeared. Did you know that?” I nod and keep walking. Marco hurries to keep pace. “Well, there were a lot of rumors. A lot of stories.” He looks side to side before leaning closer. “Including one about his brother’s girlfriend.”

I turn on him, narrowing my eyes. He holds out his hands, backing away. “I’m just saying. No one knows what happened, still.”

He keeps moving until he’s swallowed up by the crowd. But his words keep echoing inside my head.



* * *



—

After school, I head over to the Albertsons’, and I stare at their children, and they stare back at me.

They’re twins in the freshman class—Lacy and Riley, but I don’t know which is which. Only that one has shorter blond hair than the other. They wear identical bathing suits, wrapped in identical towels, and they whisper to each other in some coded language, like I’m some specimen to examine.

    Their mother brings a bowl of fruit to the patio table out back, overlooking the pool. “Can I get you anything else, Kennedy?” she asks, but I shake my head, my gaze fixed on the surface of the water, the way the sunlight reflects sharply off a subtly moving current.

“Are you coming in the pool?” the one with shorter hair asks, a spear of watermelon visible in the corner of her mouth.

I start to say no, then think, Why not? I take off my shoes and, still in my shorts and shirt from school, I step off the edge. I sink under the cold water, and I scream.

I’m underwater, looking up at their blurry figures above. I see them standing side by side and hear their voices in unison, muffled by the water: One, two, three—and then their simultaneous splash pushes me farther away. I stay that way, near the bottom, until they get too close and my lungs burn.



* * *



—

Joe comes to get me when he arrives home, thanking Mrs. Albertson, like I am a child who must be watched. I walk home, dripping wet, daring him to say something. Daring him to ask. But he doesn’t. He disappears down the hall and comes back with an old beach towel, frayed at the edges, wrapping it around my shoulders. His hands stay there, firm, like he’s holding me in place, scared I’ll disappear like the rest of them.

    “I’d ask what you’ve been up to,” he says, “but that seems like a stupid question.”

I crack a grin despite myself. He steps back, arms hanging loosely at his sides. He takes a deep breath. “Sorry I sent you there. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time here, Kennedy. In case you couldn’t tell.”

“Joe, you have to trust me. I’m not a child.”

“Except, technically, you are. And I’m the one responsible for you.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We have to trust each other.”

He waits then, until I silently nod.

Joe sighs, like he’s relieved. But his moment of calm seems short-lived. “I’m having trouble sleeping, too,” he says. “With the trial. The lawyers wanted to try hypnosis, in the hopes of filling in some of the gaps that night, but I don’t know what’s best. I don’t know whether that will make it better or worse.” I know what he’s implying: whether Elliot’s memory of that night will destroy him; whether the not-knowing is for the best.

Standing in front of me, while I’m drip-drying just inside the front door, Joe looks suddenly younger, out of his depth. Alone.

“Did you know any of Elliot’s friends?” I ask.

“Not really,” he says, refocusing on me. “Why?”

“I’m just wondering. I’m wondering if they’ll be called up for the trial. To talk about the type of person he was.”

He looks me over slowly from the kitchen beside the foyer. “You’re only going to be asked about the facts, Kennedy. What you saw.”

I nod slowly. “But what if there was another explanation?”

    He shakes his head. “Don’t do this, Kennedy.”

“No, Joe, listen, please. You wonder, too, right? Why would he do it? Have you talked to him? Has anyone talked to him?”

He spins away from me, walks to the kitchen, places his hands on the counter. Shutting down, again. Then he breathes deeply and turns to face me. “Okay, come sit down.”

“No, I don’t need to sit—”

“Things are going to come out in the trial, Kennedy. Things you need to be prepared for.”

I half-listen, not sitting, but at least standing in the kitchen. “What sort of things?”

“The sort of things that tighten up the case. Listen, it’s not just that his prints are all over the weapon. There was a large amount of gunshot residue found on him. You know what that means?”

I shake my head, but not because I don’t understand. Because I don’t believe it.

“It means they have even more evidence that he fired the gun, Kennedy. An expert will testify to that.” He sighs. “The police believe he shot…her. And then Will tried to wrestle it away from him. And then he shot him, too.”

I shake my head. It’s not possible. My brother studies and builds things. He’s funny in a self-deprecating way. Of the two of us, he’s the rule-follower. The responsible one. He goes to school, and he comes back home, and he tolerates my presence when I have nothing better to do. My brother pales at the sight of blood. He has never hurt anyone. Let alone our mother.