Come Find Me(68)

    “I think he heard the gunshot,” I explain, “and that’s when he left the room. I think he tried to wrestle it away, to protect himself, and that’s when he shot Will.”

Joe just stares at me; I can’t figure out what’s going on in his head. It’s closed off, a mystery to me.

“He says he doesn’t know what happened.”

“Maybe he doesn’t,” I say. “You know how he is with blood. He gets sick at the sight of his own.” Or maybe Elliot does remember bits and pieces, and none of it changes anything. He did pull a trigger. He did do something terrible.

“Joe, I want to tell the police. Not just about that. I want to tell them what I saw. What really happened. All of it.”

He pauses, looking me over slowly. Picking his next words carefully. “It’s going to look even worse for him, if you say it,” he says gently. Elliot, with a gun, pointed in my direction.

I know this. And yet. “If I want them to believe me, I have to tell them everything.”

Joe sits down at the kitchen table, head in his hands.

“I’ll call them tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll try to get an appointment for the same day.”

“I want to do it now.” Before the trial gets any closer, and before I lose my nerve.

“What? It’s Sunday. I’m not even sure anyone will get back to us until tomorrow.”

“Tell them we’re coming. Tell them I have something important to say. The trial starts this week. They’ll show up.”

    Nolan looks at Joe. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I knew it wasn’t smart. I did it anyway. The whole thing was my idea.”

“Oh no,” I say, turning on him. “You don’t apologize. Not for this.”

While Joe is on the phone, I wait with Nolan in the doorway. “Thank you,” I say, resting my head on his chest for a moment. His hand comes to the side of my face, holding me there. I can hear the beat of his heart, the sound of his breath. “I guess this is almost done,” he says, and he seems wistful. Sad, maybe.

I nod, pulling back, but what I really think is that it’s just getting started.

Joe comes out with his keys and the file from Nolan. He’s changed out of his athletic shorts, now wearing jeans. “Okay,” he says. “We’re ready.”

He stands there between us and I blink several times, frozen in place. “They said yes?”

The key trembles faintly in his hands. “Is this what you truly want to do, Kennedy? Because if so, they’re ready for us. If not, I’ll deal with it. But this, right here, is your decision, and it’s time.”

Now that I’m facing it, I start to picture saying it. But Joe keeps his eyes on mine, like he’s keeping me grounded.

“Okay. I’m ready,” I say.

He nods, then as an afterthought, “We could use you as a witness, too, Nolan.”

Nolan mumbles something that might be a Yes, sir, but we’re already moving. I trail after Joe, trying to keep the momentum. Trying to just keep moving before something stops me.

    As we back out of the driveway, Joe glances in the rearview mirror, waiting for Nolan to start his car so he can follow.

Joe clears his throat. “You were gone for two nights. Where did you sleep?”

My cheeks heat, and I keep my gaze down, my voice quick. “In the car,” I say, and his grip tightens on the wheel.

“This will be a talk for another time. But, Kennedy, it will be a talk.”

“Okay, Joe,” I say, my head leaning against the window. I stare at the sky, looking for that crack—the one I can always find, that runs through everything. But the sky is so blue, and the sunrise is so bright, it makes my eyes tear just to look at it.



* * *



—

Nolan’s car pulls in beside ours, and Joe exits first, staring up at the building. He walks up the front steps, but Nolan lingers by his car.

“It’s not too late to make a run for it,” he says. I smile, which I guess was the intended reaction. Now that I’m here, standing in front of the police station, I’m terrified. He reaches for me, and I rest my forehead on his shoulder, with his hand on my back.

“I don’t want to tell it to everyone,” I say.

“So just tell it to me,” he says.



* * *



—

Inside, there’s no one working at the front desk, and we walk by the same vending machine with the crack I saw last week, the same lacquered walls I ran my fingers across.

    The three of us walk into the same conference room, but that’s the end of the similarities. Now there are two men at the table, along with a woman, and a video camera set up between them. “Oh,” I say, freezing at the entrance.

Joe puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

“I’ve asked my colleagues to be here today, to help make sure we have all the facts. And to make sure there’s no…confusion,” the man in the wire-rim glasses says.

I’m not sure whether he’s talking about my confusion or his, but I walk to the seat across from the camera.

I notice that his tie, today, is straight. “So, Kennedy,” he says, “I hear you’ve remembered something important. Something that will shed some light on this case.”