Of the Trees(74)

“You better watch your mouth, Sutkowski!” Ryan shouted, pointing across the parking lot. Jon seemed more shocked than anything, wiping gingerly at his lip with the cuff of his sleeve. Ryan rolled his shoulders, throwing the police officer’s hands off him. He circled around, keeping well away from the teachers who separated him and Jon with outstretched hands.

The police got right in his face and Cassie couldn’t hear what the officer was saying, but Ryan stopped pacing. He nodded, letting his hands uncurl at his side. She moved forward. Jon noticed her first. He gritted his teeth but nodded in her direction. She didn’t pause. She went right to Ryan, moving past the officer who was still warning him to back down.

“Are you okay?” Cassie asked, not missing Jon’s huff. Ryan nodded. The wind kicked up then. Dead leaves scattered across the parking lot, the barest hint of a whisper in them. “Take me home, will you?”

She didn’t speak again until they were safely in the car. The police officer watched them, asking Jon questions from the corner of his mouth.

“Was that just about me?” Cassie asked. Ryan didn’t answer. “You can’t fight with him like that,” she said, buckling her seatbelt. He was tense, his shoulders tight as he pulled his car out of the crowded lot.

“I know. It was a stupid thing to do in front of the cops.”

“No, I mean, you shouldn’t fight with him at all. He’s your best friend.”

Ryan gave a short, mean laugh, looking over at her. “You’re kidding.”

“Look, if it’s about the picture, I was pissed, too. It was a cruel thing to do. But it’s over now. The picture is out, everyone’s seen it. And there’s nothing I can do about it,” Cassie said, pausing to draw breath. “But Laney is also missing. Jess is dead. There are more important things going on than some stupid picture.”

Cassie took Ryan’s silence as agreement. He drove her home and came inside, taking his place on her couch with a gritted jaw. The searchers were outside still. There would be a candlelight vigil tonight, a bunch of people holding hands and singing softly, trying to be of some comfort to the Blakes. There would probably be speeches, silly, empty words from people who didn’t really know Laney. The news would be there. Cassie wasn’t allowed.

Cassie said goodnight to Ryan early, saying she just wanted to go to bed. She took her dinner to her room and left it untouched on her dresser. Her parents checked on her twice, found her sitting crossed legged on the floor by her window, and left her alone. She had cracked her window, leaving the blinds in place. She could hear the singing. She kept her light off and the soft glow of the candles illuminated her window panes in orange stripes between the blinds.

Her room looked strange to her. Pictures of Cassie and Laney were scattered about in frames and tacked to her mirror. She could see a green shirt she had borrowed from Laney ages ago and never returned. It hung limply in her closet, squashed in there as though it really belonged. It didn’t. It wasn’t hers. Her pillow still smelled like lavender. There was a small collection of seashells scattered on her bookshelf from the last trip Cassie took with Laney’s family to the beach. Laney had gotten a terrible sunburn that day and Cassie had teased her the entire ride back, poking her reddened skin and making her howl until the Blakes politely, but very firmly, told them to knock it off.

Cassie stood quickly, her head swimming after the hours of sitting, of watching the glow of the candles flicker through the blinds. She blinked and went to her closet, pulling a box from the top shelf. She grabbed the green shirt, stuffing it in before dragging the box to her dresser. She took the pictures of Laney’s smiling face from her mirror and tucked them into the soft, green shirt. She felt a surge of anger rip through her, and she raced to her bed, stripping the sheets and piling them by the door. The frames were next. She didn’t bother to rip the pictures out, just threw them on top of each other. The glass of one smashed, sprinkling shards throughout the box.

Cassie cursed, kicking the box. It tipped, spilling the contents all across her floor. She got down on her hands and knees, pulling the fragments of her life with Laney piece by piece out of the carpet. Hot tears burned and fell. Her breath became course and uneven, and rage ripped through her.

Laney left. She wasn’t taken, not really. She just left. She chose to leave. She chose to put her parents through hell, leave Cassie to clean up the mess she made.

A piece of glass ripped through the tip of Cassie’s forefinger and she swore again, picking up the box and throwing it across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a dull thunk, much less satisfying than Cassie had hoped for. She could see the red smudge left from her finger on the side. The singing died down outside, the candles extinguished one after the other. The faint scent of burnt wicks seemed to permeate the room. It felt hot and confining, the walls closing in. Cassie moved to the window, yanked on the cords keeping the blinds in place and threw up her sash. She drew lungfuls of cold air, sucking at it through the tears that burned her cheeks.

Gone.

Laney was gone. She left. And Cassie did not do enough to stop her.

She collapsed to her knees and then scrambled back against her bed. The moonlight shone through her window, highlighting the streaks across the glass from the last time anyone had cleaned it. Cassie leaned against her box spring, letting the cold air sweep over her.

The people outside were packing up. They sounded almost cheerful, the end of a neighborhood block party. People shouted goodbyes, calling times to meet up later in the week. She couldn’t hear anything from the Blakes. They had probably gone inside already, collapsed on their own floors, sobbing like Cassie was.