One Small Thing(17)

I flop onto the bed and open up a search engine. It doesn’t take long to find out everything I can about Chase, and it’s not much more than I already knew. He pleaded guilty to reckless homicide. As a minor, he was sentenced to three years at a juvenile correctional center in Kewanee. I heard it was a harsh sentence, because most of those cases get only probation. Chase—I mean Charlie—started serving his time when he was sixteen. That’d make him nineteen now.

The only valuable piece of information I discover is the picture. All the papers ran one photo of Charles Donnelly, and the kid on those front pages looks nothing like the guy I met at the party.

No wonder I didn’t recognize him. Back then, his hair was cropped short, almost completely buzzed off. His features were smoother, giving him almost a baby face. He had no facial hair. His mouth was more sullen, whereas now it’s...tighter, resigned.

I run my finger over the computer screen, tracing Charlie’s grainy lips. Does he regret what he did? Does he wish he never stole that car? Never drove over the speed limit? Never hit my older sister and sent her flying onto the pavement?

The gruesome image brings bile to my throat, but it doesn’t make me want to circle the wagons and raise the pitchforks and march to Chase’s house in a violent mob.

If anything, I want to talk to him. If I had my phone, I’d use the number he gave me and... And what? Text him? Call? What the hell do I say to the boy who ran my sister down with his car?

Ding.

An IM screen pops up with a chime. It’s Scarlett. I glance toward my gaping doorway. Luckily, my parents aren’t lurking there. I mute the volume of the chat window and read Scar’s message.

You there, bb?

Yes, I quickly type back. The parentals didn’t take my laptop away.

Oh, perfect! This is just as good as texting.

Yup.

Can’t believe your parents didn’t tell you about CD coming back.

They were too busy taking my door off the hinges.

WHAT? jk, right?

Not jk at all. 1 sec.

I pick up the computer and turn it around so that the webcam has a view of the door. I snap a picture, load it into the IM screen and send it. Scarlett’s reply is swift and appropriately shocked.

OMG! THEY DIDN’T!

Oh they did.

I hear soft footsteps coming up the stairs and curse under my breath. Wonderful.

Gotta go, I type to Scarlett. Bbiab.

I minimize the chat screen just as Mom appears in the doorway. “Can we talk?” she asks quietly.

“I’m doing homework,” I answer in a curt voice.

“Lizzie.”

“Beth.”

She sighs. “Beth.”

I pretend to be focused on the screen. Mom can’t see it so she has no idea I’m just staring at a screensaver picture of me, Scarlett and Macy at the lake last summer. But Mom’s not going away, either. I can make out her slender frame from the corner of my eye.

She stands there, silently, patiently, until finally I release a loud groan and say, “Fine. Talk.”

Mom steps into the room and sits on my desk chair. I close the computer and wait for her to speak.

She begins with “Your father and I are concerned—”

I can’t stop a snort. “What else is new?”

“Beth,” she chides.

“Sorry.”

“We’re concerned that the boy might harass or upset you at school.”

My gaze flies to hers. “Why would he harass me?”

“Because you’re a reminder of what he’s done to our family, to this town. People don’t like to be reminded of their mistakes. Sometimes they lash out as a result.” Her lips thin out. “I don’t want that boy anywhere near you, Lizz—Beth.”

Despite my anger, I soften slightly, because I appreciate the effort she’s making to call me Beth. She’s trying. More than Dad is willing to try.

“Your father and I will try to have him removed from your school, but I can’t promise that we’ll be successful.”

I arch a brow. She’s acting as if I’m the one who requested they do that. Which I didn’t. “I’m not asking you to do anything. I don’t care if he goes to school with me.”

“Just the sight of him made you sick to your stomach today!” Mom is visibly stricken. “He’s a threat to your mental health and your well-being, and I promise you we’ll do what we can. But on the off chance that we fail, we need you to promise that you’ll stay away from that boy.”

Hysterical laughter burns my throat. Too fucking late, Mom.

“We won’t let him hurt you or our family ever again,” she says, and the ferocity of her tone startles me. “I won’t let him. He already took one daughter from me, and...” Her voice catches, and she takes a long, deep breath.

The pain in her eyes chips away at more of my resolve. We used to be so close. When I was growing up, she’d take me on an outing once a month, just me and her. I think it was her way of showing me she loved me as much as Rachel, even though deep down I knew Rachel was her favorite. Rachel was Dad’s favorite, too. I guess the firstborn daughter always is. But I didn’t care about being their favorite. At least when Rachel was alive, I had parents who loved me.

I miss that.

“He won’t hurt me, Mom.”