The Secrets We Keep(42)

The steady, rhythmic beat of his heart thrummed beneath my cheek as his palm moved soothingly up and down my back. His cheek warmed the top of my head and the constant lull of his voice was peaceful, perfect. For the first time since the accident, I felt safe and warm, and I wanted to stay here, locked in his arms, forever.

It seemed like hours before my sobs quieted to a whimper. His shirt was soaked from my tears, his hands shaking on my back. I didn’t pull away to see if he was crying. I didn’t want to know.

“You’re soaking wet,” he said as he brushed at his now-damp shirt.

“What?” Surprise and confusion swirled inside me. I had just admitted to pretending to be dead and taking over my sister’s life, and the only thing he thought to comment on was my wet clothes?

I stared down at my shoes. They were squishy, the leather strap leaving a smudge across the top of my feet. “I walked here. It was still drizzling when I left the cemetery, but it has stopped now.”

“Here,” Josh said. He stripped off his sweatshirt and gave it to me. “None of my jeans will fit you, but I’ve got a pair of sweatpants you can borrow.”

I took the sweatshirt, and he dug through his dresser for a clean pair of pants. He handed them to me and looked at the floor until I was completely changed.

On top of my pile of wet clothes, I laid the earrings and the locket I’d found in Maddy’s jewelry box, plus the five thousand silver bangles I’d put on this morning.

“You look like you now,” he said, and I smiled. For the first time in weeks, I actually felt like me.

“How’d you figure it out?” I asked.

“Figure what out?”

“How did you figure out it was me … that I was Ella and not Maddy? I mean, Alex hasn’t figured it out. Not even my parents have questioned it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Alex. Your parents…” Josh paused and shrugged as if he couldn’t explain that one. “They’re upset, probably grieving too much to look that closely.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, quite sure that wasn’t the case. They had the daughter they wanted, or at least that’s what I was telling myself. “But how did you figure it out?”

“You told me.”

“What? No I didn’t.” In fact, I had gone out of my way to make sure I hadn’t let anything slip in front of him. With the exception of that small slip of my voice in the stairwell today, I’d stayed completely in part.

“You have that drawing I left in the cemetery?”

“Yeah.” I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to him.

He unfolded it much the way I had, but using his leg to smooth it out. “This told me,” he said, waving it in my direction.

“I don’t get it. I’ve drawn hundreds of those. What’s so special about this one?”

“Exactly,” he said. “I … we have AP English in the same room as Maddy. One period later, after she has American Lit. I found it crumpled up by the desk you were sitting in. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but you’ve been drawing that same tree since the day I met you. You do it whenever you zone out.”

He was right. That gnarly old willow tree sat in my front yard. It had been beaten down a few times by winter storms and the occasional hurricane. That’s why I always drew it—it either cracked a limb or lost a branch every week. It was always changing, a constant, inanimate object that gave me something new to capture each day.

“You found this on the floor?” I remembered finishing my test early, rereading my answers, and still having a good ten minutes left to kill. I must have drawn it while I was waiting for the bell to ring, mindlessly putting pencil to paper.

“Umm hmm, and I’d like it back if you don’t mind.”

“Why?” I asked, handing it to him.

“Because right now, or at least until you change your mind about this game you’re playing, it’s the only thing I have left of you.”





27

I sat on his bed watching, waiting for him to say something. I thought about leaving. The anger I had seen less than thirty minutes ago was not something I wanted to deal with. But I’d wait him out, like he’d done for me.

“What do you remember about that night?” he finally asked.

“You don’t understand, Josh.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“It didn’t make any sense,” I said, struggling to explain. “When I first woke up, I had no clue who I was … where I was. I didn’t even know I had a sister. It was Alex who told me my name and what had happened.”

Josh got up from his desk chair, hesitating for a minute before he sat down next to me on the bed. I could feel his breath on my cheek, the warmth of his hand as he nudged me to look at him. “And when you figured it out, when you finally got your memory back, why didn’t you ask to see me? If you’d asked for me, had so much as said my name, they would’ve called me. Alex would’ve gotten me that first day, and I would’ve come, talked you out of this. Why didn’t you ask for me?”

I stayed silent, my attention focused on a small rip in his comforter. I counted the threads, tried to gauge how many stitches it would take to repair it. Fifteen, I figured. Twenty, tops.