The Truth About Keeping Secrets(49)

We talked about guilt and death. As in, thinking that there was something you could have done, when, really, there’s nothing that could have been done. Arguments don’t cause heart attacks. You didn’t have to cry at the funeral if you didn’t feel like it. Stuff like that. Even if I had told Dad not to go driving that day, nothing would have changed. And I thought, maybe when there’s meant to be a death, that death will happen no matter what you do. The grim reaper taking his daily cut of human life, and he needs to fill the quota. Some Final Destination shit. If Dad hadn’t died driving, he would have been hit by a rogue bullet or choked on dinner or fallen down the stairs, all of which are probably worse than a one-and-done car accident, so really, he was lucky.

Anger and death. I was angry at everything. People. Death. The universe. Whatever. ‘The stages of grief – I’m gonna be honest here – are bull,’ Gerry said. ‘Sometimes the anger lingers. Or the denial. Or the bargaining. Or the fear. Any of it can stay.’

She had us divide a piece of paper into four parts, and label each with I feel guilty when, I feel angry when, I feel scared when, and I feel better when.

Guilty when I smile, laugh, breathe.

Scared when literally anything happens.

Better when …

Better when I’m with June.

Gerry had us go round and pick one of our squares to talk about to the group, and when it was my turn, my stomach lurched. I wasn’t really ever scared of talking in front of people, but for some reason, this time, even the thought of speaking what I was thinking made the world’s tiniest spiders take to crawling all over my skin; the words I wanted to say rang clear in my head, but got caught on my tongue. ‘I feel …’ I considered leaving it there. Just an announcement that yes, I did indeed feel. But they were all looking at me, so I needed to round the sentence off. ‘I kind of feel guilty for being alive at all.’ They were already quiet, but after I said that, it seemed like they got even quieter, somehow, like in movies right after a bomb goes off. I didn’t specify that I didn’t want any replies but no one gave me any regardless. I felt Leo looking at me.

Then Gerry had us participate in one of, what she called, her ‘hippie games’ – she had us all cross our arms over each other and grab the hand of the person next to us, then squeeze, so the squeeze would travel round the circle, as some positive energy transference, or something. When Leo squeezed, it was too hard, for too long – but I appreciated it. I think we understood each other. And I couldn’t help myself, I had to look at him, so I did, but his eyes weren’t narrowed, they were open, pained, and then he squeezed my hand again and nodded like I had just done something very important.

He sat next to me after group in the lobby while we both waited for our parents. ‘Hey. It’s none of my business, but is everything OK?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Not sure.’ He pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger. ‘You seemed a bit … heavy, in there.’ In there, like we’d just escaped mortal combat.

‘Yeah, don’t worry about it,’ I said. And I don’t know what came over me, but I thought he was trustworthy, and with Olivia all but gone I was sort of looking to get anyone on my side. There wasn’t any harm in him knowing. I wanted him to know. ‘Actually, it’s not, it’s all really fucked up, but are you sure you want to deal with this right now? It is kinda heavy.’

‘OK. Hit me.’

I lowered my voice. ‘When my dad died … OK, I’m gonna sound crazy, but I was, uh, worried – paranoid, I guess, that somebody had hurt him. That maybe someone was responsible for it. You know? It’s a long story, but he was a therapist, and I thought maybe one of the patients … you know?’

He scoffed. ‘You realize you’re a patient.’

‘Yeah, no kidding. I’m not saying everyone who saw him was out to get him, it was just that one person was, and the whole thing … was not some random accident. And then afterwards, you know, what a coincidence – I’m pretty sure someone started stalking me.’

‘Er. What?’

‘Yeah, just, just let that one settle over the room.’

‘Like, stalking how?’

‘The usual way, I guess.’

‘You’re gonna have to fill me in.’

‘They started as just, uh, texts. Just calling me … names. Being creepy. That sort of shit. But then they, like, stuck a copy of some homophobic trash into my mailbox, which was bad, and then – here, let me show you.’ I brought up the picture of me and June. Leaned across to hand it to him. ‘They sent me that. That’s me. And then they broke into my house – at least, I think they did – and smashed a picture of me and my dad.’

‘And what? You think whoever’s doing this had something to do with your dad?’

I braced myself. ‘I know. It’s crazy, but …’

Leo blinked. ‘No, I think that makes sense.’

‘Really?’

‘I mean, this is fucked. Like, it’s … calculated, you know? Have you talked to the police?’

‘The police think I’m being bullied.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, man. That’s such a shitty thing to have to deal with … alongside everything else, is all.’