A Mother Would Know (66)

The word SLUT written in shaving cream.

I’ve never been so angry.

Woke James in a fury. We cleaned it before Heather could see. Told James it had to be Hudson, but he said Hudson’s a good kid and wouldn’t do that. We didn’t tell Heather—how could we? It would crush her!—but we did ask her about how school was going? Friends? Hudson? She said everything was fine. But I know it’s not.

I’m going to be watching.

Why hadn’t Leslie ever told me about this?

Curious, I get out of bed, leave my room. Since Darren died, I’ve rarely gone into his old office. The air is stale and musty when I step inside. I flick on the switch, and dim light fills the space. The room is bare except for the desk in the corner with the old desktop computer sitting on top. It’s outdated, and I never use it. In the corner is a file cabinet. The bottom drawer is filled with tax papers, birth certificates, the kids’ vaccination records starting from birth on. The top one has all of the kids’ school stuff—report cards, pictures and papers I’d saved. But in the very back, I’ve filed away my old planners and daily calendars.

My mom always kept stuff like that, saying that one day she might want to look back and remember. She wasn’t the one who did. I was. Back when my mom’s memory faded, I went through all of her old things, and reading through all that we’d done together—all the daily activities and events—kept the memories alive in me. I was glad then that, while so much of my life I’ve tried to be different from my mom, in this way I’d followed her example.

I pull the top drawer open and sift through the planners until I come across one for the year Heather died. Tiptoeing back upstairs with it and curling up in bed, I flip to the date in question. Hudson had a game that night and had ended up spending the night at Jared’s. So there’s no way he could’ve done it. Right?

Except... Jared used to live around the corner. Hudson technically could have walked here, done it, come home early. I didn’t make note, of course, of what time he returned. But why would he do that to Heather?

I keep reading.

After the SLUT incident, Leslie obsessively chronicled Hudson and Heather’s relationship, writing down every time they went out and Heather’s behavior afterward. How sometimes she came home with red eyes, mascara streaks on her cheeks as if she’d been crying.

A week and a half before Heather’s death, Leslie had written,

Bruise on Heather’s arm. Asked her about it. Said a ball hit her in PE. But to me it looks like she was grabbed. Bruise is elongated and spread out like a handprint, not round like a ball.

If I’d read this back then, I’d have laughed. Since when did Leslie become an expert on bruising? But all I can see is that picture of Natalia. The bruise under her eye.

I shiver and flip the page, finally coming upon the one I’d read in Leslie’s house.

I read past the initial sentence about Heather being scared, and find out that Heather had gone as far as to say she wanted to break up with Hudson.

Then, the night before the Halloween party, Leslie had scrawled,

Heather has said all week she hadn’t planned to go to the party. But today at dinner when I suggested we plan a family costume for the trick-or-treaters tomorrow, she said she changed her mind, that Hudson had talked her into it. Still doesn’t seem like she wants to go. I don’t want her to. But James is insisting she always goes out with Hudson on Halloween and she’ll regret it if she doesn’t. I wish just for once, he’d back me on this. God, I swear he acts like Hudson is perfect. The son he never had. Why can’t he see what I do?

I swallow hard. I’d had no idea Leslie felt this way about Hudson prior to Heather’s death. Then again, I get why she didn’t talk to me about it. Talking bad about someone’s kid, accusing him of mistreating someone this badly, is a sure way to end a friendship.

It seems she talked to James about it a lot, though. As I read through the remainder of the diary, I see the crumbling of their marriage. How much he dismissed her feelings, from cleaning out Heather’s room before she was ready to telling her to let her theories about Hudson go.

As I mull over what I’ve read, the word SLUT cements itself in my mind. It’s a word I’d become well-acquainted with in the weeks after Mac’s death—whispered about me by people I thought were my friends and anonymously sent to me online by disgruntled fans.

Kind of like that anonymous asshole commenting about Molly’s death.

Reaching into my nightstand, I pull out the gold watch. As I run my fingertips over the inscription, I can’t help but think there’s an answer in here. If only I could find it.





Sticks and stones may break my bones,

But words will never hurt me...

Wind rushed past my ear, carrying a whistling sound. Behind me there was a crash as loud as a gunshot. I pressed my hands to my ears and ducked down, squeezing my eyes shut. When I heard my sister’s laugh, I pried my eyelids open. She stood a few feet away, snickering.

My body was trembling as I glanced over my shoulder.

Then my stomach dropped the same way it does on a roller coaster. Mom’s favorite vase lay in pieces all over the floor near the wall.

Had she thrown that at my head?

“What’s going on?” Mom rushed into the room, eyes wide. When she saw the vase, she slapped her hand over her mouth. I could see the swell of her chest as it rose and fell swiftly. I backed away, outside of her reach. “Go to your room! We’ll talk later. I’m too mad right now.”