Michael massaged his forehead. His head had begun to ache. “What about that report you filed?”
“Filing a false police report ain’t exactly gonna make their day, either.” Joe lowered himself onto the first rung of the ladder. “Oh, yeah, there’s this other thing. Shooting that gun off like you did. They’ll nail you for that, too. Illegal discharge of a firearm.”
Michael hadn’t said a word. His mouth was as dry as sand. He wanted to tell Joe that they’d been wrong, that they should have gone to the police that morning as soon as they heard the announcement on the radio. But there didn’t seem to be much point in bringing that up now. So he said nothing.
Joe was watching him, a twisted grin on his face.
“If they arrest you,” Michael said, licking his lips, “I mean, if they think they’ve got a case or something, I’m going to tell them the truth.”
Joe snickered. “Sure you will,” he said, backing down the ladder. “Any way you look at it, we’re dead.”
22
michael had fully intended to go right home. He knew his mother would have dinner ready by now. But he didn’t feel much like eating. All he could think about was Joe.
It troubled him that Joe hadn’t told him about the gun sooner, about picking it up when Michael wasn’t around. He wondered what else Joe might be hiding. There was no telling what was going on in his mind anymore, no way to predict his behavior. He was a walking time bomb.
Michael had begun to entertain the possibility that he wasn’t a murderer after all. Maybe it had been Joe all along. Maybe Joe had shot the Winchester while Michael and Amy were in the garage.
He thought back to that morning in July when they had first learned of Charlie Ward’s death. He remembered how Joe had insisted that Michael hide the evidence, and how persistent he had been about not going to the police.
Then he’d started talking about doing things he wasn’t proud of. Michael wondered now what Joe had meant by that. Was it possible that he’d been talking about firing the gun that killed Charlie Ward and letting Michael believe it was his fault? Yet even as he tried to shift the blame to Joe, he knew in his heart that his friend hadn’t done it.
Even if Joe had fired the gun while Michael was in the garage with Amy, the bullet wouldn’t have been the one that killed Charlie Ward. Michael and Amy had been together later in the afternoon, at least an hour after the accident had taken place.
But it still looked bad for Joe. He couldn’t keep the cops at bay with the same old story for much longer. Maybe they didn’t have any hard proof yet, but it seemed pretty obvious they were working overtime to build a case out of circumstantial evidence.
Michael struggled to think straight. He needed to come up with a plan. He couldn’t let Joe take the rap for Charlie Ward’s death. Or could he? He knew that even though Joe hadn’t done it, and even if it never came to trial for lack of evidence, most folks would think Joe was guilty anyway. People were like that sometimes. They had to have someone to blame. It would be the easiest thing in the world to let them believe what they wanted. It was the perfect setup, really. And he knew it.
for a while Michael wandered aimlessly up one street and down another with no particular destination in mind. That is, until he came to Amy’s street. And as he rounded the corner and saw the small white house at the end of the road, he realized this was the one place where he had known the only moments of peace he had found that summer. Maybe he was kidding himself. Maybe it was hopeless. But he had to keep trying.
The white Tercel sat in the driveway. Its new windshield caught the last rays of the setting sun. Michael stood looking at the car, remembering the day of the accident. And because he no longer expected anything, because he had lost all hope, he was not prepared for the touch of a hand on his shoulder or, as he spun around, to find Amy standing behind him. He was so stunned, he could barely breathe.
Amy did not smile. And Michael thought he recognized something of his own pain and loneliness reflected in her face.
He tipped his chin in the direction of the car. “They got that fixed pretty fast.” It was all he could think of to say.
Amy looked over at the Tercel. “Pappy’s got friends in the business.”
Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the car. “Why did Joe do it? Smash your windshield, I mean.”
“I don’t know. Because he’d been drinking, I guess.” Amy combed her fingers through her hair and stared down at her feet. Then she looked back at the house as if she were expecting someone to come through the door.
“You know …” Amy paused and squeezed her eyes closed. She seemed unsure whether or not to continue. Then she looked him straight in the eye and said, “Joe told me once why he’d brought me to your party. He said you wanted to get it on with me. He said I was his birthday present to you.” Her eyes began to tear.
“Why would he say something like that?” Michael’s heart began to race.
“I don’t know. Maybe because he was drunk when he told me. Or maybe because it’s true.”
He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “I told you before, I didn’t even know he was bringing you to my party.”
Amy watched him for a few seconds without saying anything. “But we ended up in your garage anyway.”
“Amy …”
“So it was just about sex, right?”
He understood now that this was what Amy had been trying to find out that evening in the 7-Eleven parking lot a few days earlier. “Look, Amy … I don’t know what you want me to say. I mean, you looked so good in that bathing suit.… Maybe it was about sex at first. I didn’t know you then. But it isn’t like that now. You know? I really care about you.” He spread his hands. “I’m sorry you had to go through this. With Darcy and all. It stinks, and I feel rotten about it. I don’t know what else to say.”
Amy folded her arms and looked over at the windshield.
Michael was still trying to understand why Joe would even tell Amy such a thing in the first place. Was he trying to get back at Michael because he felt Michael was letting him take all the blame for the accident? Did Joe really hate him that much?
Michael felt so betrayed that he didn’t care if Joe was accused of the murder. Let him take the blame! Nobody would take Joe’s word over his. He didn’t owe him anything anymore.
Yet even when he attempted to transfer the burden of his guilt to Joe, he felt no relief. How could he wish this pain, the same pain he had lived with for almost two months, on a friend? Even if that friend had grown to hate him. He would not wish that on anyone.
“The police were here this afternoon.” Amy’s soft voice floated up to him.
Michael knotted his hands into fists and stared up at the sky. He did not dare look at Amy because he knew that her face would have the same open, trusting expression she always wore.
“They’re questioning everyone who was at my party.”
“That’s what they said.”
Michael jerked his thumb at the car. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
Amy nodded. “I know,” she whispered.
She looked so beautiful standing there, with the light from the sunset spilling across her face. Michael desperately wanted to touch her, but he didn’t dare. He knew he should probably leave. He’d done what he came for. He had apologized face-to-face. But he wanted more than that. He wanted them to be like they had been before. And there wasn’t a thing he could say or do to make that happen.
Amy turned to go. She was heading up the front walk. And he was doing nothing to stop her.
“There’s something you should know about me,” Michael called after her. He felt his throat swell and wondered if he would be able to get the rest of the words out. “Something … really rotten.”
Amy stopped and looked over her shoulder. She seemed to be searching his face. Then she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper, “I’m not the person you should be telling.”
Michael’s blood went cold; his skin prickled with sweat. “What do you mean?” he said, terrified of what she was going to say.
“I was there, remember. At your party. The day that shot was fired.”
Michael’s body had tipped slightly forward, as if he were waiting for her to strike him. “Yeah?”
“I saw you come out of the woods with the rifle. Joe was with you.” Tears had begun to form at the corners of her eyes. “But I didn’t really make the connection until I heard that the police were talking to the people who’d been at your party. Or maybe I did, but I didn’t want to think about it.”
“You saw me?” Michael was so shocked, he couldn’t think straight. Amy had seen him with the rifle. And like everyone else in town, she had known that Charlie Ward had been shot by a stray bullet on the Fourth of July. Yet never once during all those weeks had she questioned him. Or judged him.
He wondered if she had told the police what she had seen. If she had, they would have come to his house instead of Joe’s. They would have taken him into custody as a major suspect. But that hadn’t happened. At least not yet.
If Amy had withheld crucial information, that would make her an accessory, too, like Joe. Michael cringed at the thought. But he couldn’t bring himself to ask her outright what she had told the police.
Michael leaned back against the Tercel for support and covered his eyes with his hand. He could face Joe’s anger and resentment. And he would face the police when the time came. But Amy, who trusted and believed in him—that was something else. He wanted to die.
He did not expect to feel Amy’s arms around him. Not ever again. But when she slipped her hands under his arms and began to stroke the back of his neck, all he could do was press his face into her hair and cry.
jenna
23
for almost an hour Jenna had been watching Amy and trying to get up the courage to speak to her. Even now, in broad daylight, surrounded by all her friends at the pool, she was having difficulty separating the Amy who appeared in her dreams with the person who, less than a hundred feet away, was rummaging through a purple paisley tote bag.
Andrea, toweling her wet hair, sat next to Jenna. Jenna had not told her anything about what she had found out the night before. And now, watching her friend dry her hair without even once taking her eyes off Michael MacKenzie, Jenna knew she had done the right thing.
Almost all of their friends were at the pool that morning, although Jason was noticeably absent. It was Labor Day weekend, and the pool would be closed after Monday.
Jenna knew full well how Andrea and the others would react if she suddenly got up and walked over to where Amy sat. She thought of calling Amy at home and talking to her on the phone, but somehow that seemed too impersonal, given what she wanted to ask her. She thought of meeting Amy somewhere. The mall, perhaps. But then she’d have to wait even longer to talk to her, and she’d already waited a whole sleepless night.
Why did everyone have to treat Amy like a pariah, anyway? It was so stupid. She didn’t seem at all like the person who was the butt of so many vicious rumors and jokes. She’d never been anything but kind, as far as Jenna could tell.
Fine. Let them think what they want, Jenna decided, getting to her feet. And without saying a word to Andrea or the others, she simply marched right over to Amy and sat down on the edge of her beach towel.
Amy was reading a magazine, but she closed it, letting it rest on her thighs when Jenna sat down.
Jenna already knew what she was going to say—something she should have said weeks ago. “I wanted to thank you for your letter.”
Amy tossed the magazine on the grass next to her. Two dark smudges remained on her thighs where the ink from the back page had stuck to the suntan oil. “I thought it might help.”
“It did.” Jenna felt awkward. She wasn’t at all sure what to say next. Finally she took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry about what happened to your parents.”
Amy rubbed at the inky spots on her legs. “It was a long time ago.”
“I guess it never really stops hurting, though.”
Amy’s smile was sympathetic. “Maybe it does for some people.” She brushed her hair away from her face. “I think the hardest part for me was the guilt.”
“Guilt?” Jenna felt a strange tingling throughout her body. She recognized the prickly sensation that preceded the panicky feelings she usually had around Jason.
“Yes, guilt,” Amy said. “For a long time I felt guilty about being the one who survived.”
When Jenna looked confused, Amy added, “I was in the car when they had the accident.”
Jenna shook her head but never once took her eyes from Amy’s. She wanted to say something, to give something back for the letter Amy had written her. But there didn’t seem to be anything she could say. Nothing that wouldn’t sound empty and stupid.
The conversation was growing more and more difficult, leading to places Jenna did not want to go. She tried to focus her attention on something else. Out of the corner of her eye, Jenna saw Andrea staring at her, her lips parted in surprise. Her eyes were wide with disapproval. Jenna shifted her body so that she wouldn’t have to see what was going on behind her back.
She needed to change the subject. She wanted to ask about Joe Sadowski, but she wasn’t at all sure how to go about it. Amy seemed to be waiting.
“I was wondering …,” Jenna began cautiously. “That night at Judd Passarello’s party, this guy seemed to be harassing you. I saw you in the dining room with him.” She hesitated. “Was that Joe Sadowski?”
Amy didn’t answer right away. She seemed to be concentrating hard on something. “Do you know him?”
Jenna said, “No, but I’ve heard a few things.”
Amy licked her lips and folded her arms around her raised knees. “What kind of things?”
This was going all wrong. Amy was not answering her questions. Instead she was asking questions, questions Jenna had no answers for. She switched tactics. “He’s a friend of Michael MacKenzie’s, right?” She tilted her head toward Michael’s lifeguard stand when she said this, only to meet his gaze head-on. He was not wearing his sunglasses, and she could see that he was looking right at them. And not just a casual glance. He was staring openly. Did he sense they were talking about him?
Amy had been looking in the same direction. Now she took a deep breath. “You know Michael?”
“Not personally.” Jenna suddenly remembered Amy standing in the front doorway at Judd Passarello’s party, watching her. “I only talked to him once,” she added.
Amy got to her feet. She tossed her magazine into the tote bag and began gathering up her other things. “I have to go,” she said.
The sunlight glinting off the pool water had begun to hurt Jenna’s eyes. Her sunglasses were back on her towel. She shaded her eyes with her hand, looking up at Amy, Amy was leaving, and she hadn’t answered a single question. Jenna was so frustrated, she thought she might cry. She stood, picked up the beach towel, and handed it to Amy.
Amy didn’t bother to fold it. She simply bunched it into a ball and stuffed it in her bag. Then she surprised Jenna by putting her hand on Jenna’s shoulder. Jenna was suddenly reminded of her dream. “You think Joe had something to do with your father’s death, don’t you?”
Jenna’s heart skipped a beat. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
“I guess by now everyone in town knows he’s a potential suspect,” Amy said. “It’s no secret.”
Jenna wasn’t sure she could bring herself to ask the next question. Amy was watching her. And Jenna knew from the look on her face that she had already anticipated what Jenna would say.
Before Jenna even opened her mouth, Amy said simply, “No, I don’t think he did it.” Then she turned to leave, the tote bag bouncing gently against her hip. When she had gone only a few steps, she stopped and looked back at Jenna. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.”
Jenna watched her walk away.
Amy had been her last chance at getting some answers. And those answers were there—she had sensed it. Amy had not been totally open with her. Jenna could see it in her eyes. She wished that she had thought to ask Amy if she had ever heard of the Ghost Tree and if she had ever dreamt about it. Now it was too late.
Disappointed, she started back to her towel. And when she glanced over at Michael MacKenzie, she was startled to discover that he was still watching her. Even from where she stood, she could see deep creases in his forehead. He was obviously disturbed about something.
although her thoughts were preoccupied with Joe Sadowski and Michael MacKenzie, Jenna still worried about Jason. Even while she and Andrea roamed about the mall that afternoon, and all during Andrea’s incessant chatter about Michael, Jason kept creeping into Jenna’s thoughts.
So when he showed up at her front door that night, Jenna didn’t know what to think. Jason never just “dropped by.” He always called first. And he hadn’t even been to her house since Judd Passarello’s party.
What was he doing there now? Jenna had thought their relationship was over. But there he stood, in his frayed cutoffs and Led Zeppelin T-shirt, his hair as wild and unruly as ever, asking if she wanted to go for a walk.
“A walk?” Jenna said, stalling for time while she tried to think of some reason she couldn’t leave the house.
“Yeah,” Jason said, “a walk. You know, that’s where you put one foot in front of the other and your body moves from one place to the next.”
Jenna grinned at him. “Very funny.”
Jason jammed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I try.”
For one brief moment she had almost forgotten the now familiar feeling of dread she had whenever she was near him. Jason was smiling at her through the screen. It seemed, at least for one normal minute, like the old days. Before the accident.
“Come on,” he said, resting his hand on the doorknob. “It’s just a walk.”
And because Jenna couldn’t think of an excuse that didn’t sound totally ridiculous, she shouted to her mother that she was going out with Jason for a while. Jason looked relieved when she stepped out onto the front porch, as if he hadn’t been at all sure she would come with him.