Before Goodbye Read online

  But those girls don’t know.

  Laurel breathes my name. “Cate?”

  There’s no time to answer her unasked question. I don’t want Rod Whitaker coming one step closer to me—to any of us.

  Linking arms with Laurel and Dee, I spin them around—

  And tug them out the back door.

  HEAT

  DAVID

  Out through the nearest set of swinging cafeteria doors.

  Out through the main entrance of the school.

  Outside.

  I take a deep breath. Take another. Swear I won’t kill Rod Whitaker today.

  I decide to walk home, even though my leg is screaming. It feels good to be moving, to be sweating, but the desire to move pisses me off.

  Walk it out, Son. Run it out.

  Those words. They’ve been my father’s solution to everything. And I’ve listened.

  Now I’m done listening. But my body . . . still craves what it craves.

  Sweat beads on my brow. Soaks the back of my shirt.

  It’s interesting that anger is associated with a temperature, but happiness isn’t.

  Dick went hot with anger.

  Fear is also assigned a temperature.

  Jane went cold with fear.

  On top of everything that’s happened, on top of the earthquake in me—it’s too much. And yet, if I could keep it to that, to temperature, it would be simple.

  Dick is so, so angry. Easy. Dick is hot. Go in the pool, Dick.

  Jane goes cold at the thought of—

  Fine. Jane’s cold. Put on a sweater, Jane.

  But nothing’s simple. Not anymore.

  At night I wake up in a cold sweat. I’m hot. Cold. Both. A cold sweat makes no sense.

  Just like it makes no sense that something awful can happen when something awful has just happened. Horror stacking up on top of horror.

  Sometimes, when I wake up from The Dream, I’m drenched in that cold sweat. Sometimes I find that my fingers are still dreaming. Clawing at the sheets.

  At the start of The Dream, I’m in the canoe. In the stern. Which means I’m supposed to be steering.

  Dan is in the bow. Which means he’s supposed to be watching. Watching out.

  The bow of the boat goes over the falls first.

  But somehow, the part with the roaring falls isn’t the worst part of The Dream. Not anymore. No. The worst part of The Dream is the new part.

  When my sister Bryn shows up in the canoe.

  She’s in the middle. Sitting in the bottom of the boat.

  A sitting duck.

  Last night, for the first time, there was another girl in The Dream as well, a girl with dark hair, gray eyes. She stood across the water from me, on the shoreline of a long blue lake. The water was calm, the surface smooth as glass, and the girl waved me over—

  But the lake turned to tangled sheets and I couldn’t swim across.

  DUET

  CATE

  A day and a night, Cal texts. But he doesn’t mean he’s sleeping over. He means he’ll be here at noon on Saturday, then drive back to school late Saturday night.

  Laurel’s right, North Moore’s a haul—almost three hours—so I’ve got everything planned. We’ll go out to lunch at Caffeine Scene, then to the Dey Estate. After that I’ll play him my set. The Strings with Wings post-festival shows are coming up, and I can use all the help I can get. Since we don’t live in the city anymore, I only see Marion every three weeks.

  I text back, I’ll make you dinner.

  Or I’ll take you out, he replies. But it’ll have to b an early night.

  We have a guest room you know, I text. Then, biting my lower lip a little, I add:

  Tho my parents probably wouldnt notice if u didnt sleep in it.

  A minute ticks by.

  Afraid that if I don’t stop chewing my lip I’ll draw blood, I move on to a thumbnail.

  Finally, Cal answers, but it takes a second before I think to turn the phone sideways. When I do, the combination of symbols transforms into a wide-eyed face. I’m still laughing when he texts again, saying he’s got a gig playing Sunday brunch at a restaurant near his school.

  But we’ll have a whole day and dinner and DESSERT. The wide-eyed face appears again.

  Ok, I tap, still grinning. I’ll just have to be satisfied with that.

  A breath later he texts, I’ll make sure you are.

  WISH

  CATE

  The Bennets’ car pulls in front of the school and I shut my notebook. Bryn and I climb in.

  Mrs. Bennet immediately begins talking nonstop at Bryn.

  Bryn sighs heavily, her way of talking back.

  “I mean it, Bryn, I do not like the way that boy was looking at you, and I heard what he said. Can’t you tell a teacher?”

  “Mom, ‘that boy’ is Rod Whitaker. You know him. He’s been to our house. And no, I’m not going to go whining to some teacher who’s not going to do anything anyway.”

  “That boy has never been to our house,” Mrs. Bennet says. “I would remember.”

  “If you were ever home—”

  Her mother starts speaking again, as if Bryn isn’t. “I do not want him in our house.”

  “Neither do I,” Bryn mutters.

  As if Bryn hasn’t just agreed with her, Mrs. Bennet keeps up her assault. “Did you see the way he looked at your—” She glances in the rearview mirror at Kimmy, whom she’d picked up first at Middleburn Elementary, and drops her voice to a whisper. “At your backside?”

  “He looks at everyone’s ass that way, Mom, he’s a player. He’s worse. He’d fu—”

  Kimmy’s head snaps up at the same time Mrs. Bennet shrieks Bryn’s name. Quickly I ask Kimmy a question about the book with the yellow cover she’s been reading.

  She holds it up—a Nancy Drew—but her gaze ping-pongs back between the two headrests of the front seats. Mrs. Bennet’s voice is so loud I can almost see it.

  “I loved those books,” I say. “I read them all. Can’t remember how many there were—”

  “Fifty-six, the original books by Carolyn Keene—not a real name, by the way.”

  Kimmy doesn’t have the blonde hair and blue eyes that her mother, father, and sister have, the blonde hair Bryn recently dyed inky black. Instead, her serious little face is framed with chestnut hair, like David’s. Her eyes are brown with flecks of gold, David’s eyes.

  For a second she’s five again and it’s the weekend. I’m twelve and out from the city, staying with my parents in the old farmhouse they bought before I was born.

  Laurel’s father, a lawyer and Dad’s best friend since first grade, is the one who told Dad that buying something in horse country was the opportunity of a lifetime. The Ridgeways moved to Middleburn when they had Laurel, and that’s when they became friends with the Bennets. Mr. Bennet is also a lawyer, at the same firm as Laurel’s dad. Laurel ribbed me on the phone the other night, saying that I owe her big-time. That if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t even know David. I told her that would be fine. Her scoff-snort was so loud, I asked if she was choking.

  “The original fifty-six books are the best.” Kimmy’s thin voice pulls me back into the car. “The newer stories are lame, less about mysteries and clues, more about boys.” She peers up toward the front seat, a turtle poking its head out of its shell, as her mother and sister argue heatedly about this very topic.

  “Sounds like you’ve read them all,” I say.

  “Sounds like you know them all,” Mrs. Bennet snaps at Bryn, who’s just recited a long list of David’s friends, including Rod.

  Kimmy nods, but her attention rivets again on the front seat as Bryn launches the word sex through the air and it explodes like a bomb.

  “I don’t want to hear about that!”

  For a second I imagine Mrs. Bennet letting go of the wheel, covering her ears.

  “Come on, Mom. I’m seventeen. Let’s not pretend I’m a virgin, but do you really think I’d sleep with that hul
k? Seriously, is that what you think of me?” Bryn’s voice is shaking a little.

  “I don’t know what to think of you lately. And, honestly, this is not the time or place to be discussing it.” Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror, and Mrs. Bennet shoots me a questioning look, as if I might possibly know what to think of Bryn.

  We pull into the Bennets’ driveway, and Bryn is out of the car before the engine’s off, mumbling something about not knowing why she’s actually trying to talk to her mother, that she has friends to talk to, before slamming the door and wheeling away from the vehicle.

  And she does have friends, lots of them. But Bryn is her own spinning planet. When I picture her friends, I see a group of guys and girls standing around her, wistful moons orbiting an untouchable Earth.

  I go round to help Kimmy, but of course she doesn’t need help: she’s not five anymore, she’s nine. Still, I focus on her, trying to let Bryn’s dark matter disperse.

  Kimmy starts toward the side of the house, probably headed straight for the pool. But when the front door swings open, she changes direction, cutting me off so I stumble over my feet. Taking the front steps two at a time, she leaps at David— who swings her up in his arms.

  And I have the weirdest wish then: that he’d do the same with me.

  “Hey, Babysitter, what are we doing today?”

  If Bryn is the earth, David’s the sun. He smiles and light moves through his eyes.

  He seems to actually be waiting for my answer, which is . . . odd. His family is back, school has started, and life is morphing into its normal summer-is-over shape. Part of that normal is I’m Kimmy’s babysitter. Another bit of that normal? David is Kimmy’s older brother, who has never shown any interest in me. I’d assumed that those couple of weeks, coming as they did after the preceding month, where David had mostly stayed in his room recovering from some kind of accident he’d had on a canoe trip, were a fluke. Still, when Mrs. Bennet called me to babysit, I leapt at the opportunity, hoping the little hollow in my gut might go away, hoping to prove Laurel wrong, because if this swooping feeling in my stomach has to do with David—

  David, who is still waiting for my answer.

  Okay. It’s not last week, or the week before, it’s now, but I’m so busy wondering if David is actually implying he wants to hang out that any possible answer I might give him remains a mystery. Before I can solve it, Kimmy is prattling to David about her day and he’s laughing, then frowning as the voices of Bryn and Mrs. Bennet—who have disappeared into the house—bounce sharply off the granite countertops in the kitchen, stabbing the air around us.

  Then David is impossibly balancing Kimmy on his hip, one arm around her, his other outstretched, holding the door for me—

  And I’m ducking under his arm—

  Which he lets fall, his fingertips landing on the small of my back.

  In an instant, that one single point—a spot just between the hem of my shirt and the top of my jeans where David’s fingertips are warm on my skin—becomes the focus of my entire being.

  He has never touched me before. The feeling it gives me is amazing. His touch lights up my body and muddles my brain. What is he doing?

  Dropping my gaze to the floor, I try to walk normally, taking a few steps across the foyer.

  Then the sensation is gone, and I look up to see David flipping Kimmy upside down— before setting her gently on her feet.

  WATER

  DAVID

  I swim, but it’s not enough. Not enough to drown the buzzing energy. Not enough to dissolve me.

  I lift. I run, even though it hurts. But I don’t talk anymore. That’s what it feels like. Instead, I watch. I look. And just . . . keep everything in. Hold it in. Feels like I’m walking around with a fire inside. Maybe it will burn me up.

  At night I dream about fire and water, but at school . . . no one knows. Sometimes little bits of the fire seep out, a harsh word here, an incomplete assignment there, and I pull back. Because even though I’m slowly figuring out how stupid everything up until now has been, I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m the only one who deserves to be destroyed, though I wouldn’t mind taking Dad down.

  The other day Trish said I was lame ’cause I wouldn’t stroke her ego. Tammy just wants me to stroke her thighs. Those two. Went out with one and then the other. Trish, then Tammy. Then Tammy, then Trish. Still not sure which girl I miss. Boyfriend and girlfriend, then something less . . . a hookup, a ride home; each girl’s a hot mess. They both blame me. They should, I guess. But it’s over for real this time. Like with the others . . . I’m just done.

  Keep your eye on the ball, Son. Keep your eyes on the prize.

  But my eyes have been on the wrong things. The prizes . . . are not what I want.

  And maybe it’s because I hang back now, watching, that I see her. If I were still a blur of motion: football, track, grades, girls—girls, girls, girls—I would’ve missed her.

  She’s like . . . a still point.

  All around her, the world twists and turns, but she is still. Like the horizon.

  GLITTER

  CATE

  Stopping midstride, I stand in the doorway of Bryn’s bedroom and listen.

  “Northern Ontario, some kind of wilderness camp. Not Outward Bound, but intense like that. What? Two days. Friggin’ trip was almost over. They helicoptered him out.

  “The two shrinks Mom and Dad sent him to disagree on everything, of course. I told them not to bother with Dr. Finn, do you think they listened?” Bryn cups her hand over the phone and glares at me. “What?”

  “Nothing, I—nothing.” For a second, I continue to stare at Bryn. She’s sitting on her canopy bed, the frame of which has been spray-painted silver and drenched in glitter. More sparkly stuff shines from the midnight-blue walls and ceiling, where she’s painted her own take on the universe. She pushes back the abyss of inky hair from her face and narrows her eyes.

  Turning quickly, I step into the bathroom across from her room and shut the door—not all the way. My heart is pounding.

  “No one, just Kimmy’s babysitter. Yeah, he was banged up pretty good, but not compared to the other guy.”

  My stomach tightens.

  Bryn laughs, but the sound twists in her throat, morphing into one flat word. “Dead.”

  Then she’s silent for a long moment. “The break itself wasn’t too bad. His leg healed well, superfast, the doctors said. He just got his cast off. Yeah, as soon as he did, my dad was all like, ‘Oh, David’s fine now.’ I’m like, yeah, if you don’t count the fact that he’s totally depressed and won’t do anything or hang out with anyone. What? Survivor guilt? Huh. Don’t know.

  “No sports. Dad is pissed. There goes the scholarship, not to mention Dad’s whole weirdo-clone thing. Then there’s Mom. I mean, ‘Dahling, what ever will we chat about at the Club?’

  “He signed himself out of school twice already. Must be nice. Yeah, he turned eighteen in August. He doesn’t go anywhere except the backyard. Swims a million laps a day, like he’s possessed or something. Obsessed. You’d think, after nearly drowning, the pool would be the last place he’d want to be.”

  I can’t breathe for a second. David nearly drowned?

  “He’s a Leo—dude, enough! Are you hot for my brother or what? Duh, of course you are. Ha. You expect me to believe that? Fine, then you’re the only one who hasn’t slept with him.”

  “Cate?” It’s Kimmy. Trotting down the hall, I find her in the middle of her bright-yellow bedroom. She’s already changed into a pink polka-dotted bathing suit, and now she slides her feet on the green shag carpet, striking a pose. “Wanna dance?”

  Before I can answer, my eyes follow a glimmer of dappled light dancing on the ceiling. I walk over to the window. Down below in the yard, sunlight bounces off the pool—

  And David Bennet executes a smooth dive, disappearing beneath the sparkling surface.

  GOLD

  CATE

  Sitting on the concrete pavers at the ed
ge of the Bennets’ aquamarine pool, I dangle my legs in the water. Just the cool feel of it washes the first week of school away.

  Kimmy inhaled her snack, and now she’s bouncing up and down on the low diving board.

  “Why aren’t you in your suit?” Boing, boing— the stiff board barely moves beneath her.

  “Forgot it.”

  “But you have to come in with me!” She flips into the water.

  The sun-warmed concrete feels good against the backs of my thighs. I bunch my skirt higher. Mom says long skirts make me look dowdy, but I like that no one else wears them. Not that I want to stick out as the new girl; although, I’m not really new, not like Dee.

  Dee’s family moved here from Manhattan, like mine did, but she doesn’t know too many people yet. No one knows her. Maybe that’s why she’s so irritatingly possessive of Laurel.

  A lot of people in Middleburn know me. They know me from the public pool, from the country club the Ridgeways and the Bennets belong to—the same club where Laurel met Dee. They know me from the parties Laurel and her older sister, Grace, have taken me to over the years. The kids around here know me, and I know them. Then again, we don’t really know each other. Still, they’ve seen me around Red Bank for years and vice versa, mostly at Listen Up!

  I’ve been going to Listen Up! for as long as I can remember. Not often, but always. Even when we lived in the city, whenever we came out to the old farmhouse, Laurel and I would get together and go. It was our Saturday-night ritual.

  We’d browse the used books and CDs, leave for pizza, come back, wander through the vinyl section. Sometimes we went through the glass doors toward the rear of the shop so I could check out the guitars.

  We also liked to check out the guys who worked there—or, we used to. Most of them rotated through, but the guy with the blue hair and the shaved-head guy have been at the store forever, along with a girl named Delsey.