Swallowing Stones (22 page)

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.

f
or 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.

a
lthough 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.

It was a cool evening, and although it wasn’t quite seven-thirty, the last of the sun’s rays had already disappeared behind the trees as Jenna and Jason rounded the corner at the end of the block. She still felt anxious, but she was working hard to keep it under control.

“We didn’t get to finish talking last week at Judd’s party,” Jason said finally.

Jenna’s breath caught in her throat. “I thought you didn’t want to talk anymore. You walked off, remember?”

They had wandered into the playground of the elementary school two blocks from Jenna’s house. Jenna sat down on one of the swings. Jason took the swing next to her.

“Have I done something?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“You haven’t done anything,” Jenna said, trying to reassure him. “This has nothing to do with you.” Although of course it did, because of the way she felt whenever she was around him. But how was she supposed to explain something she didn’t understand herself? “It’s just me,” she said.

“Can you be a little more specific, Jen?” Jason was hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. He looked lost.

Jenna felt so awful that she finally gave in and told him about the anxiety attacks. If he wanted to think she was losing her mind, then fine. At least he wouldn’t go on blaming himself.

Jason listened quietly. He did not interrupt her even once. And when she finished her story, all he could do was groan.

Jenna watched him, waiting to see what he would say.

“How am I supposed to fight something like this? I mean, another guy, yeah. That’s one thing. But this?”

“There’s nothing to fight.”

“There is if I want things to work out for us.”

Poor Jason. He wasn’t going to give up. Jenna felt an overwhelming urge to take his hand. But that would only make matters worse.

“So why is this happening?”

Jenna grabbed hold of the chains and began to gently swing back and forth. “I haven’t got a clue.”

The look on Jason’s face was painful to see as he sat watching her pump the air with her legs, lifting the swing higher and higher.

Jenna let her head fall back. The wind in her hair felt absolutely delicious. She had forgotten how good it felt to swing. She thrust her legs forward, flying out as far as she could.

Jason’s voice drifted up to her. “You know, I always thought it was really weird that I didn’t find out about what happened to your dad until weeks after the accident.”

“What are you talking about?” Jenna said, calling down to him. “You weren’t even there. How could you have known?”

“No. I mean, don’t you think it’s strange that we were talking on the phone one minute, and the next minute your dad gets shot, and I didn’t even know about it? I was probably outside helping load the last of the camping equipment in the van or something. And there you were, outside …”

Jenna lurched forward and at the same time felt the seat of the swing slip out from under her. It happened so fast that she scarcely had time to react. One minute she was swinging her way up to the evening star; the next she was struggling to clutch one of the chains as her legs treaded air, then scraped along the pavement below. The seat wobbled back and forth, bumping her knees, but she clung to the chain for dear life.

Jason had his arms around her, lifting her away from the bruising wood seat. He held her tight, and he wasn’t about to let go.