A noise makes me look up. A sob, or a sniffle. Rita’s sprawled on the floor, leaning against the couch. In her lap is a shoe box, and in front of her, spread out in a semicircle, are photographs. She holds one up and cocks her head to the side. I don’t think she knows I’m here. At first I think she must be drunk, but I don’t see a glass or a bottle.
My mother is crying. She is, in fact, sobbing.
“Rita? What happened?”
She doesn’t answer.
I move in closer. She’s holding a baby picture, taken at a hospital. The baby wearing a white pointy cap and wrapped in a white blanket looks like every other baby I’ve seen in hospital photos. Only somehow I know it’s Jeremy.
I sit beside her and finger through the photos scattered on the carpet. Half a dozen look like the one she’s holding, Jeremy a couple of minutes old. But there are other pictures of Jeremy-outside on a lawn somewhere, in the back of a faded car, in a building with other kids his size, no older than two. I’ve never seen these pictures. Where did she get them? How did she manage to hold on to them? Why did she?
“He’s my boy,” she says, not looking at me. “My own little boy.”
I don’t know what to say. This isn’t the Rita I know. It makes me think of what Chase said about me: The Hope I know…, something about how the Hope he knew wouldn’t give up on Jeremy. And the Chase I just left in the car, was he the Chase I know? The sickly Caroline Johnson on the stand, was she the same woman who screamed her hate at her husband? The T.J. who ran away without looking back, who scared me, was he the same T.J. who brought me mermaid tears and ate lunch with me at school every day?
I pick through the pictures of Jeremy. This is the Jeremy I know, sweet, innocent.
Are we different people every single moment of our lives?
“I have to testify for Jeremy,” Rita says, not taking her eyes off a photo of a much younger Rita and her son.
“What? Why?”
“I’m Raymond’s star witness.”
“Wait. Did Raymond call and tell you he wants you to testify?”
“Yep. Saved the best till last.” She leans back and takes a deep breath that turns into a cough.
I think I may hurl. Rita’s going to testify? And she’s the last person the jury will hear from? I don’t understand why Raymond would do this, even with his stupid kitchen-sink strategy… unless Caroline Johnson really did that much damage.
“Rita, did you and Raymond rehearse what you’re going to say?”
She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, the same hand that’s holding the photograph of Jer and her. “I got to get to Raymond’s.”
I call Bob and ask him to drive her. Rita isn’t drunk. She hasn’t been drinking. But she’s shaking, shaken and stirred. I don’t trust her behind the wheel of a car.
I volunteer to cover for them at the restaurant, but Bob says he doesn’t need me. In twenty minutes, I have Rita dressed and ready.
“Don’t you leave the house again!” she calls to me on her way to Bob’s car. “Not like you ever do anything I say,” she mutters. Then she’s gone.
I put away the pictures of Jeremy. With Rita gone, the house turns up its noise volume-a hum from the fan becomes a roar; water leaking in the toilet, a waterfall; and the fridge groans like it’s being tortured. I lock the doors and windows, trying not to think about the stalker. What if he knows I’m alone, really alone now? No Rita, no T.J., and no Chase.
Exhausted, I lie down on my squeaky mattress, and my thoughts go to Chase. I miss him already-not just his help, but him. I miss his slow smile, like he’s grinning against his better judgment. And the way his voice gets deeper when he’s trying to explain about his life in Boston. Raising my hand, I think about how his large fingers feel interlocked with my small ones.
What have I done?
Chase has been so good to me. Did I really accuse him of caving to his “daddy”? He didn’t have to help me in the first place. But he did, even when his dad tried to keep him away from me.
I need to apologize. If I never see him again, he has to know how grateful I am for everything he’s done. I don’t think I could have made it this far without him.
Since the last person I called was Chase, I take out my cell and hit Send. His phone goes directly to voice mail. No way I can say what I want to say on a recorder. I hang up. In a few minutes, I try again. And again. I don’t know how many times I dial Chase over the next hour. Finally, I give up and decide I can, at least, text him. He’ll have to read that, and I can delete before sending if I screw it up. I punch in: I’m sorry. Hope. Then I change it to: I’m sorry! Hopeless.
I send it and wait, staring at the screen until it goes blank. I picture Chase hearing the beep. He glances at the number, sees it’s me, and…
No answer.
I try again: Please, Chase. Can’t we talk?
I send it and go back to waiting. Jeremy and I used to text each other before Jer lost his cell. Our exchanges were as fast as phone calls.
I’m not giving up. Chase said it himself. The Hope he knows is no quitter. I send another text: Meet me tonight? Now? I don’t want him to come to my house, and I sure don’t want to go to his. So I keep typing: At school? Driving practice? He’ll know what I mean. He’ll remember that day when we were so close we read each other’s thoughts, when he didn’t get mad at me, even after I wrecked his car.
I wait for a reply. While I’m at it, I should text T.J. too. We were friends for a long time. I stare at the screen, trying to think of a message for him. But I can’t.
My phone beeps. It’s Chase. I have a message: OK.
It takes me five minutes to change into jeans and brush my hair. I’m as nervous as if it’s our first date. I try to tell myself not to get my hopes up. He’s agreed to talk. Nothing else.
I hurry outside and up the walk in the direction of the school. It’s muggy out, and a cloud of gnats hovers around me. I shoo them away and keep going.
Behind me a car starts up. Headlights pop on and shine through me, turning my shadow into a jagged ghost.
Coincidence. But I walk a little faster.
The car creeps along behind me. I want it to speed up. I want the lights to vanish when I turn onto Walnut Street. But the headlights stay with me, like two giant flashlights keeping me in their sights. I walk faster. It’s all I can do not to break into a run.
The car pulls up beside me, keeping pace with me. Then I hear a voice: “Hope?”
“Chase! How did you-?”
“Get in.” He’s ducking low from the driver’s side so we can see each other.
I climb in, my heart still jittery, maybe more so. Then I scoot as close as I can get to him. “Chase, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I know. Me too.” He reaches out an arm, and I fall into him.
I close my eyes and let myself soak up everything about this moment, his strong arms around me, my head on his chest, rising and falling with his breath. I want to dissolve into him, to lose myself in Chase Wells.
Suddenly I pull away so I can see his face. “Were you out here the whole time?”
“Yeah. As soon as Dad finished yelling at me-which only happened because he had to go in to work-I came over here. I was pretty sure he was never going to have a patrol car on your street, so I thought I’d better keep an eye on things myself, in case that pickup came back.”
“You’ve been guarding me? Even after I said those horrible things to you?” I snuggle closer.
“I admit I was pretty mad when I drove away, but not mad enough to leave you for the stalker.” He grins down at me. I want to freeze that look, the dimples, the warmth.
“Nice to know you wouldn’t throw me to the stalker in a fit of anger.” I stretch up and kiss him, then pull back. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“You called me? Sorry. Dad played the big-bad-father card before he stormed out. I’m grounded-yeah, right-and phoneless. He made me turn in my cell. I’ll get it back. Don’t worry.”
“Wait a minute. He took your cell?”
“Yeah. I’m surprised he didn’t take the keys to the car, my driver’s license, and-”
“But you’re here.” Something’s wrong. Really wrong.
He squints at me. “Don’t look so worried. I haven’t been grounded since I was ten. He’ll get over it.”
“But how did you know to come and meet me?”
“Meet you? What do you mean?”
My mind is spinning, trying to piece together the messages. “I sent you a text. We’re supposed to be meeting at the school parking lot.”
“Didn’t get the message, Hope. I didn’t have the phone. I just saw you leave because I was guarding the-”
“But you answered. You texted me back and said okay.”
Chase’s face changes. Even his eyes seem to darken. He takes me by the shoulders and eases me back into the passenger seat. “Hope, that wasn’t me.”
Neither of us says a word until I can’t stand the silence. “Chase, if you didn’t send the message…” But I can’t finish it.
So he does. “My dad did.” He stares at his hands. “I was afraid of that.”
“But why would he do that? Why would he tell me to meet you at the school?”
Chase still won’t look at me. “I don’t know.”
He’s hanging over the steering wheel as if his bones have dissolved from his body. He knows something. When we drove away from the Johnson place, I sensed something wasn’t right with him. “Chase,” I whisper, “you have to tell me what’s going on.”
Finally, he looks at me. “I think my dad is the stalker.”
“What? That’s crazy! Your dad is the sheriff! Why would he stalk me?”
Chase is shaking his head. “He’s not. He didn’t. Not really. Not stalk. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you, Hope. He just wanted to scare you.”
“Well, he did that all right! But it doesn’t make sense.
Why would he-?”
“He wanted us to stop investigating. Dad’s a control freak, Hope. I knew he didn’t like me blowing him off and seeing you anyway. But I didn’t start figuring things out until this afternoon, after we saw him at Caroline Johnson’s. I’ve never seen him that desperate. There was something in his eyes.” He puts his hand on my head and strokes my hair. “He’s not a stalker, Hope. He probably just didn’t know what else to do-and I’m not defending him. Believe me, if I’d known he was the one calling you, I would have made him stop. He kept telling me to leave it alone, and-”
“That’s it! Leave it alone! ” Those words have been circling like a tornado in my brain. “Chase, that’s what the stalker said on the phone, and it’s what your dad said this afternoon.” The pieces click together. I should have figured it out before now. “Could your dad get a pickup from that police impound?”
Chase nods. “He can drive anything on that lot, and nobody knows or cares.”
I don’t know whether to be relieved that the stalker is the sheriff… or terrified that the sheriff is the stalker. “So why did he want me to show up at the school lot tonight?”
Chase’s lips tighten. He sticks the key into the ignition. “I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.”
Chase drives through the fast-food parking lot to come in behind the school. He stops just inside the fence, too far away for us to see much. “I know he’s out there, watching.”
I scan the field, imagining myself walking across the parking lot, calling Chase’s name, no answer but the wind, a warm August breeze. I’d get closer and closer to the tree. Maybe I’d sit there, waiting. And then what? What would he have done?
A flash of white shines from behind the big oak, the one I scraped. “Chase, there! Behind the tree.”
“I see him.” He swears under his breath. His eyes narrow to black slits. “I’ve spent half my life trying to be like him, trying to be who he wanted me to be. Perfect son. Perfect student. Perfect pitcher. Not anymore.”
“Chase? What are you going to do? Chase!”
He doesn’t answer me. He backs the car up, then eases it all the way around the lot until the truck is in full view. Without a glance at me, he floors the accelerator. The car squeals and shoots forward, back tires skidding, then righting to aim us directly at the pickup.
I scream. We’re going to ram into that truck. “Chase!”
Inches away, he slams the brakes. I catch myself, hands braced on the dashboard. The car swerves. I feel a thunk. I open my eyes and see that we’ve bashed in the door of the white pickup truck, pinning it to the tree.
Sheriff Wells swears so loud I hear the words, the hate, through our closed windows. Chase jumps out of the car, leaving the driver’s door open. He waits, legs spread, hands on hips, while his dad struggles to get out of the truck. But the driver’s door is blocked by our car, and the passenger’s door is smashed against the tree. He kneels at his window and lets out a string of cussing.
Midway through cursing the day Chase was born, the sheriff stops. I think he notices me in the car for the first time. His glare raises the tiny hairs at the base of my neck. Nobody has ever looked at me with so much hate before. I want to curl up in a ball on the floor of the car.
“Are you done?” Chase asks his father. He takes the ground between them in three strides until he’s face to face with his dad, still trapped inside the cab. My Chase is strong and fearless, and he’s not backing down a single step.
I want to be with him. He’s standing up to his dad for me. I open the car door and start to get out, but my seat belt yanks me back. Fumbling with it, I manage to get free and step outside. Without glancing at the sheriff, I walk around the car to stand beside Chase. He and his dad are inches apart, locked in a stare-down.
“I asked you if you’re finished.” Chase’s voice is hard, controlled.
“Finished?” Sheriff says, shifting his weight from one knee to the other, still caged inside the truck. His head has to bow to keep from hitting the ceiling. He rolls down the truck’s window, but it won’t go past halfway.
“Finished stalking Hope?” Chase says.
“I wasn’t stalking anybody.” Sheriff Wells turns to me. “I was just trying to get you to stop nosing around in things you had no business in. You should have left it alone. Then I wouldn’t have had to-”
“Stalk me?” I finish his sentence. “How could you do that? You’re supposed to be… I don’t know… a protector. Not a stalker.” I feel Chase’s hand wrap around mine.
“You’re really something, Dad,” Chase says.
“You don’t understand. You’re just kids! You are nothing but a child, Chase!” Sheriff Wells shouts. He turns to me. “Look. I know you want to get your brother off, but you’re out of your league. You’re just going to make the jury send Jeremy to prison, instead of a mental hospital, where he belongs.”
“You have no right to say where my brother belongs!” I shout. “You don’t know Jeremy. And you don’t know me.”
“What were you going to do if I hadn’t shown up, Dad?” Chase demands. “What would have happened tonight if Hope had come here alone, like you planned? Huh? Answer me!”
“Quit yelling!” Sheriff Wells shouts back. “Don’t talk crazy. I’d never do anything to the girl. I figured she’d show and you wouldn’t, and that would be the end of it. She’d think you stood her up, that you were done with her for good, which is what you should be.”
“I’m done, all right,” Chase says. “Only not with her. With you.”