One Small Thing

Is this how Chase felt when the police arrived at his house the night he ran over Rachel? Or did he get arrested at the scene? I suddenly realize I have no idea how it all went down. I only remember the police showing up at our door to give us the devastating news. My mom falling to her knees and wailing in anguish. My dad clutching his chest as if someone had just torn his heart out of it.

Chase did that to us. He made my mother cry and he hurt my father. And I sat in his bedroom today and talked to him like we were best friends. I had sex with him.

Oh God, I feel like I’m going to faint. Or throw up. Or both.

“Elizabeth, Officer Malloy is here to help us with your school problem,” Mom says. She makes a face at me, one that says for me to get my ass into the living room.

I trudge over and tip my chin in Malloy’s direction.

Mom grows impatient and drags me to the couch, then forces me to sit down beside her. My unreasonable panic begins to recede. There’s no way that an arrest is going down this slow and easy. Since I don’t have a school problem, this must be about someone else.

Officer Malloy takes a seat next to me and places a file folder on the coffee table. He flips it open and pulls out a form. I read it sideways. Temporary Restraining Order.

“What’s happening right now?” I ask slowly.

Mom takes my hand. “This is for you.”

“But I don’t have any problems at school.”

Officer Malloy frowns and taps his cheap ballpoint against the folder. “No problems?”

“Oh, Lizzie would never complain,” Mom says. “That’s why we need to do this.”

“This? What’s this?” I’m confused.

“So you aren’t being harassed at school?” Malloy asks.

“No, not at all.” The panic returns in a flood as I finally grasp what’s going on.

My parents want me to fill out police paperwork against Chase.

I bolt to my feet. “There’s nothing wrong at school. School’s fine.”

“Wrong,” Dad says rudely. “As long as Charles Donnelly is there, my daughter will never be safe.”

“Sit down, Lizzie,” Mom chides.

I do, but only because my legs are unsteady at the moment.

“Have you tried talking to the principal?” the officer inquires.

“Of course we have. We’ve been all the way up to the board of supervisors. Your boss, Mayor Stanton, is shouting about discrimination and lawsuits if we try to get him kicked out again.” Dad’s features are pinched. “Until he causes physical harm, damage to school property or anything that would warrant an expulsion, he stays.”

Good. I send a mutinous look at Officer Malloy. “And since he’s not bothering me, there’s no need for that.” I jab a finger at the form.

“Your parents said he intimidated you in the library,” the cop prompts. “Are you scared of him? Is that why you don’t want to report what happened? These restraining orders are here to protect you.”

I’m numb with shock. How do they know about the library thing? It happened today. Are they spying on me at school?

“Scarlett’s mother called me at work,” Mom explains, reading my confusion. “Scarlett told her he was harassing you in the library.”

Dammit. My lie is coming back to haunt me. I sink into the cushions and cover my face with my hands. “He wasn’t bothering me,” I say, but no one believes me.

“Obviously I called Principal Geary right away, but he said even if you came in and filed a complaint, it’ll be just a suspension because it’s Donnelly’s first bullying offense.”

I want to scream. Chase didn’t do anything wrong.

Except kill your sister.

Bile creeps up my throat. Over my fingers, I can see my parents staring at me. I sink deeper into the cushions, trying to find a way out of this.

But Mom takes my silence for distress. “Are you all right?” She frets. “I knew he was harassing you!” In a shrill voice, she addresses the cop. “We can’t wait until something dangerous happens. I’ve already lost one daughter.” Her hand flies to her throat.

Dad comes over and places a hand on her shoulder. “We’re not waiting, Marnie. We’re filing the restraining order.”

“I can certainly assist you with that,” Officer Malloy says gently. He turns to me. “Why don’t you describe what happened so that we can put this paperwork in front of the right judge?”

I feel even sicker. “No. I don’t want to do this.”

“Lizzie,” Mom says.

“It’s Beth.”

“Beth. It’s for your own protection.”

“He’s a menace to this town,” Dad says. “He’s reckless and—”

“It was an accident,” I interrupt and then glance at Malloy with imploring eyes. “You know about the case?”

He nods, because of course, he knows. Everyone in Darling does. It’s what my fucking family is known for.

“It was ruled an accident,” I remind him.

He nods again.

“This isn’t a crazed maniac roaming free. And trust me, I hate him, too.” The lie burns my throat on its way out. “But I don’t feel right saying I feel physically threatened, because I don’t.”

Dad looks on in disapproval.

I turn to my mother and grab her hand. “Please. I’m not in any danger. I was sitting in the corner of the library feeling sick because I skipped lunch. Chase was there and I was embarrassed that he saw me crying. I snapped at him. He...” I apologize mentally for my next lie. “He snapped back, and then Scarlett showed up. It was nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Dad thunders.

Mom, though, searches my face. I squeeze her hand and plead, “Please.”

“You really don’t feel in danger from him?”

“I don’t.” My tone is clear and even. “If that changes, I promise to let you know.”

She examines me for a few moments longer before coming to some internal determination. She nods and looks at Officer Malloy. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, but we do appreciate the information you provided us with. I assume we can contact you again if we decide to go forward with the TRO?”

“Of course.” There’s a hint of relief in his voice.

We all get to our feet. For once, I don’t feel like a stupid kid. I told the truth, or most of it. Mom listened, and the outrageous injustice toward Chase was averted. All without crying, throwing a tantrum or freaking out. Act like an adult and maybe they’ll treat you like one was Chase’s advice.

To my surprise, it’s actually worked.

Dad walks Officer Malloy to the door while Mom stays with me in the living room.

“That was very mature of you.” She shakes her head slowly. “But he’s not a good boy.” Her voice catches. “I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be.” I’ve never felt the least bit endangered by him, but I can’t explain to Mom all the times that Chase has had opportunity to hurt me and hasn’t, because that would be grounds for locking me in the basement.

Dad comes back and doesn’t even look at us. He’s pissed.

“I’m going out,” he mutters. “Don’t wait up.”

Before either of us can object, he storms out of the house.

I always thought Mom was the one who couldn’t move on. After all, she keeps Rachel’s locker empty in the mudroom. She leaves Rachel’s bedroom completely untouched. She won’t let me have a dog because Rachel was allergic.

But Dad is the one who’s still clinging to his anger and hurt. He was the first one to cry for Chase’s blood after the accident. He pressed for a murder charge and raged for weeks when it was pleaded down to reckless homicide. It doesn’t matter that Rachel had run into the street without checking for cars. Chase had taken his baby.

Dad will never forgive him.  * * *

Mom and I eat dinner by ourselves. She makes grilled cheese sandwiches. I heat up tomato soup.

“How’s Scarlett doing? I haven’t seen her in a while. You two are still friends, right?”

“Yes. We’re good.” But I’m still worried about the way she snapped at me after Jeff offered to take me to the party. I don’t want our friendship to be on shaky ground; it’s one of the best things in my life right now. Scar and I have been best friends since kindergarten. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her.

“Hey, can we go shopping this weekend?” I ask my mother. “I want to see if I can find something for Scar.”

“Is it her birthday? I thought that wasn’t until January.”

“No. It’s just an...‘I appreciate you’ gift.” Over the years, Scar and I have bought each other a ton of little friendship gifts, but it’s been a while since I’ve done it. It’s definitely way overdue.

“Oh, that’s so nice. Of course we can go this weekend. Tomorrow morning?” she suggests.

“Sure.” It’s not like I have anything on my calendar. Since I have nothing but school, my schedule is surprisingly free. All my other classmates are busy with extracurricular stuff, but I gave that up years ago. The reasons escape me.

After dinner, Mom goes to do laundry, and I retreat to my bedroom. I sit at my desk, but I don’t have any homework. I flip open my laptop and check my friends’ social media feeds. A message bubble pops up. The sender is Jeff.

I scratch my neck. The idea of chatting with Jeff ranks very low on my scale of fun things to do. I’m still mad at him for abandoning me at the party.

I slam my laptop shut and grab a book off the shelf. I’ve read this one before, but I enjoyed it, so maybe I can lose myself in the words again. After ten minutes of reading the same paragraph repeatedly, I snap the book closed and throw it on my desk.

Mom passes by my room with a laundry basket.

“Do you need me to fold that?” I ask, rushing to the doorway.

She looks up at me in surprise. “No. It’s all done.”

I glance down and see a stack of folded towels. “I’ll put it away, then.”

“All right.” She backs away slowly, as if my offer of assistance is so bizarre that I might not be in my right mind. “Thank you.”

With that, she disappears down the stairs. It takes me only a minute to stow the towels in the closet.

“Do you need any other help?” I yell down the stairs.

“No. I’m fine. I’m going to watch some television and knit.”

I return to my bedroom. There’s nothing to do in here. I run a hand over the door frame. If I had a door, would I feel differently?

I twist around to look at the door across from mine. Slowly, I cross the hall. The knob turns effortlessly and the door swings on silent, well-oiled hinges. I leave it slightly ajar.

The room smells fresh, as if someone had the window open. I walk over and peer into the backyard. The corner of the house, where the swing hangs, is dark. A small yellow pool of light splashes across the patio. The Palmers’ labradoodle three houses down barks as she’s let out into her yard to poop and pee.

It’s an ordinary night. I pull back and survey the room. Rachel’s trophies and medals from five years of club volleyball decorate a shelf next to her bed. On the mirror above her desk, the pictures of her and her friends hang neatly along the edges. I pull out her white desk chair with the fluffy cushion and take a seat.

On the left side are several photographs of her volleyball team. Arms are slung around each other. Rachel’s closest friend, Aimee, is making rabbit ears behind Rachel’s head in all of them. It must be an inside joke. There are a lot of things about Rachel’s life that I don’t know. We were close, but she was still two years older. I’m sure she had her secrets.

On the right side of the desk are two family photographs. One features all of us, taken at my cousin Randy’s wedding the year before Rachel died. Mom bought me heels to wear and I was over the moon. The other is of Rachel and me. It was taken after one of her school volleyball meets. Rachel is sweaty and smiling. I’m holding the volleyball and staring up at her like she’s the center of my world.

A choked sob flies out of my throat, and suddenly I’m on my feet and racing out of Rachel’s bedroom and down the stairs. It hurts too much to see pictures of us together. It hurts to see me looking at her like she hung the moon and the stars. I idolized her, and now she’s gone.

I burst onto the back patio and suck in a gulpful of fresh air. It helps ease the tightness of my throat, but not the ache in my heart. I charge toward the swing, but it reminds me of Rachel so I bypass it and head for the fence instead, where I sink onto the grass and lean against the wooden slats.

The sun has already set, but the sky isn’t pitch-black yet. I stare at the clouds and pick out one that looks like a dragon. Then I wrench my gaze downward, because that’s another thing that reminds me of Rachel. When we were kids we’d throw a picnic blanket on the grass, lie down on our backs and try to find animal shapes in the clouds.

The back of my throat grows scratchy and heat pricks my eyelids, but instead of tears pouring out of my eyes, laughter trickles from my mouth. I try to choke it back. Then I give up and let it come. It’s like Rachel’s funeral all over again. I couldn’t cry, so I laughed. I don’t want to cry right now, so I’m laughing.

“Arf.”

A yip cuts through my hysterical giggles. “Hey, pupster.” I chuckle at Morgan, whose head appears through the slats. “How’s it going?”

He doesn’t answer, but he does stick his tongue out and lick my shoulder.

It’s just what I need. “I missed you, too.”

He licks the side of my neck now, then my cheek. I welcome the doggy slobber, because it’s way better than salty tears.

“Not as much as I miss Rachel, though,” I whisper.

Lick. Lick.

“She’d probably be disappointed in me if she was here right now,” I tell Morgan. “Rachel was so focused. Especially with volleyball.”

I played volleyball back in the day, too. I joined the same club Rachel belonged to. I was a setter, like her. Our weekends were always full as we went from one tournament to another.

It all ended when Rachel died. It was like all my ambitions and dreams were really Rachel’s and when she was gone, my passion for anything dried up like ash and blew away.

“She had choir, too. Oh, and honors club.” Plus, she had Jeff, the golden boy. Rachel was going places. I have no doubt she would’ve gotten into whatever Ivy League college she applied to and rocked it there.

Me, I have nothing to do with my time. Working at the shelter was the only thing I really enjoyed, but other than that, I tried to fill my time with parties and boys. I didn’t sleep with Chase to piss off my parents. If that was the case, I would’ve told them. I slept with him because something was missing in my life and I felt like I could fill it with him.

But I only feel emptier now.

I’ve become directionless. Or I’ve been directionless for a while and just came to the realization today. I’ve been so busy blaming everyone else for my unhappiness that I didn’t take a look at myself.

I don’t like what I see.

Frowning, I force myself to get to my feet, even though it means no more doggy kisses from Morgan. “I’m sorry, pupster, but I’ve gotta go. Time to make some changes.”

Upstairs, I sit on my bed and open my laptop. With a sense of determination, I pull up Darling High’s webpage. Wow. There are a ton of different electives and clubs, so many it’s hard to scroll through them all.

I start reading and taking notes. A shadow pauses by the doorway but moves on without interrupting. I keep scrolling. I do some additional researching.

“Bingo,” I say, staring at my round letters on my notepad.   I start typing. It takes me several hours, but when I’m done, I’m pretty darn pleased.

As of this moment, I’m no longer the girl without direction. I’m the girl with a plan.

19

“What’s this?” Mom asks the next morning as I slide the printed page toward her.

“It’s a contract,” I say proudly. I reach across the kitchen table to give Dad his copy.

He squints at it, unable to read without his glasses. “A contract for what?”

“It’s a...” My mom trails off as she keeps reading.

“It’s a family contract,” I declare. There were other titles, like Contract for Good Behavior and Contract for Responsibility, but they all sounded so demeaning and one-sided. “I promise to abide by rules that you believe will keep me safe, and in exchange you allow me to visit the school of my choice.”

“You are not going to USC,” Dad says, slapping the paper down.

I have to bite back an angry response. “It’s not USC or UCLA or Miami. It’s Iowa State.”

That stuns them into silence. Mom picks up her coffee cup and takes a quick sip. Dad narrows his eyes at me.

“Iowa State,” he echoes suspiciously.

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “Yes.”

Mom finally finds her voice. “Why Iowa State? This is the first time you’ve mentioned it.”

“It’s the first time I’ve thought of it,” I admit. “But it’s the one school that came up over and over again in my research last night.”

Mom looks curious. “What research?”

Her receptiveness has me barreling forward. “I want to be a vet. I’m going to have to change a few classes next semester, although I don’t think my high school credits matter much. But it’s always a good thing to have extra sciences under your belt if you’re going the medicine route, even doggy medicine. Iowa State is one of the top vet schools in the country, and it’s close by so that you can visit often.” But far enough away that I can have some feeling of independence. I don’t explain this point to my parents, though. No sense in scaring them away.