One Small Thing

And Jeff isn’t one of those people.

I don’t know what game Jeff is playing, but I refuse to participate.

“Whatever. I’m leaving.” I’ll walk home.

Before I can get to the door, though, Jeff appears in front of me. The vodka sloshes over the side of his hand.

“Goddammit,” he curses. “Look at what you made me do.”

I shove his arm out of the way. “I didn’t make you do anything.” My mind is already elsewhere. I need to talk to Scarlett. Even if she gets mad at me, we have to talk about Jeff. He’s not treating her right, and all the shit his mom told me upstairs has formed a knot of worry in my belly.

“Rachel always said you were more stubborn than a goat.”

I stop, my hand on the door handle.

“She said that you’d be better at volleyball if you weren’t so quick to jump to conclusions, too,” he continues, and I hear his footsteps moving away from me.

I twist to face him. Rachel did say that about my play—that I was too quick to guess where the ball was going to land. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“I told you. I just found it.” Jeff drops a medium-sized cardboard box onto the coffee table between the two sofas. So he does have a box.

I release the door handle and drift over toward him, but I stop halfway. “Why did you get sent to England?” I ask warily.

“Because I beat up the housekeeper’s son,” he replies bluntly. “They made me take this bullshit anger management program. Plus rehab for the pills.”

I’m surprised at his honesty. “What pills?”

“Just some oxy. No biggie.”

“Obviously it was big enough for you to go to rehab.” I frown at him. “Why did you beat up that poor kid? What did he ever do to you?”

“He got in my face about Rachel, about how I was partly responsible for her death.”

My pulse quickens. “How so?”

“We were fighting, but I think you suspected that.” Jeff rummages in the box and pulls out a hairbrush. It’s light brown, with blond strands in it. Rachel’s hairbrush.

He kept it all these years? I wonder what else he has in the box. I creep closer. “What were you fighting about?”

He slaps the brush against his hand. “I don’t really remember. It’s been a long time. Plus, remembering is painful.”

He tosses the hairbrush aside and pulls out a T-shirt. I can tell by the color that it’s a Darling High shirt. Is that Rachel’s, too? I move even closer, until I’m only a foot or two from the table.

“I stuffed this all away because I didn’t want to think about her, but I think that’s wrong. We should think about her. Like, would Rachel want you to hang out with the guy who killed her? I don’t think so.” His hand whips out so fast I don’t see it coming.

He grabs my wrist and twists it painfully. I yelp and then fall to my knees. He’s on top of me in the next minute, pushing me onto my back.

“Get off me!” I yell.

“What is it about Donnelly that you like so much? That it’s wrong? You sick up here?” Jeff taps me on the forehead. His eyes are wild and blazing, his jaw tighter than a drum.

I struggle underneath him. “Let me go, asshole.”

“Girls like you need to start listening to guys like me or you’re going to get hurt. I know you don’t want to get hurt.” He grabs both of my wrists in one hand and stretches my arms above my head.

I turn my face and try to bite his arm, but he moves it out of the way. I’ve never felt so helpless. Jeff is six inches taller than me and outweighs me by fifty pounds. He’s using every ounce to subdue me.

My heart beats wildly against my chest. “Wh-what are you doing?” I stammer. “Let me go.”

“Not until you listen to me.” He lowers his face to mine, as if to kiss me.

I wrench my head to the side, and this time I’m not stuttering. “Get off of me, you fucker!”

He claps a hand over my mouth. I bite it. He curses but doesn’t remove it.

“Listen to me,” he insists. “Calm down and listen to me.”

I can’t breathe. His body is weighing me down, squashing the air from my lungs. A mélange of thoughts race through my head. This is Jeff. My sister’s boyfriend. His mom’s upstairs. He’s dating my best friend.

He’s hurting me. He’s hurting me.

I buck up again.

“This is what that Donnelly kid is going to do to you, Beth, if you don’t stop hanging around him.”

A hand fumbles between us, grappling for the waistband of my pants. I twist enough to make him lose his grip, but he’s back again.

“You’re the only one who’s hurting me, Jeff.” I pant. “Stop it.” I try to reason with him. “This isn’t what Rachel would want.”

He laughs. “How do you know? How do you know what she wanted? Did you listen to her? No. It was me who listened to her. I held her hand and dried her tears. I was the one who helped her study, drove her to practice, picked out her clothes, read her texts, listened to her phone calls. And for what? For her to tell me I was being possessive? And awful? Oh no.” He tears at my shirt. “I didn’t put in all that time with her for her to break up with me! Do you hear me?” He’s shouting now. Spit is coming out of his mouth.

I jerk my hands upward, breaking his hold. I scratch at his face and try to wriggle free. When he grabs for my hands again, I roll over, stuffing my arms under my body. He laughs again. It’s a terrible sound.

“You want it like this? You want it like a dog?” His hand lands on my butt.

Oh fuck, this is a mistake. I try to roll over again, but he lies flat on top of me.

And then the door opens.

We both freeze and look up to see Mrs. Corsen at the door. She has a tray filled with drinks in her hands. Somehow, it doesn’t drop to the floor. But her jaw does.

“Mrs. Corsen!” I cry. “Help me. Your son is hurting me.”

“Wh-what?” she stutters in shock.

“That’s not true!” Jeff exclaims at the same time.

His moment of panic is all I need to throw him off me and start running. Past Mrs. Corsen. Up the stairs. Out the door. Down the long drive. I stumble on something. My shoe falls off.

It’s dark out and I can barely see the street because of my tears.

I keep running.

This is how Rachel felt. I know it. That night, she was trying to escape Jeff. She might’ve been crying. I swipe a hand across my face and stagger forward, the tears still obstructing my vision.

I hear the screech of brakes.

Honk!

I look up to see a pair of headlights headed straight for me.

32

Before I can react, a big object slams into my side, pushing me out of the road. I land hard on the sidewalk, the wind completely knocked out of me.

“Ouch!” I cry.

“Are you all right?” an urgent voice asks.

At the same time another one roars, “Get away from her.”

I catch a brief glimpse of Chase’s face before it’s replaced by my mom’s.

“My baby. Oh, my baby.”

Mom throws herself onto the sidewalk and gathers me in her arms. She’s crying as she clutches me against her chest. Just beyond her I see my dad looming, one hand on his hip and the other holding a phone to his ear. I try to peer around Mom for Chase. I swear I saw him.

“9-1-1. Yes, this is Dave Jones. I’m reporting an assault by Charlie—”

“No!” I push Mom aside and lunge at my dad, grabbing the phone from his hands. “There’s no need for any emergency services.” I gasp into the phone. “No one is injured.” I disconnect the call and then throw the phone as far away as I can.

“Goddammit, Elizabeth. What are you doing? Give me your phone, Marnie.”  Mom looks at him uncertainly.

“No. No. No.” I shake my head. “You’ve got it all wrong. I wasn’t running from Chase. I was running from Jeff.”

I point toward Jeff’s house, only to see him at the end of the driveway, blinking at us like a deer caught in the headlights.

“You fucker,” Chase growls, appearing from behind my father’s stiff frame.

The threat lights a fire under Jeff’s heels. He turns and starts booking it toward his house. I run after him, but Chase beats me by a mile, tackling Jeff to the ground. Chase straddles Rachel’s ex, grabbing Jeff’s T-shirt and twisting it around his throat.

“What’d you do?” Chase thunders.

“She was asking for it,” Jeff pants out. “She’s been teasing me since I came back to school, telling me how much she wanted me. She was always jealous of Rachel. She always—”

Out of nowhere, my mother flies forward and slaps Jeff across the face. “Don’t talk about my girls like that!” she spits. Breathing hard, she turns toward me and asks, “What happened, baby? What did he do to you?”

“Jeff attacked me. He was going to rape me.” I lift a corner of my shirt so they can see it was torn.

Behind me, my dad moans in dismay.

“He conned Dad into driving me over to the house by saying he had a box of Rachel’s things. But really, he just wanted to get me alone,” I say shakily. “He was mad that I’ve been ignoring him. He said that Rachel was like that, always thinking she knew what was best instead of listening to him. Jeff was going to tell me...”

“I’m going to kill him.” Glaring murderously at Jeff, who’s still lying beneath him, Chase pulls back his arm.

I throw myself on Chase’s back and grab his arm. The last thing I need is for his probation to get revoked. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”

“I’m going to kill him.” Dad thrusts both of us out of the way. “You little motherfucker. You hurt my girls.” He hauls Jeff upright and dangles him like a worm over the ground.

“Mr. Jones.” Jeff gasps, clawing at Dad’s grip. “I can’t breathe.”

“And my little girl is dead.” Dad punches him, and that’s all it takes for Jeff to pass out. With an anguished noise from the back of his throat, my father shakes the boy’s limp body and then drops him to the ground in disgust.

He walks away, as if he can’t bear to look at any of us, and stares into the dusky sky. The sun has set, but there’s still enough light out for me to make out my father’s grief-stricken profile.

“I think they were fighting that night,” I tell Chase. “The night that you stole your coach’s car. Rachel ran out on the road because Jeff was chasing after her. I think that’s what happened. He said that I was just like her and he was going to teach me the lesson that Rachel never learned. She ran away from him, like I did. It was an accident.” I implore him with my eyes. “An accident,” I repeat.

“Yeah, I know.”

“If you know, then why do you keep saying it’s your fault?” I cry.

“Because I am at fault, Beth.” He rubs his hands up my arms to cup my shoulders. “It doesn’t matter if Rachel was upset or if she was crying or if she was running away. I was the one behind the wheel. I took her life.” He gently sets me aside and approaches my mom. “I’m sorry. You’ll never know how sorry I am.”

Mom takes his hand between hers. “Yes. I know that, Charlie. I know you’re sorry.”

“Dad?” I prompt.

He refuses to turn around. My stomach sinks, because I know in the pit of it that he’ll never forgive Chase.

“It was an accident,” Mom says. Her voice trembles. “Wasn’t it, Dave?”

Dad sighs, clearly loathing speaking the words. “Yes, it was an accident.”

“We almost hit you, Beth.” She’s weak with emotion.

I place an arm around her and she immediately leans into me. I’m surprised at how frail she feels.

“We were arguing about how we were treating you. Your dad wasn’t looking at the road.” She pushes away from me and grabs Chase’s hand again. “Thank you for saving our girl.”

He nods weakly. “It’s a damn good thing I was coming home from work at that exact moment. I saw Beth run out and jumped off my bike to get her.” He gestures to the bicycle lying five feet away.

“Thank you,” Mom repeats. She raises her voice. “We’re very grateful, aren’t we, Dave?”

There’s a pause and then “Thank you.” He turns on his heel and walks back toward his car. It’s as far as he can bend today.

“I’ll give you a moment,” Mom says.

“A moment?” I start to argue.

“Thank you,” Chase tells her.

“But—”

Chase drags me aside. “Baby steps, Beth.”

“They should forgive you,” I whisper. “You never should’ve spent a day in jail.”

He shakes his head. “I’m glad I went to prison. I’m glad I was punished. I mean, yeah, I hated it while I was there. I felt sick and sometimes I felt like I’d lose my mind, but being punished helped me live with myself. I stole a car. I killed your sister, Beth. I couldn’t live with myself if I hadn’t been punished. There’s got to be balance in this world. I don’t know if three years is enough to make up for what I did.”

I see the earnestness in his eyes and hear the sincerity in his voice. Underlying all of that, though, is the guilt that weighs him down. Chase has his own demons to grapple with. I won’t ever truly understand his perspective. But I can try and sympathize.

I think that’s what he’s asking for here—for understanding. This battle within himself isn’t about me. It’s about him. My fight is with my parents. I have to repair the torn relationship and Chase needs to deal with his guilt.

And we can’t really be together until both of those things happen.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Then do this for me.”

“What?”

“First, move out of the basement. You hate it down there and it’s stupid of you to keep punishing yourself like that.”

He gives a slow nod. “I can do that.”

“Good. Second, transfer schools.” He starts to object, but I hold up a hand. “Hear me out. You talk about balance and how you need to be punished for your actions, but my question is, when does the punishment stop? Because the court gave you your sentence and you served it. What good does it do anyone for you to go to Darling other than to cause yourself more pain? You suffering isn’t going to bring Rachel back. My parents pretending that she’s just on some extended school trip won’t bring her back.”

I hear a soft, wounded noise from behind us, and I know my mom must’ve overheard the last remark. No, the accusation.

I lower my voice and keep talking. “Me acting like I didn’t care that she died isn’t going to make her less dead. The best we can do is to live what life we have left in the best way possible.” I gulp. “For me, that starts by recognizing I’m not the only one in pain. For you, it means not punishing yourself anymore. You need a fresh start. A new school, where you’re not suffering every day.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “Where I don’t get to see you every day.”

“We still have the tree,” I tell him, trying to smile but failing. “The swing isn’t there anymore, though.”

No, it isn’t there. Because Rachel is gone. But she lives in my heart. In my parents’.

And even in Chase’s.

He takes a deep breath and when he meets my gaze, his eyes are full of pain. “I think it’s best if we don’t use the tree. It’s too hard for me.” His voice sounds hoarse. “You should spend your time rebuilding your relationship with your folks. And I...I need to heal myself. The next time I see you, I want to be with you guilt-free. I don’t want my guilt or Rachel to be between us.”

“That’s w

hat I want, too.”

“I guess that leaves us with—” his voice drops to a whisper “—Iowa.”

I’m startled for a moment, and then I give him a sad smile. “Iowa,” I whisper back.

Our gazes lock as we each let it all sink in. I know this is right, but it feels terrible. Like he’s rending my heart in two.

I kiss him. In front of my parents. In front of Jeff. In front of anyone who might be passing. I’m kissing him because this is going to be the last time for a long time.

“I’ll wait for you,” I murmur. “I’ll be there when you’re ready. When we’re both ready.”

“I know.” He visibly swallows, and then he gives me that rare, gorgeous half smile that I love so much. “You waiting for me is the one small thing that will keep me going.”

33

Iowa State is a six-hour drive across the most monotonous stretch of land known to mankind. Mom and Dad wanted to go with me. I wanted to make the trip myself. My parents see a therapist twice a week now, but although our relationship is better, the events of last autumn left a hole that can’t be forgotten no matter how well healed it is.

Rachel’s death is like that. It’s a hole in my heart that’s healed over, but odd things will always remind me of her and sometimes those memories make me sad and sometimes they make me happy.

I arrive at the dorm midafternoon. There are parents everywhere. A momentary regret pings through me that I’m by myself, but this is the way I wanted it. I wanted to start new and fresh, as much as I possibly could.

In Darling, I would always be the girl whose sister died, and my actions and reactions would always be measured against that watershed moment. It’s why I needed to get away from Darling. Just like Chase.

We both needed a fresh start.

He transferred schools the week after he saved me from getting hit by my parents’ car.

I heard he went to Lincoln, and I was happy for him. The Lincoln kids gave him a welcome-back party; the Darling kids gave him a cruel nickname. That gorgeous girl, Maria, seemed nice. So did his other friends.