chapter twenty-six-4

I caught a glimpse of panic in Bex's eyes as she blinked, her mouth opening as if she were about to respond, but then she said nothing for the next couple of seconds before I blurted out, "Mom, can I meet you at the car? I want to talk to Bex about something." "Sure," she said, a little too cheerily. "It was nice seeing you again, Bex. Can't wait to see the musical in a couple of weeks!" After my mother walked a safe distance away from us, Bex said to me, "Thanks?" "I didn't really do it for you," I told her. "My mom still thinks Wilson is sketchy and I don't know how she'd react to finding out you two are together. But there was something I wanted to ask you." "Hmm?" The stale scent of cigarette smoke drifted from her clothes as I crossed my arms and glanced over her shoulder to the empty parking space I knew his old and broken-down van would be idling in soon. "Do you think you could talk to Wilson about going to the police and telling them about what happened between him and Emily?" "He wouldn't do it," she explained. "He thinks people will think he's just making it up or, if they don't, that they'll start pitying him." "But he can still do something about it. He can press charges against her for what she did." "He doesn't care about that. It's not like she's out free or anything. She's already in jail." "For now, because the judge denied her bail, but she hasn't actually been convicted or anything," I told her. "She deserves time for all the things she did to everyone, including Wilson. Don't you want him to get justice for what she did to him?" "I want what he wants, and that's to just move on. I don't get why you can't get that." I stared at her, incredulous. "I do get it, Bex. That's why I'm saying this. He has this chance I'm never going to have. The last time I saw Griffin was at a Labor Day block party and then, the next morning, he was dead. And that was it. He basically got away with it and there's nothing I can do about it, ever. But Wilson can. He can prove to her that he doesn't belong to her, and I need you to show him that." She glanced down at the scuffed toes of her combat boots and let out a breath. I wondered if her reluctance wasn't because she disagreed with me but because she really knew he wouldn't do it. She knew him better. She probably knew his middle name, his birthday, the name of his favorite song, and whatever else he might not have told me about Emily, about them, together. But I knew him in a way that she didn't—we shared that tightening ache in our chests and scarred wounds that throbbed as if they were still exposed. "Bex," I said after a moment of tense silence, remembering my mom was still waiting for me. "Talk to him about it, please." "I still don't think that he'll do it." She crossed her arms, glancing over my shoulder as I heard the familiar medley of a sputtering car engine and muffled rap music coming distantly from behind me. "But I'll ask, okay?" I was almost tempted to smile at her before I realized that would mean I was smiling at her. "Okay," I responded as she nodded, walking around me and starting to wend her way between the cars parked around us. "Cool." "You realize you're talking to no one, right?" I jumped at the voice from over my shoulder, whirling around and noticing Aniston standing on the sidewalk. "I mean, it's fine. Like, I talk to myself all the time too, but I get that's not really what was happening here. But you could talk to me instead? Or, you know, no one." I glanced away. "I don't feel like talking." I almost wanted to add to you, but I thought better of it. "My mom's waiting for me." "Wait, Clara. Are we really not going to talk or fight about this at all? You're just going to keep coming up with excuses to walk away?" "My mom really is waiting for me. That's her car over there." "I get that when I wasn't completely honest with you about Emily, I broke your trust, but the thing is, Clara? You haven't been completely honest either, with a lot of people. And I'm not trying to deflect here or bring up an ad hominem—" I frowned. "What?" "Whenever you weren't honest with me, I got it. And I was hoping you would too. I wasn't holding anything back to hurt you. Emily's your sister and I knew that I couldn't just accuse her of murdering Elizabeth Monner with no real evidence without seriously imploding our friendship, so I held back. I mean, you're literally my only friend and I wanted to protect that, and you. I'm sorry if I didn't really do that right." There was a small, glimmering part of me that wanted to just let that be the end of it, tell her that it was okay and ask if she had any new theories or had bought any pink accessories recently or something, but I couldn't quite give into it. There was still something tethered to me, holding me back. "My mom's been waiting for me a long time. I really have to go." I headed for my mother's car before I could hear a response from Aniston. When I climbed into the passenger seat a moment later, my mom was leaning over the steering wheel staring at Aniston as she stood on the sidewalk. "That's Aniston, isn't it?" "Yeah." "Her mom was so nice when we stayed with her. You should invite them over for dinner some time, to thank them." When I didn't say anything, she shot me a look. "You girls are still friends, right?" I reached for my seat belt, stalling for a second. "Not really anymore." My mother let out a sigh, pausing before she turned her key in the ignition. "Clara, honey," she told me, pulling out of the parking space. "You're starting to run out of friends here."