Chapter 55
“I meant what I said earlier,” I say to Jess. Golden-hour evening light streams through the west-facing windows of her kitchen. Lines of yellow police tape flutter in the wind out back. Sam is conked out on the couch. Any sign of the trauma he’s endured is buried behind a peaceful, angelic face.
For me, the shakes have subsided. I’m exhausted and want to go home and curl up and sleep for a week straight, but I want to talk to my sister and check on Sam.
The car ride with Jeremy was quiet. He kept it light, sensing I was too spent and exhausted and focused on Jess and Sam to talk.
I’m worried how this incident will affect my nephew, but I’m hopeful with some counseling that he’ll be okay.
But Jess . . . I know I need to stop being her caretaker, but I want to see if she’s willing to finally get some help after all this.
Even though Allison confirmed Jess had nothing to do with the whole thing, I still wonder how much she understood about Allison’s state of mind.
After all, they’ve been hanging out on and off for months.
“So, now that it’s out,” I say, “I think you should get help. No more excuses.”
She slow-blinks, as I always do. She’s calm. She gives a shrug.
“Jess?” I rub my thumb against the smooth ceramic of the coffee cup. “I know you had nothing to do with this. But how much did you know about how off the rails she’d gone?”
“I figured you might wonder. Whether I somehow intuitively knew she was the Confession Artist?”
“No, of course not. But did you have any clues she’d snapped?”
The wind is picking up. Dying leaves rattle on her two maple trees out front. I wait. I’m afraid to hear the answer, that she suspected something but didn’t share it with me, just like she didn’t tell me Allison had lost her nephew.
“Okay. Yes. I know she’s been super troubled. Like me. Like Ryan Petronis’s sister, Vivian. I mean, Allison lost Tom—or Leon now. He was like her son, but I had no idea he was the one with Mark that night.”
“Neither did I. Of course. Why didn’t you mention that she’d lost her nephew to me?”
She gives me a look that says, Come on, you haven’t noticed the state I’ve been in for the past year?
I don’t say anything.
“She told me Tom, who was like a son to her, took his life. She told me he had been dating someone, but she never said who. But she said things didn’t work out. But she didn’t tell me it was Mark Coleman. I never connected the two. How did she know about Vivian and the others?”
“Remember the rehab place in Arlee she went to a few months ago? Well, Vivian’s mom was there along with another guy, a man named Gus who lost his daughter.” I fill her in on all the connections. I ask, “Did you know Allison went out of town when the others were shot?”
“God no. I mean, yeah, we’ve become friends, but I guess I was too wrapped up in my own stuff to notice what she was up to.
Like you, I’d never even met Tom. You know, Leon.
Don’t take this the wrong way, Crosbie, but I didn’t want to lean on you for everything.
I don’t want you to feel so much responsibility for me anymore.
I guess I’ve been trying to insert some distance.
I’m not a child. I’ve been trying to tell you.
You’re not, like, some superhero who’s been assigned to watch over me.
And you’re not my mother. It’s not your responsibility, so you need to just stop. ”
I swallow hard. This is on the money, and I know it.
For so long, because our mom was out drinking so much, I’d taken on the role.
And after she was gone, and Jess got so depressed, it was even more essential.
Looking out for her is all I’ve ever known, but Jess is right.
Somehow, in all the craziness of the past days, I’ve been recognizing it.
“Did you read the article?”
She nods. “When I read it, I didn’t feel as angry as I thought I would. In a weird way, I got some kind of vicarious relief from it. But mainly, I’m scared for you—that it’s all out there. What’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m scared.” It’s the truth, not sugarcoated for her ears, for a change.
None of the usual It’s all going to be okay.
I’ll take care of it. None of that. It feels like a veil has been lifted between us, like I can finally just be myself without worrying about her reaction.
“But for now, I’m too tired to worry about any of it.
I hope to sleep through most of the press the next few days.
” I give a weak smile. “But I can tell you one thing I know for sure. I’m glad to finally get it off my chest.
“I am responsible,” I say. “In part, for Leon’s suicide.
For not exposing the truth of that night.
But you’re right: Initially, where I went wrong, before all my other sins, is that I thought I could control things, thought I could shield you somehow.
I’ve been overprotective. I’ve been telling myself you and Sam need me this much, but really, I’ve needed it for me—and don’t get mad at me for bringing this up again—but I’ve needed it because of Sophie. ”
Jess stares, surprise filling her eyes. “For Sophie?”
“You know, in a weird way, to atone for her. The way I’ve viewed you ever since Mom died, when you got depressed, has been through this distorted lens, blurred by my own guilt and shame about Sophie, and lately, exacerbated by Coleman and Leon.
It’s been overwhelming for you and Sam at times.
I know that. I’m sorry for that. I need to knock it off.
Is that why you’ve been so angry at me?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m struggling so much, still, after all these months.” She turns away and looks out the window. “I guess I have my own anger.”
The air in the room seems to have stilled, the whooshing of the trees fading into the distance.
I have to admit, a part of me is still waiting for Jess to say she knew about Allison but didn’t warn anyone.
That she was vicariously finding satisfaction in the awful retribution Allison was doling out to random individuals.
It’s not that I think my sister’s a sociopath, capable of anything remotely like this, but I guess I’m realizing she’s not only stronger than I think, but she might also be more resentful and vengeful than I realize.
When she said to me after the rape, Crosbie, it’s fine.
I was date-raped, taken advantage of, but I don’t want to report this.
Leave it alone. I’ll be okay, I didn’t think she’d be okay, but she convinced me that she was bullheaded enough to keep on keeping on.
But for these past days, I’ve watched the glint of anger in her eyes gleam a little too brightly.
I’m overly familiar with how hot the desire for revenge can burn, sear everything and make it hard to heal.
“I mean”—Jess turns back—“one day Allison asked me why I wasn’t angrier at all the people on the side who don’t care,” she says as if she can read my thoughts.
“That people will stop at stoplights and follow all sorts of little rules, but when it comes to the big stuff, to really caring, being decent and stopping bad things from happening, they turn away and allow others to do awful things, especially when there’s money involved.
She mentioned once that all the enablers deserved to be shot right along with the perpetrators.
I got a strange feeling. But I figured she was venting like the rest of us. ”
“Venting is okay.” I state the obvious. “Exacting revenge via murder? Not so good. I haven’t murdered anyone, but what I did for Railes was all born from the same well. From anger. I guess I’m learning, Jess.”
“Learning what?”
“That I can’t do the healing for you. I’ve been trying so hard for so long to shield you from pain—the pain of losing Dad, then Mom, the devastation from the rape . . . It was foolish of me. All I can do is try to support you in whichever way you want.”
The intensity of Jess’s emotions crowds her eyes. She brings her knuckles to her mouth and presses them into her teeth. “It’s okay,” I tell her, pulling her in—like a sister, dammit, not a mother. “You can let it out.”