6
Lauren Whitaker attended the funeral in secret.
She sat in the last row of the balcony wearing a black scarf over her hair and glasses that hid little.
Her parents had forbidden her from coming.
Her attorney had warned it could damage her credibility.
She came because Jamal died holding her wrist.
No argument outweighed that.
When Cleo spoke, Lauren lowered her head.
She wanted to apologize.
The desire felt selfish.
Apologies often asked the injured person to carry one more emotional burden.
Lauren waited outside after most people left.
Cleo emerged between Robert and Denise.
Their eyes met.
Robert noticed immediately.
“Do you want me to stay?” he asked.
“Yes,” Cleo said.
Lauren approached.
“I’m sorry.”
Cleo’s face revealed nothing.
Lauren continued.
“For liking him. For wanting Bart jealous. For going on the trip. For not warning Jamal earlier. For changing my statement.”
“Which part are you most sorry for?”
Lauren began crying.
“All of it.”
“That is too large to mean anything.”
The words sounded like Jamal.
Lauren noticed.
“I’m sorry I changed my statement.”
“Why did you?”
“My parents said if I insisted Bart pushed him, his attorneys would say I caused everything.”
“They are already saying that.”
“I know.”
“So you protected yourself.”
“Yes.”
“And left Jamal unprotected again.”
Lauren nodded.
“I hated myself.”
“Hating yourself did not help him.”
“No.”
Cleo took a breath.
“Tell the truth.”
“I did at first.”
“Tell it again.”
“My attorney—”
“Your attorney did not see Bart push Jamal.”
Lauren looked toward Robert.
He said nothing.
Cleo continued.
“You do not need my forgiveness. You need courage that lasts longer than the first phone call from your parents.”
“They will cut me off.”
“Jamal lost his entire life.”
Lauren flinched.
Cleo did not soften.
“If telling the truth costs you comfort, then comfort was part of the crime.”
Lauren wiped her face.
“What if nobody believes me?”
“Then tell it while they disbelieve.”
“What if I get destroyed?”
“Then you decide whether the person who saved your life deserves less because you are afraid to damage yours.”
Lauren stood trembling.
“I have the dress.”
“What dress?”
“The white one from the cliff. Bart grabbed it. There may be fibers or blood.”
Robert stepped forward.
“Where is it?”
“My parents’ house.”
“Has anyone handled it?”
“My mother packed it in a garment bag.”
“Do not return alone,” Robert said.
Lauren looked at Cleo.
“Will you come with me?”
“No.”
The answer surprised her.
Cleo continued.
“This is your truth. Carry it yourself.”
Lauren nodded.
For the first time, she understood Cleo’s refusal was not cruelty.
It was a boundary Jamal had died without learning soon enough.