AROUND ONE O’CLOCK on Saturday, Edgecombe pulls up to our house, but he doesn’t come in. He walks through the side yard to the trailer, a big guy with big strides and his hand hitched in his equipment belt. Mags and I are on the porch playing Whist. We like Hearts best, but like I said, you can’t play with two people.
I go over to the railing, watching him walk up the trailer steps and knock. After a second, the door opens partway, and he goes in. I guess they’ve been waiting on him.
“We playing or what?” Mags doesn’t take her eyes off her hand, holding our can of Moxie out for me to sip.
He’s in there a long time. We play two more hands of Whist and a full game of Spit, pretending to care about winning quarters and dimes.
They could’ve come to the station with us on Friday afternoon. Mom says it would’ve been better that way, if we’d all gone. But you can’t make Libby do anything she doesn’t want to do. And right now, she doesn’t want anything to do with us.
Eventually, we hear the screech of the trailer door again. Mags goes with me to the railing. We’re hoping to see Nell.
Edgecombe steps out into the daylight. I catch a whiff of Libby’s hazelnut coffee on the air, picture her asking, Cream or sugar? and pushing a plate of of Nilla Wafers on him while Nell sits there, ripped wide open with all her most private parts on display. It was hard enough for me to talk about, and it really wasn’t my story to tell.
Just walking across the station house to Edgecombe’s desk felt like a journey. He sat over some paperwork and a steaming Colby College mug he must’ve brought from home. He didn’t look smug, like I’d expected, or like he was going to give me some big lecture. There was heavy stuff going on behind his eyes. Almost like I’d proven something to him. I dunno, maybe that’s stupid. He took us into a private room with folding chairs waiting for Mom, Mags, and me. When we were situated, he leaned forward, clasped his big hands, and said to me, “When you’re ready.”
Now he turns and says something quietly to Libby, who comes out onto the step. She looks sick, washed-out and rumpled, like she slept in her clothes last night. Maybe I was wrong about the coffee and Nilla Wafers. Edgecombe puts a hand out and she gives it one stiff shake. He looks around her to speak to Nell. Keeping a grip on her shoulder, Libby lets Nell step out into the sunlight.
My heart gives this big leap at the sight of her, then shrinks back just as quick. You can see it in her face, a tightness that wasn’t there before. She’s grief-stricken, eyes swollen, standing with her hands behind her back, a little girl being good for Mom, but it’s too late for that and there’s no going back.
Edgecombe starts toward his cruiser. He sees me sitting on the railing, and, his eyes as grave as ever, gives me a nod. For Rhiannon, I guess. For telling him about the email and camp friends and giving him a place to start. We’ve put that to bed. For better or worse.
When I turn back, Nell’s looking at me. Her light’s been snuffed out as cleanly as a cup over a candle flame. I open my mouth to say something, but she’s going now, pulled inside by Libby, who acts like she can’t even see us. Maybe if I’d waved, Nell would’ve waved back. It’s too hard to speak right now.
I end up on the swing, dragging one foot slowly over the rug. Mags plunks back on the floor and crackles the cards, using her mad shuffling skills to flash the matches by me, king-queen-jack, jack-queen-king. “Don’t let them make you feel bad.”
I pick at the fringe of my cutoffs. “Nell hates me.”
“She does not. She’s just all turned around.” She frowns, chopping stacks together. “It was never your secret to keep.”
The September day I meet Jesse at the quarry is clear and cool. I wear jeans and my fleece jacket, the left sleeve snug over my cast. I can hear the sound of Mags’s engine fading away down the road behind me as I come out into the clearing and see him standing by some of the granite slabs, a backpack sitting at his feet. Behind him, the swamp maples are turning red; that’s the first sign of the leaves changing every fall. Pretty soon this whole place will be fringed with orange and gold.
He turns when he hears my sneakers crunching over rock. He’s wearing a gray hoodie, the usual beat-up jeans. “Hey,” he says. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure.” I don’t have any brainstorms after that, so I scuff my foot back and forth. I don’t feel as awkward as I thought I would, though, considering the last time I saw him, I bawled like a baby. Guess I know now that Jesse wouldn’t laugh at me about something like that.
“How’s the arm?”
“Itchy.”
“I should’ve taken you to the ER that night.”
“I wouldn’t let you.”
“Still.” He looks at me for a second, then clears his throat, putting his hands in his pockets. “So what you been doing?”
“School. Work. Mags and I are waiting tables at the Harbor View.” A nod. I don’t tell him that I’ve been putting a little money away for after graduation, letting myself think about traveling, for real. Not sure where I want to go or how I’ll get there. Guess I’ll figure that out when the time comes. “So . . . are we out here because you heard?”
“I heard something. Figured it was bullshit.” He sees it in my face and curses softly. “Sorry.” A pause. “She’s gonna have a rough time of it.”
“She already is.” I don’t tell him about the ladies watching Mom and me and whispering at Hannaford. Or the kids yelling stuff at Nell from across the school parking lot, then taking off, tires squealing.
Three weeks ago, the Monday after Edgecombe came to the trailer, Nell sat down with Libby, Edgecombe, the Sasanoa superintendent, the principal, and the guidance counselor, and told them all what went on during her sophomore year and started up again this summer. Last week, Brad Ellis was suspended from his job at Hampden High School until further notice. The local news ran the story, keeping Nell’s name out of it, but people are finding out anyway. One good thing that’s come out of this is that Libby decided to let Nell ride the bus to school with me again. Guess she figures I’m a decent guard dog, if nothing else.
Nell’s basically doing okay, considering. She’s got Mags and me. Mags bought her a little journal and some gel pens, and I see Nell writing in it all the time now, sitting with her legs tucked under her the way she used to when she played Matchmaker.
“They found Rhiannon yet?” Jesse says.
I shake my head. “At least her family knows she’s alive. I hope that’s what she wants. To be found.”
“If she wanted to stay gone, all she had to do was keep her head down. Maybe she’s ready to come back. Face everything.”
I don’t know how I feel about that. The idea of Rhiannon standing in front of me is like seeing somebody come back from the dead. I shake it off, put my hands in my back pockets, and wander in a figure eight around the rocks. “So why’d we need to come out here to talk?”
He doesn’t answer right away, clearing his throat and looking down at the backpack. “’Cause. I been thinking about you a lot.” He doesn’t try to bury that in more words. I look back at him. He’s got two flushed spots high on his cheekbones. “Missed you.”
I stand there, feeling the rawness of his words.
He unzips the backpack. “Made you something.”
I walk over to get a better look. He’s takes out a metal tin. Inside is a circle of wood, a section cut from the trunk of a young birch. The bark’s been stripped, and it’s been sanded so smooth it almost looks like bone. On the face, he’s carved DP and JB. No heart, no plus sign, nothing like that. Just our initials together. The letters have been deeply, carefully worked in with a jackknife. The bottom of the tin is weighted with stones.
“Remember how you said it would be cool to put something in the quarry in case they ever drain the place, so people knew we were here?”
I take it and run my fingertips over the letters. “Like a time capsule.”
“Yeah. I thought” —he shoves roughly at his hair, looking at the ledge—“I dunno, we could drop it down there.” He laughs a little. “Make them wonder who we were someday.”
I take the carving out and bring it close to my face, smelling the wood, blinking at the sting in my eyes.
“If you don’t want to . . .”
“No. I do.” I go to the ledge, taking a deep breath. I picture myself going over again, the dark water hurtling up to meet me, and vertigo makes me take a step back. Even though it’s almost too nice to let go of, I seal the tin, hold out my hands, and let go, watching it fall all the way down to the splash.
We’re quiet. His hand touches the back of my head, his fingers smoothing through my hair and holding it, loosely. I close my eyes.