We’ve started our descent into St. Louis by the time I figure out exactly how I want to tell the truth. Dad recommended reaching out to one of the major newspapers across the country, but almost all of them ran articles vilifying Brad Freeman at one time or another. I don’t want to give one of those papers my exclusive.
“I think I want to tell Chris Reale the truth,” I say. “From Reale News Now.”
“I don’t know that one,” Dad says.
“He’s a smaller St. Louis news blogger, one of the only people who didn’t presume Freeman was guilty from the beginning.” I don’t remember Chris’s exact words, but I know he was one of the few online voices who withheld judgment.
“Sounds like a smart choice.”
“But I want to tell the Kades and the Freemans before I talk to any of the news people.”
Dad exhales deeply. “I don’t envy you, honey. The world is different now than it was when I was growing up. Back then if you lied about something or you caused an accident that killed someone—even someone famous—you didn’t have to see what everyone was saying about you. Now the whole world thinks they deserve to be part of your punishment. It’s scary.”
“I am scared,” I admit. “I feel like everyone is going to hate me.”
Dad pats me on the leg. “I know one guy who isn’t going to hate you,” he says. “And I suspect there will be other people who respect you for coming forward.”
I nod. It’s basically the same thing Elliott said to me. I sent him a quick text this morning to let him know I was heading back to St. Louis to deal with things. He responded right away to tell me he’d be thinking of me and to call anytime. I reach up to touch the caribou pendant hanging around my neck. I’m glad to be taking a piece of him with me. Thinking of the way he listened to my story without condemning me gives me strength. Of course, things are worse now. The morning news said that Freeman had regained consciousness and was expected to make a full recovery, but I blink back tears as I realize a second person almost died because of me.
When the intercom crackles and the flight attendants ask us to stow our tray tables and return our seatbacks to their full upright positions in preparation for landing, my stomach drops lower and lower with the plane.
When Dad and I pass through the central security area and I see my mom waiting, I’m even more terrified. Mom is a pale, elongated version of me and today she looks paler and taller than usual.
I’m expecting a lecture, but she rushes up to me and wraps me in a hug. “Genevieve, I’m so glad you’re okay.” When she pulls back from the embrace, her cheeks are wet.
Dad pats her awkwardly on the back. “How about I grab the luggage and you two get the car. I’ll meet you in the passenger pickup area?”
Mom nods at him. “Thank you, Greg.”
Dad heads for the baggage claim and Mom and I split off toward the parking garage. She wipes furiously at her cheeks as a young couple turns to watch us pass.
“Mom, why are you crying?” I ask.
“I’m sorry. I just—I should have listened to you. You tried to tell me and I ignored your concerns. I could have prevented this.”
I link my arm through hers. “You were just trying to protect me, and besides, you didn’t have all the information. I should have told you or Dad everything as soon as I remembered.”
“Yes, you should have,” Mom says fiercely. She digs a tissue out of her purse and blots at her eyes.
We fall into silence as we exit the brightly lit airport into the dim garage. I follow Mom, surprised to find the car in section Yellow P. My dad came up with that idea when I was little, so we’d never forget where we parked. I remember giggling and shouting “yellow pee!” over and over. My mom told my dad he was gross, and a bad influence on me.
“Yellow P, huh?” I say.
Mom’s expression softens slightly. “I try not to discount a good idea just because I’m not so fond of the source.”
Back at the house, the conversation about coming forward continues. Mom has reverted into “all business” mode, her tears replaced by a steely expression.
“I appreciate that you’re trying to do the right thing here, Genevieve.” She paces back and forth across the floor of our family room. “I’m just worried about how this will affect your future—med school, residency, applying for jobs. I don’t want it to ruin your life.”
“Trust me, I’ve been thinking about that for weeks. But at least I still have a life to ruin,” I say quietly. “And there are a lot of people who deserve an apology from me. I watched Brad Freeman’s daughter get bullied on Twitter last night, and it was one more terrible thing that I caused. If anyone deserves to be bullied, it’s me.”
“No one deserves to be bullied.” My mom’s lips harden into a thin line. “What if we reached out to this family, told them the truth, and then offered them monetary compensation to keep the information confidential? The newspapers made it sound like Mr. Freeman has been struggling financially. I’m sure your father and I could both contribute—”
“No. I mean, it’s great if we can cover his medical bills and stuff, but I don’t want to buy them off. I know you’re just trying to protect me,” I continue before Mom can interrupt, “but keeping this secret has been eating away at me. I might never forgive myself for not coming forward sooner. At least this way I won’t have to hate myself for anything else. And this way maybe other people will see my story and do better than I did.”
Mom’s eyes water. She nods grimly. “Well, if you’re determined to do this, let me at least speak to Vince first and see what the possible consequences will be for us as a family.” She pulls her cell phone out of her pocket.
“Elena. Do you need to call your lawyer right—”
“Yes, Greg. I do,” Mom barks. “We need to find out if what Genevieve has done constitutes a crime. And if there’s the possibility of a lawsuit, then I would like to be prepared.”
My dad scoffs. “She didn’t cause this. If anyone needs to be sued it’s the men who assaulted him. Or those idiots online telling him he should just go die. The bullies who harassed his family and got him fired from his job.”
“I don’t mean for Freeman,” my mom says. “I mean for Dallas.”
Crap. I didn’t even think about that. Just because falling asleep driving isn’t a crime, doesn’t mean it can’t be used in a wrongful death lawsuit.
“Glen and Nora weren’t even going to file against Freeman until all the shit hit the fan,” Dad says. “They’re our friends. Do you honestly think they would go after us because our daughter fell asleep driving their son’s car while he sat intoxicated in the passenger seat?”
“We can’t be sure,” my mom says.
“He wasn’t totally wasted or anything,” I say.
“But he’d been drinking,” my dad says. “And you offered to drive because you thought it was the safer choice. Let me talk to them.”
I shake my head. “I can do it.” I hate that coming forward means making them relive Dallas’s death one more time, but they would want the world to know the truth.
Wednesday night, I practice my confession on one more person—Shannon. I call her to let her know that I’m in town and the two of us meet up at Dallas’s grave site.
We sit cross-legged on the grass in front of the stone as I catch her up on everything that’s happened. She curls the end of her dark braid around the palm of her hand as I speak. When I’m finished, she doesn’t respond right away.
“Your hair seems longer,” I say to fill the silence.
“Extensions, duh.” She kicks at the toe of my sparkly flip-flop with the edge of a strappy gold sandal. The movement causes a small stuffed bunny to roll down from the top of the pile of things people have left for Dallas.
“Look at all this stuff,” I say. The pile makes the haul of gifts and cards from my hospital room seem like a droplet in an ocean. There are tons of handwritten notes, T-shirts, stuffed animals, and flower arrangements in various states of decay. I reach down and pick up what I think is a stuffed Toothless from the movie How to Train Your Dragon. It’s missing one of its plastic eyes and the brutal St. Louis weather has bleached the black coat gray. There’s a handmade bracelet wrapped about its neck, tiny beads spelling out: I LOVE YOU.
“I don’t understand,” Shannon says finally. “Why didn’t you tell me? Did you seriously think I wouldn’t support you?”
“It was just hard,” I say. “I felt bad not telling you Dallas cheated on me. But I was afraid you would respect me less for staying with him. Then after I realized what I had done, I was so ashamed of myself. I didn’t want you to think of me as a liar and a bad person. I didn’t want to lose you too.”
“Gen. If I were the kind of person who would respect you less for making your own choices, or the kind of person who would judge you for struggling with an impossible situation, then I wouldn’t deserve you.”
“I know. I think when my dad left, it hurt me a lot more than I realized. I don’t have very many people in this world that I’m close to, so the thought of losing any of them is terrifying.” I set the stuffed dragon back on the top of the pile of items. “I think I felt like—feel like, maybe—I have to earn the love of people around me. So I hide a lot of my imperfections.”
A tear rolls down Shannon’s cheek. “Well, you earned my love back when we were six, remember?”
I do remember. Mom and I were coming home from dance class and I saw Shannon sitting on the porch. She’d moved in a couple of weeks earlier but I hadn’t officially met her yet because she wasn’t outside much. That day her parents were arguing so loud we could hear it in the yard. “Can I invite her over to play?” I asked my mom.
“I think that would be an excellent idea,” Mom said brightly. “Why don’t you show her your room and I’ll speak to her parents and see if she can have dinner with us.”
Shannon was only too happy to escape to the quiet sanctuary of my bedroom. And from that day forward, anytime she needed to get away from her parents fighting, she knew she had a place with me.
“And you gave me all that love right back when it was my parents’ turn to get a divorce.” I shake my head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve had a lot of uncomfortable revelations about myself lately.”
“You were so weird once you went to Utah. I should’ve known something wasn’t right. I wish I could’ve been there for you.” Shannon plays with the end of her braid again.
“You’ve been there for me almost my whole life. I never would’ve made it through the day I came back to school if it wasn’t for you.”
“As I recall, you only made it through half the day,” Shannon says.
I smile. “Because I had to leave you to go to class.”
Shannon nibbles on one of her pinkie nails. “So, like, are you going to be in trouble with the police?”
“Apparently not. My mom’s lawyer said not coming forward about the accident isn’t a crime because I didn’t directly lie to the police in order to implicate Brad Freeman.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
I rest my head in my hands. “Nothing is a relief to me. I just want everything to be out in the open.”
I tried to object when Mom told me I didn’t even need to speak to the police. “I should set the record straight,” I insisted. I felt like Detectives Blake and Reed were two more people who deserved an apology.
“There is no record,” Mom said. “The case is closed. I can have Vince give them a call just to pass on your message if you like, but the police are busy, honey. You don’t want to take up their time just so you’ll feel better about things.”
“Speaking of everything,” Shannon says teasingly. She pulls out her phone and taps at the screen.
My neck muscles go rigid. I haven’t touched my laptop since two days ago when I saw Brad Freeman’s daughter being bullied. “I’m not sure I want to get online right now.”
Shannon shakes her head. “You don’t have to get online. I was just wondering who this is.”
She holds out the picture of Elliott and me kissing that Tazmyn took on the Fourth of July.
“Oh. His name is Elliott. He works at the park with Rachael. I didn’t mean to keep him a secret either. I wasn’t really sure where it was going.”
“It kinda looks like it’s going to the bedroom.” Shannon grins.
“Ugh. I can only imagine what people are saying.”
“People are idiots,” she says. “You’re almost eighteen. You and Dallas weren’t married. You don’t have to stay faithful to his memory, no matter what a bunch of stupid Kadets think.”
“I know. I just hate that I dragged Elliott into this mess too.” I pick at a fraying thread on my jean shorts. “He’s actually the first person I told about all this.”
“Oh, great. Another boy I’m going to be jealous of.”
I reach out for Shannon’s hand and give it a squeeze. “You’re always going to be my first love, you know that?”
“Same. Best friends forever, okay?” she says. “No matter where we end up. No matter what we do.”
“Deal.” I hold out my pinkie finger.
She loops her finger around mine and we shake on it.
Pinkie swear, huh? Dallas says from somewhere inside my brain. Serious business.