This Secret Thing, стр. 33
“Did he . . . force you?” Violet felt righteous indignation rise up in her. No means no. You can stop at any time, and your partner should respect your needs. The truth was, if any boy ever wanted to be with her, she didn’t think she would stop it, because she would be so amazed, so flattered. This was not something she was proud of. It was not the kind of thing an empowered woman would do. A voice inside her—a mean, condemning one—said, But it is the kind of thing the daughter of a whore would do. The word whore pinballed through her whole body, and she recognized the voice inside her: it was Nicole’s. She spoke up, if for no other reason than to drown out Nicole’s uninvited opinions. “If he forced you, you had a right to freak out. No matter what.”
Casey just shook her head sadly. “It’s not like that,” she said. “It’s . . . a long story. One I shouldn’t be telling you. You’re just a kid.”
Offended and hurt, Violet sat up straighter. “I’m not a kid. I’m a sophomore.”
Casey gave her a sympathetic smile. “I thought the same thing when I was your age. Thought I knew so much, was so grown up. I had no idea. And you don’t, either.”
Angered by the dismissal, Violet spread out her arms to indicate the room they were in. “Excuse me, but am I not sitting here in a house that was recently searched by the police, living with a grandmother I’ve never met, while my mom’s in jail? I think I know a few things about life being hard or whatever.” She could feel her breath escaping from her mouth in quick, angry puffs. Casey had some nerve. She thought of all the times Nicole had railed on her sister, calling her entitled and spoiled and clueless. In that moment, she agreed with her ex–best friend.
Casey stood up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She picked up her coffee cup from the nightstand. “I’ll just go.” She lifted the mug like a concession. “I’ll put this in the kitchen sink.”
Too angry to respond, Violet just nodded but wouldn’t look at her.
In the doorway, Casey paused, listing slightly to the side even as she attempted to stand still. “Thank you for being there for me tonight.” She held the mug up like someone toasting. “For the coffee.”
“You’re welcome,” Violet mumbled.
“Can I come by tomorrow maybe? Go for a walk again or something? You’re right, you do know way more at fifteen than I did. You’ve been through a lot. I’m sorry if I made it sound otherwise.”
Violet lifted her head, grateful for the acknowledgment. She looked over at Casey framed in the doorway. “I guess,” she said, like she didn’t care. But the truth was, she cared a lot. Casey felt like a friend, which was perhaps why her callous comment had hurt so much.
“I think we’re both dealing with a lot right now?” Casey said it like it was a question, but of course it wasn’t. Perhaps, Violet thought, if they hung out some, Casey would tell Violet why she had freaked out, why it was her fault and not Eli’s that whatever had happened between them went wrong. And maybe, if Violet got the chance, she could tell Casey what she knew about the night of Micah’s party that no one else did, get Casey’s advice on what to do about it. And maybe she could actually talk to her about her mom’s arrest, try to uncover if what people were saying about her mother was true. She could tell Casey how it felt to hear kids in the hall whisper terrible things when she passed by. They whispered and pointed, whispered and pointed. But not one of them ever spoke directly to her.
“So . . . tomorrow?” Casey asked.
Violet couldn’t tell if she was asking because she felt bad for what she’d said, or because she really wanted to hang out with her. She didn’t care. She did her best to sound nonchalant as she said, “Sure.” But she felt like Casey could feel the weight of the word, just as much as she’d felt the weight of whatever Casey hadn’t said as she sat on Violet’s bed, tracing the flowers with her finger from sepal to petal to stamen to carpel, over and over again.
Nico
October 8
He parked in the driveway of Norah Ramsey’s house, feeling like an interloper, knowing he was not welcome yet compelled to return, if not to get answers, then to keep the scent that told him he was close to his brother. Ever since he’d linked Norah to the spa that Matteo had been talking about on the last day he had seen him, Nico had been convinced that she was the key, that she would lead him to his brother. In Norah Ramsey’s house, he could smell Matteo as if he had only walked out the door moments before. He knew that Matteo had likely never been to Norah Ramsey’s house, but the two of them were linked in his mind now. When he was at her house, he felt closer to Matteo. The longer the investigation dragged on—the longer his brother stayed missing—the harder it was to differentiate between the real and the imagined.
When Matteo first disappeared last spring, Nico saw his brother everywhere. He was a face in every crowd, the driver in the car next to him at the red light, the busboy at the table across the restaurant. More than once, he’d called his brother’s name aloud, startling his wife, her back going ramrod straight, her mouth an O of surprise.
At first, Karen was patient, kind about it. But as the months went on, and he got more, rather than less, obsessed with his brother’s