She called Katie’s name as she unlocked the door and entered the house. Every light in the house was on, and the living room, where she thought Katie would be watching television, was empty. Her pulse started to race. She called Katie’s name again, then again, and she heard some reply—as quiet as the mewing of a kitten—from upstairs. The hall light was on too, and the lights in her bedroom and Katie’s as well.
“Katie-kins?” Instantly Sherri was 100 percent sober, with every hair, every pore and fiber of her body, on high alert. Katie was sitting cross-legged in the very corner of her very bright bedroom, her knees drawn up and into her chest. She had pulled the comforter from her bed to cover herself. Sherri rushed to Katie’s side.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” said Katie. “I just got scared.”
We’ll have to get rid of her, came the fragment of memory, floating along on the summer evening, and Sherri felt all of her collective terror gather itself and sluice through her.
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gone out. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I shouldn’t—”
“Mommy,” said Katie. Sherri opened her arms and Katie uncurled her body and fell into them. Sherri felt her tears leak out into Katie’s beautiful hair and they stayed for some time, rocking back and forth in the too-bright room, with Katie’s sobs getting louder, until, without any warning, she threw up all over her comforter.
9.
Alexa
When Alexa woke up the next morning she was lying in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, under an unfamiliar comforter. She was alone. Ohgodohgodohgod. She was alone in a strange bed. On a chair next to the bed she saw her O’Neill dress folded neatly. Oh God. She lifted up the covers and peeked down, afraid she would find that she was naked. No. She was wearing a pair of sweatpants (Sweatpants! Surely this was a first.) and—she felt behind her neck—a hooded sweatshirt. She pulled the sweatshirt away from her body to examine it. It was purple, and it said knights on it in gold. Where had she just seen a sweatshirt with gold writing? Fragments from the night before began to filter back into her brain. She was drinking cranberry juice and vodka. She was angry with Tyler. She was looking at the moon. She was spinning.
There was a soft knocking at the door, and when she said, “Yes?” her voice cracked, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. Into the room walked a boy, and the rest of the puzzle pieces clicked into place. She’d drunk two drinks on an empty stomach, and then she’d fallen onto this boy’s sweatshirt. She remembered him guiding her gently around the side of the house, and into a car.
“I’m Cameron,” he said. “Hartwell. Cam. In case you don’t remember. I brought you tea.” She noticed that before putting down the tea he laid down a coaster. There was a matching coaster underneath a half-empty (half-full?) water glass, which triggered a memory of two Advils proffered to her.
“Is this your house?”
“Yup. This is the guest room. I slept in my room.” That grin again. “It was all very proper. You were shaking in that dress, so I gave you some clothes to put on. Which you did by yourself. In the bathroom.”
“Thanks,” she said warily. “But where are we?”
“Off Turkey Hill.”
Turkey Hill was the neighborhood on the other side of the highway from downtown, where many of the houses were bigger, newer, with yards and driveways and garages. Alexa never had reason to go out to Turkey Hill. Turkey Hill was exactly as far from Plum Island as you could get while still being in Newburyport. What the hell was she doing on Turkey Hill?
“Why were you at Zoe’s party?”
“Shelby wanted to go. My, um, girlfriend. You know Shelby?” Alexa nodded. “She and Zoe ran cross country together, they’re close.” He shrugged.
“What happened to Shelby last night?” Alexa wanted to know, and she also didn’t.
“She went home,” Cam said. (Was that a grin playing at the corners of his mouth?) “She got a ride with someone else.”
Most likely, thought Alexa, Shelby had to get to bed on time. She probably had the early shift handing out breakfast to homeless people in Lowell, or she was organizing a charity walk on Boston Common.
“She was mad,” added Cam.
“Mad?”
Now the grin was full-on. “She didn’t like it that I said I would take you home.”
“So why did you?”
“You looked like you could use the help.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Well, you begged me not to take you home.”
“I did?”
He nodded. “You wouldn’t even give me your address.” This sounded plausible; Alexa sort of remembered shaking her head and making a motion like she was zipping her lips. “I asked you if you wanted to come here for a little while. We watched some Samantha Bee, and you fell asleep. I thought it was best if I just got you to bed instead of trying to get you back in the car and having a whole situation with your parents.”
“My mom,” she corrected. Then: “Samantha Bee? You’re so woke.” She was teasing, and also not.
“I try.”
“How come I don’t know you? Have you always lived here?”
“Since I was three.”
“You didn’t go to Newburyport High.”
“Immaculate Conception through eighth grade.” (The Catholic school. Alexa hadn’t known many of the IC kids, except for a few girls she played town soccer with in elementary and middle school.) “Then St. John’s Prep. I go to school in Vermont now.” He pointed to his T-shirt, which was gray. In purple letters were the words saint michael’s college and in the middle of the shirt was a drawing of a knighthead.
That explained it. “Wow. I’m so sorry. I have no idea how I got so drunk.” Even though she did know: it was simply a terrible mix of liquor and a strong beer and an extremely empty stomach. “What time is it?”
“Just after eight,” said Cam. “I’m an early riser. Do you need to call someone? Tell them where you are?”
Just after eight was good. In her house, nobody would expect her to be up before ten o’clock, and since Tyler had picked her up for last night’s party, her Jeep was still in the driveway. Even so, precautionary measures were in order.
Alexa picked up her phone, which was on the nightstand, plugged into a charger: a thoughtful bonus. There were five texts and two voice mails from Tyler, which she didn’t feel like listening to or reading yet. Her best bet was Morgan. She sent her a text. Soooo tired. Can u tell mom I got up and went back to bed? She knew that she had left the door to her bedroom closed, as she always did, and she knew that Morgan wouldn’t question her whereabouts and that her mother had read a long book last year about the power and necessity of sleep for the development of the teenage brain and since then had never judged Alexa for sleeping too much. Alexa could use the 360 app to ascertain when her mom and Morgan left the house, and then she would ask Cam to drive her home.
“Where are your parents?” she asked. Please don’t let there be parents downstairs, she thought. There was no way she wanted to do a walk of shame, shameless though it may be, past anybody’s parents.