‘Are you all right?’ I ask, the back of my head still throbbing from what that monster did. My mind still swirling with everything that’s just happened.
Suddenly Diane drops to her knees, presses her bloody right hand against her mouth in a silent scream.
‘What?’ I say, my voice just above a whisper. ‘What is it?’ I drop down next to her. The streetlight illuminates her pale face. Even though it’s chilly, her hairline is damp with sweat.
‘The blade,’ she manages, slowly dropping her hand from her face. ‘I left the switchblade.’ She stares at me, her expression one of total anguish. My heart sinks. How could I have been so stupid as to not make sure she had it? Me, a girl who should know better.
‘We can’t go back,’ I say, my stomach twisting in panic. ‘They’ve found him by now.’ At these words Diane hauls herself up from the ground and runs to the side of the closest house. The sound of retching follows. I don’t flinch and I don’t judge. Honestly, I feel like I might vomit, too.
But I also know we have to move. ‘Diane?’ I call out, not too loud in fear some neighbor will hear me.
‘Yes,’ she calls back from the shadows. Not yeah but yes. Even in this misery, she’s classier than any girl I know.
‘We need to keep going,’ I say.
She emerges from the darkness. ‘My house isn’t far from here,’ she says. She wipes the sides of her mouth delicately with the tips of her fingers. ‘There’s no one there, I promise. Do you think that would be safe?’
For a fleeting moment, my mind imagines what my older sister, Cheryl, would say about the situation, even though she’d be too shocked to picture me in it. And I think about my house and Grandma and Mama staying up late and watching television. I can’t come up with a better option than to head to Diane’s. So we end up at a place on Coyle Street, not far from the high school. A small, squat brick house with a porch full of junk. Old potted plants, cardboard boxes covered in grease stains. A skinny calico cat hisses at us before slipping away into the darkness.
Diane doesn’t match this house.
She leads me around back, and we head through a door into the kitchen. I spy a sink full of dirty dishes and countertops stacked high with mail and empty wine bottles.
‘Sorry it’s such a mess,’ she says in a soft voice. Then she stops and looks at me. ‘I guess we don’t have to be so quiet.’
‘There’s nobody else here?’ I ask, peering over my shoulder, half expecting the fuzz to show up and arrest us right there in Diane’s kitchen. I place her bloody cardigan on the counter.
‘No,’ says Diane, heading to the sink and washing her hands with a bar of soap. She scrubs hard. ‘I live here with my aunt,’ she continues, ‘but she’s hardly ever here.’
Diane dries her hands with a dish towel hanging limply from the stove.
And bursts into sobs.
‘I knew that boy,’ she wails, her face in her hands. I can barely make out what she is saying. ‘I knew his name and I knew that boy! Oh God, I thought I would just scare him! I didn’t think I would kill him!’
It’s all hitting her now, what she’s done. I’m not sure if it’s hitting me yet.
‘How did you know him?’ I ask. I take a step toward her, but I don’t know if I should touch her or not. How I wish my girls were here. Especially Connie. She would know what to do. Or at least she’d pretend to.
Diane doesn’t answer my question. She just keeps sobbing into her hands, and sometimes the sobs are interrupted by a hiccuping catch of her breath.
‘Why don’t we sit down, maybe have a glass of water and a smoke?’ I ask, my voice tentative, and Diane nods yes, so I reach out and tug her gently by her wrist to the tiny Formica table in the corner of the kitchen. It’s just as cluttered as the kitchen counter, but there’s a small, filthy ashtray on it littered with a few butts. She sits down, still crying. I find two glasses in one of the cabinets, fill them both with water, and place one in front of her. Until I guzzle mine down, I don’t realize how thirsty I was. Finally, I join her at the table.
‘Want one?’ I ask, offering her my pack of Salems.
‘Normally, I wouldn’t,’ Diane says, sniffling and getting her tears under control, ‘but under the circumstances …’ She plucks a smoke from the pack carefully, like a lady.
We puff away silently for a moment until Diane starts talking. Her voice is soft, gentle. The kind of voice that could put you to sleep if you let it. It’s got money in it, too, just like the voices of those girls at Winkler’s who were making fun of Diane earlier. But how can Diane have money and live here? What is Diane doing on the east side of town? And how has it happened that I, an east side girl, have had to depend on a girl like Diane to save my life?
‘His name is … was Preston,’ she says, flinching a bit at the past tense. ‘Preston Fowler. We went to River Oaks High together. And to junior high and elementary school before that. Our mothers play bridge together at the club sometimes.’ She sniffs again, wipes her cheeks with the sleeves of her dress.
‘I didn’t think you were from around here,’ I answer. ‘I mean, I had never seen you at school before.’
Diane nods. ‘I’m new this year. But I was at River Oaks High before. So that’s how I know Preston.’
I wish I had a handkerchief or something to give to Diane to dry her tears, so she doesn’t have to get her clothes all covered with snot. Then again, I’m not sure it matters. After all, the blood on her outfit has started to dry into a rust-colored mark. I’ll have to make sure Diane knows to destroy it, and the sweater, too. We can’t have a trace of evidence anywhere, especially since Diane left the switchblade behind.
No, we can’t be tied to even a bit of blood.
Of Preston Fowler’s blood.
A chill creeps up my spine.
‘Diane, what you did …’ I search for the words. ‘You saved my life.’ Despite the glass of water I’ve just swallowed, my mouth goes dry, and suddenly I’m plummeted back into that moment behind the bathroom. Hands on me. The sound of gravel under my kicking feet. I shut my eyes tight. My head throbs.
Why didn’t I fight back? Why didn’t I find a way to escape? I’m supposed to be tough enough for that, right? My stomach lurches, and I squeeze my eyes even tighter.
‘Evie, are you all right?’ Diane asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
At last I nod and open my eyes, crumpling the moment up and pushing it back into the darkest part of my mind, promising myself I’ll never think about it again. After all, I’m safe now. He didn’t get me. And I have this tea sipper to thank for that.
‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘You had a lot of guts to help me like that, you know.’
Diane sighs. ‘I guess,’ she says. ‘But that boy. Preston. He was here and now he’s … not. Because of me.’ She takes a shaky drag of her Salem.
‘No, because of him,’ I fire back. ‘He’s the one who made the decision to do what he did. You were only protecting someone.’ I don’t say me. Maybe because it’s almost easier to talk about all of this if I think that I wasn’t even there to begin with.