"Do you think she blames herself?"
"I don't know, man. Probably." I stretched out on the reclined seat of my Chevy and pulled the bill of my hat lower over my eyes.
"But do you think she's okay?"
I didn't answer him. I certainly hadn't been okay when Whitney died and Kimber was even closer to her mom than I was to my sister. She was definitely not okay. "Sam, seriously. I'm fucking freaking out here, it's been two days.
I pushed my hat up off of my face and looked over at Kyle who was admittedly a wreck. His eyes were bloodshot, his face sallow and his red hair was greasy.
"Dude, her mom committed suicide. You how close Kimber was to her mom. She just needs some time but she'll be okay."
"She hasn't answered any of my texts or calls. I've left her like nine voicemails, man, I think I'm going crazy."
"You just have to give her space."
"Yeah, but she's my- my-..." He still couldn't say it around me. "I'm supposed to be looking after her."
I sat up and pulled the chair upright behind me. "Look, Kyle, I know you want to help Kimber and I want to help Kimber too, but she hasn't answered our calls, been to school or come to the door when we've stopped by her house. She doesn't want to see us right now and we have to be okay with that. Right now Kimber knows what's best for Kimber."
"What about the suicide note? You think that has something to do with it?" I sighed. "We don't even know if there was a note. Kimber's dad was upset and messed up when he said that and it's possible I misheard him anyway. I asked my dad and he said there was no letter."
"Right, because your dad is such a beacon of truth." One look at Kyle told me he'd immediately regretted his words. I shrugged.
"I don't know what to believe anymore."
The truth was that I knew what I heard. Mr. Destaro had said something to the cops about a letter, but I couldn't tell Kyle that, not right now. He was already worried that his relationship with Kimber was part of the reason her mom had been so depressed.
I'd asked my dad about the letter when he'd come home after that long night and he'd sighed, run both of his hands through his hair in a tired away and said, "Sam, I don't know what to tell you. Anne Destaro didn't leave a suicide note and this is the first I've heard of it."
With our best friend in mourning and our investigation on hold Kyle and I had been existing in a sort of suspended state. We went to school intermittently, skipping classes here and there, missing end-of-year tests and smoking more weed than either of us could afford. Without Kimber there to set us straight and keep us in line we were lethargic, brooding, and irresponsible. I'd never realized how much I relied on her.
Kyle and I skipped the last two periods of the day and debated on whether we should even go to school tomorrow, which was the last day of our sophomore year. We finally decided to show up for second period, which I was glad we did because Kimber showed up in Biology.
I didn't even see her at first. I had my head down on my desk, resting on folded arms when I felt a meek hand pat my shoulder. I turned around to see her standing there, looking unsure and uncomfortable. I gave her half a smile and pulled her into a hug. But it wasn't a Super-Comforting-Not-At-All-Awkward Kimber hug. It was a longer, weaker hug and I felt so protective in it that I was sad when it was over.
"How are you doing, K?" I asked her when she finally released me.
Kimber wiped a tear off of her cheek. "I'm okay." And she gave me a wobbly smile and I knew it wasn't true.
